Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  “When you’re thinking something dirty,” he says in a dark tone. “You wear it on your face.”

  “I was not.”

  “Liar. Your cheeks get all pink and you bite your lip in a way that I’ve gotta say, is much more tempting than maybe you want it to be.”

  My pulse skips and I feel a breath catch in my throat at the directness of him; at the way he just cuts through the B.S. and makes me feel.

  “So what were you thinking about.”

  “I told you, nothing.”

  “And I told you, liar. C’mon, tell me.”

  I’m still chewing on my lip as I quickly dart my eyes towards the divider between us and the driver.

  Hunter grins, “Nope, just me listening.”

  I shrug, like it’s nothing. “Doesn’t matter, I’m still not going to tell you.”

  His grin cracks across his tanned jaw. “So you were thinking something naughty.”

  Ugh, damn him.

  “No, I mean — I — ”

  And suddenly he’s moving right against me, his arm sliding around the black leather headrest behind me, his other arm pressing against the window next to me. My breath catches as he leans in close, his lips inches from my own, his eyes searing right into mine.

  And I want him. I want him like I wanted the masked stranger, before we knew who we were. I want to give in to him right here. I want to kiss those lips, feel those big, masculine hands on my body, and feel him take me — dominant and demanding — like he did before.

  “You were thinking something dirty, princess, and I’m willing to bet if I reached up under this skirt right now—” I gasp as I feel his hand on my knee, and when he slides it higher, his fingers just sliding under the hem of my skirt, I let out a small whimper.

  “I’m betting I’d find you soaking wet for me, wouldn’t I,” he growls into my ear, and it takes everything I have to stifle the moan that threatens to tumble from my lips.

  “Mm-mm, nope,” I whisper out, quickly shaking my head.

  It’s a lie; a damn big one. I am, in fact, dripping wet for him, my body yearning and craving his touch. Hunter’s hand moves higher; he’s pushing my knees apart in the backseat of the Presidential SUV as his hand slides higher, higher towards my molten heat.

  And when his fingers graze the front of my panties, I do moan; I moan at the feel of his fingers stroking my pussy through the soaking wet fabric, but also at the look of triumph on his face as he grins.

  “Liar, liar,” he growls, and I moan again as his deft fingers push my panties to the side and stroke a digit across my naked lips.

  “So, you going to tell me exactly what you were thinking about or am I going to have to coax it out of you?”

  I gasp as he presses a finger against my opening, and when he slides it easily inside, I’m whimpering as my fingers clutch at the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m in the backseat of a Presidential motorcade car, about twenty feet behind the identical one carrying the President of the United States — my mother — and I’m here moaning, willingly opening my legs for my cocky, domineering bodyguard.

  My stepbrother.

  How the fuck did I let things get back to this place? How come I can’t say no to him?

  Hunter curls his finger up against that sweet spot inside, and I moan — much louder than I should — as he draws me back out of myself and into the here and now.

  “We— This— I mean—” I whimper out, knowing I’m not making any sense whatsoever.

  “Cat got your tongue, princess?” He growls, chuckling into my ear, sliding his finger deep into my clenching pussy as mewling sounds drip from my lips and I clutch at his sleeve.

  He pulls back from my ear and I’m gasping as his lips sear across my own, hard enough to bruise, but I just don’t care. And then it’s Hunter that has my tongue, his sliding between my lips to wrestle with my own as I moan into his mouth.

  His finger is working magic between my legs, and when his thumb begins to lazily circle my clit, I can already feel myself start to shatter to pieces. I’m close; so close to coming in the backseat of the damned SUV.

  “So is this how you touched yourself the other night?” he says darkly, curling his fingers for emphasis as he pulls back from my lips.

  I suck in a breath of air and shake my head side to side, denying it to the bitter end.

  He smirks, the look both cocky and arrogant, and also toe-curlingly sexy at the same time. Literally, my toes are curling right then in my modest nude pumps while I very immodestly spread my legs and let him push me right to the edge of climax.

  “Well, by all means, I’d love to see how you do it, doll.”

  It’s useless to deny it; he knows. Somehow, the cocky prick knows anyways, and he’s teasing me for it.

  And it’s maddening.

  I’m so close, so close to biting my hand between my teeth and exploding under his fingers; I’m so close to coming for him.

  And that’s when the car jerks to a stop.

  Hunter grins a knowing little smirk at me as he suddenly withdraws his fingers from between my lips. I’m gasping for breath, just shy of being pushed over that edge. I watch him wide-eyed as he casually licks his fingers.

  “Guess we’ll just have to wait until you can show me how you do it, princess,” he says with that damned wicked little grin on his face.

  Damn him. It’s like he knew exactly where we were on the drive and timed it all exactly so that he’d leave me like this — clawing at the edges of sanity with my body practically trembling for release. The hell with that, he probably did know exactly where we were, the little shit.

