by Jessica Ashe
“Piper tells us you’re a political correspondent,” Dad says.
It’s not a question, but Alec replies anyway. “That’s right.”
“You don’t look like a political correspondent.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure I’d want to.”
Mom and I both smile, but Dad remains straight-faced. “Who do you work for?”
“I’m a freelancer.”
“There must be a publication you work for primarily?”
“Politico buys a lot of my work.”
Dad doesn’t look convinced, and I can’t blame him. If Politico buys his work, they’re not publishing it under his name. I’ve looked, and I can’t find any instance of Alec Costa appearing on the byline in the last couple of years. I’ve tried pressing him on it, but he always ends up changing the subject. I add his career to the list of things I don’t know about him.
A much-needed silence descends around the table. I would happily finish the meal like this, but I can practically hear Mom’s brain working in overdrive trying to think of more questions to ask Alec. I jump in and end the silence before she does.
“Is cousin Clarissa officially in the Navy now?” I ask.
“Not quite,” Dad replies. “She officially starts in two weeks’ time.”
Clarissa had been such a quiet kid growing up. She’s bigger than me, but you still wouldn’t have bet money on her joining the military.
“We’re all worried she’s going to get sent to Iraq,” Mom says.
“She won’t,” Alec says confidently. We all stare at him. This is the first time tonight he’s spoken without being directly asked a question. “There’s not much need for the Navy in the desert.”
“Part of Iraq borders the Persian Gulf,” Dad corrects. “I’m sure the port is of great military significance.”
Alec shrugs. “It is, but there’s still a very limited U.S. Navy presence there. Most U.S. Navy personnel in Iraq are Special Forces.”
“You mean like the SEALs?” Mom asks.
Alec nods. “Yeah, that kind of thing.”
“Well that’s good then. I’m sure that will be a weight off her father’s mind. Won’t it Burt?”
“Sure,” Dad says softly. He keeps looking at Alec in a way that makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable, although it doesn’t appear to bother Alec judging by the way he keeps shoveling down the food.
Mom breaks the next silence.
“Do you want more wine? This stuff is fantastic.”
“Not for me,” I reply. “I’m driving.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?”
“I have to be at work early in the morning.”
“Get an early night tonight and then leave early in the morning. Surely you don’t want to drive back so soon after getting here?”
In other words ‘we hardly ever see you and you’re leaving already?’
“I guess that’s okay,” I say slowly, looking Alec who just shrugs his shoulders.
“Excellent. That means we can get to know Alec a little better.”
“I think you’ve tested him with enough questions.”
“Nonsense. There’s plenty more where that came from. So then Alec, how did you become a political correspondent? Did you study politics at college?”
“I didn’t go to college,” Alec replies. “I kind of stumbled into politics.”
“How do you stumble into politics?” Dad asks. “It’s an incredibly competitive field.”
“Family connections. When it comes to politics, if there’s one thing more important than education, it’s who you know. My uncle helped me get a job and it all went from there.”
Dad nods, but he’s as unconvinced as I am. Alec is so frustratingly vague with details, it’s impossible to tell if he’s just being modest or is trying to hide the fact that he’s lying.
Mom and Dad eventually stop questioning Alec, and turn their attention to me, wanting to know how I’m getting on in the police force. I don’t tell them I’m working as a bodyguard. They’d both assume it’s dangerous—which it is, to be fair—and I’ll get constant phone calls to see if I’m okay. Being a cop always involves risk, but so far Mom and Dad have dealt with it fairly well. Compared to joining the Navy, it almost seems like a safe option.
My parents are tucked up in bed by ten o’clock—“early to bed, early to rise”—so eventually Alec and I are left alone in the living room.
“How long have your parents lived here?” Alec asks.
“Since a couple of years before I was born.”
“It must be nice to know this place is always here for you if you need it.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I like to think of myself as fully independent, but my version of independence often involves short-term stays at my parents’ house when I’m between apartments or jobs. I probably could make it without them as a safety net, but I’m glad they’re nearby.
“They seem like nice people.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not,” Alec insists. “Your father is a little on the stern side, but he’s just looking out for you. And your mom’s nice.”
“My mom never shuts up.”
“I’m getting used to women like that.”
I slap him on the arm, but he grabs my wrist and quickly pulls me towards him. Seconds later we’re tiptoeing up the stairs to my childhood bedroom like a couple of horny teenagers.
Chapter Fifteen
Piper
I wake up at 5:30 in the morning with a hard object digging into my ass.
“Morning, gorgeous,” Alec purrs into my ear.
I groan loudly, and not in the way I did last night when his penis was pressing into me. I struggle to function on eight hours’ sleep, let alone five. It’s dark outside, and parts of my body are encouraging me to close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Alec reaches around and squeezes my breast, before nuzzling into my neck and making sure I’m fully aware of his morning glory. It’s not like I could miss it.
“Too early,” I protest weakly. Despite that, I make no effort to push Alec off me. His kisses quickly invigorate me and now every part of my body is telling me to open my legs and guide him home.
