His Plaything

by Ava Jackson

  “Nice to meet you!” I chirped. “Nixon might've told you already, but I'm going to UC San Diego. I'll be living here until I graduate in December.” And then I’ll be out of here. I nodded toward the heaping skillets. “Need any help cooking?”

  Logan finally piped up. “We just finished, but thanks. You want to eat with us?”

  I accepted his offer before Nixon could say anything. “If you've got room for one more, that sounds great. I'm starved.” That wasn't even a lie—I'd been up for over an hour, and just the sight of all their food was making my mouth water.

  Nixon looked a little annoyed that I'd crashed his man feast, but he made no move to stop me. I sat down at the dining table as the three men started transferring their breakfast in from the kitchen. Soon the dining table groaned with a steaming mountain of fried ham, potatoes, and eggs over easy. Their huge spread almost didn't leave any room for plates.

  To their credit, they started with small talk in an attempt to include me. But they soon lapsed into dense military slang that left me totally lost. BOHICA? FUBAR? Chamber rides and monster mashes? Sneak and peek, E and E, rope-a-dope … say what? The testosterone in the air was almost overwhelming. What little I could understand of their conversation was full of swearing, dirty jokes, and combat anecdotes. They reminisced and laughed about hair-raising danger like it was a fun class trip to the zoo. Feeling somewhat ignored, I gave up trying to follow along and just concentrated on eating. Which was probably a smart move—the sheer volume of calories they'd already put away was amazing, and they might end up shoveling down my share if I wasn't careful.

  “Hey, Avery,” Fox suddenly asked. “You've only known Nixon for a couple days, right? Is it weird to be living with someone who’s basically a stranger?”

  Caught with a huge mouthful of ham, I mumbled, “Huh?” in the least sexy way possible.

  Nixon grunted. “The only thing that's weird around here is your face, Fox.”

  “It's your favorite face and you know it. You're just jealous of my dashing good looks.”

  I finally managed to swallow and washed it down with a drink of coffee. “No, we met a few weeks ago. We were both visiting his dad in Montana after he married my stepmom. But yeah, we haven't known each other that long. So it's been… ” I chose my next words carefully. As tempting as it was to rip into Nixon, I also didn't want to deal with infinite grumpiness later. “We've had to work some stuff out.”

  I couldn't help but glance at Nixon, judging his reaction, and saw Logan's eyes flick between us at the same time. How about that … it looks like the baby has a babysitter.

  “Well, if you're interested in getting to know him better, I've got some pretty wild stories about Nixon.” Fox's grin turned crooked, showing his dimples. “I'd love to fill you in sometime.”

  I had to giggle at the terrible innuendo. “I'm all ears.”

  Nixon abruptly pushed out his chair. “Maybe another time,” he interrupted. “You guys give me a hand with the dishes?”

  Logan got up, jerking his head at Fox, who frowned but obeyed. The three men trooped back into the kitchen, leaving me to sit alone at the table, pushing a few scraps of yolky egg around my plate … and wondering yet again how I was going to survive the semester.

  When Cynthia had originally suggested living here, she'd made it sound like I'd have the whole condo to myself, since Nixon was away on military missions so often. That was why Russ had come up with this idea in the first place. But from the moment I’d first walked in the door, Nixon had been invading every square inch of my personal space, pretty much non-stop. Not to mention the other two huge dudes who just saw every square inch of me, back and front. Things probably would have worked out different if he hadn't been on shore leave. But as it was, my nerves were already wearing down to shreds.

  Maybe I needed to back off for a while. Making myself scarce would give us both some breathing room. Even if Nixon didn't use it, I might be able to regroup … or even figure out how to get the upper hand. Fighting to regain a sense of calm, I took my half-full coffee mug to my bedroom, insisting to myself that I wasn't just running away again.

  The next few hours passed both fast and slow. I fooled around organizing my school supplies for Monday, unpacking the last of my luggage, rearranging the stuff I'd already unpacked—while always keeping my ears perked toward the living room. Eventually the front door opened, then shut, and the apartment grew quiet. Fox and Logan were gone. I wasn't sure if Nixon had left, too, or just shut himself in his room. Either way, I was thankful for the reprieve. His constant maleness was just too distracting.

