GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance (9 page)

“Not good enough,” he says, driving in harder. I can hear his pelvis slapping against me.

“I fucking love your cock,” I hear my lips say, as if I no longer have any control over them. Even my hands have developed a mind of their own, running up and down his body for something to hold onto. Before they can, he pulls out and flips me around, pressing my chest against the wall and spreading my legs by kicking my feet apart. I try to look back, but can see nothing. I feel his guide the tip of his cock between my legs.

“Fuck my pussy,” I demand.

“No,” he says.

“What?”

He doesn’t respond, but I can feel the tip of his weapon slide up towards my butthole. He wants to stick it in my ass. Before I can protest, he pushes in. I scream out, but he muffles me again. He keeps a hand pressed against my back, making it impossible to squirm free.

I clench against his manhood, but that doesn’t stop it from sliding in deep. “Shit!” I hear my muffled voice cry out. He starts to pump my ass.

The pain begins to subside. I can feel him throbbing inside of me, filling me completely, preparing to come in my ass. Each thrust is harder than the last. The power of each thrust is enough to slam my pelvis against the tin wall. If there’s anyone nearby, they probably think there’s a medieval blacksmith, banging his hammer against a newly formed shield.

He reaches down and rubs my clit. It’s enough to make me melt, to make me numb. I come almost instantly, all over his hand. I feel his cock swelling in my ass. He’s about to come.

“Ash! You in here?” someone called out, pulling me out from my daydream. I quickly pulled my fingers out from my pussy. I could see the silhouette of a busty woman through the shower curtain.

“Yeah,” I said, delayed. My voice was shaken.

“Dinner’s in twenty. What’s taking you so long?” It was Barbie’s voice. My heart took its time slowing down.

“I’ll be right out.”

“Do you even know what you’re going to wear? Nancy wants us to dress formal.”

“I’ll be right out, Barbie.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Chow Hall began to fill up and my date, Ashley, was nowhere to be seen. When everyone took their seat and Major Richards got everyone’s attention to make a toast, it was starting to look like I was getting stood up.

A part of me was relieved, that I wouldn’t have to suffer through a couple hours of listening to Ashley blab on about her precious acting career—or whine about how attractive she was. “Boo hoo, everyone here wants to sleep with me. Life is so hard.”

But I would take a few hours of blabbing and whining if it meant skipping a month’s worth of ground duty. During his toast, Major Richards looked over at me more than a couple of times, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the empty seat across from me, as if it was my fault Ashley wasn’t showing up for dinner. And maybe it was—maybe she was too offended from me calling her dumb. Maybe I’d knocked her fragile ego too hard.

But just as Major Richards finished his useless, emotionless speech, and just as I was becoming sure that I was going to eat alone, the Chow Hall door opened and there she was.

She wore black heels, a long black dress, and her hair was curled and rolling over her shoulders. As she stepped into the room, her dress flowed with a weightless elegance, parting down the side and showing off her long, smooth legs.

She stole the room’s attention, every head turning in her direction. She may have been self-absorbed, but damn, she was beautiful.

She sat down across from me, adjusted her tits, and said, “How do I look?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, fine.”

The room’s many conversations were slow to start back up, everyone’s faces still glued to Ashley’s body.

It was no wonder she had such a big ego. She was gorgeous, even the women were swooning over her. The only negative comments she’d ever heard in her life were probably from jealous women and rejected men. The ‘dumb and stuck-up’ remark was probably the first time she’d ever been cut down a notch. And going through life with nothing but drooling compliments, one’s bound to develop a complex.

We sat in silence, while the recruits went table to table, dropping off appetizers. They’d attempted to dress the Chow Hall like a fancy Italian restaurant, with white table cloths over the plastic folding tables, and lots of dumb candles.

“How long have you been a marine?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to start some small talk.” She scowled.

“I joined the Marines three years ago. We deployed about two years ago.”

“Have you been out on the front lines?”

“No.”

“Have you been to Baghdad, or Mosul, or Ramadi?”

I stared at her and then laughed. It was obvious that she was trying to prove me wrong, prove that she wasn’t stupid. She had probably gone back to her room to look up a bunch of random facts, random city names. It was surprising she didn’t come to dinner with a pair of glasses and a stack of textbooks.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“How long have you been a Playboy Bunny?” I asked, ignoring her question. I didn’t want to start a fight at the table, so I figured I would humour her ‘small talk.’

