Seal's Professor: A Military Roommate Romance

by Piper Sullivan

  I crashed into every single room to stop her from wasting her time and pussy on some lame college boy. It was only after I turned the place upside down that I heard one of her friends bitch about the fact that she was such a spoil sport for leaving the party. Every second counted, and when I came up to her apartment and I saw those fuckers loading her into their SUV, I knew I had to act fast. Thankfully my attempt to thwart their attempts at kidnapping her paid off and didn’t wreck my car. They could have easily crashed into me instead of the barrier, but the driver reacted as I had hoped and swerved. That of course also had my blood running cold, doing what I did could have cost Alana her life too.

  By the time the water was on the stove and I had some instant noodles with a dash of ketchup ready for lunch, I moved on to more important matters. I lifted the heavy bag filled with guns and ammo onto the table and carefully started to unpack the contents. I had to take stock of what I had on me. I was alone in this, and would need every bit of ammo I can lay my hands on. I had a Colt 1908 hand gun, which may just come in handy. I cocked it and checked the casing and barrel. I haven’t used it for a while, but it was still in good shape. A Colt M1911, which I always carried on my person, two AK-47 rifles and a collection of knives. Amongst all the guns, I had a few hand grenades and smoke bombs. Okay so maybe explaining the full weight of the situation to Alana at this point was not ideal, but sooner or later she had to learn that this life she expected to be all roses and sunshine is everything but. For a moment I was pretty pissed at Fergus for keeping this from her. I mean seriously, what the fuck did he think? If he really wanted to protect his daughter, he should have sent her away and given her a new identity when she was fucking two years old. Hell, he should’ve stopped fighting his ex-wife and let her take Alana.

  “Selfish fucking bastard,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Who’s a selfish bastard?”

  Without looking up, I started stacking the ammunition back into the bag, “No one,” I muttered.

  “Are those all yours?”

  Her voice carried a tone of curiosity, which surprised me. I half expected her to tremble in fear, like a mouse caught in the trap. I was even more surprised when she walked up to the table and picked up the Colt.

  “I’ve used one of these before,” she said quietly, “My dad taught me how to shoot.”

  I’m not going to lie, but watching her hold that gun, running those pale slender fingertips over it as if she was stroking it, was a total fucking turn on. She studied it with such reverence that I could hardly focus on the task at hand. For the first time since I practically saved her life a few hours ago, I noticed her, really noticed her. She may be twenty, but she sure as hell didn’t look her age. She was gorgeous to say the least, her long red hair framed her delicately heart-shaped face, and willow green eyes caressed the weapon she held in her hands. Her body was petite but lush with curves in all the right places. The low-rise jeans she wore along with a sexy red vest hugged her figure scandalously. Her perky tits, the erect nipples poking against the ribbed fabric, were begging for attention.

  Whoa! Easy there Irish! I scolded; this was no time to perve over a twenty-year-old, especially not Fergus’ daughter. That would be like a personal death wish and a signed funeral policy. Without another word, I reached over and gently took the gun from her.

  “You might have to use it again soon, but not today,” I smirked.

  She frowned and looked at me, “I will never shoot a man,” she said and put the gun down again.

  She still didn’t grasp the full weight of the situation. I shook my head, zipped up the bag and padlocked it. Not for my own safety but for hers, because I was sure as hell not going to sit around while she helps herself to my stuff. Who knows what was going on in that pretty head?

  She walked around to the stove and lifted the lid off the pot.

  “What on earth is this?”

  “Food, help yourself.”

  “I’m not eating this; it looks like someone vomited into the pot.”

  Oh dear god help me! This woman was going to drive me insane, “Then go hungry.”

  “Do you actually live here?” she mumbled rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  “No, I hide here.”

  She pulled a sideways pout and came to stand across from me again, “So where do I sleep?”

  I nodded towards the bed.

  “And where do you sleep?”

  I smirked and pointed to the bed again.

  “Are you serious? I am not sharing a bed with you!” she said in a high-pitched tone.

  “Then you can take the floor.”

