Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (6 page)

I supported myself with my arms around the tree trunk and closed my
eyes. Ashton’s hands moved up my torso and returned to my breasts, grabbing
them from behind and massaging them gently. He toyed with my nipples, twisting
them slightly, making me groan. My pussy was still dripping and I knew that
even though I’d never had a cock in me before, it was the only thing that could
take away the crazed desire I was feeling.

Ashton had been wearing jeans, and I heard the zipper falling as one
of his hands moved back down to my hips, gripping them hard. I shivered under
his touch, and moaned when I finally felt his cock pressed against my wet slit.
My heart skipped a beat: this was really
happening,
my
stepbrother was about to deflower me. The tip alone felt too big as he pressed
it against my tight, delicate virgin pussy.

As he began to slide forward, I let out a low groan and felt my body
pressing back against his, my pussy stretching to fit him. If his fingers had
made me feel filled, his cock was making me feel like I was splitting in half.
My legs shook, my head buzzed, my pussy screamed in mixed pleasure and pain. I
felt him stop, hitting a block inside me; my hips pressed backward, my body
needing to feel him entirely, pain or no pain. Ashton pulled away and I
whimpered.

“This could hurt,” he said from behind me, his voice low and rough.
His hands were digging into my flesh.

“I don’t care, please, Ashton, please fuck me, I need your cock inside
me,” I begged, pushing my body towards him again. “Please,” I whimpered.

“Hold tight,” Ashton said, and I felt his cock against my slit again.
The rough bark against my chest only added to the little pricks of pleasure
that were assaulting my body as he pressed into me, stuffing me to my limit.
With one sudden thrust, I felt a searing pain shoot through my body. I saw red,
nearly fainted, and screamed. My pussy throbbed and pulsed as Ashton’s cock
broke through my hymen; he paused, letting my body recover.

Soon, the pain was easing, dulling, replaced by something I’d never
experience before and could never describe. It was like every inch of his cock
was specially designed to bring my pussy limitless pleasure, and I could feel
my hips pressing backwards again, wanting more. Ashton eased himself forward, a
little at a time, each inch making my temperature rise and sending glorious
rivulets of pleasure through my body.

I felt that same hunger growing inside me, the pressure building in my
tummy, as he pulled my body closer and closer to his. Ashton’s cock was
stretching my pussy, filling it entirely, and when I finally felt it enter all
the way it was all I could do not to fall to the ground.

 
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned,
digging my fingernails into the bark as I relished the feeling; he began to
slowly thrust into me; each time he pulled out my body screamed for him to
return, and each time he did it was better than the last. I could feel the
pressure building. My legs shook, my arms struggled to support me, and Ashton
began to pump into me harder, faster, rocking my body back and forth. His grip
on my hips increased, and he began to push and pull me against him, his strong
arms commanding my body as easy as a ragdoll.

“Oh, oh, fuck, Ashton, oh fuck, fuck me, please, oh god,” I moaned
with each stroke, causing him to move even faster and thrust even deeper. I
could feel his balls smacking against the back of my thighs as he abused my
virgin body, bringing me to new depths of intoxicating pleasure with each pump.

“Touch yourself,” Ashton growled from behind me. It was all I could do
to bring my hand away from the tree that was supporting me, but I would have
done anything Ashton told me at that point. My fingers found my clit and I
began to play with it, hard and swift. I panted as the pressure inside me built
even more, faster, as the sensation of being fucked by my stepbrother and my
own fingers on my clit built on each other.

I felt almost like I was drowning in pleasure, like I could break into
a million pieces, when suddenly I felt Ashton slam into me harder than ever. I
felt warm, gushing liquid entering me, hitting deep within my pussy, massaging
the walls and sending me over the edge. My body erupted in waves of ecstasy, my
legs finally buckling and my clit jumping up as I came.

Each stream of Ashton’s cum pushed me further into heaven as my pussy
milked his cock, coaxing every last gush from his throbbing dick. My body
thrust against Ashton’s, my hips quaking, my pussy undulating in bliss as I
came for what felt like hours. I could barely breathe or open my eyes as it
finally began to subside; Ashton leaned forward, staying inside me and bracing
himself against the tree.