I should get up now. I should clamber into the shower and then we should get in the car and head back to Chicago. Then I can get back to protecting Senator Robertson. God, that’s a depressing thought. The day sure would go a lot quicker if it started with an orgasm or two.
I turn around in the small bed and grab hold of Alec’s cock as we kiss. If he cares about my morning breath, he doesn’t show it. I squeeze his member firmly and feel it pulsing in my palm. The power of that thing is incredible; just touching it has me wet at 5:30 in the morning. I didn’t even think that was possible. Before Alec, my experience with morning sex had been limited to lazy mornings in bed where I didn’t get up until eleven o’clock. This is different. We’re both horny and need release urgently.
Alec slips a hand between my thighs and gently strokes my wet folds with his thick fingers. Faint whimpers escape my lips until I hear Dad rummaging around in the kitchen below.
I stop stroking Alec’s cock, but he keeps playing with my slit.
“We need to be quiet.”
“I’m not the one making the noise,” he whispers in my ear.
“You’re making me make noise,” I reply, before whimpering loudly as he slides a finger deep into me.
“See.”
“We need to be quick. Where are the condoms?”
“Wallet.”
I grab Alec’s wallet from his pants and start rummaging through the card slots. Each one lacks the important foil wrapper. Just as I’m about to give up, my finger brushes against something in the last card slot that’s almost hidden out of view. Whatever it is, it’s not a condom. I pull it out anyway.
“What’s this?” I ask. It’s a small passport photo of a man that was either taken one hundred years ago or is just very batter
ed.
There’s a long pause before Alec answers. “That’s Daron. My brother.”
The second Alec says it’s his brother, I see the likeness between the two of them. Or perhaps I’m just imagining it. The picture is creased and grainy, but I can see they have the same face shape at least. Why would he keep a dirty old photo of his brother in his wallet? Unless….
“Is he…? You know….”
“He’s not dead,” Alec says to my great relief. “I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
“How long is a while?”
“Years. But I’m going to see him soon. I just need to take care of some business first.”
I put the photo back in his wallet, careful not to do any more damage to it. “You don’t have any condoms left.”
Alec gets out of bed and checks his pant pockets. “Thought I had another. Fuck.”
“Probably for the best. My parents are just downstairs; they get up early.”
“I didn’t say I was done with you.”
Alec pushes me up against my old childhood desk—the one I used to do my homework on—and thrusts his hands between my leg. His fingers slip straight inside me. I gasp and grab hold of the edge of the desk as he fucks me with his fingers. I bite his neck to avoid screaming out loud, but there’s not much I can do about the sound of his hand slapping against my wet sex.
There’s a clattering of dishes downstairs which sounds like my dad emptying the dishwasher. I hope to God that noise is enough to cover up my moans. The more I try to suppress them, the more they want to come out.
Alec’s fingers curve inside me, as his thumb rubs gently against my clit. I let go of the desk and cling onto Alec tightly as my legs go weak.
Drips of my excitement dribble down the inside of my thigh. The sweet aroma of my juices fills the room, yet another reminder of what Alec does to my body.
He holds me tightly as his hand starts pounding into me almost as hard as his cock does just before he comes. I bury my mouth into his neck again to muffle the screams that come as an orgasm blows through my body.
I’m still shaking when Alec removes his fingers and places them in his mouth, sucking them greedily.
“You taste so fucking good,” he growls.
“So do you,” I reply.
I drop to my knees in front of him. It’s half voluntary and half because I can barely stand.
His cock is still hard. I rarely see it any other way.
I grab the shaft and angle the head down towards my lips. There’s a tiny bit of pre-cum on the tip, that I lick off quickly, savoring the slightly salty goodness.
His cock isn’t just long, it’s thick, and even getting my lips around the head requires me to open my mouth wide to squeeze him in.
I suck the head hard and stroke his cock. When I squeeze it, I feel the blood pumping through the thick vein underneath.
Alec doesn’t make much noise, but I start slurping on his cock as I suck harder at the tip and start forcing my mouth further down. I’m not getting anywhere near the base, but my mouth is full to bursting. My hand keeps stroking the part that my lips can’t reach, while my head bobs up and down on his meat.
I’m so keen to get his cock in my mouth that I go down too far and gag slightly, leaving a trail of drool from his cock to my mouth when I come back up for air.
I’m embarrassed, but Alec moans that it’s “fucking sexy,” so I keep going.
The noise is getting worse, and I can’t hear anything downstairs now. Does that mean Dad will be able to hear me? Please, God, no.
I try and keep quiet, but it’s getting harder and harder to breathe daintily through my nose, and I have no desire to stop until his cock erupts and goes soft in my mouth.
Alec’s fingers weave into my hair, and he starts subtly taking control, thrusting his cock into my mouth. I grab his ass cheeks and focus on sucking as hard and fast as I can. It’s still not easy to deal with a cock this size, and I’m convinced I’m doing a shit job until I feel Alec’s glutes tense up and he growls a warning.
I don’t have time to react. Most of his cum ends up dribbling down my chin and landing on my thighs until I quickly start swallowing the rest of his load.
