His Plaything (12 page)

Although forgetting was much harder when I was still stuck living with the guy
.
Turning a corner and unexpectedly seeing his face never failed to reopen my wounds. But each time, it hurt a little bit less and healed a little bit faster. All I could do was wait until the end of the semester. I could handle that; it was just a few more months.

And who knew? Maybe by then, we could be something like friends.

***

On Friday afternoon, while I was sitting up in bed working on my laptop, I heard a quiet but firm knock. “Yeah?” I called, reluctant to leave my warm linen nest.

The door cracked open to reveal one blue eye. “I was just going for a run on the beach. Wanna tag along?”

My first impulse was to wonder what he had up his sleeve. But by now, I had started feeling pretty okay about seeing Nixon around the apartment; this was a good chance to test the waters by hanging out one-on-one. Being exercise buddies might be fun. If nothing else, I would get in a good workout today. “Sure,” I replied, “just let me get changed.”

“Cool. Meet you in the living room.” His eye disappeared and the door shut.

I hopped out of bed, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and traded my ragged lounge pants for a navy blue tank top and capri-length yoga pants. Even if I'd gotten a little more comfortable with Nixon lately, I still wasn't quite ready to prance around wearing a sports bra and gym shorts in front of him.

But my jaw dropped when I rounded the corner and saw him waiting by the couch. Evidently he didn't feel the same reservations about clothes as I did. Apart from his high-end tennis shoes, he wore only a pair of crimson athletic shorts that hung from his hips, revealing a dark trail of hair and the deep muscle-creases along either side of his lower stomach. All leading my eyes straight down to…

I swallowed back drool. Through the shorts, I could make out the outline of his long, thick bulge from across the room—and what little I couldn't see, my stupid, traitorous memory filled in for me. And the rest of Nixon was just as distracting. His perfect pecs begged to be kissed and licked. His thighs could cause traffic accidents. Every inch of his incredible body reminded me of all the sinful things he'd done to me with it.

Dear God, why me?
It hadn't even been five minutes, and I was already cursing myself for agreeing to Nixon's request. That bastard was practically strip-teasing me; our friendly jog would be nothing short of erotic torture. Maybe a meteor would hit the Earth before we reached the jogging trail? I could only hope.

We headed downstairs and out into the hot, muggy September day. I had no idea where we were going, so I couldn't walk in front, but if I followed behind Nixon, his taut ass drew my eyes like a magnet. So I walked beside him, trying my best to ignore the warm, muscular body less than two feet away from me.

Surprisingly, it got easier when we actually reached the concrete path along the beach's edge. I could tell that Nixon had slowed down for my sake, but he was still Mister Fitness, and I had to concentrate if I wanted to keep up. As my legs and lungs began to burn, my mind lifted slowly out of the gutter. All that existed was the impact of my shoes on the pavement. The crashing blue-green surf just a few yards downhill. Seagulls mewing, the rumble of distant cars. It was almost peaceful.

“You thinking of going out with Logan again?” Nixon asked out of nowhere, breaking my reverie.

“Huh?” The question took a second to sink in. “Oh. Uh, I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why's that?”

Okay … zero to weird in record time.
“Because I don't feel like it,” I replied flatly. Maybe that was a little rude, but Nixon's snooping had been rude first.

“Oh.” He looked like he didn't know how to respond to that. Just as I'd settled back into the quiet, though, Nixon piped up again. “You'll be done with school in a couple months, right? Any plans for after you graduate?”

If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he was chatting me up. Did he just suck at small talk? “Pretty much what I already told you. Start a blog, write about fashion and beauty, achieve world domination in five years or less.”

“You ever think about … getting married?”

Where the hell is this coming from?
I wondered. Then it all suddenly clicked: Nixon was trying to mend fences. Trying to help us become the friends I'd hoped we could be. In that case, I couldn't get too annoyed with him, even if he overshot “polite interest in my life” and landed well into “nosy” territory. I was more than willing to meet him halfway.

“Sometimes, in an 'idle daydream' kind of way,” I replied. “But not really. I don't see myself settling down for a long time. Right now, I want to focus on building my career, and just … you know, having fun. Seeing where life takes me.”