I felt his lips come to the back of my neck, small kisses that made me
shiver and moan. His hands stopped gripping my hips so hard and moved up
towards my face. I let him cup my chin and pull my face around, my muscles
fairly useless at that point. He leaned in further and kissed me, softly, on
the lips. I could feel him wilting inside me and was amazed that even now, when
he was soft, he seemed to fill my pussy to its limits. I moaned as he finally
slipped out of me, trailing cum down my thighs.

“Shit, Christy, I gotta sit down,” Ashton groaned, and my eyes flew
open in surprise as I felt myself pulled back and down, finally collapsing on
top of him on the ground. We laughed, both high off our climaxes, limbs
entwined on the dirt. I rolled off him, then scooched back to him, snuggling
into the crook of his arm. We lay like that, staring up at the tops of the
trees, forever or for a minute. It didn’t matter. Time wasn’t even real at that
point. I ached slightly but it was a sweet ache, and it only reminded me of the
bliss we’d shared.

“Are you still going to leave?” I asked drowsily.

“I don’t know,” Ashton said.

“Don’t,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow
and looking into his eyes.

“It’s not that easy, Christy,” he said, shaking
his head.

“It is. Just don’t leave.”

“My father…I have to…ugh, you’re not the only
reason I was leaving.”

“When will you decide?” I knew I was being pushy, but give me a little
break. I’d just lost my virginity to my stepbrother. I needed answers.

“I don’t know,” he said again, closing his eyes. I knew that if I kept
pressing, it would only drive him away, so I clammed up, hard as it was. We lay
under the trees, in the dirt, watching the sun move across the sky. My fingers
traced the tattoos on his chest while he told me stories from overseas. I told
him stories of my mother. We licked our wounds together, naked under the wide
Kansas sky.

8

When we finally got up, we spaced out our return to the house. It
would be too weird to explain to the Admiral why we happened to get back at the
same time. Blessedly, there was no sign of the Admiral when I got back, so we
needn’t have worried, anyway. Still, I was as quiet as possible going up the
stairs to my room. I didn’t need to face the Admiral after the way I’d acted
that morning. Not that I had been wrong, but the
way
I’d gone about it had certainly been immature, and I was
ashamed of myself.

The house was dark and quiet. I fell into my bed, more tired than I
could ever remember being. I felt warm, inside and out, and wished that Ashton
was lying next to me, but was content to know he wasn’t far away. As I drifted
off, I thought about Ashton moving out, and thought that the house would feel
emptier than it already did.

Without my mother filling the house with singing and talking, it had
felt so unlike the house I knew. The Admiral had helped, with the sheer
loneliness and the mourning, but there was a stillness and a quietness that
seemed to penetrate the very floorboards. In the past few days, that had seemed
to get better because I’d had Ashton to think about and worry myself over.

And, if I’m being truthful, I fantasized about what it would be like
if he stayed. There’d be laughter again, and singing, and conversation. I’d be
happy and he’d be happy and the Admiral would be happy that we were happy, even
if we could never let him know
why
we
were so happy. These were the thoughts that finally lulled me to sleep.

In the morning, birds were singing. Birds sang every morning, of
course, but this time I heard them and smiled. I felt even more sore than I had
the evening before, but it made me smile even wider to think of why I was so
sore. I bounced out of bed – yes, bounced, the way Ashton had accused me of
doing that time in the kitchen – and down the stairs.

The house was quiet, the lights off. No one was in the kitchen, but
there were two coffee cups in the sink. I wandered out to the living room and
looked out the front window. Both the Admiral’s Mercedez and Ashton’s pick-up
truck were gone. My heart seemed to freeze as I realized what that meant. My
smile was wiped away in an instant. I rushed upstairs and into Ashton’s room,
not bothering to knock. It was bare. The weight-lifting equipment and computer
were gone, the mattress was gone, everything was gone.

He didn’t even fucking say goodbye?
I thought angrily; true, he was only in town,
which was a
twenty minute
drive, and I could see him
whenever I wanted, really, but I was mad that he hadn’t woken me up to tell me
and say goodbye.

He just left in the wee hours of the morning, like someone on the run.
Irrational as it was, I felt like he was running away from
me.
I knew, in the logical part of my brain, that it was his father
he was trying to get away from, but part of me just couldn’t believe that it
had nothing to do with me.