Alec and I look at each other and smile until I hear Mom or Dad coming up the stairs. I grab my dirty shirt from yesterday and wipe Alec’s cum off my leg. I really should have a shower, but there’s not much time and I like the idea of going to work marked by Alec.
Alec kisses me firmly on the lips. “I’ve never done that while surrounded by posters of Justin Timberlake and a load of boy bands I’ve never heard of.”
“You promised not to judge me by my posters,” I reply.
“I’m not judging. Just surprised I’m your type based on these.”
“I guess my tastes have changed.”
They sure have. I used to like nice boys. Now I’m into muscular men with tattoos, who lie to me about their jobs. They give me some damn good orgasms, though.
I just wish I knew what he was hiding. He’s keeping something from me, and I don’t even know where to begin.
Chapter Sixteen
Alec - Five Years Ago
“Holy shit, Simpson,” Wilson says loudly, “is that your Missus? She’s got some tits on her, ain’t she.”
I look over at Simpson, Wilson, and Granger all staring at a photo on the laptop. I say laptop; you wouldn’t want this thing on your lap for too long. It weighs about ten pounds and looks like something from the seventies. Your average MacBook isn’t built to survive in an Iraqi desert.
“She’s got great tits,” Simpson agrees. “And you’re never gonna see them.”
“Come on,” Wilson encourages. “Have her send over a topless photo. Tell her it’s for troop morale.”
“You jerking off over my wife is going to do nothing for my morale. Now get out of here so I can write an email. And have a tug.”
Out of the seven of us, Simpson is the only one in a serious relationship. Being single and a Navy SEAL should mean you have a constant stream of pussy waiting for you back home. Unfortunately, we can’t actually tell anyone we’re Navy SEALs, so it kind of spoils the point. None of us struggle to get laid, but it’s still weird to think that we’re all jealous of the married guy in the group. If I told this to a psychiatrist, she’d say I craved commitment. Psychiatrists don’t know shit.
“This fucking piece of shit.”
I turn around to see Felton Hirsch throwing his weapon down onto the sandy floor.
“That’s not going to make it any better,” I say calmly.
“Can’t make it much fucking worse,” Felton replies. “That’s the third weapon I’ve had break in the last two weeks.”
“At least it breaks now and not in the field.”
“It’s only a matter of time. I was only taking it apart to clean it and one of the springs broke.”
“I’ll raise the issue with the captain next time I see him.” It’s not just the weapons. Niles was complaining about the armor, and Remi said his boots are falling apart after only a week.
“At this rate, the terrorists won’t have to bother killing us,” Felton continues. “I have an awful feeling I’m going to fire my gun and the bullet’s going to come out the wrong end.”
“Don’t worry, knowing your accuracy, you’ll probably miss.”
“Easy for you to say,” Felton replies. “I imagine it’s much easier to hit the target when you’re lying on your belly half a mile away from the action.”
“Just because I’m the best sniper, doesn’t mean I’m not the best with a rifle as well.”
“We’ll see.” Felton pauses as he notices the small photo in my hand. “Heard from your brother lately?”
I shake my head. “Not for a while.”
“I’m sure he’s fine.”
“I wish I shared your confidence. Last time I saw him, he nearly got busted for beating up some guy who owed his ‘friends’ protection money. He’s heading down a path I don’t
like.”
“You can’t save everyone, Alec.”
“Yeah, but I have to save Daron. I owe him.”
“Why?”
“He went to prison for me. Took the blame after I hotwired a car and went on a little joyride. My parents still haven’t forgiven me for corrupting the sensible one in the family. I haven’t forgiven myself.”
“He sounds like a good kid.”
“He is.”
“Then trust that he’ll be okay. The good ones always see sense in the end.”
Unless they die first.
“Thanks. I just hope—”
I trail off as the captain walks over with an urgent look in his eyes. I’m not the official leader of this group, but for whatever reason I tend to be the go-between with the higher ups.
Felton and I stand to attention and are quickly told to stand at ease.
“I need you to go to these coordinates,” the captain says, as he hands over a piece of paper torn off a notepad.
“What’s over there?” I ask.
“We’ve had reports of a small terrorist training camp. It’s probably nothing, but I want you all to check it out.”
“All of us?”
“Yes, Costa, all of you.”
“You want seven Navy SEALs to go and check this out? This sounds like a routine patrol.”
“No Costa, this sounds like you refusing to follow orders. Get on with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Felton and I share a look before we go round up the rest of the SEALs. Simpson’s email to his wife will have to wait a few hours. We split up into two trucks—Remi driving one, and Wilson driving another. I’m in the first one, leading by example as always. I’ve brought my sniper rifle along, but I can’t imagine I’ll get the chance to use it.
I’m assuming—and hoping—that all we’ll need to do is drive up there, have a look around, and be on our way within five minutes. But just in case, my sniper rifle is there if I need it. So is an automatic rifle, which I’m currently cradling. I hate these things. They’re sloppy.
“Come on, then,” Remi says while we’re still a few miles away from the location. “What’s the first thing you guys will have to eat whenever you get back to America? I know it’s boring, but I have a huge weakness for pizza. Proper New York pizza. What about you Niles? And don’t say—”