“Hm.” Now he looked thoughtful. But he didn't comment further, and soon the silence descended again.

After we had turned around and started jogging toward home, I finally felt brave enough to fire his own question back at him. “So what about you? Do you want to get all domestic?”

Nixon blinked at me. After a long moment, he answered, “I … might be open to it. If the right woman came along.”

We were less than a mile from home and my lungs were on fire, but I still had to lay one last question to rest. Before I could chicken out, I asked, “Is Pam the right woman?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Thrown off guard, I stumbled to a stop beside him. My heart was pounding as much from emotion as from exertion. When I'd rehearsed this confrontation in my head, I had expected Nixon to react with guilt or even anger. His harsh response just made
me
confused.

Trying not to notice the sweat on his tanned skin, I stuttered, “When you went out of town … you told me it was for work, but…” Stress tightened around my stomach and spine, as if I were reliving that horrible conversation in the lobby all over again. Trying not to burst into tears while Pam just stood there, oblivious, with her handful of junk mail and her childishly excited smile. Before my voice could fail, I pushed all the words out in one breath: “I ran into Pam right after you left and she said she was meeting you for a romantic getaway.”

Nixon's mouth opened and closed, speechless. The shock on his face slowly gave way to white-hot fury. “That two-faced bitch,” he finally growled. “I haven't touched her since the day you moved in. Hell, we've hardly even talked. When you said you didn't want me bringing women home, I told Pam I couldn't see her anymore. I said my stepsister had moved in and I was trying to be respectful. Pam flipped right the fuck out. It was a pretty bad scene.” He gave a snarling huff, raking his fingers through his hair. “But if she's cooking up poisonous bullshit like this, I guess it's even worse than I thought.”

“She … she lied? Just to make me angry?” My head was spinning. “So you didn't really…?” No. Fucking. Way. All that emotional destruction because some bitch was feeling catty about losing her fuck buddy? My anger ratcheted up, but I shut it down just as fast. I wasn’t going to let that ho ruin this moment too.

My decision was instantly rewarded when Nixon’s expression fell into something softer, but just as fiery. Something a little desperate and a little hopeful. “I haven't slept with anyone else since we met. I swear on my life.” He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “The only woman I’ve wanted is you.”

My heart fluttered at his words—and something lower, too, had fluttered at his touch. But I tried to keep my feet on the ground a little longer. Regardless of how sincere he seemed, I still needed a few more answers. “Then what
were
you doing last week?”

He pressed his lips together, then sighed and nodded. “Okay. I guess this is a day for full disclosure, huh?”

As we walked home, Nixon finally told me everything about his trip: the medal, the Pentagon, the gag order, everything. “I had to keep my whereabouts under wraps,” he finished. “Otherwise I would have told you all this in the first place.” He smiled at me—the first real smile I'd seen since our fight last week. “Actually, I'm still breaking protocol right now, but … there are more important things.”

By now we had reached the condo complex. As a concession to my sore legs, we took the elevator up. But when we reached the sixth floor, Nixon marched straight past our apartment and started banging on the adjacent door like he was trying to break it down.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” I hurried after him, wondering if he'd lost his mind.

Pam opened the door wearing black booty shorts and a metallic violet tube top that barely contained her vast chest.
Holy shit, where's an attack of spontaneous blindness when I need one?
I itched to give this poor woman a makeover—but that would be way too nice of me. After imploding my relationship with Nixon, suffering in fashion hell was the least she deserved.

“What the fuck, Pam?” Nixon barked before she could speak. “Where the hell do you get off spreading bullshit around about going away with me?”

“Oh, that.” Her confused expression quickly morphed into irritation. “If you've got the whole story, why come break my door down?”

Nixon gestured back at me. She spared me an acid look and I held back the urge to flinch. “Because you owe her a personal apology.”

Her laugh sounded more like a shriek. “Me? Owe
her
? After you dropped me like a hot potato to go hump your own stepsister? Is her pussy made of gold or something, or do you just have an incest fetish?”