  ***

  For the first week of my semester, I dedicated myself to avoiding Nixon like the plague. I grabbed breakfast on the way to class, studied in coffee shops for hours on end, and ate dinner out with my friends a lot. On the rare occasion that I came home for anything other than sleep, I did my best to stay in my bedroom. I only ventured into the kitchen for food when I heard the front door slam or the shower turn on. I was a little proud of my diversion techniques, but still annoyed that I needed to use them at all. It was absurd to hide from my roommate like this—to tiptoe around like a burglar in my own fucking home. How was I going to keep this up for another four months?

  At least there were advantages to living like a hermit. By Thursday, I'd already finished all my reading for the next two weeks. I decided to give myself the night off. With everything I'd been through lately, I deserved a little treat.

  After dinner, I went home for a quick shower and curled up in bed, still wearing my fluffy robe. I propped myself up on some pillows and pulled out my e-reader. My favorite author had released her latest steamy romance novel almost a month ago, but what with my life turning itself inside-out, I still hadn't read very far yet. But luck was with me tonight. It looked like the story was finally getting juicy:

  There was no scandal in tending to a wounded warrior, Jayla tried to tell herself. She had purchased Garrett's skill as a mercenary to win back her father's throne. It was only fair that she clean the injuries sustained in her service. Her royal sense of duty would stand for nothing less. But her fingers trembled on his body, glistening with sweat in the campfire's light.

  Ooh … I could almost picture Garrett's lean, taut muscles. Or was he more buff, like Nixon? The sexy mercenary had been introduced way back at the beginning and I'd long since forgotten exactly what he looked like. Definitely battle-scarred, though. Did Nixon have any scars? I hadn't seen any, but maybe I'd been too busy staring at his cock to notice. I forced my attention back to the story. Damn, I'd skipped over a couple paragraphs without even noticing.

  She couldn't deny what she felt for Garrett—or fail to notice the way he looked at her. It would be so easy to let him take what they both wanted. But she had promised to marry Duke Wagnaf in exchange for his aid. When she was once more the princess of Orvany, he would become her prince.

  That day was so very far away, though. And right now, Garrett was so very close.

  She leaned into his touch, her boldness surprising them both. Garrett wasted no time laying her down by the fire. Their lips met in the first wild kiss of many. His hand slipped under her skirts and she gasped at his deft torment. “Please,” she begged, “I'm more than ready.”

  My breath coming a little faster, I let one hand wander, sliding into my robe in imitation of Garrett's touch. The other hand kept scrolling:

  Jayla moaned as he filled her. His sure, swift thrusts struck deep into her center. It felt so good to finally close the gap between them—a pleasure so intense, she could barely draw a breath to cry out. But cry out she did. Before she knew it, she was coming undone around him.

  “I'm not finished with you yet, milady,” he breathed into her ear. Her blood stirred again at the promise in his husky voice. If only for one night, she would surrender herself to passion.

  Soon I lost all track of time, absorbed in the characters' forbidden lust and my own need for relief. Slowly but surely, my mental
image of Garrett morphed into Nixon—his dark hair and piercing blue eyes and sculpted body. By the time I realized it, I was too far gone to care.

  Chapter 9

  Nixon

  It had seemed at first like I couldn't freaking get rid of Avery. But after breakfast on Saturday, I turned around while washing dishes to see a suddenly empty chair. And she stayed AWOL for almost an entire week. I could count the number of times I'd seen her on one hand—one very tired hand, thanks to her no-nookie rule—which for some unknown reason I was actually following. What the fuck was going on with that woman? Did studying the history of lipstick, or whatever the hell her classes were about, really keep her this busy? Was she cooking meth in her bedroom? Or was this little disappearing act just some passive-aggressive female bullshit? My curiosity was killing me.

  Finally, on Thursday night, I came home from goofing around with Fox and Logan to find her bedroom door shut. She never did that unless she was hiding in there. I stowed my sandy shoes in the boot tray and walked closer to her door. I could hear noises coming from inside; they were very quiet, but she was definitely home. If I wanted to confront her about why she'd been avoiding me, it was now or never.

