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  Abort, abort! my brain screamed at me. I had to seize back control, right now, or my own body wouldn't give me another chance. I leaped up, putting my wineglass on the coffee table so quickly I almost tipped it over. “I-it's late,” I stuttered. “I think I should call it a night. Sorry.”

  Without waiting for his reply, I fled from Nixon for the second time that day. I didn't even look back as I hurried down the hallway. I really wasn't sorry at all, but I still didn't want to see his reaction. I didn't know what would be worse: him frowning in disappointment, shrugging in oh well whatever apathy, or staring hungrily at my ass. I couldn't deal with any of it right now. I'd had too much wine, too much traveling, too much sun, too much testosterone in too small a space. The bottom line I was coming to: nothing about this night was my fault.

  Over and over again, I tried to excuse myself for my rampaging hormones. But when I had brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas and snuggled up under the silky-smooth sheets, I realized that I'd never actually told Nixon no.

  Chapter 7

  Nixon

  The next day, my alarm went off at four-thirty in the morning. I dressed in sweatpants and a worn-out T-shirt, filled my water bottle, and walked down to the Coronado Beach to meet my teammate Logan for our regular ten-mile run.

  Now was the quietest that this place ever got. The beach and its boardwalk shops were almost deserted. The eastern horizon glowed orange, but the sun wouldn't actually rise for another hour and a half, and the slight chill in the air was perfect for hard exercise.

  I jogged over to where Logan was warming up near the gate. “What's up?” I asked. “Do anything interesting with your time off yet?”

  “Nah,” he grunted, still finishing his stretch. “You ready to go?”

  I chuckled a little. I'd known Logan for almost my entire SEAL career, and he'd never been one to waste words. Overall, he was a pretty stand-up guy—reliable, level-headed, tough but thoughtful. In the past, I'd solved more than a few personal problems on his advice, or even just by thinking out loud around him. “Ready when you are.”

  Logan got to his feet and we started running. For five or ten minutes, the only sound was our tennis shoes pounding the wet sand, the whoosh of the surf, and a few seagulls crying in the distance. We usually talked a little for the first eight miles or so, before we really had to save our breath and concentrate to push through the burn. And I definitely had a topic in mind for today. But I wasn't sure what to say about my new roommate, or what kind of reply I even wanted from Logan. So I let us lapse into comfortable silence.

  “My new stepsister Avery just moved in,” I said after a while. “Kind of on short notice.” Thanks so fucking much for that, Dad.

  Logan didn't say anything. But his head turned slightly, so I continued. “This is her last semester at UC San Diego, so she'll be out of my face again by next January, but… ” I trailed off. Was her short stay a good or a bad thing? I still barely knew how I felt about this little arrangement. On the one hand, I'd wanted to fuck Avery's brains out since the moment we met, and she'd managed to pique my interest even further. On the other hand, I was stuck with an uninvited guest who made stupid rules about my private life.

  After it became clear that I wasn't going to finish my sentence, Logan said simply, “Huh. Good luck, I guess.”

  I gave a humorless chuckle. “To me or to her?”

  “Either one. You ever live with a woman before?”

  “Nope. I enlisted right after high school. So I went straight from living under my dad's roof to living under the Navy's.” I cocked my head to look at him. “What difference does it make? It's not like I don't understand women.”

  He shook his head. “It's different. I've shared my place with a couple girlfriends. Never for long, though.” A shadow came over his expression. “Hey … what do you think you'll do after the SEALs? Would you ever leave the Navy?”

  “Huh?” I hadn't expected this sudden change of topic—let alone such an absurd question. “Hell no. You know me. I love every horrible goddamn second.” Where else could I get the same kind of adrenaline rush, that camaraderie and focused flow that came with teamwork in the midst of danger? “When I get too old for active duty, I'll just join a Reserve SEAL Team or a Naval Special Warfare Unit or something. I'm still not sure.”

  “You never think about getting married or having kids?”

