by Melinda Minx
“And then you’ll only buy, like, one of them.”
“No,” I say, giggling, “I won’t buy any of them, and I’ll make you move to some other chair outside another store while I start the whole process over again.”
“We can fall into all of the married stereotypes,” Coal says. “Justice Montero will see me sitting outside the shop holding your fucking shopping bag, and she’ll throw the case out straight away.”
“And we can like, never have sex—”
“Hey,” Coal says, dropping his tools. “I didn’t agree to that.”
I laugh. “You think we’re going to have sex in our fake marriage?”
“We had sex when we weren’t married,” he says. “Why not keep doing it while we’re living under the same roof?”
I bite my lip as he goes back to work on the tire. I realize I’ve wanted him to fuck me again for a long time now. Not being able to get him out of my mind since our first meeting was largely due to how good the sex was.
It all gives me pause, though. If we’re fake married but sleeping with each other, how fake is it really?
“It was some good sex,” Coal mumbles to himself, as he tightens the last of the bolts.
I bite my lip and blush. I mean, I figured it was good. It was good for me, but I didn’t know how Coal felt about it. He seemed to enjoy himself, but it’s not like making a man cum is particularly difficult.
“Andrea, come here,” he says.
I feel myself walking toward him before I even think about it.
“I want to at least show you how to work the jack,” he says, pointing.
“You’d like that, huh?” I ask.
He smirks at me, but doesn’t say anything. He points to the jack. “See the long rod? Put your hand on the ridged grip and squeeze.”
I put my hand on it like he instructed. “Do I jack it now?” I burst out laughing. “You seriously are having me handle the jack because everything about it sounds dirty, right?”
“That’s only part of it,” he says. “I want you to at least be able to get the car jacked up. If your car breaks down in the desert or something, and you can’t reach AAA—”
“Okay, I got it. How do I jack it?”
He gives me an evil grin. “It’s already jacked, and the tire is changed, so you’re going to lower it. Keep a firm grip and rotate the jack.”
I squeeze tight and use my wrist to rotate it. I hear a hiss, and the truck and jack start to go down.
“Good,” he says. “You want to make sure there’s nothing—and no one—underneath when you do this. I already checked.”
After several seconds, the front tires touch the ground, including the spare Coal just put on.
“How do I jack it back up?” I ask.
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “So you do want to learn this after all. You don’t want to be totally, one hundred percent useless? You sure? You can’t unlearn this, once I show you, you are officially somewhat useful around cars.”
“Stop being a jerk about it and just show me.”
“Jerk, Jack, same thing,” he says. “You really need me to show you?”
“No,” I say, pissed off. I start to pump the jack, and with each pump, I feel the truck going up higher and higher. “Huh? I thought it would take more strength than this.”
“Nope, even weak women can do it.”
“I’m not weak.”
“I didn’t say you were, I just said that even a weak woman could do it.”
I scoff. “Right, I’m sure you weren’t implying anything about me.”
I twist the jack and let the truck fall back down.
“When we get back to San Francisco, I’ll buy a real tire and I can show you how to put it on if you want.”
“If I can operate the jack and change a tire, then my AAA membership starts to lose value.”
“Well, you can’t tow your own car, so you can keep it for that. Feels good to get your hands dirty, huh?”
I look down at my hands and see that they are covered in grease. “Ew!”
Coal laughs at me. There’s not a hint of sympathy. My fucking jerk husband.
12
Coal
We pull up to a townhouse.
“Here it is,” Andrea says.
“So you live in Oakland. That’s not as lame as I’d have expected.”
“Thanks,” she says dryly. “It’s a lot busier than what you’re used to.”
“I adapt quickly,” I say. “It’s not my cup of tea, but I’ll deal with it.”
“Oh,” she says, and I can already tell the next thing she says will be incredibly sarcastic just from the tone of her voice. “I’m so happy you’ll deal with it.”
Yep, definitely sarcastic.
“We won’t be staying here long anyway,” she says. “My parents live in Berkeley, and we’ll head over there on Friday.”
“I’ll be adapted by then,” I say.
“Well, don’t bother. You have to focus on adapting to my parents’ place, not here.”
“Same thing.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Not really.”
“Your eyes must hurt after rolling them at me so much during the drive. You sure you don’t want to give that a rest?”
“I can’t help it. My eyes just do that when people are being difficult and obnoxious.”
“That’s what I’m doing? I just drove for over four hours while you slept. I didn’t hear you volunteering to drive.”
“You didn’t ask, and I don’t know how to drive a stupid truck anyway.”
“It’s automatic,” I say. “You put it in drive and push the pedal down. It’s just like a car.”
“But it’s big,” she says. “What if it tips over when I turn?”
“You mean when you switch lanes on the highway? What big turns were we making?”
“I’ve never driven on a spare tire,” Andrea says.
“Alright, I guess I can’t expect a civilian to take actual responsibility for anything.”
I say that just to piss her off, but maybe it was too much.