I spent most of the day pacing around the living room, trying to find
something on the TV that could distract me. I tried calling Ashton’s cell phone
a few times, but he never picked up. I sent him texts, too, which went
unanswered. If he was trying to avoid me, he was doing a splendid job.

Frustrated and feeling ignored, I loafed about until it was dark. I
was waiting, mostly, for the Admiral to get home so I could at least ask him
about the apartment and about Ashton. I wouldn’t ask too many questions, of
course: after the day before, I was very aware that discretion would be of
utmost importance when dealing with the Admiral. Still, a few innocent
questions couldn’t be too revealing.

It seemed like midnight before I heard the Admiral’s car pull up, but
it was really only about nine. Even before he got into the house, I had an idea
that he’d been drinking. I could tell by the way it seemed to take him forever
to get the key in the lock. I’d rarely seen the Admiral drunk. Almost never,
actually. The few times I had seen him drunk, he’d been pretty jolly and then
passed out.

Now, as he finally managed to let himself in, I watched him sway and
stumble over the doorway. His eyes were glazed over as he scanned the room. I
don’t think he even realized I was there until he saw me the second time.

“Hey, kiddo,” he slurred.
Kiddo?
That’s weird,
I thought. There were many things the Admiral and I did not
do: one of them was affectionate pet names.

“Uh, hi,” I said, eyebrows raised. He looked like shit. Honestly, just
awful. I decided not to ask him any of the questions I really wanted to, even
though I knew him being drunk would probably actually be the best time to ask
him.

“How are you,” he said, shambling across the room
and plopping down next to me on the couch.

“I’m fine, Admiral. How was your day? Did you
help Ashton move?”

“Yeah, he moved. And I forgot the pizza. We went to -hic- the
Statesman after,” the Admiral said, hiccupping in between his words.

“It’s okay,” I said, getting up. “I’ll make you a sandwich. You should
eat something.” There was something sad and disappointing and sickening about
seeing the Admiral like that. I just had always seen him as so in control…

“You’re –hic- you’re the best, Christy, you really –hic- are, really,
just like your mother,” the Admiral slurred, his eyes wandering aimlessly
across the room. I gave him a half smile and went to the kitchen. I quickly
made a ham sandwich with lots of pickles.

Not being much of a drinker myself, I’d heard once that pickle juice
helps with a hangover, so I figured eating pickles pre-emptively would help him
feel better in the morning. As I said before, the Admiral and I were far from
familial, but I
did
care about him. I
also grabbed a tall glass of water, intending to force him to drink it.

Returning to the living room, I half expected to find him already
passed out. Instead, he was sitting up a little straighter. I handed him the
plate and set the water glass in front of him. He patted the seat next to him.
I didn’t really want to sit that close; he reeked of booze, and he was drunk
and slurring and had already invaded my personal space when he sat down.

“I think I’m actually going to go on up to bed,”
I said, turning towards the stairs.

“Please, Christy, just keep me company a little bit. I want to talk to
you about your mother,” he said. He’d taken a huge bite of the sandwich and was
chewing noisily. I cringed to think about having to sit so close to him, but I
figured I could at least humor him for a little while. I sat down, trying to
curl myself up against the end of the couch so as to be as far from him as
possible.

“Your mother was a great woman. An amazing woman. One of the best I
ever knew,” the Admiral said between mouthfuls of the sandwich. It was gone in
a minute and he reached out, his hand shaking, and grabbed the water. He
chugged it quickly then leaned back into the sofa. When he started speaking
again, he seemed slightly
more sober
than he had
before.

“She always said how she loved you, Christy. She loved you so much.
Your mother had so much love. And I always told her I’d take care of you. I’m
doing that, right? I’m taking care of you?” He looked at me, a beseeching look
in his eyes. I felt bad for him and nodded.

“You’re taking great care of me, Admiral,” I
said. “You’ve been a good friend this past month.”

He reached out and grabbed my thigh, patting it gently. That would
have been fine if he had pulled his hand away right after that. Instead, he let
it sit on my thigh. My stomach turned slightly. The rational part of me said
that he was just drunk and emotional. The irrational part of me was getting
scared.