  I’m still gasping for air, my face bright red and my hair wild while I just stare daggers at him when the car shuts off.

  Hunter grins and he takes one more lick of his finger. “Better cover up, sweet-stuff.”

  “You fucking asshole,” I’m hissing at him as I snap out of my daze and quickly yank my skirt down and into place just as another agent comes to the door and opens it for me. And then I’m taking a deep breath, and praying to God the man can’t fucking smell what just happened in the back of that SUV as I step out and into the flash of news cameras and screaming reporters.

  I glance back to see Hunter wagging his eyebrows and just grinning away at me as he blows me an air-kiss.

  “We’re not fucking done, you prick,” I hiss as he joins me outside the car and starts to lead me towards the door to the media expo with his hand at the small of my back.

  “Oh, believe me, princess,” he growls into my ear as he leans forward under the pretense of opening the glass door for me. “We’re certainly not done.”

  His lips linger for a half a second more on my ear, and the words he says next have me shivering.

  “We’re also not done fucking.”

  And then he’s all business — all stoic looks and narrowed eyes as he does one last sweep of the crowd before ushering me inside to the cameras, the lights, and the screaming questions.

  The whole time, I’m standing there forcing myself to smile. Forcing myself to look the part of the all-American girl-next-door. I’m forcing the idea from my head and trying to convince myself that the cameras and reporters don’t know what I was just doing.

  And of course, I’m also trying to force myself to forget the fact that Hunter Ryan just had his fingers in my pussy, and nearly made me come.

  But that, as it seems, is impossible to forget.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The worst part of all of these little games and and the back and forth with Hunter is that there’s no getting away from him. There’s no escape from him, since it’s his sworn job to literally be my shadow. Of course the first thing I want to do as soon as we’re back stage at my mother’s press conference is shove him away and stalk off by myself to seethe and chastise myself for being so fucking weak that I’d let him get to me like that again.

  Except I can’t do that. The s
econd we walk through those doors, he’s just on me. He’s my shadow; my smirking, cocky, knowing-grin-on-his-stupid-face shadow.

  The shadow who keeps making a show of bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling when no one is looking but me; the shadow that keeps letting his hand trace over the small of my back as he leads me back stage in ways that a normal bodyguard would never dream of touching a charge.

  “Stop touching me!” I hiss under my breath as we duck under a hanging curtain in the dark backstage area of the auditorium. There’s hardly anyone back here, which emboldens me to finally whirl and shove a finger in his face.

  He licks it.

  I roll my eyes and groan as I whirl back away from him and stomp away, only to hear his chuckle following me as he catches up.

  “Stop being so touchable then.”

  He runs his hands up my sides, and before I can stop myself, I’m closing my eyes and sighing as I sink back into him. It’s dark where we are, lit only by the lights out on stage, and we’re practically alone back here. But it’s still wildly reckless to let myself go like this. It’s insane, actually, to be out in public like this and letting my bodyguard stepbrother run his hands over my sides, his fingers tracing just shy of my breasts as he pulls me back into him. I bite my lip as I feel just how damn hard he is; the bulge at the front of his suit nestling right into the cleft of my ass through my skirt.

  There’s a wild cheer suddenly from out in the auditorium, and I jerk my head out to see my mother waving and smiling as she takes the stage, Alec right behind her along with a couple aides as they move towards the microphone array on the podium.

  “Hunter, stop it!” I hiss, utterly unconvincingly even to myself as I gasp and let him pull me tight against him.

  Reporters are starting to ask questions, and the lights of a hundred camera flashes strobe out on stage, but back here, I’m lost in the heat and the illicitness of it all. I’m gasping as I feel his hands slide over my hips, moving down to rub me between my legs through my formal skirt and my drenched panties.

  “You can’t just grope me whenever you feel like it, you fucking caveman,” I hiss. But even as I’m saying it, I’m running my hands over his muscled forearms, scratching my nails over his suit up his arms to his biceps, and then sliding my hands up to the back of his head to pull him down to my neck.

  I gasp, a soft sound in the dark of the backstage area as his lips find my neck. He grazes his teeth over my exposed collarbone, making me bite my lip and sink into him as his fingers start to creep lower, to the hem of my skirt-suit.

  “I’ll touch you whenever I damn well please,” he growls roughly into my ear. His fingers finally bunch up the hem of my skirt, and he starts to pull it up my thighs. “And I’ll touch you whenever I please because we both know damn well that you’re dying for me to touch you.”

  I whimper as his fingers slide across the front of my panties, making me shiver and moan.

  There’s another cheer from the audience that snaps me out of the total insanity of what we're doing and I freeze against him for a second.

  “Hunter, no—” I bite my lip through the moan as his fingers delve between my lips through my panties. “Not here, you can’t touch me here like that!”

  “Fine,” he growls into my ear. “Then you can.”