“Excuse me? Mr. Chip on His Shoulder not-really-a-SEAL-ex-SEAL is suddenly calling me a civilian.”
I laugh. “You are a civilian, it’s not like it’s not true.”
“You said it like it was an insult.”
“It was.”
“Jesus!” she snaps. “I have a headache. I need to sleep.”
“You got a headache from all the eye rolling,” I say, grinning. “Which bed should I take? I’m tired from all the driving and hearing you whine so much.”
“Which bed…” she says, her mouth opening and closing. “Shit. I was going to get you an air mattress.”
“Woah,” I say, feigning surprise. “Don’t blow your whole budget on me. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”
She gives me a tired look as she unlocks the door, then says, “You did drive, so you can take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”
“Cool,” I say, doing a big, exaggerated stretch as I yawn.
“Cool?” Andrea asks. “Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and volunteer to take the couch? To let me have the bed?”
“Nah,” I say. “Last time this happened you crawled into bed with me anyway. I’m kind of hoping it will work out the same way again—”
She punches my arm. It doesn’t hurt. “Never mind! You’re on the couch. We’ll go to the store and get you an air mattress later, or if you behave, maybe I can get you a cot or something.”
She guides me inside. It’s a small place with a cramped living room and kitchen and a small bedroom upstairs. It’s bigger than my cabin, but with a lot less charm. All of the ruggedness of my cabin is replaced by frilly decorations and dumb shit like a teakettle that probably costs like fifty bucks because it’s pink and faux-European-looking.
I’ll adapt, though.
“At your parents’ place, we’ve gotta’ share a bedroom,” I say. “Might as well get used to it now. Civilians love to p
rocrastinate, but if you’ve ever been in combat, you realize quickly how pointless it is. For one, nothing you procrastinate on in civilian life is every really scary enough to justify putting off—”
“You’re going to just keep throwing that word around like an insult, aren’t you?” she snaps. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing.”
“What word?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Civilian.”
“Hey, if you choose to be offended, that’s your fault, not the fault of the word.”
“So you never procrastinate on anything, huh?”
“If I say I’m going to chop firewood later, and then a snowstorm hits—”
“Okay,” she says, cutting me off. “Forget it. I can only take so much self-righteousness. I need to go pass out.”
She slaps a hand on the couch. “Here’s you. I’ll get you some blankets or something.”
“Can I get a pillow, too? Maybe one of the dozen or so you’ve probably got on your bed?”
From the pissed-off look on her face, I know I guessed right—that she really does have at least ten pillows stacked all over bed.
I laugh under my breath as she stalks off to go get me the blanket and pillows.
I pull my shirt off and stuff it into an outer pocket of my bag, then I reach to take off my belt.
Just as I get down to my boxers, Andrea walks back in.
She looks at me with her jaw wide open, and her eyes bulging. “Wh—wh—what are you doing?”
“Getting ready to sleep.”
“You’re…” she looks down at me, her eyes lingering way too long.
“Jacked up?” I ask, glancing down at my half-erect cock. “It does that sometimes, no big deal.”
She looks back up into my eyes, but every few moments I see her glance back down. “I’m definitely not letting you sleep with me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say. I reach down and scratch my balls, which makes my briefs press against my cock, and when I let go, it springs up and down.
She stares right at it, but turns around and walks back up the stairs without saying another word to me.
I laugh to myself; my balls didn’t even itch.
I go ahead and take my underwear off, too, as my cock is getting harder and I don’t want it all tight and constrained.
I lay down on the couch and throw the blankets over me. It’s barely even dark now, but the drive and all the bullshit that happened last night sapped the energy out of me.
I really don’t regret killing that guy. The last time I showed restraint, three of my friends got blown up. The kid—no, the man, he made his choice—looked so young. No way he’s a real threat, I thought. I let my trigger finger loosen, and I hesitated as I saw the detonator. It wasn’t a long moment of indecision—just a fraction of a second’s hesitation—and boom, my friends were gone. If I hadn’t hesitated the way I did—if I had acted like my training had taught me to, I could have saved them.
So when I saw that junky’s hands on Andrea’s neck, I went for the kill. No hesitation this time, and now Andrea’s alive. Barely a bruise on her neck.
No regrets.
I wake up with a raging fucking boner. It’s completely dark, and I have to piss like nothing else.
The male biology’s answer to every problem is to get hard. See something you like? Get hard. Scared shitless in combat? Get hard. Have to piss while sleeping? Get hard.
I grope around for a light switch, and once it’s on, I realize that there is no downstairs bathroom. There’s probably only one bathroom, and it’s connected to Andrea’s bedroom upstairs.
Alright, no problem.
I move quietly up the stairs. I really did give her a hard time all day, and the least I could do at this point is let her sleep.
By the time I reach the top of the stairs, the light from downstairs is all but gone. I feel carpet under my feet, and I walk blindly through the bedroom. I stick to the wall, and then I feel my shin bump against something.
I feel a blanket. Must be Andrea’s bed.