  “You alive?” I called. When no answer came, I frowned. No way she can't hear me. I started to open the door. “C'mon, Avery, we need to talk abou—”

  The words caught in my throat. I stood there like an idiot, still holding the doorknob, unable to believe what I was seeing.

  My stepsister was sprawled over the bed, her creamy thighs spread wide—and her hand buried between them. Raw lust jolted through me and my cock throbbed to instant, painful hardness. She looked like a Playboy centerfold ripped straight from my wet dreams. Eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed, cheeks stained pink. Her robe had fallen open to reveal her stiff nipples and slick pussy lips. She worked herself almost frantically, two glistening fingers plunging deep inside while she rubbed her clit with the heel of her hand. The sound of her finger fucking herself harmonized with her whimpers of desperation. She hadn't been crying out in bliss, I realized through my fog of arousal. She was frustrated and unfulfilled. Struggling after relief that was always just out of reach. Had she been just as horny as me this whole time?

  Avery's eyes fluttered—then snapped fully open at the sight of me. She gave a shrill yelp and yanked her robe back around her gorgeous body. “W-what … Nixon! What the hell? Why don’t you ever fucking knock?” she yelled, struggling to tie the belt shut.

  “I, uh … heard noises coming from your room. I was worried.”

  “You really think I'm dumb enough to believe that?” She snatched up a pillow and threw it at me. It fell short by almost a foot. “Get out!”

  Okay, that wasn't the best excuse I've ever come up with … but I'm not letting this chance slip away. Her glare wavered as I stalked closer, pinning her with my heated gaze. “Really? It looks like you could use some help getting off. I'd be happy to lend a hand.” I licked my lips with a slight smile. “Or a tongue.”

  Her eyes darkened and flashed on mine. Her lashes fluttered—she had looked down, just for a split second, fast enough that I could have mistaken it for shyness. But there was no way she could miss the raging bulge in my jeans. She was fighting with herself. And that meant some part of her was actually considering my offer.

  The air felt as thick and heavy as a gathering thunderstorm. Taking a chance, I sat down beside Avery on the bed, keeping my feet on the floor. Not touching her—not yet. But I was still close enough to smell her arousal. The few inches of space between us crackled with sexual energy. Soon, I intended to close that distance altogether.

  “You … I had everything under control,” she said, trying to sound indignant. But her voice shook and I could hear a ragged undertone of need. And she hadn't pulled back. She hadn't even ordered me off the bed.

  I shook my head, unable to hold back a smirk. “You can't hide from me. I saw you with your fingers buried in your cunt, remember?”

  She gave the tiniest, cutest squeak of embarrassment I'd ever heard. With an effort, I forced myself back to the task at hand. So to speak. “I know what a woman looks like when she's coming, and you weren't anywhere near it.”

  Her rosy lips—almost the same color as her nipples, I couldn't help but notice—pressed into a thin line. “Right. How could I forget your godlike expertise? I guess even you can learn something about women when you've screwed enough to fill a phone book.” And I'm just the latest in that long line, she didn't have to add.

  Shit, I'd said the exact wrong thing. I silently cursed my junior teammate's big mouth. “Okay, granted, Fox wasn't lying yesterday. I've had my share of wild and crazy times.” I reached out to rest my hand on hers. “But right now, though … all I'm thinking about is you.” And your gorgeous, tight little pussy that looks good enough to eat.

  If she had flinched or looked away, that would have been the end of it. But she just watched me, wide-eyed and barely breathing. Like she was daring me to speak. Like an alley cat, a half-wild thing, her skittishness perfectly balanced with her curiosity and desire. Whatever I did next would decide everything. The slightest mistake could tip her mental scales and send her into flight. Or fight, given what I'd seen of her fiery streak.