“Y-you knew we were together?” I croaked. Suddenly it all made sense. The only reason Pam would invent a tryst with Nixon was if she knew I was into him; otherwise, that kind of lie wouldn't hurt me. She had to have known…

“The whole damn time.” Her lip curled, utterly disgusted. “Whether or not I wanted to. Our units share a wall, remember? I could hear you fucking just about every night.”

“So slip a note under our door asking us to tone it down,” Nixon spat. “The slightest inconvenience doesn't give you a right to mess with other people's lives.”

“Yeah, I told one lie. I wanted to piss off Little Miss Perfect. So fucking what?” She threw up her red-taloned hands—not in surrender, but in challenge. “I'm not sorry. It's you people who're fucked up.”

“Don't you dare play the martyr here.” Nixon's voice had lowered into a snarl. “If you had even a shred of common decency—”

With a glare that could have turned us both to stone, Pam slammed the door in our faces.

Chapter 19

Nixon

I stormed back into our condo, barely able to hear Avery's trailing footsteps over the blood pounding in my ears. Confronting Pam had only enraged me more. I'd thought I could take revenge by rubbing her nose in her cruel, desperate lies, but it was impossible to shame the shameless. She was totally convinced that she was right and we were wrong. How could that bitch look me straight in the eye, bold as brass, and say I had no right to be angry? After the way she'd treated the most important person in my world?

Feeling Avery by my side, I turned to face her. She stared back at me like she had no idea what would happen next.

Her eyes kept darting down my sweaty, almost-bare body. I had seen her horny enough times to recognize that heat in her gaze. But she also looked ashamed, uncertain, maybe even afraid. Of me? Of us?

I didn't speak or touch her; I just watched her face until she was ready to voice whatever terrible question was weighing on her. I could only guess what was going through Avery's head right now. Every word of comfort or desire I could imagine seemed like the wrong thing to say. If I ruined this moment, it might be a long time before another arrived, and I couldn't stand any more waiting.

She swallowed hard. “Was … was Pam right? Are we disgusting?” Her eyes fell for good, all the way to the carpet. “Is what we did so wrong?”

“Oh … Avery. No. God, no.” I reached out, tucking the stray hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. “Did it ever feel wrong to you?” If she hated herself for sleeping with me, I wasn't sure I could handle that.

A long hesitation. “No,” she finally said, and I let go of the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. “It felt right. It's … never felt so right before.”

Her words filled me with warmth. But all the temporary fun in the world wouldn't change what I had to do. In the long run, we still weren't compatible. Knowing how much she'd enjoyed being together only made it harder to let her go. Slowly I nodded, emotion roiling in my stomach.

She looked back up at me again—only for her shy smile to evaporate into concern. “What’s wrong?”

I guess I'm easier to read than I thought.
As a delay tactic, I went to the fridge to get us each a bottle of water, taking a long drink while I figured out the best way to answer.

“Come on. If we're both okay with this, why have you been avoiding me?”

I sighed through my nose. “Because I talked to Logan last Sunday.”

“Right after our date?” She looked like she didn't know whether to laugh at me or blush in humiliation.

“Yeah. And it put a lot of things in perspective.” Shaking my head, I braced myself for the most painful part. “Logan is … so much better for you than me.”

She blinked, mouth slightly open. “Better for
me
? What does that mean?”

“Uh, well … ” I floundered for an explanation; I hadn't expected her to put up a fight about hard facts. “Isn't it obvious? Logan is stable. He wants to leave the SEALs. He wants to have an actual home life someday.”

She held up her hand. “No. Shut up.”

“All I meant was—”

“I said shut up.” Eyes sparking, she stepped close until she stood toe-to-toe with me. Five feet and two inches of pure indignation. “Didn't you hear anything I said on the beach? I'm not ready to be anyone's wife right now.”

“But what about when you
are
ready?”

“Then I'll figure that out my own damn self! You don't get to decide what's best for me. I decide. Me and only me. And I have every right to choose you if that’s what I want.”

This was just terrific. How did I always manage to piss her off right when I was trying to reach her? What the hell was I going to do now? How could I salvage this—wait a minute. Was I hallucinating, or had Avery just said she was choosing me?

