Too Big Taboo Bundle: Naughty Brats, Forbidden First Time, Man of the House

by Veronica Vaughn

  A few women were milling around and dancing half-heartedly. They stopped as we walked past, all of them ogling Chase and giving me the stink eye. It made me chuckle a bit. I knew Chase was good-looking, but I had never thought of him as a head-turner. He did look nice tonight, though. He was wearing a dark and expensive-looking blazer over a dress shirt that he had not bothered to button all the way up. His designer jeans were carefully stone-washed, frayed and torn to give them that tattered look that was all the rage. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he paid more than a thousand dollars to get jeans like those.

  Oh, well. At least they made his bony little butt look good.

  Another bouncer, a burly black guy with a shaved head, ushered us to a roped-off VIP section where we sat on plush leather chairs. A waitress wearing next to nothing set down an icy bottle of vodka, smiling at Chase as she poured our drinks.

  “You’re Chase Donovan, aren’t you?” she asked a bit too flirtatiously for comfort. “I recognize you from the fashion spread in Austin Monthly.”

  “You’re very observant,” Chase cooed.

  “When I want to be,” she replied. “Can I get you and your”—she cut a side glance in my direction—“your companion anything else right now?”

  “I could think of some things,” Chase said with a devilish grin.

  The waitress grinned right back at him. What the hell was going on? My boyfriend was flirting with some bimbo waitress in front of my very eyes. I elbowed him hard in the shoulder.

  “Ouch! What the hell was that for?”

  I turned to the waitress and flashed her a look that dripped with fuck-you-bitch.

  “We’re fine for now,” I said.

  “That really hurt,” Chase sulked after the waitress had left our reserved lounge. He rubbed his shoulder and nursed his drink, refusing to look at me.

  “You were flirting with that waitress,” I said. “‘I can think of some things?’ What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re so paranoid about every little thing,” Chase grumbled. “I was just trying to butter her up to get better service, not make you all jealous. Way to kill the buzz.”

  I felt like screaming, or hitting him again. Instead, I downed my drink.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I said. “I can easily catch a cab if I’m ruining your night.”

  “Come on,” Chase said. “Don’t be like that. Let’s go dance.”

  Before I knew it Chase had grabbed my hand and was pulling me onto the dance floor. A few more people had shown up, but the club was still pretty dead. As Chase began to dance I followed along, although I felt awkward and conspicuous as one of the only couples dancing to the pulsating club music.

  Chase kept looking at the other ladies, which was annoying, but I gave in to the music and let it carry me through several songs. The same waitress from before came and put a drink in Chase’s hand, giving him that same flirty smile that made me so angry. Sure, I was jealous. I had every right to be.

  I turned around and bent over a little. Arching my back, I let my butt grind into Chase as he swiveled his hips. His crotch pressing against me and I could feel a small bump in the front of his jeans. With his drink in one hand, he put his other on my hip, pulling my body into his as he pretended to fuck me from behind.

  People were watching us. One scantily clad college girl covered her mouth and whispered something to her friend, never taking her eyes off of me and Chase. Her friend doubled over with laughter as Chase started ramming me with exaggerated ferocity. I glanced back at Chase. He was looking at the college girls and laughing.

  Laughing at me.

  I tore away from him and stormed across the dance floor, back to our reserved VIP lounge. I threw myself down, sinking into the plush leather sofa, and turned up the bottle of vodka. My face was burning with embarrassment and I wanted to drown all my problems, let the booze burn them away.

  Chase was an asshole. I already knew that. But I had stuck with him anyway, for a lot of reasons that were hard for me to explain to myself. I mean, he was good-looking and rich, and I didn’t have much else to do that summer before I went off to college.

  Then I thought of Patton. My stepdad who had gone off to war, then come home only for me to find out he was leaving again—and not expecting to come back. My boyfriend was a jerk and my stepdad was abandoning me for a second time.

  Tugboat had seemed awfully worried about this mission of theirs, and I knew from my stepdad’s stories that Tugboat was no coward.

  This was bad. Really bad. I took another pull from the vodka bottle. The icy burn raced down my throat, and I nearly choked, swallowing it down before I coughed it back up. As soon as my tummy felt like it wasn’t on fire anymore, I took another swig. Then another.

  VI.

  I couldn’t find Chase anywhere. In my blurry drunken state, it seemed like the club had suddenly become wildly crowded. I stumbled past throngs of dancing, sweaty bodies, being jostled by the writhing crowd of mostly college-aged men and women who were obviously enjoying themselves a lot more than I was.

  “Chase?” I called. “Chase?”

  He was gone. Well, I had threatened to call a cab earlier. That’s just what I would have to do. I felt for my purse and realized it was gone, too. I raced back to our VIP lounge, my vision swimming dizzily from the alcohol.

