His Plaything

by Ava Jackson

  “Jeez, dude, you get up on the wrong side of bed or what? I was just messing around.” Fox touched his tongue to a steaming potato chunk, then blew on it. “Why do you care so much? Not like Avery's some piece of ass you're trying to impress.”

  I stabbed viciously at my steak. Rare and bloody, just like I liked it.

  “He doesn't want to look bad in front of his new stepsister,” Logan mumbled around his mouthful of food. I silently thanked him for swooping in with a convenient excuse. Then I took it all back when he continued, “But you gotta admit, it was kind of funny.”

  I turned to glare at Logan. “No, it really fucking wasn't.”

  Logan gave me a weird look. “Uh … sorry?”

  Dammit. Maybe I did need to slow my roll a little. From their perspective, I was flipping out over a few stupid stories. They had no idea how badly Fox had just cockblocked me. How many days of coaxing and sexual frustration he'd flushed straight down the crapper…

  “Avery's family now,” Fox said. “Knowing embarrassing shit about you is par for the course, man. I'm just getting her up to speed.”

  But when Fox talked like that, it was impossible to keep my mouth shut. “I don't care what you think you're doing,” I snapped. “Just back off.”

  Thankfully, before I could dig myself any deeper, the timer buzzed from the kitchen. The green beans were done cooking. Which meant that…

  “Shit, we're missing the game,” I said. “You guys go ahead. I'll get this stuff.”

  They grunted in affirmation and went inside. I moved the rest of the food from the grill onto the plate I'd brought for Avery, then followed them. I served myself some vegetables and left her plate next to the kitchen sink. As I sat down on the couch, I noticed that her bedroom door was closed.

  All through the basketball game, Fox and Logan cussed or cheered at the appropriate spots, but I could barely focus. I had no idea how the score ended up. Even my food tasted bland. All I could think about was Avery, hidden away in her bedroom. Was she pissed off or just grossed out? Did she hate me? Why did she hate me? Jesus, what if she was crying? The idea sat like a hot lead slug in my gut. What the hell was I going to do?

  When Fox and Logan finally left, I put our plates in the dishwasher and reheated the food I'd saved for Avery: a perfectly cooked sirloin steak, tender green beans, and potatoes that were only slightly burnt. Then I knocked on her door.

  After an uncomfortable minute, she opened up. It might have been my imagination, but I thought her eyes looked a little red. She stared at the plate in my hand like it was full of slugs. Finally she took it—with an almost inaudible “thanks”—and started to close the door.

  “Avery, wait. Can we talk?” I asked.

  Now she was staring at me like I was a slug. “There's nothing to talk about.”

  Fucking hell. I was stranded in unknown territory without so much as a compass. “Are you mad or something?” Hopefully she wouldn't get offended at my confusion. Or if she did, at least she might drop a hint about what I should do.

  “Why would I be mad?” she replied, looking and sounding completely mad.

  I nodded, still totally lost. I don't know, babe, that's why I fucking asked. Why couldn't women come with a manual? How had I gone from hero to zero in a single evening? I took a stab at the only thing I could think of: “Everything Fox was talking about … all that stuff was a long time ago. I've grown up a lot since then.”

  Her eyes were as cool and worn as old coins. Too exhausted to care. “Thanks again for the food,” she finally muttered.

  And then, before I could get out another word, she shut the door in my face.

  Knowing better than to knock again, I retreated to my own room for some serious brainstorming. One thing was for sure: I had my work cut out for me. It was a massive stroke of bad luck for Avery to hear all my dirty laundry right after we'd finally messed around. Judging by how hurt and disgusted she'd looked earlier, she probably thought I was the biggest douchebag to ever walk the planet. And maybe I used to be, when I was younger—but I wasn't now. How could I make her believe that I'd changed, though?

  Flopping down on my bed, I groaned to myself, frustrated in more ways than one. I still wanted to fuck her until she screamed my name, but this situation would require a lot of repair if I wanted to even see that sweet pussy again. And dear God, did I ever.