  “Brute,” she muttered under her breath and stormed out of the cabin.

  I watched her through the small window as she marched towards the car. She tugged on the door handle and then walked around to the driver’s side and tugged again, as if her first try wasn’t a clear sign that the fucking car was locked. I rolled my eyes, fished in my pocket for the keys and pressed the unlock button on the remote. The indicators flashed twice, and she glared towards the cabin sending daggers my way.

  She would probably last the day sitting in the car. Sooner or later she will get thirsty and hungry and sleeping in the back seat will be a royal pain in Miss Priss’s arse. It’s just a matter of time. I’m here to protect her, and that’s that, I made no promises to Fergus to put his little princess up in a five-star hotel with servants falling over the feet at her every beck and call. God, I’m already irritated with her and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.

  Alana’s

  What an absolute moron, he was as thick as a plank if he thought I would be sharing his bed or his table. I’d rather sleep in the car if I had to. I looked up at the sky and shivered. There’s a bad storm brewing and I could only pray that there would be no lightning or thunder. A few drops of rain I could handle, but when the skies light up, I’m a complete mess. I hated thunder, even from a young age. It started shortly after I turned four, I think. My father had taken us camping in the mountains and two days into our camping trip, we were caught in quite a big storm. I was trapped in that small tent crying my eyes out while my father tried his best to contact emergency services. Help did get to us a few hours later, but it had been those few hours that instilled the fear I had for thunder and lightning today.

  My stomach growled, and I realized that I haven’t had anything to eat since the party. As I sat in the passenger seat, I glanced around the car, surely there had to be a protein bar or something in here. I flipped open the glove compartment and dug through the stuff in there, nothing but a road map, a few random pieces of paper and a whack of receipts. I was rather amused by that though, Irish didn’t look to me like the type who would hang on to receipts. I pulled out a handful for a closer study; Walmart, gas stations, fast food, just general crap.

  “Ooh what have we here,” I said to myself as I took a closer look at one of the receipts.

  It was from a strip club and he ran up quite a bill that night. What a creep, I thought to myself. Typical brute who would spend his hard earned money on prostitutes just to get a kick out of life. But something in my stomach twisted as I flipped through receipt after receipt. He got around quite a lot, and I couldn’t understand what a handsome man like him would do at such scummy places. Wait, what?! Handsome?—where the hell did that come from? He wasn't handsome; he was my dad’s age for crying out loud. And he obviously had an unhealthily high sex drive. One receipt in particular stood out, I had heard the boys at college talk about this place—Fantasia. The club was renowned for its debauchery and secret gatherings where men and women alike got to live out their wildest fantasies and completely lose their inhibitions. I tapped my finger on my lips, for a moment wondering what Irish’s wildest fantasies could be. No, no, no, I’m not going there, that would just lead me down the yellow brick road to trouble. A sudden loud bang echoed through the skies and I jumped with a loud squeal. Great, now the thunder started and I’m stuck in the middle
of nowhere in a car. I glanced towards the cabin, no sign of Irish anywhere. I contemplated my next step, I could go back inside and accept the fact that I would sleep on the floor, although I really did not look forward to that, or I could wait it out in the car. But as the sound of rolling thunder drew closer, I made up my mind. I was about to get out of the car when a brilliant shock of white light forked silently through the sky. I swore it made landfall just a few feet away from the car, and then there was that loud thunderous boom. I yelped and sunk back into the seat. I had to get back inside, no questions, and if I was going to make a run for it, I better do it now. I looked up at the sky; big drops had already started splattering to the ground like tiny little goons. I gripped the door handle, flung the car door open, and suddenly it was a downpour of rain as if someone had opened the sluices of a dam. I shut the door and made a run for it, landing on the porch just as the next bolt of lightning flashed through the sky. I barged into the cabin soaking wet, only to run into a steal wall of flesh. Irish’s hands gripped my shoulders firmly, and that’s when I noticed he was butt naked. I shielded my eyes and jumped away from him as if his touch burned me.

