Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (14 page)

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Part 3

16

“And why didn’t you go to the police first?”

“Well, I didn’t feel safe. I still don’t feel safe. And, no disrespect
to the boys in blue, but from what I know of the powers that be, the military
outranks the police. I felt that by reporting the incident, I’d make it all too
easy for the military to interfere, and then I’d be dead and buried before I
ever got a chance to go public,” I said.

“Dead and buried?”

“Well, not literally,” I said, realizing that hadn’t been the best
choice of words. “Although, I mean, maybe, I don’t know. But I guess I thought
– well, the military had done a good enough job of keeping everything on the
down low for so long, and had found ways to silence all the other girls. Why
wouldn’t I be worried?”

“And you said you still don’t feel safe?”

“Not really, no. I mean, people follow me and my people around
everywhere. I know some are just reporters. I think some are private
detectives. But it doesn’t exactly put your mind at ease, you know, being
trailed.”

“A lot of people have said that you’re just looking for attention.
What do you have to say to them?”

“I guess I’d tell them that they don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m
not lying. People are afraid that if I’m telling the truth, that means
something very bad about the military, about America. I’m not trying to tear
anything down. I respect our nation. My story is about one evil man, and some
bad decisions that allowed him to continue being an evil man.

I just want to make sure that he gets what’s coming – for me, for the
other girls – and that we don’t let more evil men like him keep being evil.
That’s the only change I’m looking for. No one has to believe me. If you don’t,
you can keep not believing me. It won’t change what I went through, or what
anyone else who was assaulted by Admiral Walsh went through.

At the end of the day, when we’re all judged by whatever forces of
good and evil are out there, what he did will show up on his record, not mine.
My conscience is clear.”

“But surely, with the recent increase in rape allegations among
celebrities and other high-profile figures, you must be aware of how opportune
this seems.”

“The Admiral – sorry, Admiral Walsh – also must have thought it seemed
opportune to attack me that night. He certainly wasn’t thinking about Bill
Cosby, or anyone else. Neither am I. The fact is, things like this happen every
day, no matter what else is going on in the news. Rapists don’t care. And
neither do I.”

“In all the time you were growing up with him, you never had any hints
or indications that he wasn’t who he seemed to be?”

“No. Well, perhaps, but only in retrospect. Hindsight is 20/20. But
no, I didn’t. I didn’t know about how he’d treated his first wife. I didn’t
know about the other girls. He was just my stern but decent stepfather. My
mother loved him. He seemed to make her happy. He never, uh, did anything that
made me think he was anything but who he said he was.”

“But your stepbrother knew, correct? And he’s been with you through
this ordeal. How did you feel, when you found out he knew about Admiral Walsh’s
past?”

I hesitated. The question was a tough one. I didn’t hold it against
him anymore, at least not so much, but I could still remember, vividly, the
rage and hatred that I’d felt when I realized he’d known all along that his
father had the capacity to do such awful things. And hadn’t done anything to
protect me. It had been something I thought about. How much could I really
trust Ashton? How many of his promises to protect me, keep me safe, could I
have faith in, when he’d done nothing to protect me before?

“I was angry. I was furious. I hated him, in fact. But he was
struggling with his own issues. It’s not easy, you know, for a son to betray
his father. He still struggles with that. I love my stepbrother,” I said,
pausing as I tried to think up the right thing to say. Saying “I love my
stepbrother” on national TV was an interesting experience, considering how
“unique” my love for him really was. It certainly wasn’t sisterly love.

“I love him, and I forgive him, and this has been as trying for him as
it’s been for me,” I finally said, hoping to move on to a new topic.
Thankfully, we did.

“Now, there have been some allegations made against you, specifically
in your academic history. What can you tell us about the paper you supposedly
plagiarized?”

“Not much, since I didn’t plagiarize it. And it’s worthwhile to note
that since I came public, my accuser has all but disappeared from the face of
the earth. It’s my belief that he was paid to come forward in an effort to
discredit me.”