  I gave a bark of laughter. “Remember who you're talking to?” Then I glanced over at Logan, realizing that I might have dissed him. “Not that that stuff's bad. Why, do you?”

  “Sometimes. Even if I didn't, I'd still want the option, you know?” He paused for a moment. “You ever notice how all the other guys in our squad are single? There's a good reason. Nobody really wants a SEAL. Not long-term, anyway.”

  I snorted. “Then I guess I'm imagining all those frog hogs in my address book.” Not that I'd have much chance to tap any of that ass for a while.

  He gave a negative-sounding grunt, somewhere between skepticism and disappointment. “I'm sure they're great chicks, but all they're after is one-night stands. They just want a good fuck and bragging rights about scoring a SEAL. Any woman who's interested in something more than that … they're smart enough to stay away from guys in this type of job. Who the hell would marry someone who lives the kind of lifestyle we do?”

  Hearing Logan spill his guts like this was bizarre. I never knew he'd even considered settling down, let alone worried about it so much. But I brushed it off; I wasn't even ready to think about a steady girlfriend, let alone marriage.

  In silence again, we finished our ten miles just when the sun broke the horizon, then walked back to my place as our cool-down period. As we got closer to the condo complex, I spotted a familiar figure leaning against one of the entryway columns. It was Fox—another teammate of ours. He was playing some game on his phone, but pocketed it when he saw us coming. “Hey, you guys finally got done wasting your time off?” he called out.

  “We had a great workout, thanks for asking. Did the baby enjoy sleeping in?” I called back.

  He flipped me off, and I laughed. At twenty-three, Fox was the youngest guy on our team, and we never stopped giving him shit about it. But he knew how to take a joke. He ought to, since he's always making them.

  “Laugh it up, motherfucker. While you two were out running in circles, I was saying goodbye—” Fox grabbed his crotch, making it clear exactly what kind of parting gift he'd given. “—to the hottest señorita I've ever met. She looked just like Salma Hayek.”

  “I'm sure your blow-up doll will be there when you get back,” Logan said with a perfectly straight face.

  Fox and I both cracked up. Logan so rarely stooped to our level that the sheer surprise was always hilarious. But it was the ass-crack of dawn and normal people were still sleeping, so I shushed everyone before we went inside.

  They followed me down the hall and upstairs to my condo. As I opened the front door, I heard water running in the bathroom. Huh … Avery must be in the shower. Never thought a college girl would be up this early on a Saturday.

  Fox bounced his eyebrows. “You have a friend over?”

  “My new stepsister is living here now,” I said. “It's a long story. Let's eat first.”

  He glanced toward the bathroom again, almost speculatively, then shrugged. “Works for me. I'm fucking starved.”

  I snorted at the way Fox dragged out that last word into a moan. You'd think he never ate except when he's over here. “Then you can do the potatoes, freeloader.”

  Fox grumbled, but started washing and chopping spuds to make home fries. I sliced up some nice fat ham steaks as Logan oiled and heated my two cast-iron skillets. It felt good to get back into our old leave routine: a pre-dawn run to get the blood pumping, followed by a gut-busting breakfast, and a day of loafing around together. Maybe we'd play some videogames or basketball later, then hit up a few bars after it got dark. Even if I couldn't bring women back here anymore, it probably wouldn't be
too hard to get a woman to take me to her place. Still a pain in the ass, though… I always preferred my own bed. Both during and after.

  As I cracked the last of eight eggs into the smaller skillet, the bathroom door creaked. All three of us looked over to see Avery step out.

  A very naked Avery.

  Perfect round tits that were larger than I'd expected, but just as perky. Perfect pink nipples hardened into peaks.. A soft, flat stomach and gently flared hips, tapering down to slim thighs. And nestled between those thighs … a completely bare, smooth cunt.

  Fuck. Me. Running.

  We all stood in shocked silence, unable to move a muscle or do anything but drink in the view. Even though it could’ve only been a split second, it seemed like forever until she finally noticed us. With a terrified squeak, she hugged herself in a vain attempt to cover up and bolted down the hallway. Her nice tight ass jiggled only slightly as she ran to her bedroom.