  I gasp as he suddenly reaches up and envelopes one of my hands in his before sliding them both down over my stomach, delving right between my legs. I moan as he pushes my fingers over my aching pussy, using his hand to move mine across my lips.

  “Hunter—“ I manage to gasp out before he’s pushing both of our hands under the waist of my panties and sliding right over the slick heat of my pussy. I melt against him as our fingers find my clit, both of our hands there, but he’s controlling the movement. I’m limp; a rag-doll writhing against him as he uses my fingers to play with my clit.

  It’s like something out of a forbidden fantasy; something not real, and something that could never be in reality, but here we are. I’m backstage at a press conference, with a million security eyes everywhere while my mother, the President, gives a speech on stage, with my stepbrother’s fingers buried deep in my pussy. My conservative skirt is pulled around my waist, my legs are spread, and my toes are curling inside my extremely polished pumps. I am the picture of wanton inappropriateness, and in that moment, with his fingers and mine right there, I couldn’t care less.

  And then in the madness of my own lust, I’m reaching back around, grappling for the zipper of his pants and yanking it down. He growls as I reach inside, and I’m biting my lip as I wrap my fingers around his thick cock. The pants are too tight around my hand, so I’m pulling him out, and gasping as I feel the throbbing heat of him press against my ass. Hunter rocks against me, his breath hot in my ear, sending shivers down my back as his fingers make my legs weak.

  He thrusts forward, the head of his cock slipping under the tiny back of the thong I wear beneath my hiked-up skirt. He rocks against me, and I whimper as I feel him nestle between the cleft of my ass and start to stroke him rapidly with my hand. There’s nothing sensual or slow about this; this is raw lust and need, and we’re barreling towards the oblivion as fast as we can. I’m stoking the pulsing hot length of him, and feeling his fingers and mine slide deep into my pussy as he grinds the palm of my hand against my aching clit.

  I see flashing lights, and and feel the heat pooling between my legs erupt as the teasing from earlier, and the fear of being caught, and the utter wrongness of it all finally hits me like a hammer. I turn and bite his arm, hard, as I squeeze my eyes shut and go crashing over the edge. His breath is hot and stuttered in my ear, and suddenly I can feel his cock throb in my hand.

  Oh my God, he’s coming.

  I moan as I feel him pumping against my ass; feeling it run hot against my fingers and soaking into the back of my panties. It’s so fucking dirty and so totally wrong, and hot with both of our hands buried between my legs that I shudder as another small orgasm tears through me.

  There’s the roar of applause again. I gasp and look up in time to see my mother walking off stage again. I hear the sudden squawk of Hunter’s ear piece, and then suddenly he’s pulling away; we’re both pulling away from each other like we’ve been shocked.

  I’m guilty turning away from him then, red-faced and unable to even believe what just happened as I hurriedly smooth down my skirt and groan at the feel of his cum still warm against my panties.

  I’m lost in it all, speechless and still floating as he’s suddenly putting his hand on the small of my back and growling a “we’re moving” into his mouthpiece as he guides me out from the stage, back through the mercifully empty halls of the building, and out a side-door the waiting embrace of the SUV.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maddie avoids me for the next three goddamn days after that. It’s like turning off a switch. And yeah, normally it’d be hard to avoid each other completely what with me being her shadow any time she leaves her fucking quarters. But that's the problem; this girl doesn’t leave her quarters for three fucking days.

  It’s borderline crazy, like she’s one of those Hollywood starlets you read about in tabloids that shuts themselves away in a luxury hotel on the strip and orders room service all day. But that’s exactly what it is, and guess who the sucker is that has to sit there outside her goddamn door for all three fucking days.

  Yeah, bingo.

  Three days of just sitting there outside her door thinking about what happened. Three days of going over every detail of the last week or so and trying to figure out how the fuck we got to this point. Three days of rolling my eyes and knocking on her door to let her know when the service is up with her fucking meals, or when the maids are there to clean up her little hermit-sanctuary, or whenever Emma comes by to do scheduling or whatever with her.

  “Shame about her feeling under the weather isn’t it?” Emma sighs, and I almost want to roll my eyes at just how fucking naive she is as she smiles sweetly and sympathetic
ally at me before letting herself into Maddie’s rooms.

  Yeah, right, “sick”. Bullshit.

  The worst part actually is on day two, when she apparently gets one of the damned treadmills from the gym in the basement brought up.

  Right, because sick people need to go fucking jogging.

  That day I get to stand there outside her door and listen to the sound of Madison fucking Adams panting while she runs. I get to stand there outside her door gritting my teeth and picturing her in fucking yoga pants or short shorts — or shit, wearing nothing — while my cock practically tears a hole in my suit. I imagine her sweat-sheened body, the flush coloring her cheeks and the tops of her breasts, or watching a rivulet of sweat trickle its way down between her perfect ass.