  “What the hell! Do you always run around naked?” I blurted out and turned my back on him.

  “All the time,” he said in that flat, I-don’t-care voice.

  “Just get dressed will you?” I muttered.

  I heard him shuffle about behind me. I couldn’t wipe the image of him from my mind. He was built like Thor. Yeah okay that’s pretty cheesy, but it was the truth. Other than the obvious fact that he was really muscular, his right pec was covered in one of those tribal tattoos and ran down the length of his arm and on the other side a dragon curled its way around from his hip up to his side, disappearing around his back. I probably shouldn’t have looked or paid any attention but his cock was big and semi erect. For a second I wondered if he was busy rubbing one out when I came in… oh god another one of thoughts I shouldn’t entertain. What the hell was wrong with me? Okay so I may be innocent at most, but I wasn’t an idiot, being in college, you can’t help but being exposed to certain things that would make any normal person blush, and this was no way for a lady to behave.

  “Done. Happy?”

  I turned around only to find a towel flung in my face, “Hey!”

  “You better get dry or you’ll end up with pneumonia. Then you need to eat.”

  I glared at him and then looked around the cabin, “And what do you suggest I wear?”

  He stopped what he was doing and then scratched the back of his head. I raised a brow, “You didn’t quite have that on your itinerary, did you?”

  “Well excuse me lass, but I was kind of caught up saving your pretty little arse and your wardrobe wasn’t a priority,” he bit out and then dug in his bag and pulled out a T-shirt, “Here, you can wear this while your clothes dry out.”

  A T-shirt twice my size would at least serve well as a night dress, I thought as I glanced around.

  “You have to turn around,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I need to get dressed, turn around.”

  Irish rolled his eyes and turned around, resting his hands on his hips. I stripped down to my underwear and piled my wet clothes on the chair. I was drenched right down to my bra and panties, so they would have to go as well. Feeling a little awkward I took them off and then pulled the T-shirt over my head. It smelled like Irish, and again I felt that small flutter in the pit of my stomach.

  A while later, my clothes were hanging in front of the fire, and I was snuggled up in a fleece blanket, forcing down the horrible concoction Irish made me eat and wallowing in self-pity. In a matter of 24 hours I have been through hell and back. I still had no clue why though, why would anyone want to get to my father through me, what did my dad do to deserve this? I swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill and hugged my knees. This had to be a horrible mistake.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going on at all?” I mumbled without looking at him.

  He simply sat on the stool and stared into the fire, twisting a mug of coffee in his hand. He clearly had a lot on his mind, but I deserve to know the truth. Why was I being hunted down like an animal, and what did any of this have to do with my dad? But more pressingly, who exactly was Irish? I have only ever seen him at my dad’s office on occasion when I went home for spring break or over Christmas. He used to always wear a suit. Naturally I figured he had been one of the corporates who worked for my dad, but after this morning’s events, I knew he wasn’t even close to being a pencil pusher.

  “Are you just going to sit there and contemplate life or are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I muttered.

  “Alana…” he started and pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s very complicated. Your father asked me to look out for you, and right now, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “So that’s it? My father told you to look out for me and I just have to accept that?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Bullshit!” I tossed the blanket aside then walked over to where he sat and slapped the coffee out of his hand. For the first time in my life, I was angry. This wasn’t like me at all, but I’ve been through too much to just accept my predicament and wait it out, “I was nearly killed, and now you’re refusing to tell me why!”

  The chair scraped back and toppled over as Irish stood towering over me. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his gun-metal blue eyes bore into mine. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but instead he pursed his lips and grabbed me by my arm. For a moment I thought he was about to go all Neanderthal on me and throw me over his shoulder, but instead he dragged me over to the table and sat me down.

  “I need you listen to me, and listen very carefully. This life you’ve been living is nothing but a figment of your imagination. Your father is in a lot of trouble right now and he had to leave the country. Until this mess is sorted out, we will stay here. Understood?”

  I frowned at him, none of this made any sense, what trouble could my father possibly be in? “What trouble is he in?”

