Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

“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 sympathetically 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.

Jesus Christ, get ahold of yourself
.

Because honestly, what the
fuck
is it about this girl? Why am I even doing this to myself? Yes, the sex was good — okay, fucking
fantastic
— but I’m still trying to figure out why I’m so hung up on it. Is it because she’s so off limits? Or is it because for
once
, there’s a girl that said no? 

Maybe it’s because for once, I
know
this is a girl
I
should say no to.

*****

“So, how’s guarding the princess up at the castle.”

It’s the next day, and I
finally
get a reprieve from all the shit with Maddie. Yeah, even Secret Service guys get a day off now and then.

I’m with Sean and Darren, both guys I know from the Marines who’ve moved into private security since coming home. And I’m trying to have fun, and trying to let loose after the fucking week I’ve had, but there’s a cloud looming over this whole night that I can’t seem to shake. 

Pretty soon, there’s not going to be any “going out for a quick beer.” This is all going to end soon, after the announcement. Once I’m the Presidential step-son - as fucking stupid a name as that is - this is all going to change. No more job, no more fun with friends out at the bar, and no more teasing and trying to get into Madison’s panties once that goes down.

Well, we’ll see about that last one.

Darren slides me a fresh beer and punches my shoulder. “Hey, douchebag, you still paying attention?”

I look up with a start and flip him off as I take a pull from my beer. “What?”

“I said how’s playing guard dog to the princess going?”

It’s worth mentioning that I can’t even tell
these
guys about what’s going to happen. I can’t even tell the two buddies I went to war with about the fact that my dad’s about to marry the fucking President. And honestly, it’d probably improve my damn mood if I could.

“It’s fine, man.” I shrug. “It’s fine.”

“Dude,
she’s
fine, you mean.”

I scowl at Sean. “Hey, easy.”

“What, she
is
. C’mon, Hunt, it’s us, drop the Service act.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” I say shrugging again and looking into my beer. “She’s—”

What, under my skin and into my head? The bane of my existence and the girl I can’t stop thinking about? The girl whose body I crave like a drug I can’t get?

My stepsister?

“She’s okay I guess.”

Sean and Darren erupt into snorts and shake their heads at me.

“Whatever man,” Darren says, shaking his head. “Props for being so into the job you can’t see the hottest ass to walk into that place since Marilyn Monroe.” 

“Pretty sure that was a rumor,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him but also suddenly picturing Madison standing over an especially windy vent with a white dress on.

“Well, I’d say sack up and go start a few
new
rumors with Madison Adams, but they’d probably fuckin’ execute you if you even made a pass at that.” 

You have no idea
. 

Sean slides his empty beer across the bar and stands from his seat. “Hunt, you’ve been cooped up in there too long, and I’m willing to bet you can’t even remember the last time you got laid.

No, actually that's the fucking problem. It’s ALL I can remember.

Sean grins at me. “Let’s get lit up and go pick up some girls, alright?”

I shrug. “Nah, not feeling it tonight.”

He rolls his eyes. “Will you fucking listen to yourself? Jesus, Hunt! What sort of brainwashing do they make you go through for the Service, man? You’ve got two A-list wingmen, a fat White House paycheck, and a medal for getting wounded defending your fucking country. Getting you laid tonight is going to be entirely
too
easy.”

And he’s right, it would be. A month ago, I’d have been all over that. A month ago, I’d have torn this town
up
with these two assholes and fucked each and every rich socialite, sorority chick, government aide, summer intern, and bartender in this whole fucking town. But now? Now I can’t even
think
about other girls. 

What the
fuck
is wrong with me?

Darren suddenly grows serious as he leans in. “Listen, dude, what about that fucking party you were telling us about? The one Congressman Este’s kid got you into?” His eyes light up. “Hunt, I heard that place is fucking
insane!
”

Yeah, it was. Hot girls, great drugs, crazy atmosphere…Oh, right, and then I fucked my new stepsister with a mask on and now I’m around her every fucking day and it's messing with my head.

Sean leans in. “How the hell did you pull off even getting in there?”

Easy. You grow up with enough rich little shitheads and children of Congressmen and Senators and doors open for you that just
don’t
to normal mortals. 

“Eh, it’s complicated.”

“But not so complicated that you can’t get your two war buddies in, right?” Darren grins at me.

“Afraid that ship has sailed, bud. The way is shut.”