  The next morning, after my Saturday run with Logan, I begged off our usual breakfast and walked down to the florist's shop on Orange Avenue. I figured I couldn't go wrong with buying Avery a few flowers. That move was classic for a reason, right? I asked the surly cashier what he'd recommend. Not roses—those said romance a little too loudly—and not a big showy bouquet, either. Just something bright and colorful—like you’d give a friend. Probably thinking I was some kind of idiot, he eventually sold me on three stems of purple-and-yellow gladiolus and a small glass vase.

  I hid the flowers in my room until Avery went out to study with her friends, then left them on her nightstand and started making lunch. Normally, I would have just fixed myself a turkey club, but I was aiming to win Avery over again. Half-assed tactics wouldn't cut it for this operation. After way too much thought, I decided that chicken spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce struck a nice balance between “why bother” and “creepy overkill.”

  I cooked up a huge pot, ate a couple bowls, then fired up the Xbox and settled in to rack up achievements. This was going to be a boring day; with my luck, Avery would come back as soon as I left the condo, so I was homebound until further notice.

  By the time I gave up and went to bed that night, Avery still hadn't showed.

  I came out of my room on Sunday morning to find her eating cereal at the dining table. She saw me and stopped chewing for a moment. I held back the urge to ask whether she'd been abducted by aliens yesterday. If we got into an argument, that would just distract from my goal.

  Finally she swallowed her mouthful of Cheerios and said, “The flowers are really nice. Thank you.” Her voice was soft, almost shy—or maybe guarded.

  Questions buzzed in my mind: Where the hell were you? Did you stay overnight, or did you just come home late? Was it because you're still pissed at me? Reminding Avery of her freakout seemed counterproductive, though, and she might think I was trying to micromanage her life or something. Finally I just nodded and said, “Glad you like them.” But I couldn't resist adding, “So … you were out late with your friends?”

  “Oh. Um, yeah. We watched some movies at Heather's apartment. I didn’t mean to worry you. I guess I could’ve texted.” She fidgeted with her hands for a second. “It just didn't occur to me.”

  If she was telling the truth, that meant she hadn't stayed out specifically to avoid me. If she was lying, that meant she had been avoiding me—but she didn't want to hold that fact over my head. Either way seemed like progress. I decided to take my small victories where I could find them. “Cool,” I replied. “Well, I'm going out. I'll probably be back for dinner, but if not, there's leftover spaghetti in the fridge.”

  Avery nodded and I left her alone. She seemed touched by my gesture, but still a little standoffish, and I wondered just how long the road ahead of me was.

  ***

  As I was going to bed late the next night, I noticed that light was still shining under Avery's bedroom door. I knocked, and after a long pause, I heard her call, “What?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.”

  I opened the door to see Avery hunched over her desk, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, her face bathed in the glow of her laptop. A thick textbook lay open at her elbow and three more were stacked nearby. “Are you busy?” I asked.

  “What does it look like?” Then she sighed loudly and rubbed her forehead between thumb and finger. “Ugh, sorry. I'm just already regretting taking this fourth class. We have to turn in a response paper every Wednesday, and I have a million other things to get to, but my brain just shuts down every time I look at this fucking es
say prompt.”

  I walked over to stand behind her, leaning on the back of her office chair. “Sounds like you need a break.”

  “No,” she moaned, dragging out the word into several syllables. “That's the exact opposite of what I need. I gotta pull myself together and knock this out!”

  “Just ten minutes. It'll help you focus, I promise.” I started rubbing her shoulders and she made a small, surprised noise, which quickly turned to a groan of mixed pain and pleasure. I muttered, “Jesus, you're stiff as a board.”

  “I'm not … surprised… ” Her voice came in strained bursts as my fingers dug deeper into the tight muscle. “Been sitting here for … five hours … aw, why'd you stop?”

  I sat down on her bed and patted it. “Come on. Unless I get all the knots, they'll just spread from muscle to muscle again, and you'll be right back where you started.” I had no idea whether or not that was true, but it made sense enough.

