Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance (52 page)

“Reagan.”

The knock at my door makes me jump, makes my heart leap into my throat; “Go away, Hudson.” I croak out. It takes every ounce of my control to keep my voice level and not betray the quaver I’m trying so hard to contain; “And learn to lock the damn door!”

I can hear him growl in the hallway; “Will you just open
this
one and we can ta-“

“There’s nothing to talk about.” My eyes are clenched tightly, my fingers digging into my palms as I chew at my lip, not sure if I want to will him to walk away or break the door down and take me right here and now. I can hear him swear under his breath on the other side of the door and then I jump at the sound of a palm slamming flat against the doorframe.

“Damnit, Reagan, open-“

“There’s
nothing
to talk about, Hudson.” I saw quietly; “Just lock the door next time.”

Please don’t ask me to open this door again or I know I will,
I think, chewing at my lip with my eyes closed tight. I’m so close to the edge that I know if he asks me again, there’s no way I’ll be able to say no. I clench my eyes closed even tighter, feeling my body shiver with desire and feeling the heat pulsing between my legs.
Please, ask me-

The door to the guest room slamming shut down the hallway makes me jump, and I let my breath out suddenly, realizing I’ve been holding it. I count to three, and then ten, and then fifty before I open my door. I poke my head out to see that the hallways is clear, before I slip out and pad barefoot to the bathroom.

It’s still steamy in here from him, though I guess he never got a chance to take a shower before I barged in. There’s a bottle of aftershave lying on the sink next to a razor, and before I can stop myself, I’m holding the bottle to my nose and smelling his scent; letting it fill my senses as the steam of the room swirls around me. His aftershave hasn’t changed, and the smell instantly has me back there, back where we came so close. His hands are on me again, pushing me against the stone behind us as he kisses me; his hardness pressing hotly against my thigh through his pants.

I blush crimson, knowing that as of seven minutes ago, I know
exactly
what that hardness looks like.

I shake my head to clear it as I reach to turn on the water, trying to shake
him
out of my thoughts. The aftershave hasn’t changed, and as much as I want to think the man who wears it
has
with this whole new sober, healthy, helpful and positive Hudson, I know it’s just a new facade. People don’t change, not like that.

But when I step under the hot spray of the water, he’s still in my head;
all
of him. And as much as I want him gone from my thoughts, as the water teases electrically over my skin, the vivid image of his rock-hard body and his
big
cock standing a foot away from where I stand now invade every corner of my brain. I’m wet; far wetter than I’d be just from standing under a shower head, and before I can stop it, I’m pushing my hands down over my hips and over my stomach, and sliding them lower. My fingers roll over my aching clit, making me gasp quietly as I lean my forehead against the tile wall. A moan as soft as the steam rising around me escapes my lips as I rub myself there, picturing Hudson standing hot and ripped and naked right in front of me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body, and then closer still as I feel the throbbing heat of his erection press against my thigh. I picture myself letting him go further then, instead of pushing him away like I did. His mouth is on mine, sliding down to suck one of my nipples into his mouth before he slides lower still until he’s sliding his tongue deep into my wetness as I buck against his mouth. I moan again, louder this time as I slide a finger over my entrance and push it inside. I’m squeezing my eyes shut tight, already feeling myself start to tumble as I rock my hips to grind my clit against the palm of my hand as I picture Hudson wrapping my legs around his muscled waist and sliding that big, hard-

The bathroom door slams open; “Is my toothbrush-“

“Hudson!” But it’s not a cry of anger or shock, or even surprise; it’s me crying out his name as I come. And gasping out his name as my body begins to shatter pushes me tumbling over that sweet edge as my climax explodes through me.

“I- uh-“ His voice is choked, and as I look up through the semi-frosted clear shower curtain, I see him staring at me as he backs out of the room; “Sorry.”

The door shuts, and I slump against the wall, feeling like I want to turn to liquid and let the water pelting down on top of me carry me right down the drain along with it.

It’s a frosted shower curtain, so- no, there’s no way-

The water and the steam swirl around me as I slide to my knees in the tub and curl my legs up to my chin as I rock myself. He couldn’t have;
God
he couldn't have.

Chapter Ten

P A S T

“Here, drink up.” Rob from accounting slides me a glass of amber liquid, and I wonder for the ninth time why the fuck I came out to a damn
club
tonight. To blend in, I guess? To go out with some of the “guys from the office” and be a normal person maybe? In any case, this is going from a stupid to a terrible idea really fast as I find myself staring at the glass in front of me with the hunger of a man who hasn’t eaten in a year. Some people keep a medallion of some kind around like some sort of stupid talisman or lucky charm that they can attach themselves to when they start to feel weak about relapsing. 

I carry the bullet they pulled out of my shoulder in my pocket.

I smile at Rob and Hiro, and some guy who’s name I’m pretty sure is Mike; “Naw, I’m good, thanks though man.”

Hiro frowns at me; “You
did
see the year on that bottle this shit came out of right?”

I force out a laugh; “Yeah, looks like good stuff.”
It looks like mana from the Gods and I want to guzzle the whole fucking bottle, but I can’t do that you fucking pricks.

Rob looks at me quizzically; “Wait, are you really not gonna drink it? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Thanks though.”

