Stepbrother UnSEALed Page 5

  What?

  My lip trembles as he walks toward me, and there's nowhere to run before his arms are around me again. “I don't know what you're talking about. Of course I didn't know about you last night! Do you think I'm some kind of psycho who really wants to fuck her own stepbrother?”

  He chuckles, rich and smoky, vibrating through my body. “You tell me. Are you?”

  His hands press against my spine, shooting down, smoothing the wrinkles in my dress. He captures my ass and squeezes it, so hard and swift I gasp, inadvertently throwing my hips into his.

  “Goddamn, baby. You don't know what you've got in the trunk, do you? This is an ass men jerkoff to through a whole damned tour. This ass makes boys fight twice as hard in the field, whatever it takes to get home safe and tap it again.”

  Hellfire shrieks in my veins. For the next few seconds, I'm a twisting, writhing mess in his hands, resisting the urge to grind into him like we did last night.

  My clit remembers what he did. It can't forget. Neither can my skin, my nipples, even the tips of my fingertips. They all remember the buzz that flowed through them as we touched, kissed, and stroked ourselves to bliss.

  God, it's undeniable. My entire body wants another taste. I don't want to stop, and my hands involuntarily wrap around my neck.

  His lips press to mine, crushing and hot and forbidden. I can't believe I'm kissing my stepbrother – my own fucking stepbrother!

  That does it.

  I jerk back, wiping his taste off, pretending I'm ten times more disgusted than I really am. His rough hands finally let go and he steps away with a growl.

  “You gotta be shitting me. I really disgust you that much?”

  My heart sinks. I didn't mean it like that. It was just a reaction, a reflex to get him off me, before we toppled into bed together and made the greatest mistake of our lives.

  “Sorry. No, Chris, it's not like that. It's just...this is too much,” I say softly, voice cracking. “You know we can't do this. It's wrong. If only we could've been at their stupid wedding and objected when they took their vows, maybe this would all be different. But it's too late for that. We need to learn to live together without all this teasing, this fighting, this urge to...”

  I can't say it. My cheeks go bright red. Adrenaline shocks my body, raw desire that knows exactly what's on the tip of my tongue.

  “What – to fuck? Because that's what I want to do every goddamned minute I'm standing here with you. I can't keep my hands off you, babe. I'm dangerous.”

  He sounds so cold. Jesus, is this what he's like when he's upset? I talk toward him cautiously, reaching for his shoulder, trying to soothe him. He's a total bastard, but maybe I hurt him more than I realized, struck something evil stirred up inside him by Evie's antics earlier tonight.

  “It's going to be okay, Chris. This doesn't have to be weird or awkward. We can learn to deal, right? We made a big mistake last night, but it was an innocent one! Nobody knows. Nobody but you and me ever have to.”

  Snarling, he shoves my arm away. It's so fast and sudden it scares me. I'm surprised it doesn't hurt. He rips the heavy balcony door open, stopping its momentum like it's nothing in his strong hand, before it crashes against the wall.

  “I don't need your damned pity, and I sure as shit don't need your advice. You're right, it doesn't have to be like this. I'm getting the fuck back to base tomorrow so I don't have to stare at a chick all summer who's too afraid to fuck me. I've never had a problem getting pussy between tours. I want yours, but don't you ever think I need it.”

  Ouch, ouch, ouch.

  Every sentence bruising my ears stabs deep like hateful arrows. I can't think of anything else to say before he lets himself out.

  Oh, shit. Not again! He's going to...

  I rush forward, afraid he's going to slip and break his legs catapulting between our balconies. I push through the screen and call after him, but it's too late.

  He's already jumped, hit the other side, and he hoists himself up. I watch his enormous body jump up over the stone banister like it's nothing. He lands safe like an Olympic gymnast, and he doesn't look back before he disappears inside his own room, completely ignoring me.

  I retreat back to my bed and flop down, only after latching the balcony door this time. I want to beat the shit out of my pillow, but I don't. The noise would probably slip through our shared wall, and I can't stand the thought of the smug, broody bastard smiling at how bad he's pissed me off.