  No purse. Fuck. I felt into the cushion and, by some miracle, I felt my phone—the same phone that Chase had given me earlier in the summer. I scrolled through the numbers, looking for someone to call and pick me up. I messaged three supposed friends, but the time crawled by and no one answered. By now, it was well after midnight.

  Then I saw the number I should have called from the instant I realized I was in trouble. For some reason—pride, maybe—I had refused to even consider him.

  Patton. Dad.

  He would not hesitate to come get me. But he also wouldn’t hesitate to leave me behind, possibly forever, choosing his country over his own daughter.

  The dance music was throbbing so loudly, it made my ears ring. I felt so alone, so helpless. My phone was running on the last little bit of battery. It would be dead any minute. I wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, I messaged him.

  Daddy please come get me. I’m at Pulse on 6th Street

  I’m sorry

  Literally seconds after I hit the send button, my phone died. There was no way to know whether my stepdad had received my message. He was probably asleep. If so, he wouldn’t even get my message until the morning.

  “Excuse me. Miss?”

  The bouncer’s voice shook me back to reality.

  “We need you to vacate the lounge.”

  “But Chase, my boyfriend …”

  “Now.”

  The bartender made a sweeping right-this-way motion with his hand, and I had no choice but to comply. As soon as I had exited the VIP area he snapped the rope back in place, blocking it from other club patrons.

  “But I can’t find my boyfriend,” I protested.

  “Mr. Donovan is around here somewhere,” the doorman said. He cast a knowing glance toward a door that I hadn’t noticed against the back wall. The doorman looked at the door, then gave me a conspiratorial look. “I hope you find him.”

  I ran straight to the door and threw it open. Then I gasped out loud. Chase was standing there, his back toward me, his body swaying wildly. The waitress was on her knees, making him moan. I was frozen in shock. He and I hadn’t even gotten that far in our relationship.

  Behind me, strobe lights were flashing and spinning on the dance floor. Now, with the door open, the lights were swirling like a constellation across Chase’s body as the waitress sucked him off. He turned in annoyance, and our eyes met. His eyes widened with guilt.

  I turned to run. I had to get out of there. Away from him. I pushed through the dance floor, past the twisting and contorting bodies, not caring as I knocked them left and right. Chase sprinted after me, stuffing his cock back into his stupid expensi
ve jeans and buckling them up as he ran.

  My legs were unsteady from the booze and the heels, and Chase was gaining ground. I burst through the front doors of the club and was confronted by the madness of Sixth Street after midnight. The street was a sea of drunk people spinning me as I fought through the crowd. A hand grabbed my arm and violently yanked me back around.

  Chase’s eyes shone with fury. He grabbed my arms with both hands. I fought to break loose, my little black dress flapping everywhere.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” he barked.

  “Away from you. Let go of me, Chase. Let go of me right now!”

  His grip tightened on my arms, digging bruises into my skin.

  “This is all your fault,” Chase sneered. “If you weren’t such a tease, I wouldn’t have been tempted by that slut back at the club.”

  “Let go of me or I’ll scream.”

  “I’m gonna fuck you tonight whether you want it or not.”

  I screamed and Chase slapped me across the face. His open palm stung my cheek. I staggered backward, stunned by his despicable violence, and I turned to run when he grabbed me again, his arm holding me down as he dragged me back to the valet in front of the club. Why was no one stopping to help me?

  “Stop making a scene,” Chase hissed to me, before turning to a group of people who were watching us. “She’s really hammered,” he told them, shaking his head.

  I gave up and let Chase guide me through the crowd. The valet pulled around and opened the passenger door of Chase’s car. He was about to stuff me inside when a familiar voice called out.

  “Let go of my daughter.”

  Chase stopped and turned. “Mind your own business, old man,” he said.

  Patton stepped forward. “Let go of my daughter, and no one gets hurt.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Chase shrieked.

  “Yes, I do,” my stepdad replied. Then he punched Chase in the nose. Chase crumpled over backward, knocked unconscious by the blow from Patton’s fist. Chase started to pull me down with him, but I fell into Patton’s arms, and he caught me before I toppled over.

  Patton turned to me. His rough hands held my shoulders as he inspected the red mark on my face. “Did he hurt you, Evie?” he asked, brushing the bruise on my cheek.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Really, I am. Please, just take me home.”

  VII.

  I always loved the smell of my daddy’s old farm truck. To me it smelled like hard work, sweet hay, and rawhide leather mingling with the faint scent of long-cut tobacco. Patton told me his grandpa always had a dip of snuff tucked into his lip. Somehow the smell had lingered all this time, mellowing and deepening over the decades.

  My melee with Chase had sobered me up. Now I was sitting in my daddy’s truck as he drove me back to our house. I stole a glance in his direction, my heart full of gratitude.