“Dude, just have a fuckin drink.” Probably-Mike says, sipping on the scotch in his hand.

“I said fucking
no
, ok?” I clench my fists, feeling the rage hit me harder than I was thinking it would. I need some new fucking friends.

They all give me strange looks and I shake my head; “Sorry, I’ve just got a long day tomorrow at work.”

That seems to be the magic word as Rob nods empathetically; “Old Man Archer got you working on the West Side Highway project huh?”

No, actually I’m just distracted by the fact that I can’t get Old Man Archer’s DAUGHTER out of my fucking head for even a second.  
“Mhmm, yeah, it’s a doozy.”

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see 120 pounds of
sex
just staring at me with dark brown eyes and a hot pink dress; “Hey, you wanna dance?”

She’s hot, she’s dressed up, she’s smiling at me like that and batting those eyes; why not? Hey, a man’s gotta have
some
vices, and it’s not drinking, right?

“Uh, sure.”

And then we’re out in the heat and the sweat of the throngs of peoples dancing and moving to the thumping bass on the dance floor, and I’m just not feeling it. She’s all over me, her hands on my biceps as she tries to grind on me, and instead of getting turned on it’s just putting me off in a major way.

“Look, just stop.”

She looks at me like doesn’t hear what I said and leans in to try and kiss me. I push her back and hold her there with my hands on her arms; “I said stop.”

She pouts; “Awww, you’re no
fun.
”

“Ok.” I turn and start to push my way through the crowd when she grabs my hand; “Hey, lets just get out of here instead. I’ve got plenty to drink at my place.”

Ok, this girl is seriously asking me to come home with her, I’m seriously about to say no, and I’m starting to wonder if there is
seriously
something wrong with me; “No, thanks.”

She looks at me like I’m totally nuts, which I can’t exactly disagree with her on at that particular junction; “Well fuck you then, prick.”

Yeah, fuck me, right?

The guys I came with are out trying to score on the dance floor, so I just pay their tab as a goodbye before I just leave. Out on the street, I breathe, fingering the metal slug in my pocket and feeling the sharp tug of the addiction demons grabbing at my fucking throat. Me, Hudson Banks, turning down no-strings sex with a hot girl; something is definitely throwing the world and reality as we know it out of whack. I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I see her name.
This
is why the world is off it’s axis, I think as I stare at Reagan Archer’s number.

Fuck
, this is a bad idea.

P R E S E N T

It’s hours later, and I’m still rock hard. All I can think about - the only possible real thought going through my head at all actually - is the memory of her calling my name like that;
Jesus.
I mean I couldn't
totally
see through the curtain, but I could enough that I can
assume
what she was doing, and
assuming
is enough to have me going out of my mind right now. It’s not just the way she said my name like that either, it’s knowing
what
she was doing, naked with that hot water steaming over her perfect skin, trickling over her hot body when she did say it. It’s knowing that she was uttering my name when she came, and that thought has kept me hard for
hours
since.

I tried fixing the situation myself;
by hand
, if you will. I tried wrapping my hand around my throbbing hard cock and stroking it as I imagined Reagan’s perfect pouty lips wrapping around my dick. I tried to imagine that insane body of hers sliding down onto me, my cock sliding hotly through her wetness as she came for me -
on
me - calling my name. But it wasn't the same, not by a damn mile, and I just couldn't do it with being pissed at it not being the real thing. 

The apartment,
completely
unsurprisingly, has been silent since; like, pin-drop quiet. And I’m willing to bet she’d down the hall doing the exact same thing I am - sitting on a bed staring at a wall trying to get thoughts together enough to think about what the hell we do now. What we had before? Yeah, they call that sexual
tension
. Now? I don’t they have a name for whatever the fuck falls between sexual tension and fucking, but Goddamn if it isn’t so damn
tense
that I feel like I’m about to snap.

I’m on my feet in a second; I can’t just stay in this tiny fucking guest room anymore. Her door is still closed when I go to the living room and turn on some mindless movie, thoughI think I hear the quietest intake of breath in the world as I walk past her door.

I want to leave, well, sort of. I want to give her
space
is more accurate.
I
don’t want to leave at all, but something tells me Reagan will stay in her room
indefinitely
until I do. I whip out my phone and text my office to get two of my guys to come watch the place tonight so I can get the fuck out of here; so I can clear the air of whatever just happened back there.

“Sorry for walking in on you.”

Her voice makes me jump, and I’m amazed at how I never heard her coming; “Reagan-”

“I’m sorry for walking in on you.” She repeats herself, her voice level and quite, her face neutral, as if she never said it the first time at all.

“I- I’m sorry too, for, walking in on-”

For walking in on you with your fingers buried in that sweet pussy that I’d love to cover with my mouth and lick until you couldn’t see straight
is what I want to say. I don’t obviously, but it doesn’t stop me from congratulating myself on being such a smooth talker.

“It’s fine,” She cuts off my thoughts; “Look, if we’re going to- I mean if you’re going to be around-“ She sighs, her hand coming up as she runs her fingers through her long hair; “That time before- you know, at my Da-“

“This is my
job
, Reagan, I’m not going to get tripped up by-“

“No, look, I’m just saying before was nothing, right?”