  Taking another leap of faith, I lifted her still-wet fingers to my nose. She blinked, expression flashing from confusion to shock, but she didn't pull back her hand. My eyes slid shut as I inhaled her sweet, heady musk. Just the scent of her arousal felt like a shot of tequila, clouding my mind and burning all the way down past my stomach. My cock strained against my zipper. Before I knew it, my lips had closed around her fingers. I took them deep, sucking and licking to get every tangy drop, wishing I could taste her juices at the source instead.

  She whimpered, and I almost moaned in response. Oh, fuck—one hit and I was addicted. I wanted to pull that sweet little noise from her lips again and again. Her already-huge eyes had widened even further, their beautiful jade green almost eclipsed by black pupils. She was completely captivated. All the cautious judgment in her stare had evaporated, leaving only lust. Pure surrender.

  Knowing she wouldn't lie now, I asked, “How long has it been since you've come?” My lips brushed her fingers as I spoke.

  Her own lips parted, caught off guard by the question. But she never broke my gaze. Eventually, reluctantly, she answered: “A while.”

  That's a crime against humanity if I've ever heard one. My mind was racing, leaping from image to image in a haze of lust. Avery's expression of mixed shock and desire when she'd walked in on me fucking Pam. Our first dinner together, when she'd told me such painful secrets without letting her brave smile falter. Bouncing down the hallway naked and dripping from the shower. Taunting me by flirting with my friends in that criminally fuckable outfit. Ever since last Saturday, it felt like I'd been constantly rock hard, just waiting for the chance to have her. And nothing helped. I had intensified my workout routines and started jacking off twice a day, like I was a goddamn teenager again, but I still couldn't shut this obsession down. Even when I went out to the bars, where I could snag any frog hog I wanted, none of the women I saw set my blood on fire like the mere thought of Avery did.

  Right then, all I wanted was to get her off. I was about to show her that I was dead fucking serious about my proposal from our first day. Specifically, the part about making her come so hard she forgot her own name—and then I'd keep going, again and again, until neither of us could take another second of pleasure. Once she got a taste of what I could make her feel, I was willing to bet that she wouldn't walk away.

  Still holding her wrist, I let my other hand drift up to her face, ghosting along her jaw to her chin. “If you want me out of here, I'll leave. I promise. But I also promise that … if you don't say no, right now … I'm going to kiss you.”

  She made a soft, throaty noise that just barely sounded like uh-huh. It was needy and plaintive, almost a whine, and I couldn't resist any longer. My hand slipped around the
back of her head, pulling her close. I leaned in and locked my lips to hers.

  Her mouth opened to me immediately. Our warm tongues slid over each other in sensual exploration. My fingers tangled in her long, damp hair; she smelled of sex and flowery shampoo. Even after her shower, I could taste the slightest traces of vanilla from the lip gloss she must have worn to class that day. I nibbled on her lower lip, teasing and tasting the soft flesh, and she sighed in bliss. Her small, tight body squirmed against me, trying to get closer. Her hands clutched at my biceps, then my shoulders and back, as if she couldn't decide where to touch first. Unable to resist her heat, I kissed harder, tongue skating along the roof of her mouth. My other hand slipped into her robe to cup and knead her firm, perky tits. She moaned and I felt her melt back against the pillows. This kiss was the answer I'd needed all along—she wanted me every bit as much as I wanted her. I wondered if she could taste her own flavor on my lips and groaned at the thought.

  The thought that Avery was mine, finally all mine, was almost too much to bear. Soon, I would be hearing her cries right in my ear instead of through a door. But I couldn't just spread her legs and take her yet. Even if she didn't need it, she deserved a little more finesse than that. And I wanted to take full advantage of the moment.

  I pulled away and almost lost my resolve at the lost look on her face. “Strip for me,” I ordered, as gently as I could manage when my cock felt ready to explode. “I want to see you.”

  Avery was primed and ready, all right—she barely hesitated. Watching for my reaction, she went up on her knees and untied her robe. I stared hungrily as it slipped off her shoulders to reveal the perfect body I'd glimpsed last Saturday. I undid my pants, giving a sigh of relief when my aching cock sprang free, and kicked them off as I pulled my shirt over my head. I let her stare at me for a moment before adding, “Now lay down on your back and spread your legs.”