  Her mouth twisted in skepticism. Finally, though, she got out of her office chair and lay face-down on the bed. I straddled her ass, praying my boner wouldn't make an appearance in the next ten minutes, and resumed massaging her upper back. We lapsed into silence, broken only by an occasional squeak or sigh from Avery.

  After I had worked my way down to the small of her back, I ventured a quiet, “Hey.”

  “Mm?” There was a dreamy fuzziness to her tone and I wondered if I'd woken her up.

  I took a deep breath and dove head-first into sincerity. “Last Friday night, Fox said a lot of stuff about me.” When she didn't react, I continued, “I won't lie and say that none of it never happened. But it's all in the past. I'm not that guy anymore.” I gave a short huff of a chuckle. “You have to understand how young and dumb I was. Even before I got my trident, I'd mention I was doing my pre-selection training, and girls would line up around the block to take off their panties. It didn't mean anything to anybody. They just wanted to bag a SEAL—like we were trophies—and we took them up on their offers. Hell, most of the guys still act like that.”

  Avery said nothing. Her breath came softly; she didn't even open her eyes. But I knew she was listening to every word I said. What was more, she wanted to be convinced. Otherwise, she wouldn't have gotten so upset about my past in the first place. All I had to do now was just keep from fumbling the ball.

  “Sure, sleeping around was fun for a few years. But I couldn't care less about that kind of stuff now. It's all in the past. And I can promise you something.” Leaning down to speak into her ear, I lowered my voice to an intimate murmur. “If we do this, and I mean really do this … it'll be just you and me. Nobody else. I don't share, and I don't expect you to, either.” My lips brushed her neck, and I heard her breath hitch. “So you've got nothing to worry about.”

  My massage became gentler and more sensual. Gradually my hands swept further out, skimming the sides of her breasts through the thin, soft cotton of her T-shirt. With a flush of heat, I realized that she hadn't been wearing a bra this entire time. The kisses I peppered over her neck and shoulders became less and less chaste. Soon her cheeks were flushed and her back rose and fell with quick breaths. When I dared to run my hands under her chest, I felt that her nipples had hardened into little points—and she didn’t stop me.

  We wanted each other. And we both knew it—there was no way she could miss the hardness pressing into her firm, shapely ass. When I started pushing up her T-shirt, she wriggled to turn over between my legs and helped peel it off. My breath caught at the sight of her perfect breasts. It had only been a few days since I'd first had Avery underneath me, but it felt like months. Torn between the desire to hurry up and the desire to savor her, I undressed her slowly, kissing each inch of bare flesh as I revealed it. Except for a few soft murmurs of pleasure, she stayed as quiet as a mouse the whole time. When I was kneeling between her legs, I looked up at her. “Are you sure this is okay?”

  She nodded slowly, cheeks flushed and pink lips parted, and I didn't waste any more time. I breathed in, savoring the smell of her arousal, then placed the gentlest possible kiss on her clit. She whimpered and twitched. Unable to hold back, I started licking in earnest. Soon her nails left tingling trails over my scalp, overwhelmed yet still desperate for more. For the first time in my military career, I regretted my short buzz-cut, because it meant that she couldn't tangle her fingers in my hair. Her cries climbed higher until she almost wailed, every muscle quaking as her orgasm swept over her. It just whetted my appetite; I couldn't wait another second to finally have all of her. I got up and slipped my arms under her shoulders and knees.

  “Wha…?” she murmured, still fuzzy with pleasure.

  “I need you in my bed,” I said huskily. When I straightened up, she squeaked and clung to my neck. “Don't worry. I've got you.”

  Drunk with desire, I carried her to my room and lay her down. Her eyes on me felt like fire as I hurried to strip my clothes off. I rolled on a condom and her gasp blended with my groan as I lined my cock up to her entrance and pushed inside, so slow it felt like heavenly torture. Her skin already glowed with a thin sheen of sweat. Usually I liked to fuck from behind, but for my first time with Avery, I wanted to see her face. To see her long, dark lashes flutter, her mouth opening as she moaned, so that I knew she was enjoying this just as much as I was. I'd never worked so hard for sex in my life. I didn't cook for women or bring them flowers or give them massages. So right now, I was damn well going to savor the fruits of my labor. I was going to watch Avery fall apart under me. And fall apart she did—again and again and again. Until we fell asleep still molded together, one arm around her slim waist and the other pillowing her silky head.