“Well, you must admit, it was fairly effective. People have said that
if you’d lie about writing a paper, you could lie about just about anything.”

“Let them say that,” I said, aware of the frustration that was trying
to take control of me. I held it back. I was tired of repeating myself,
defending myself, but there was nothing for it. I had to. “My academic record
stands as its own evidence. I’ve never needed to steal someone else’s work.”

“Well, it’s true, your teachers and peers have had nothing but amazing
things to say about you. You were on quite a track to academic stardom before
all this happened. How do you think this may
affect…”

And on and on. Another interview. Another day. In a life I never
expected, or wanted, but which I chose.

17

“We’re here today with Christy Starling, the woman who launched a
thousand tweets…”

“All eyes today are on Christy Starling and the man she alleges
attempted to rape her, her stepfather Admiral Joe Walsh…”

“Stepping forward with a shocking allegation of attempted rape by
Admiral Joe Walsh, Christy Starling…”

“Actual victim, or shameless attention seeker? Christy Starling’s bold
accusations have been making headlines for the past week…”

“Four other women have come forward thus far with similar or worse
stories of the Admiral’s conduct during their military training…”

“What kind of country are we living in when a hippie-dippy college
student can get away with accusing a revered pillar of the American military…”

“The shocking report describes levels of military misconduct
previously unknown to the civilian population…”

“We’re talking about some girl who wanted to make a splash, and some
other girls following in her wake, and it all happens at the expense of a man
who should be enjoying a well-deserved retirement after devoting his whole life
to America…”

“The hashtags ‘#exposethebastards’ and ‘#christystarlinglies’ have
popped up on both sides of the social media frenzy…”

“u go @christystarling. Take ‘em down 1 by 1 #exposethebastards”

“hey @christystarling, it’s ‘not for self but for COUNTRY’ – not
CUNT-ry #christystarlinglies”

 
“remember that time
@christystarling plagiarized a paper? Liars gonna lie #christystarlinglies”

“standing with @christystarling & every1 else who want 2 see REAL
CHANGE #exposethebastards”

“lying fucking bitch ill give u something 2 really cry about how dare
u disrespect some1 who gave their whole life to USA #christystarlinglies”

“just sayin u
cant
blame him tho if
@christystarling was my stepdaughter I wouldn’t have waited so long lol smh”

When would it get old? When would I stop caring? When would it stop
hurting to be called out in every possible way? The thing was, no matter how
many people were on my side, it didn’t make up for how many people called me
names, threatened me, all hiding safely on the other side of a computer.

I winced as Ashton came up behind me, laying his strong hands on my
shoulders. He began to knead them softly, and I let my guard fall slightly. I
was happy he couldn’t see the look of panic that had flitted across my face
when he first touched me; there’s nothing quite like death threats to make
unexpected physical contact terrifying.

I leaned back, smelling his cologne, closing my eyes and trying to
focus on how good his hands felt on my back, rubbing away the knots and kinks
that kept me in a state of constant agitation. As he worked out a particularly
rough knot, I knew that it would be back by the time morning came around.

But I needed to enjoy him in that moment. It was rare, now that I’d
become the center of the country’s attention, for us to have a moment together
in private. It had been forever, it seemed, since we could both enjoy each
other’s company without worrying about someone seeing us and thinking that we
were enjoying each other’s company a little too much.

On a whirlwind tour from city to city, conducting interviews and
talking to lawyers and appearing at rallies, we could only be ourselves during
the scant hours we were in our hotel rooms; we always got two rooms, and would
have to sneak back and forth. I’d never thought about paparazzi in any other
context but celebrity; but I had my own form of celebrity now, and there were
cameras hiding around every corner.

And I knew they weren’t all just news outlets looking to snap a
perfect candid picture; some were private investigators, hired to dig up dirt
on me that could discredit me, make my story crumble under my feet.