  “It involves the FBI and a bunch of shit, I’m not willing to get into right now. All you need to know is he asked me to protect you, so I would appreciate it if you could respect that.”

  I raised a brow and regarded him, “You go around shooting men in cold blood without blinking and he trusts you to take care of me?”

  “Christ! You’re fucking impossible. That was me protecting you. Those men were going to kill you and the fewer of them walking around the better.”

  I sighed and buried my face in my hands. The reality of the situation was still so farfetched I didn’t know if I was coming or going.

  “Okay, so run this by me again, some bad guys are out there hunting me down to get to my dad. You’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen and in the mean-time I have to just stay put and forget about my life?”

  “Yes.”

  It was a simple definitive answer, but I didn’t like it one bit.

  “So what am I supposed to do with my time?” I asked dropping my hands down on the table.

  Irish looked at me with his brows drawn together, then walked over to a small wooden cupboard against the wall and pulled out a small box. When he placed it in front of me I looked up at him confused.

  “A deck of cards?”

  He nodded, “Play patience or something, but just keep yourself busy.”

  I rolled my eyes, picked up the deck and tilted it so that the cards all fell into the palm of my hand, “I have a better idea.”

  I squeezed the ends of the cards together and flicked it. All the cards went flying across the table, some landing on the floor, “You can keep yourself busy and clean up this mess.”

  He moved so fast I barely had time to register what was happening. He flipped me over his lap and his hand came down on my bare ass.

  “Ow! I’m not ten years old!”

  “You’re behaving like a fucking child so I’ll spank you
like a fucking child,” he ground out and WHACK! Another hand landed on my bare bottom.

  It was stinging like hell and I tried to twist out of his grip crying in protest. But what was even worse was the fact that I was butt naked underneath the T-shirt. My cheeks felt hotter than a casting iron and I desperately tried to reach behind me to pull the T-shirt down and cover my girly bits. Two more thwacks and he abruptly let me go, causing me to stumble backward and flop down on the floor, I immediately scrambled to get the fleece blanket and covered my legs as I crawled into the corner next to the fire place, tears stinging my hot cheeks.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I whimpered.

  “Then stop acting like a child,” he muttered under his breath.

  I stayed curled up in the corner as I tried to regain some dignity. He was right; I was acting like a child, throwing tantrums like a teenager which was not like me at all. Instead of being thankful that he saved me, I was retaliating. I suddenly felt lost and afraid. Everything I knew had been a lie, my entire life was a faux. My magic carpet was gone, my Genie AKA Daddy was gone, and I would most likely not have a penny in my bank account now that he’s, who the hell knows where. I carefully reached up and touched the cut above my brow that by now was covered with a crust of dried blood. I had been so stubborn having to stay in this place that I hadn’t even thought about the accident and the cuts and bruises I sustained.

  “It’s a scratch. I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

  There’s a bathroom? I wanted to chirp, but decided against it, who knows what he’ll pull off next. Instead of a spanking he might tie me up and gag me to keep my trap shut. I got up and quietly made my way to the bathroom. I had a few cuts and bruises on my arms but nothing serious. I used the gauze and water to clean off the crusty dried blood and then used some antiseptic ointment before sticking a small Band-Aid across the cut. Looking at myself in the mirror I realized just how ghastly I looked. My hair was mucky, and I had dirt smeared all over my face, I was desperate for a shower. I latched the bathroom door and turned on the water. Just my luck, but not unsurprisingly, it didn’t get hot at all. I huffed and stripped out of the T-shirt. I’ll be quick, I told myself. In and out that’s all I needed to do. I stepped in under the cold water and goose bumps broke out all over my skin. Geezus it was freezing! My teeth clattered, and I quickly used the bar of soap and washed myself down. At least Irish had shampoo, not that it would do my hair any good. I looked at the label and pulled a face. Apple and Cinnamon fragrance no-name brand shampoo. But I washed my hair, anyway. I was done in less than five minutes give or take and reached for the tower hanging on the hook behind the door.