  Our spell broke when the door slammed behind her. I swung around to glare at my friends before either of them could say a word. Logan took the hint and quickly got back to work frying our ham steaks, although his face was brick red. Fox's shit-eating grin didn't even budge. “Wow, Nixon, you've really got … ” he began.

  “You sure you want to finish that sentence?” I snapped.

  His mouth shut so fast I heard his teeth click together. Good, I thought, the kid can learn.

  My mind was a jumbled mess of horniness and anger. I was still replaying that brief glimpse of Avery's body, over and over, hardly able to believe how sexy and perfect she was. I'd never be able to forget a single detail. As soon as I was alone, I would probably end up jerking off to that image until my dick was too sore to keep going. But I wasn't the only man here who'd seen her luscious curves. I wasn't the only man who knew what Avery looked like naked—the exact color of her rosy nipples and every inch of her creamy skin, the mole just above her right butt-cheek, the faint tan lines around her breasts and crotch from the bikini I'd seen her in yesterday. And I fucking hated it.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this pissed. Even though Fox and Logan were two of my closest buddies, I felt like I was about five seconds away from beating them until they sustained just enough brain damage to erase what they’d just seen. Some distant voice of reason in my head whispered dude, calm the fuck down, this is some serious overkill. But I could barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.

  I quickly washed my hands and tossed an omelet spatula at Fox. “I'll be right back. Don't let the eggs burn,” I called back as I headed to the guest bedroom. Looks like me and my dear stepsister need to have a little chat.

  Chapter 8

  Avery

  When I woke up, the thin light glowing through my blinds was still an anemic lavender. I squinted at my alarm clock, bleary-eyed, and groaned when I saw that it was just after five-thirty. That time shouldn't even be allowed to exist on a Saturday morning. I rolled over to go back to sleep, intent on at least three more hours.

  But my subconscious had already spun into action. I couldn't stop thinking about Nixon's crazy proposal from last night. My body hadn't betrayed me like that since … well, possibly ever, but definitely since I was in high school. I still felt almost drunk, like a teenager swooning over fantasies of her first kiss. Ugh.

  After trying to shut down my brain for about ten minutes, I gave up and got out of bed. This annoying wakefulness clearly wasn't going away. Maybe a nice hot shower would help somehow—calm me down, let me figure out this mess, or both. I could always take an afternoon nap if I crashed later. Still in my pajamas, I peeked into the hall and saw that Nixon's bedroom door was shut. He must still be asleep … like a sane person. I stripped and scooted into the bathroom.

  The blast of hot water soothed me almost instantly. As I lathered up my hair, I tried to come up with a game plan for today. Nixon couldn't keep bringing up his plan anymore, I knew that much—but how to address him? Best to keep it professional, I thought. All business. Let him know I'm not one for shenanigans.

  I shut off the faucet, wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, and started combing out my hair. That shower really had done me some good after all. I felt loose, refreshed, and ready to take on the world—or at least a super awkward conversation. I looked around for a towel and found nothing. Crap. In mutiny against Nixon's “no girly shit” rule, I had hung my hot pink shampoo caddy from the shower head and had been too distracted by my thoughts to even check for towels before I’d jumped in the shower. I chewed my lip, considering options. Well … it's still, like, six A.M. on a Saturday, right? He probably isn't up yet. Sneaking back to my bedroom wouldn't be a big deal.

  I tiptoed naked into the hall…

  Big. Freaking. Mistake.

  Nixon stood in the kitchen. With two strange men. And all of them stared at me.

  Screeching in horror, I ran for my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I had to cover up. I hurried to put on my bathrobe, hands shaking with shock and embarrassment. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could barely hear, but there was definitely a conversation going on in the other room. Were they laughing at me? Who the fuck were those other guys? Would a single thing ever work in my favor while I was living here, or should I just give up hope now?