  I hope to god he follows through on his threat to go back to his base. Evie setting up our summer rooms was a big fucking mistake.

  After about an hour, I'm somewhere between rage and sleep, emotionally exhausted from the last twenty-four hours. My brain won't stop running through everything he's ever said to me.

  The horny threats, the arrogance, the teasing, the attraction. Even the mundane details flash through my mind, everything I know about him, tiny bits and pieces. I feel like I still know nothing.

  I've sworn to give Evie a chance for dad's sake, but I know she's bad news. I wonder what it was like growing up with her.

  Are all his asshole, sexaholic tendencies just symptoms of the poison she's left him with?

  I shake my head, trying to fit the pieces together. I shouldn't try. The best thing that can happen to us is distance – cold, clean space.

  But it isn't so easy. Something about watching him go, leaving like this, shocks my heart worse than anything that's happened.

  I'm worried for Chris. Worried for myself. Worried for dad.

  If Evie turned him into the man he is, an ego-filled jackass who thinks he's got the world on his shoulders because he's in the SEALs, what will she do to my dad before this train wreck of a marriage withers?

  Hell, how am I supposed to get anything done on my summer thesis now? Professor Thosser won't stop breathing down my neck. He's going to expect at least an outline in another two weeks, and I'm gobsmacked for ideas, good ideas that could make or break my whole future.

  Something about the last thing Chris said echoes in my head. I've never had a problem getting pussy between tours.

  Just what was he doing overseas before coming home? Had he killed people, blown things up, watched as his own men died?

  He's a rare breed. A modern day warrior living a life I can't imagine. I'm not sure why I want to, but I do.

  Then it hits me. I bolt up out of bed, walk over to my desk where I've got my laptop, and open it. I search through articles, and it doesn't take long to find it.

  The big raid in Kirkuk. It was all over the news in May, and we talked about it in my international politics class before the final.

  US special forces took out several brutal terrorists, but they'd also gotten in the middle of an Iranian operation sneaking across the Iraqi border on their way out. Iran and the United States exchanged fire for the first time in decades. When the dust settled, there were three servicemen killed – probably SEALs – and the wreckage of several high tech gliders was revealed to the world for the first time.

  It almost caused a war. A SEAL Team was definitely involved in the raid, and the military held it close to their chest, deflecting the media's attention to the war threat, which diminished after the US and Iran came to terms.

  I stared at the words and maps on my screen, pushing a lump down my throat. Chris couldn't have been involved...right?

  The timeline fit. So did his attitude, foul tempered and dark, assuming this wasn't just the norm for him.

  My heart starts racing, and I reach up, rubbing my eyes. He'll never talk – not willingly, anyway. But I don't need to know every dirty, gritty, classified detail of what happened in the three way firefight with the terrorists and Iran.

  My greedy little heart skips another beat. I feel like the biggest bitch in the world for wanting to base a paper off my asshole SEAL stepbrother, but what else am I supposed to do when the universe has dropped a goldmine in my lap? Assuming it doesn't land me in his first, I mean.

&n
bsp; It's all right in front of me. A story that'll knock the Professor's socks off. All I have to do is dig.

  I tell myself I have limits. I won't compromise his privacy or national security, no, but I can't ignore all the crazy possibilities here. I pull up a blank document and begin typing furiously, the start of my emotional study in SEAL psychology.

  I'm chewing my lip, tasting the last of his kiss lingering on my skin. I need to get closer to him, have to feel whatever he's feeling in life.

  We don't need to be best friends. We have to stop short of being lovers. What if I just pretend to like him?

  Virgin or not, I know how to flirt. Marnie and my other friends always told me I was cute, and I don't think it was just his own horndog desires that nearly brought him to his knees last night.

  It seems insane on the surface, yeah, but there's a chance it'll also get me what I want, what I need to finish my degree with every door in the world wide open.

  A few minutes later, and it's all worked out. I'm going to apologize to Chris tomorrow and beg him to stay in our house this summer.