“And if I want you, that means I want your career, too. Because I know that being a SEAL is part of you. If you quit now, or if you'd never enlisted in the first place, you wouldn't be the man I love.”

Something seized in my chest. The big bad L-word had finally come out to play. But as soon as she said it, I realized that
love
was the only word for how I felt about her.

“People think my career is stupid,” she barreled on, either not noticing my stunned epiphany or not caring. “Even when they don't tell me out loud, I can see it in their faces. But fashion and blogging are still my dream—and I would never ask you to give up yours. I would never want you to put aside that part of yourself. Not for me, not for anyone.” She cut her hand sharply through the air. “I came into this relationship with open eyes. I knew what I was signing up for. So don't try to protect me from my own decisions.”

Out of steam at last, Avery fell silent, panting slightly from how hard she'd just torn me a new asshole. All I could do was stare at her. Face flushed and sweaty, messy hair springing out from her ponytail, eyes bright with passion…

I had never seen her look so beautiful.

Unable to resist a single second longer, I swept her up in my arms and kissed her like my life depended on it. She squeaked in shock—then melted against me, mouth opening to mine with a sweet sigh. Even the slight touch of her hands resting on my back raised goose bumps. She soothed my nerves and sparked them alive, all at the same time. God, I'd needed this. I was nothing without this. How the hell had I survived so long without the taste of her? This past week and a half might as well have been a year.

I suppressed a groan of disappointment when Avery pulled back. “N-not that that wasn't nice, but … what's going on?” she asked.

“You just said everything I needed to hear,” I replied, echoing the rough note of desire in her voice. I laced our fingers together and started walking us back to my room. The temptation to just take her right here on the living-room carpet was mounting, but I wanted her in my bed. In between kisses that I struggled to keep short, I continued, “If I could marry you someday, I'd be the luckiest man in the world. And I'd never leave you alone once I got you.”

“But with your job you—”

“No man can stay a SEAL forever. It's just too physically demanding. I've got two, maybe three years left before my body can't hack it anymore.” At the threshold of my bedroom, I paused to look into her brimming eyes. “So when that time comes … if you still want me, I'll make you mine. And I won't be going anywhere.”

With a joyful laugh, she threw herself into my arms. Her kiss was all the answer I needed.

I lay her down on the bed and undressed her at my leisure, drinking in every inch of her perfect, soft curves. When she was naked to my hungry eyes, I knelt over her and sealed my mouth to her nipple, sucking and flicking it with my tongue. Her husky sigh spurred me on. I let my hand slip down between her legs—feather-light touches at first, just enough to make her squirm for more and feel how wet she had already gotten. Wanting to feel even more, I pushed two fingers inside her and crooked them to reach her G-spot. She cried out when my thumb moved up to circle her clit.

Her hands fluttered at my shoulders, weakly trying to push me off. “S-stop for a minute,” she panted.

I quickly pulled my fingers out. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, but if you keep going like that, I'll … ”

My eyes widened. “Already?”

“I guess I missed you.” She bit her lip in a shy, but happy grin that made my chest ache as much as my cock. “I want you inside me. I want us to come together.”

I moved up to kiss her, feeling her smile against mine, and pushed inside slowly—until she crossed her ankles behind my back and yanked me in up to the hilt. I took the hint and started thrusting as hard as I could. Moaning aloud now, she clawed at me, just as hungry for this connection as I was. Lips locked tight, our tongues danced until we were dizzy with lack of oxygen, forcing us to break apart for quick gasps before we dove back into each other again.

My eyes slid shut as I concentrated on coaxing more of those intoxicating noises out of her. All my other senses were full to the brim: the salt of dried sweat on her velvety skin, her cries of pleasure already climbing to their peak, her slick tight heat gripping my cock like it never wanted me to leave again, her smell of floral shampoo and musky arousal and something else that was simply, uniquely
Avery
.

“Nixon … I'm…”

Her words dissolved into a lilting cry. The feel of her walls pulsing in ecstasy around me pushed me over the edge. I kissed her hard, drinking in her moans, and drowned in her heat, her scent, her passion.

In all my crazy sexual adventures, I had never made love to a woman before. Hell, I'd never thought I would. But there was a first time for everything.