“
Weak
, man; super weak,” Darren says, rolling his eyes as he sips his beer. “Sounds like you got a taste of something good you don’t want to let us in on.”

Yeah, I got a taste alright, and now I just want fucking more.

Now I’ve got her on the brain bad. Now she's all I’m fucking thinking about, and not just because it's my job to do so. It’s my job to think about
schedules
and
security threats
, and escape vectors and all that shit. It’s not my job to wonder if she’s wearing a thong or not. It’s not my job to wonder if she’s still as wound up on edge from earlier as I am. And it's certainly not my job to wonder if she’s back in her big Presidential bedroom right now on her four-post bed with her legs spread and her fingers slipping into her dripping wet pussy. 

Yep, definitely not my job to do that, but here I am.

What I
should
do is go out with these two and pick up something young, hot, and strange. And I need to fuck that girl until I can’t move anymore. I need to fuck her until any trace of Madison is fucked right out of my damn head.

Except I
don’t
do that. I’m in my damn
prime
; cocked and loaded and ready to go. And I know full well that in
this
town, dropping my last name, or my war record, or even my current job could get me laid six ways ’til Sunday if I chose to. Shit, dropping those
has
gotten me laid more times than I can count. Except what do I do?

I say goodnight to my buddies, drop some cash on the bar, and head back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I nod to the security guys, scan my card, and head back to my rooms up in the East Wing.

And once I’m there, I lock the door before I slump back against it, slip my
rock hard
cock out of my pants and
groan
as I stroke it. I growl as I lean back again the door and just fucking slide my hand up and down my cock, jerking off while thinking of the fucking girl on the other side of this damn house that just won’t get out of my head.

I close my eyes and picture her back in that room at that place, letting the straps of her little black dress slide off her shoulders before the whole thing pools at her feet. I’m picturing those perfect, full tits, and those little pink nipples that come to hard little nubs under my fingers and my tongue. I’m remembering tearing her panties off and inhaling the intoxicating scent of her pussy before sliding my tongue through her honey and tasting her until she’s pulling at my hair and writhing for me. 

And I’m picturing her face, twisting so fucking beautifully in raw ecstasy when she comes for me; when she comes begging me to fill her up, scratching her nails down my back.

That’s the last thing that roars through my mind before I’m blasting my cum across the carpet, grunting as my cock erupts in my hand and Madison’s perfect body dances through my head.

I gasp as I open my eyes, panting and feeling the muscles in my chest and arm flex as I lean back against the door after I come.

Except I want more; I want a
lot
more. Shit, I could sit here in this room jerking off to thoughts of Madison Adams until the sun comes up, but I still wouldn’t be satiated.

I know I shouldn’t, but I just don’t care. If I was just anyone, sneaking across the White House to the Presidential family quarters would be a shitty move. Except I’m not just anyone, I think, as I tuck my cock back into my pants and turn to head back out my door. I’m the Secret fucking Service.

Hey, besides, I’m
family
, right?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The room is dark, the music low, throbbing and muted. I feel the glass of champagne offered to me upon entering already racing through my bloodstream. I might be wearing a mask, but it feels like every single person here is looking right through me and seeing who I REALLY am. It’s thrilling, and a rush…

…And also terrifying.

The whole place is rich and elegant, and full of rich and elegant people, some of whom are already pairing off in dark corners. Some aren’t even going to the dark corners, and I can feel myself blush under the mask as a man slowly begins to disrobe a woman in a deep blue dress right in the middle of the room on a couch.

Jesus, what on Earth am I doing here, and how the hell did I let Jessica talk me into this? This isn’t even “out of my element”, this is another PLANET far away from normalcy. 

I feel a shiver that isn’t quite the good kind run up my back as see more than a few men around the room looking my way. They’re peering at me through masks in the sultry light of the room and grinning wolfishly at me, as if they can smell how nervous I am and know damn well that I don’t belong here. 

The pang of sudden uncomfortable fear strikes deep inside me, and suddenly, I have more than a few reservations about coming here tonight. This isn’t me, at all, and suddenly I’m not so sure I should be here at all.

I whirl to look for Jess, but she’s already being led away to another room by a man in a tuxedo and a mask. Then the fear, the hungry looks, the music, the champagne, and the lights start to blur as I feel panic rising in my chest. Twosomes, threesomes and moresomes disrobe out in the open and I’m frozen, just staring at them.