  The door flew open again and I startled back. Nixon stormed in after me, scowling. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

  My face was on fire. I felt like a deer in the headlights. “Don’t you ever knock?” I squeaked.

  “I asked you a question.”

  Startled by his invasion and absolutely pissed expression, I stammered out a response. “I … I f-forgot my towel … ”

  “Oh, is that all? You sure gave my friends a nice show to add to their spank bank.” His voice was a low growl, pitched to keep the conversation from being overheard. “Now I've got no chance in hell of keeping them off you. Not that it was gonna be easy before—”

  He was so ridiculously pissed that my own anger flared up in response, overpowering my paralysis for a moment. “What are you even talking about? Who are they?” And why was he blowing his stack over this? If anyone should've been getting mad here, it was me.

  “Teammates of mine, Fox and Logan.”

  When he didn't continue, I realized that he thought he was done explaining. “Um, okay?” That answered my second question, but didn't even come close to my first. I cocked my head and opened my hands in a so what? gesture. My next question just tumbled out. “Why do you care who sees me?”

  He raised his eyebrows as if I was being stupid. “Teammates, Avery. We were deployed together.”

  I just looked at him dumbly until he elaborated further.

  “They also haven't seen a woman in nine months.”

  Oh. Now I get it. Did every girl with an older brother have to deal with this overprotective crap? I folded my arms and gave him my best death glare. “Get a grip. I'm your stepsister, not your fourteen-year-old daughter. I'm perfectly capable of deciding who I date.” Just to irritate him even more, I added, “And who I sleep with.”

  “Really? Because running around naked seems pretty—”

  “Shut up! You can't pull the 'concerned big brother' act on me one moment and try to fuck me the next!”

  “The hell I can't,” he snapped. “Now put some goddamn clothes on. Preferably sweatpants or a turtleneck or something.”

  “What? In August?”

  But he had already slammed my door behind him. I sat down hard on the bed, fuming. Sheesh, what was his damage? If I didn't know better, I might call him jealous.

  Then I jumped up again and went to my closet. Well, I'd just have to tell Nixon where he could stick his opinions—and I knew exactly how to do it. I picked out the most provocative, yet still casual-looking outfit in my entire wardrobe: cut-off Daisy Dukes that barely covered my ass, a tight white tank top, and no bra. Then I swiped on a little bronzer and nude-toned eye shadow for a light, natural look. This'll show him what I think of
his stupid temper tantrums.

  My stomach growled at the smell of frying breakfast. Trying to forget my earlier disaster, I took a deep breath, dug deep to find my bravado, and did my best sashay into the kitchen. “Sorry about that, boys,” I announced cheerfully.

  Nixon looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. I held back an evil laugh. Oh, you don't like my outfit? Good luck yelling at me about it without looking like a jackass in front of your friends.

  “There's nothing to be sorry for,” one of the other men said. There was an unmistakably flirtatious lilt to his voice. He looked closer to my age than Nixon was, with a rockin’ body and a bright, easy grin.

  The second guy just nodded, his eyes glued to mine. It was almost cute how hard he was trying not to stare at the rest of me. The strong, silent type, huh? Or maybe just shy. He was noticeably older than the guy who had spoken up first. His face was serious, yet calm and kind, which somehow downplayed the fact that he was even more massive than Nixon. I hadn't thought that was possible.

  Nixon slapped the first guy upside the head and spoke over his indignant yelp. “This idiot is Fox. The one who knows his manners is Logan. Guys, this is Avery.” The introduction already sounded grudging, and then he added meaningfully, “Remember, the new stepsister I told you about?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. How long was Nixon going to keep up this territory-marking macho bullshit? Instead, I gave the two other men a sunny smile. I'd been too busy panicking to get a good look at them before, but they were both pretty hot in their own way. One stoic and polite, the other energetic and a little naughty. Like the difference between a Saint Bernard and a Border Collie. Even if it didn't get under Nixon's skin, I would've been interested in talking to them. And since he was still visibly pissed … hey, two birds with one stone.