I looked up at Ashton, my stress not quite melting away but definitely
taking a backseat for the time being. He was looking down at me, shaggy blonde
hair falling into his eyes. My heart flinched, as though it had accidentally
strained itself.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, suddenly, feeling a wave of guilt and regret
crash over me.
I’ve ruined it all for us.
I’ve ruined his life. He should never have come home at all…

Ashton’s grip on my shoulders increased, and he stopped kneading them.
We were alone in my hotel room. The curtains were drawn. His grip on me almost
hurt at that point. Suddenly, I felt myself pulled backwards, the swivel chair
I was sitting on pulled violently through the room. Ashton turned the chair
around and leaned over, looking me dead in the eye as I shrunk backwards.

“Don’t you ever fucking apologize to me again,” he growled, his hot
breath against my face, his blue eyes piercing me to the bone. I remembered how
he’d looked at me, before any of this had happened, when he’d tried to warn me
about the admiral. I felt my heart quicken, the guilt seeping away as lust
edged in, taking its place. That stare…his muscles stood out on his arms as he
gripped the back of the chair.

“Or what?” I asked, baiting him, leaning forward now, falling into his
eyes. It had been so long since we were alone…I saw confusion flash over his
face, quickly replaced by understanding and then amusement.

“Or you’ll have to be punished,” he said with a sly grin,
straightening himself up in front of me. My stepbrother reached down, grabbing
a handful of my hair, pulling it back so that my neck almost snapped. My
breathing grew fast at his touch, the feel of his fingers against my scalp like
embers burning me.

“How?” I asked, breathless. I glanced down; Ashton’s cock was visibly
hard, pressing against his jeans. We’d learned pretty quickly to seize the
moment when it arrived, and all I needed to do to get him hard was look at him
in a certain way, with just the right amount of submission, just a touch of
lust. He, in turn, could make my nipples stand at attention with the slightest
yank on my hair.

“Maybe I’d make you slide those pretty little lips over my cock,” he
said, eyes dancing over me as I sat before him, looking up. “How’d you like
that?”

I moaned, biting my lip and nodding, pussy coming to life as I thought
about having my stepbrother’s hard cock in my throat, pulsing deep. I could
reach out right then and grab it, stroke it, worship it with my tongue. But I
wanted him to make me. It was more fun that way, when we played our little
game. Sometimes, he was the one who needed to be punished. But I never minded
it being the other way around, either.

Ashton’s hand came to his jeans and he unbuttoned himself with one
hand, letting the zipper come down on its own as his massive cock popped
forward. My mouth salivated as I looked at it; it was only half-erect yet it
still seemed too big for my little mouth.
 
Still, I knew what to do, and I leaned forward, letting my tongue lap
over the purplish head, tasting the slightest salty pre-cum as it dribbled down
my throat.

Ashton moaned and grabbed at my hair, kneading my scalp, as I wrapped
my lips around the swollen, puffy head, feeling his cock throb to life in my
mouth, growing harder as I flicked it with my tongue, keeping my eyes locked on
Ashton’s as he looked down at me. His grip on my hair increased as he grew
harder, and I slid my mouth further down his shaft, using my spit to lubricate,
feeling the massive girth of him puff my cheeks out as I struggled to take too
much of it in at once.

I gasped, panting, pulling back to take a breath. Ashton allowed it,
but only for a moment, before gently yanking my head back onto his cock. I took
it back into my lips happily, feeling his hips thrust slightly as I inched my
way down, stroking the underside with my tongue as I went.

When I felt the head hitting the back of my throat, I stifled a gag,
trying to swallow as my body began to react to the choking feeling. My breath
was ragged in my nose, my heart pounding, throat going into spasms as he
continued to thrust, ever so slightly, into my throat, pushing past my tongue’s
reach, ravishing my mouth like it was his property.

Which it was, as far as I was concerned.