“I’m not a Bunny. Bunnies work at the mansion. I’m just a Playmate.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Playmates are one-offs. Drew Barrymore, Farrah Fawcett, and Kate Moss were all Playmates. I’m an actor, and this is just a promotional gig my manager landed me.”

Not even a full minute into the dinner and she was already on about her acting career. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her drone on about it again, so I changed the subject, and asked her where she was from.

“Seattle,” she said. “Well, a small town outside of Seattle.”

“Which one?”

“Greenwater?”

“Really? I’m from Buckley.” Buckley was only a few miles from Greenwater. Both towns were south-east of Seattle.

“Get out, really?” She kicked me with her heeled shoe as a big smile swept across her face. “What year did you graduate?”

“’05,” I said.

“No shit! I was ’03.”

“I was quarterback for the Buckley Bravehearts in my senior year.”

“I was a cheerleader with the Greenwater Ducks in my junior year. I bet I saw you at a game.”

“We beat you in the finals,” I said.

“That’s right, you did—oh wait! I remember you! You threw that touchdown in the final few seconds. That was you!”

“Did I?” I tried to remember back to the moment, but couldn’t. My memory must have been too shot from years of boxing, taking blows to the head. I knew we won and I could remember bits and pieces of the celebration.

And though I couldn’t remember throwing the winning touchdown, I could remember the cheerleaders, shaking their green pom-poms, kicking their little green skirts up and flashing their white panties. Just before I threw that last Hail Mary, the Ducks’ cheerleaders all lifted their skirts and flashed our team in an attempt to distract us. I didn’t care though. I knew, if I was going to fuck a girl that night, it would be because I threw the winning touchdown. The guy who caught the throw didn’t notice the girls’ flashing, and the only reason he caught the ball was because the guy that should have blocked him
did
see the ladies’ show.

I started to laugh as it all came back to me. Ashley had a big, beaming grin on her face. “I do—I remember you. My friend, Megan, went to flirt with you after the game.”

I tried to remember. I had a vague memory of a cheerleader coming up to me on the field after everyone started to leave.

“Do you remember?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“You made her cry,” Ashley said.

I strained to remember. The memory was hazy. The girl came up to me and stopped me from leaving the field. She told me my throw was impressive. She told me her name, but I couldn’t remember it, and then she asked me if I wanted to go out with her. I said no.

It turned out, Ashley knew a lot of my friends, and I knew a lot of Ashley’s friends. How we’d never met was surprising, seeing as the combined population of our towns was less than one thousand people.

I’d nearly forgotten I was on a forced date when my attention was grabbed by the snap of a camera. The reporter was down on one knee, with his camera pointed in our direction. He had a large grin on his face as he rose to his feet. “That was great—just great. Take a look at that shot!” He was far too excited for his own good. He showed us the photo.

In his photo, both Ashley and I were leaning forward and laughing. “Not bad, hey?” the reporter asked, pushing the camera closer towards my face.

I wanted to slap the camera down and break the stupid thing, and not just because I looked like a damned chode in his picture, but because I was getting sick of having to live with a camera lingering over my back. The reporter’s smirk made my blood hot and my body tense. I nearly swatted him to the ground and broke his thick-framed hipster glasses.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You want to know what I think?” I said with my teeth clenched. I could see Major Richards with an eye on me, over the reporter’s shoulder. “I think it’s fine.”

“A lovely photo,” Ashley said. Of course, she meant it. She loved the camera. It was the whole reason she was here.

I remembered the date was a sham, and suddenly felt like crap about the whole thing. Ashley’s big smile, her bubbly attitude, the fondness of her high-school memories—there was no way to separate what was real from what was a show for the camera.

I looked around the room. All the other girls had similar smiles plastered on their faces, they all laughed at the other Joes’ jokes, and listened attentively to their stories. It was all a big sham, a big pity parade—all the Playmates simply humouring the poor, lonely soldiers.

“Gage?” Ashley said.

I looked over at her. She still had that big smile on her face, but her eyebrows were crooked, and her head was tilted to one side.

“What?”

“I asked, what are you doing when you’re back from your tour?” She stared at me, her smile slowly vanishing as I stared back. She was a career actress on a publicity promo—of course none of it was real, of course it was all a fake. She had probably gone back to her room and looked me up, looked up my town, looked up my friends, and the other Playmates probably did the same with their dates.

I was finished my dinner, so I decided to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Dinner’s over. I told you, I’ve got things to do.” I left.