  If I can get him to agree to that, I know it won't take much to pull more out of him. We'll play truth or dare. No, I'm not disciplined like a SEAL, but I'm confident I can control myself.

  I'll smile sweetly, tell him anything he wants, maybe even make out if it gets me more, brings me deeper into his life.

  I won't whore myself out. I'll stop short of doing anything crazy – he's my freaking stepbrother!

  I don't care how hot he is, or how wet his filthy mouth gets me sometimes. I know I can resist.

  Pushing him away tonight tells me I can keep control. I'll stop him before he goes too far. If he gets pissed and goes running to his floozies, I won't get jealous.

  It's hard, but it isn't impossible. I'm on target, and a strange kinda confidence tears through my veins.

  I'm going to strip him down, turn his secrets into something beautiful to share with the world.

  This bad boy and all his mysteries are mine. It's only a few hot summer weeks. If I can walk the tightrope without letting him catch on, or find his way into my bed, I'll never have issues saying no to a man again.

  I drift off to sleep wearing a wicked smile. Chris and I should've been fucking right now, if Evie hadn't hooked up with my dad, but I'm done spilling tears over what might've been.

  Having him as my pet project will do more for me than finding out how hard he can slam me into the mattress. He's going to help me grow up, jump start my life, and not by getting my panties off.

  I'm a vibrant young woman, and I can do this. I won't buckle to Chris Cleveland. I'll show my warrior stepbrother who's in control once and for all.

  IV: Landmines (Chris)

  Every time I turn around, there's a fucking landmine.

  I head for base early that morning, grabbing all my crap and hoisting it into my truck. I fight not flip off the prissy shithead in the mansion's guard shack when he opens the gate, giving me another one of those looks that tells me I don't belong here.

  Base is supposed to be my safe haven. It's cramped, spartan, but I've lived with it for almost five years. Enlisting makes you appreciate any warm bed without the threat of some evil bastard sneaking up in the dark and blowing out your brains with a quick, silent shot.

  And compared to all the bullshit drama at home? Staying on base sounds pretty damned good.

  Mom's shown her true colors for about the thousandth time. Marriage hasn't changed her a single shade, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna crash in that god forsaken house while her and sugar daddy beat me up about my career.

  Delia's feelings are crystal clear, too. She threw her hands at me last night like I was carrying the plague when I shoved my lips on hers, grabbed her incredible ass. I was ready to bed her over the bed and pick up right where we started on the beach.

  Today, with less whiskey in my veins, I couldn't totally blame her for being such a bitch.

  I'd almost fucked up royal. Bitch or beauty, she's my stepsister, and she's got a point about all the inevitable hangups that'll come from getting nasty.

  I don't do drama. It's been my policy since my balls dropped and I learned to make women moan.

  Love? Give me a damned break. I only do casual, worry free fucking, and there are a million chicks out here in the Bay Area who'll be happy to ride my cock, without worrying about entangling myself deeper into this twisted family.

  I'm planning to hit the bar tonight after I workout and get my bunk set up. Then I get down to the wing, and I see the notice. It's big, bold military script with a three day date range, starting today.

  FUMIGATION, 18:00 HOURS. ALL ACTIVE DUTY MEN, SEE YOUR COMMANDING OFFICERS ABOUT OTHER ACCOMODATIONS.

  I slam my bag down on the ground and look around, grateful there's nobody else to see me blowing up. I can't believe my horseshit luck.

  Something needs to go right after Kirkuk. The universe fucking owes me.

  A man's supposed to get a break after watching three of his own men cut to pieces. I close my eyes for a second and it all comes rushing back, the screams and explosions. We'd just finished off Abu Alhazred and his guards, flattened him like the terrorist piece of shit he was. The last thing we expected was to see were the Iranians surrounding us, trying to get their hands on all the shit we'd flown in with.

  Commander Jones called their bluff. Who the hell knew to this day if it was the right choice, but it saved our asses, and protected American goods from falling into rival hands.

  They made a move before we blew up the gliders. We protected our assets with deadly force.

