Here we go. This was the conversation I had been waiting for.
"Like I told you many times before, Mother, it's not just another job. It's not something you walk away from."
"Okay, okay. I was just saying that I think you'd do so well in college. You're such a smart boy. You could get a degree in economics . . ."
I tuned her out at that point. Arguing wasn't going to do anything with Lucille. The idea of getting a degree in anything and working at a desk for the rest of my life made me want to hang myself.
There was nothing better than the excitement of a rapid deployment. One second you were playing with your balls, bored as hell in some Podunk small town with two cows and not enough whisky, and the next you were rappelling from a Black Hawk helicopter while under heavy fire. I loved the smell of metal and oil and the weight of a fully loaded rifle in my hands. There was a thrill and a power knowing that my job could save the lives of thousands of people, both civvies and military alike. I was the tip of the spear, the deadliest of the deadly. It felt fucking good to be part of ones the United States turned to when they needed help the most.
Breakfast went fast after that. Lucille finished her second drink and was nicely buzzed, which meant she was both happier and much pushier. Still, I was able to ignore her for the most part since I was preoccupied thinking about Claire.
We left the restaurant and made our way over to Lucille's new car. It was huge and black and shiny, basically the sort of ostentatious crap that she loved. I climbed in and tuned her out as we drove out into the rich part of town toward her new husband's house.
"Oh, honey," she said as we pulled down a long driveway toward an enormous house. "I wish you had worn something nicer."
"This is what I wear," I grunted at her.
"But you look . . . dirty."
"This stuff is clean."
"You could have worn some nice khakis, maybe that shirt I got you for Christmas last year."
That shirt was incinerated somewhere in Iraq. My squad had laughed for days over it.
"Maybe," I grunted at her.
"Listen," she said, slowing down. "There's one more thing. I'd really like it, and so would Jonathan, if you stayed with us while you're in town."
I stared at her for a second. The last thing in the entire world that I wanted was to stay with her and her new husband, no matter how nice his beach property was. I had no interest in being a part of their weird life any more than I had to be. I didn't want to be the stain that embarrassed them, when really they were naïve rich people that didn't know how the world really worked. I was more than fine at my motel.
"No, thanks," I said. "I have a place."
"That motel? Please, honey. Stay here. It's so much nicer and you'll really love it. Plus, Jonathan wants to get to know you. He wants us to be a family."
"Family," I grunted, shaking my head.
"Please, honey? It would make me so happy. And Jonathan, too."
"No way."
She frowned but didn't say anything more.
We parked in front of the place and climbed out. Mom smiled hugely and gestured.
"Here we are! You'll see it's really beautiful and modern inside, plenty of space for you if you change your mind."
I rolled my eyes as I followed her up the front steps. She paused at the door and looked at me seriously.
"Please, Nathan," she hissed. "Don't embarrass me."
Before I could say anything, she pulled open the door, the fake smile back on her face.
"Jonathan, dear?" she yelled out, moving into the house.
I clenched my jaw and balled my fists. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, find some bar, and get shitfaced wasted. Or maybe go for another run until I couldn't feel my lungs anymore. But I knew that was delaying the inevitable. And if there was one thing I learned in training, it was how to do things I didn't fucking want to do.
I followed her into the hall, the sound of her heels clacking on the hardwood floor and echoing off the high ceilings. The place was the epitome of rich modernity, all clean, smooth lines and simple colors. There was nothing gaudy or anything that really screamed wealth, but that made it all that much richer. Jonathan was clearly the kind of man that signaled his money through quality and not through show.
I followed my mother into the kitchen, where we found Jonathan Forester eating a sandwich and reading the paper. Mom walked up to him and they kissed chastely, and then he turned his gaze on me.
I didn't know much about Jonathan Forester, except for what was in the press. He owned a lot of real estate and restaurants and clubs and made his money banking. He was one of the richest men in the country, and why he was with my washed-up, ex-model mother, I had no clue.
"You must be Nathan," he said, standing.
"Nate. Good to meet you."
We shook hands. His grip wasn't as weak as I expected. We were about the same height, though I had at least twenty pounds of muscle on him. Still, he was in decent shape for a civilian, with deep brown eyes and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. I instantly understood what Lucille saw in him.
"I've heard a lot about you from your mother."
"Lucille can embellish some."
"She tells me you're in the military?"
I nodded. "Yes, sir. With the Navy."
He looked at me conspiratorially. "She mentioned something about the SEALs."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Come on. You can tell me."
"National security, sir. Secrecy is part of the job."
He nodded, smiling. "Well, I'm glad you're here. We're family now."
"Looks that way."
"Will you be staying with us?"
"I don't think so, sir."
I hated calling him "sir," but I knew the military manners would impress him, and it would probably keep Lucille off my back for the day. As skeptical as I was about the guy, I knew that having him on my good side could be beneficial. Lucille would likely leave me alone much more if she knew her precious rich husband liked me.
"We have plenty of space if you change your mind."
"Well," Lucille cut in, "why don't we find Claire?"
"Good idea. Claire?" Jonathan yelled out.
I moved to the side as Jonathan walked down the hall, calling her name. Finally, he returned, smiling. A minute later, she walked in through the door.
I couldn't stop the huge grin from breaking out across my face.
It was her.
It really was the girl from the night before, the girl with the white-hot pussy, the perfect round tits, and the amazing ass that went for miles. It was my mystery girl, the one I couldn't stop thinking about.
And the look on her face was priceless. She was shocked, beyond shocked. I gave her a quick little wink, which only made her face contort even more. I wanted to laugh out loud, and suddenly things seemed like they were looking up for me.
"Is everything okay, honey?" her dad asked.
Suddenly, she gathered herself together. "Of course. Hi, I'm Claire," she said, extending her hand.
I took it, looking her right in the eye. "Hi, Claire. I'm Nate. I guess I'm your big brother now."
Jonathan laughed, and the look of horror that flashed over her expression was totally priceless. I held her hand for half a second too long before letting it go. She walked over to the island and sat down, slowly composing herself. I could read every emotion that flickered across her face due to the hours of interrogation training I had gone through. I knew pretty much what she was thinking, and it was simple: she wanted to fuck me, and badly, but she was afraid.
"Claire is a budding star in her premed program at NYU. She wants to be a surgeon. Right, sweetie?"
"Sure, Dad," she mumbled.
"Oh, I'm sure she's beyond budding, sir. Full on flower, I bet." I grinned at her and she turned red.
Her dad laughed loudly. "So true. She's about to graduate. I'm sure she'll get into a top medical school."
"No doubt in my mind, sir."
Mom was looking between the three of us, smiling her face off, probably in full-on ecstasy. For once, her rough and gruff, embarrassing son wasn't totally fucking things up. I was sure she loved it.
Little did she know, though, that my new stepsister had had her legs wrapped around my cock the night before. My fingers had been deep into her soaked pussy, and I had watched her come in an alley. Behind a club her dad owned, I realized.
That dirty girl. She was picking up strange men at daddy's club and letting them finger fuck her until the heat was too much to bear. Although, I had gotten a distinct prude vibe from her originally, like she didn't know what to do with a real man's dick. But as soon as she started kissing me, and my hands touched her eager body, she was all freak.
Looking at her sitting at the island, her face bright red and visibly struggling to stay composed, I never would have guessed what she had hidden underneath. I'd only gotten to scratch at the surface of all the filthy shit I wanted to do with her incredible body, and now it was even better.