“You’re a beautiful young lady, Christy. You really are. You look like
your mother. She was beautiful, too. So many beautiful women in my life. I’m
lucky to have so many beautiful women in my life,” he said with a sigh.

His hand still lay on my thigh, and now it began to move back and
forth slowly, rubbing against my bare flesh. I wished I’d worn long pants that
day. I put my hand on his to stop the rubbing, but when I tried to pull it away
I found I couldn’t move it. He was strong. A lifetime in the military will make
sure of that. I began to get more scared with each passing second.

“Don’t I take good care of you, Christy? I take care of all my
beautiful women. I take good care of you,” he said, his face turned to mine,
his eyes locked on my face. I turned away. I felt nauseous. I knew I should
just get up and leave, but something told me that it wouldn’t help. His hand on
my thigh was growing heavier and heavier, and I realized it was because he was
actually pressing down on it, holding it in place.

“You take good care of me, Admiral,” I repeated, hoping against hope
that everything I was feeling was just in my head. We were alone in the house
now…

“I just want to take care of you, Christy. Anything you want, anything
you need, I want to give it to you. Anything,” he said, his stare growing
harder and fiercer. My heart was starting to race, my blood pumping quickly. I
tried to stand up, needing to get away. He felt me starting to rise and pushed
me down, his hand moving from my thigh to my stomach and pushing me against the
couch.

I looked into his eyes. The Admiral was drunk, but being drunk wasn’t
going to explain what I saw there. Panic hit me in full.

“Please, let me go upstairs,” I said, loudly,
hoping to sound confident and fearless.

“Fucking bitches always take you for granted,” he suddenly snarled,
his voice dropping. “I take care of you and you fucking take me for granted.
You call me a fascist, you’re just a stupid little kid. You don’t know
anything. You’re just a spoiled brat. I put you through college. I took care of
your mother. I took care of you. I want what I deserve.”

“Please, Admiral, stop,” I said, tears coming to my eyes, my body
struggling against him. He was leaning into me now, using his girth and weight
to keep me in place. One of my arms was pinned underneath him.

“Fuck, Christy, I’m just trying to take care of you, make you feel
good, let me…” He stopped speaking and lunged, hurling his massive body on top
of mine.

“No!” I screamed, lashing out and raking my nails across his face. He
grabbed my hand and pulled it backwards, making my shoulder scream in pain. I
could smell the liquor on his breath, could feel him slowly thrusting his hips
against me. He lowered his mouth to mine as I tried to scream, suffocating the
sound as his tongue filled my mouth.

I’d never felt so sick in my entire life; the taste of whiskey was
strong, and I felt my skin crawling as his tongue darted around my mouth
aimlessly. I was caught underneath him, only able to struggle fruitlessly as he
kept me pinned in place. I could feel his cock swelling in his pants and tears
streamed down my face. He pulled away and looked at me, nothing but hate in his
eyes.

“You fucking bitch. Fucking bitches just expect other people to take
care of them and never give anything back. You come back here all fucking
educated and independent but you’re in MY fucking house and you’re MY fucking
stepdaughter and I’m gonna fuck you like you want to be fucked, like you
deserve to be fucked, for being such a goddam bitch,” he snarled.

Nothing he was saying was making any sense, but it didn’t matter. He
was drunk and he’d lost control and apparently had been thinking about this for
a while. I felt my adrenaline racing, my mind reeling, fear gripping my heart.
He began gyrating against me again, his cock hard as he humped me.

“Please, please stop,” I begged, throwing my head to the side and
closing my eyes, feeling the tears stream down my face. “You don’t want to do
this to me.”

“I’ve wanted to do this to you since I met you, you little whore.
You
stupid liberal little hippie whore,” he growled and
began to thrust against me harder. My one arm was still pinned underneath him,
the other in the Admiral’s hand. He was pulling it back harder and harder. I
thought my shoulder was going to snap. I thought that he was going to rape me.
I thought that my life was about to be over.

And then the door opened. I barely heard it or registered it in my
panic, but once the door slammed shut it was like someone had turned on all the
lights. Even the Admiral took notice, and he released my hand as he spun
around. With my arm free, I took the opportunity to push him away.