  God, my stepdad was a good-looking man. When I was a little girl and Patton was courting my mom, I liked to pretend that he was my prince charming. One time he brought me a beautiful baby doll that I insisted on carrying with me everywhere I went. In my innocence, I fantasized that Patton was my husband, and my doll was our baby.

  I hadn’t thought about “our” baby in years and years. The idea of giving Patton a little boy or girl made me smile. He was an excellent father. I knew that much from first-hand experience. As I watched Patton driving us home, I felt something stirring deep inside of me. What if I really did give him a baby?

  Why not?

  Oh yeah. Because he’s running off to get himself killed.

  Patton was driving down our street when he glanced at me and did a double take.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asked. “Are you thinking about that spoiled rich boy?”

  “No,” I said, turning away and crossing my arms over my lap. “I don’t care about him.”

  Patton pulled into our driveway and parked the truck. “Then what is it?” he asked.

  “You need to tell me what’s really going on,” I said, feeling the anger bubbling up inside me. “I heard you and Tugboat talking on the patio. Something about a mission. Something about you both getting killed … When was I supposed to find out? When you come home in a casket?”

  My stepfather slumped against his steering wheel. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark. Come inside and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

  “I want to hear everything.”

  “I can’t give you that, Evie,” Patton said. “But I will give you what I can.”

  Inside the house, I sat down next to Patton on the couch. When I turned on the lamp, his strong arms seemed to be trembling with emotion. I lay my hand on his and felt the warmth of his skin.

  “This is hard to talk about,” he began. “It makes me so angry to even think about.”

  “You can tell me,” I said, caressing his arm. “It’s okay. Please, I need to know what’s going on.”

  Patton took a deep breath and sighed.

  “I saw something I shouldn’t have,” he said. “We had received reports of a weapons stockpile in a small village outside Fallujah. It was our job to clear out the place and find those weapons—if they even existed. The truth is we were getting a lot of faulty intelligence at the time, and it was hard to know what to believe.

  “The entire village was all mud huts. It was hot that day, so hot. We were going from door to door, knocking them in and digging through these strangers’ belongings. Then I heard a burst of gunfire coming from the hut next door. I ran as fast as I could. What I saw …”

  My stepfather stopped talking. He looked down. I leaned in and stroked his back, feeling the muscles twitching beneath my fingertips.

  “It was an orphanage,” Patton said. “So many children, so many children. Most of them were dead, but others were screaming. My commanding officer was pumping slugs into them to shut them up.”

  Moisture gathered in the corners of my stepfather’s eyes. I had never seen him cry. He laughed once—the low, pitiable sound of a man with no outlet for his grief.

  “One of the kids had a toy gun,” my stepfather continued, “so Commander MacAvoy shot him. When he realized his mistake, he shot the others. Eliminate the witnesses. Now he’s trying to get me and Tug killed for the same reason. Dead men can’t talk.”

  A single tear ran down his cheek, and it was like something inside of me burst. I threw my arms around my daddy’s neck and sobbed.

  “They can’t do that! They can’t!”

  “Yes, they can,” Patton said, trying to swallow his emotion. “I swore to protect my country, and it’s not up to me to question orders … even these.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I wailed, tasting the salt of my tears. “Please don’t go. I already lost my mom. I can’t stand to lose my father, too. I just can’t.”

  Patton swept my hair out of my eyes and held my face in his hands. I could feel the coarseness of his palms resting against my cheeks. Staring intently into my eyes, he used his thumbs to wipe away my tears.

  “You have to be strong,” he said.

  I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted my daddy. I wanted to be so close to him, to comfort him, to hold on and never let go. Through my tears I didn’t even realize what I was doing when I pulled my face up to his and softly brushed my mouth against his. Patton’s lips felt so warm, so soft. I nuzzled them, silently begging for him to return my affection.

  He was completely still for a few seconds. Then I felt his lips part slightly as they accepted my embrace. I tasted his tongue as it dipped into my mouth, searching my own tongue. He playfully nibbled my lips as his hands ran down the small of my back. One of his hands kept going, lower, lower, cupping my round little ass. When he suddenly grabbed my ass and pulled me tight against the full front of his body, I gasped in surprise. My whole body was on fire for him, and I felt a dewy warmth gathering between my legs.

  Patton kissed my ear and neck as a soft moan escaped my lips. I was straddling him now, grinding into
his lap, the skirt of my dress riding up exhilarated to feel the hard bump of his crotch pushing against my panties.

  All of a sudden, Patton pulled his head away from mine. His firm hands seemed huge as they held my waist.

  “Evie, no,” he said.

  I bathed in the gaze of his searching blue eyes. They were full of conflict and passion.

  “We can’t do this,” he said. “You’re my daughter. I love you.”