  The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, Avery's lingering scent, and the distant sound of water running in the bathroom. She must have slipped out at some point during the night. Maybe she felt weird about screwing me again; maybe sleeping together was still too intimate for her. Or maybe she'd just woken up before me. Whatever her reason for leaving was, I already wanted her again. Now that I'd had a taste of Avery, I couldn't give her the chance to change her mind about me. I needed her in my life—needed to touch and taste and please her every day. Just the thought of her naked curves, wet and soapy from the shower, made my cock twitch. Without bothering to get dressed, I rolled out of bed and went down the hall to join her.

  Chapter 12

  Avery

  Hibiscus-scented steam billowed out of the shower. My hands kept pausing in my lathered hair, thick shampoo suds running down my arms, as I contemplated last night. Part of me—hell, most of me—still couldn't believe what had happened. I had had sex with Nixon. Incredible, sweaty, mindblowing sex that was even better than my fantasies. I felt languid yet full of energy, exhausted yet exhilarated. My pussy was still sore and the muscles of my hips and legs twinged from strain. In a weird way, it felt kind of satisfying … or even sexy. Like a memory written into my body. I had earned those aches and pains from pleasure. Every time I moved today, I would remember how good Nixon had felt inside me.

  My breath was already coming a little quicker. Despite the hot, humid air, I realized that my nipples had tightened. Jesus, what's this man done to me? Last night, I couldn't even keep track of how many orgasms I'd had, but apparently nothing was ever enough when it came to Nixon. Just the thought of his touch made me want him all over again.

  Out of all the scenarios I had pictured when I'd first moved in here, getting addicted to him definitely wasn't one of them. And I was afraid that “addiction” was the right word for it. Where did we go from here? Was he just making all that stuff up about commitment and monogamy?

  The shower curtain rustled. I hurried to rinse the soap off my face just in time to see Nixon step under the spray in front of me. “W-what are you doing?” I stuttered, my eyes glued to his gorgeous body. Every dip and swell of muscle glistened with moisture. I probably looked like a horny schoolgirl at a boy band concert.

  And the shower invader just grinned at me, not carin
g at all about my inner turmoil. “Hey, I just wanted to talk. Can I stay? Please?”

  Disarmed, I managed to look into his eyes instead of further south. He had been awfully sweet over the past few days … and we did need to talk. Had he really meant everything he said last night? My curiosity—not to mention how tired I was of living in Awkward Tension Town—finally outweighed all else. “Fine,” I said, relenting. “Talk about what?”

  “Just how you're feeling. A lot has happened between us in the past few days.”

  “The understatement of the century,” I snorted.

  He gave me an exasperated look. But there was something else there, something that seemed almost like affection. I wasn't sure I should trust myself to read that expression correctly. “Does the family thing still bother you?” he asked. “The fact that I'm your … ex-stepsister's stepbrother or whatever?”

  “You mean my stepbrother, period? Uh, yeah… We've already talked about this,” I sighed. “I'm still having a hard time understanding how you aren't weirded out.”

  “It's not a blood connection. It's not even a direct connection through marriage, really. You practically need a damn flowchart to explain it to people.”

  “Yeah, but we…” I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just wrung my hands together, afraid that they'd gravitate to his perfect pecs and we'd end up screwing again instead of talking. As insistent as the heat between my legs was getting, we needed to discuss our relationship. We needed to make sure we were on the same page before we got back to … Goddammit! Naked Nixon is a hazard to my sanity.

  “Ford and Emma are in our same situation—actually, they're a lot more closely related than we are—and they're engaged, for Christ's sake. Dad and Cynthia gave them their blessing.” With a gentle smile, he rested his hand on my shoulder. “We've got nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody would think badly of us. Nobody would even care.”