  We shot our way out of there. The Iranians balked in the end and opened up an escape route, but only after they'd slaughtered three of our finest while the SEALs were busy planting demo charges on our gear.

  I had to see the commander about other accommodations off base. Knowing Uncle Sam's budget, we'd probably get a crappy two star hotel, tucked away from anything exciting around the city.

  Whatever, anything's better than heading back to that joke of a home. Until I decide to settle down one day, I don't have one, and it doesn't phase me.

  I'll hump it and bring a tent out to the park if I need to. Nothing beats avoiding the freak show, especially watching that little minx with the long black hair tease me with all her charms that are suddenly off limits.

  An hour later, I'm running along the docks, looking out at the submarines peaking up above the water. One of them I'd jumped out of a week ago for drill, my boys behind me in an inflatable raft, swimming toward a small island strewn with barbed wire for the live fire drill.

  The new recruits were on their way to earning their full colors. They'd never replace the guys we'd just lost in Iraq, but fresh blood meant everything in a SEAL Team like ours, always a heartbeat away from a new assault to stamp out some foreign brushfire.

  The commander kept it short and sweet. Jones set me up with a room at a mediocre motel, surprised I wasn't going to crash at my family's place.

  He also reminded me we're always on call – as if I needed to hear it. Anybody with eyes in their skull knew about the Korean situation simmering in the background, ready to go hot the instant their potbellied Dear Leader decides to test his new missiles, which are going to shoot over Hawaii and stretch to California if the President doesn't do something.

  The Norks can't afford another full blown war. They'll never win. But if things go hot, and they're stupid enough to lob rockets at US territory, they'll have to fight when the South and her allies punch back. It's our job to slap their pride before it gets really wounded, and prevent a total meltdown, destroying the sixty year truce that's held along the DMZ.

  I can't wait to get the hell outta here. My boots pound cement, faster and harder than I normally run, trying to scorch away all the blue ball frustration Delia's left me with. If I have my way – and I will – it'll be the last time she riles me up.

  After the workout, it's late evening. I stop for a burger and then
hit the bar next door, only a few blocks from the motel. It's nothing fancy, but it's the perfect place to haul some bar girl for the night.

  Nothing's getting to me tonight. It's not the first time I've used sex to purify my skull, and it's a helluva lot more fun than whiskey and hangovers.

  I'll fuck away the disaster tonight, and forget about everything. Kirkuk, Evie and her billionaire boy toy, my tease of a stepsister with the perfect little ass. With the way shit's going, I'll be sent overseas before I know it, too busy to worry about any of this.

  I work hard enough busting butt for Uncle Sam, and now it's time to play the way I like – hard.

  The loud, half-smashed blonde chick sits on my lap in a corner booth, already moving her hand down my abs, dangerously close to my dick. I'm hard, but I'm not sure why the fuck I don't have my hand up her skirt yet.

  She's a beach girl, all right. Laura, or something. She likes her martinis double strength and her men rock hard.

  She's hot. Skimpy, glaringly bright summer dress, bleached highlights in her hair, fake tits, and a laugh that sounds like a strangled hyena.

  She's the kinda girl I'm used to hauling into bed for the night.

  Too bad I can't stop thinking about Delia, goddammit it. She's a wicked little tease, and having this slut wrapped around my neck reminds me how rare it is to find a party girl in this town who's not just trolling for tonight's dick.

  “Baby, what'sa matter?” she purrs, stopping to push a desperate kiss into my throat. “You act like you just dragged yourself off a long flight. I thought you said you've been here for a few days? Talk to me!”

  I force a thin, fake smile, and run my fingers up over her ass. They move swiftly, giving her goosebumps as I run my hand all the way up her neck, grabbing a fistful of her hair and giving it a tug.

  “You're not my shrink. I don't need to talk. Do you want another drink, or is your pussy wet and ready for me?” Finally, I reach up that skirt.

  Her skin feels warm and dry, probably from too much sun. Fuck.

  My dick jerks – only because I'm remembering Delia's soft thighs, the feel of her cream trickling down her legs after I thumbed her clit into overdrive.