I moaned around his cock, trying to fight the tears that were
beginning to prick behind my eyes, and clutched at my own pussy, rubbing it
through my sweatpants as my stepbrother’s hard cock pummeled into my throat.
The rough fabric of my sweatpants against my clit was electrifying, and I felt
my slit growing wet as I ground my hand against my pussy, my body filling with
adrenaline and lust as I choked and struggled to breath.

The panicky feeling only added to the sensation in my slit, my clit
now standing at attention as I moved my hips and hand together, almost riding
my own hand as desire whipped through me. Ashton was holding my head in place,
tight, as he pumped into my raw throat, grunting as my tongue slid along the
base of his cock, my nose almost pressed into the small patch of hair above his
dick.

“Fuck, Christy,” he moaned as I swallowed desperately around the head
of his cock, massaging it, spit flowing freely. I plunged my hand down the
front of my sweatpants, my pussy demanding more, and my eyes rolled back into
my head as my fingers met my swollen clit, circling it desperately.

Ashton was pumping even harder now, his cock nudging my throat, and I
could feel my own wetness spilling out of me, staining my pants and lubricating
my finger as I toyed with myself. The fact that my stepbrother was using me as
his personal sex toy, the fact that I would have begged him to treat me that
way, only turned me on more as I plunged two fingers into my slit, pressing my
palm hard against my clit.

“Take all of it,” Ashton growled, his pace increasing, his grip on my
head more forceful, his thighs visibly clenching as he prepared to fill his
stepsister’s throat with his warm cum. I was more than ready; my fingers darted
in and out of my pussy, my palm massaging my clit, my own body tensing and
preparing for its climax.

I closed my eyes, relishing the way his cock throbbed against my
tongue, knowing that I was giving him so much pleasure, waiting to swallow
every drop of his load. I moaned once more as I curled my fingers inside me, my
body reaching a breaking point, my clit feeling like it was going to burst in
pleasure.

I felt the first hard, hot burst of his cum hit the back of my throat
and let myself go, bucking and shaking against my hand as my hips thrust down
against it, drawing every inch of pleasure from my pussy up throughout my body,
which danced and jittered in desperate delight as my climax broke over me, the
taste of my stepbrother’s cum as it filled my abused throat only bringing me to
new heights.

He was plunged all the way into my mouth as he came, his seed filling
my throat and belly as I tried to swallow it all while my own body contracted
in pleasure. Tears poured down my throat, I could barely breathe, and yet
Ashton’s cock continued to pour its load into me, until he released my head,
spent, his cock sliding out of me with a plop, leaving me panting and breathing
raggedly, hand still lingering in my pussy as it dripped my juices down my
thigh, the walls slightly pulsing against my fingers with the last of my
orgasm.

Breathless, dizzy, throat raw, stomach full of Ashton’s cum, I
collapsed backwards against the chair, slouching slightly as I struggled to
even keep my eyes open. Ashton grabbed my chin, leaning down as he pulled my
head upwards, our lips meeting, now tender and gentle.

“Was that okay for you?” he asked, pulling away, eyes concerned. He
always worried about me not enjoying myself; it was almost laughable,
considering the fact that he could probably make me come just from looking at
me. I groaned and shook my head.

“No, that was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, I hate swallowing
your delicious cum while I fuck myself,” I said, jokingly, mustering up enough
energy to give him a teasing look. He gave me a playful, brotherly shake,
grabbing my hair and gently tugging it back and forth.

“You’ve got some mouth,” he said, releasing me and stumbling backwards
onto the bed. I lifted myself up, noticing how my juices had stained my
sweatpants, and joined him, snuggling into the crook of his arm.

“You mean for fucking, or for talking?” I asked.

“Both,” he said with a grin. I sighed, contended, the pressure of my
new life fading away as I drifted into an oxytocin-drenched wonderland, the
musky, salty taste of him still lingering in my mouth.