I grin. I could crawl in all naked to get her back for the night in the cabin. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I can see the outline of Andrea wrapped up in her blanket. I almost consider crawling in next to her, pressing my hard cock against her. That would wake her up.
But I’ve got to piss. There’s no way I can wait on that.
I can see the vague outlines of everything now, so I tiptoe toward the door and press it open. It creaks, and I step in.
I shut the door quietly—I don’t want the light to wake her—though probably pissing and flushing will wake her up anyway.
I stare down at my rock-hard cock pointing right up toward the ceiling, and the toilet below it. This is an age-old problem men have faced ever since the invention of latrines and outhouses: ever since man was confined to having to piss into a small target area. I wonder sometimes if women invented that idea, not considering that men would have a hard time with it. Cave men probably started pissing drawings into the snow as soon as they figured out how to draw animals on the cave walls. And when writing was first invented not far from where I was sent to blow shit up, men gained greater finesse, and they pissed their own names into the snow. So yeah, maybe men invented the concept of pissing into a small target area—if only to show off their aim—not thinking about the problem it would cause when you had morning wood.
But a SEAL is resourceful, and I found out a long time ago a solution to this problem. It’s not graceful, but it’s elegant.
I plant both of my hands onto the wall in front of the toilet, and I rotate my hips back so that my erect cock is pointing close to straight down. It’s an awkward position, but effective. A civilian probably would struggle with this, but I was a sniper in the SEALs. This is fucking easy.
I let loose the stream, and it hits true, right on target. Over the sound of me hitting my target, I hear a creak from behind.
“What the fuck?”
It’s Andrea’s voice.
“Why are you naked? And why the hell are you pissing like that?”
I laugh, not looking back. I can’t really look back from this angle anyway.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Why are you watching me piss naked at this angle?”
She slams the door, and I laugh so hard that I almost lose my aim.
I wash my hands and my dick with soap until they’re both spotlessly clean, but I have a good feeling I’m going to be getting them both dirty again real soon.
I flush the toilet and yawn as I step back out into the bedroom. My cock is still hard. Usually it softens again after I piss, but Andrea barging in on me got a real rise out of me.
“Like I don’t know what you’re doing,” she says.
The lights are off, and my night vision is shot again from having the bathroom light on.
“Just like I won’t understand what it’s like to have a period,” I say, stretching. “You don’t know what it’s like to have morning wood.”
“It’s not the morning.”
I glance at her nightstand. “3:26. In the morning.”
“The morning doesn’t really start until like six o’clock, when people start actually waking up.”
I laugh. “What a civilian thing to say. Six o’clock is fucking sleeping in to a SEAL.”
“You just keep walking around with that hard-on,” she says. “You had it when you went to sleep hours ago. Don’t your balls hurt?”
“Want me to show you how to jack it?” I say, licking my lips.
“Should I squeeze it by the ridges, and then rotate it until it lets out a pneumatic hiss and falls down?”
“This jack is powered by hydraulics,” I say, taking three big steps toward her bed. She’s sitting up with her blankets wrapped around her body. I’m hoping she’s naked underneath.
“If I jack it,” she says. “Will you go to sleep and get this out of your system?”
“That would blast it right out of my system, yeah.”
“Come here.”
She reaches up, and I step closer. Her hand squeezes tight around my steel-hard cock.
I start to breathe heavy.
“Why is it wet?” she asks, the whites of her eyes looking up at me. My night vision is coming back now.
“I washed it.”
“Do...do guys always wash their dicks after they pee?”
“Nah,” I say. “I just had the feeling this kind of thing…” I point down at her hand wrapped around me, “that this might happen.”
She scoffs at me, but she doesn’t loosen her grip for a moment. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I’d rather that you be full of me.”
She squeezes my shaft and starts to stroke her hand up and down. I lean back to enjoy it. She talked a big game about what an asshole I am, and how much I annoyed her, but deep down she knows she likes it.
And now her soft hand squeezing my big cock is proof of that.
She tugs on my cock suddenly, and my whole body is pulled onto the bed.
I fall onto my back as she regains her grip on me.
“You just pulled me by the dick!” I say, grinning in astonishment.
But then I feel really astonished when she swallows up my cock. Her lips squeeze against my head, and I feel her saliva dripping down the ridges of my hard rod.
She sucks on me as she swallows me up inch by inch.
“Fuck, Andrea, that’s so good.”
She makes some sound, but since I’m filling up her whole mouth, i don’t have a clue what she’s saying.
“I could get used to this,” I say. “Having you unable to make any comebacks.”
She sucks harder, and bobs her head back and forth even faster than before, stunning me into silence. The intense warmth and wetness of her mouth against my burning hot dick. I’ve been hard for hours, and my balls ache for her.
It feels good, but I need to make her feel good, too.
I press her away, and she resists, but soon I pull out of her mouth entirely.
“What?” she says in a confused voice.
“It’s damn good,” I say, “but I want to save something for where it counts.”