American Heroes: The Complete American Heroes Collection

by Teagan Kade

  I’m hammering my throat with my fist, nodding.

  “I bet it’s long, and hard, and always ready for action.”

  I finally manage to clear my throat. “I don’t know about that, but it is well loaded.”

  Did you even just say that?

  Monica’s mouth drops in shock. “Shannon! I had no idea.” She sits, lowering her voice. “Honestly? I thought you might be one of those weird twenty-something virgins.”

  “Imagine that.” I reply, trying to feign disbelief.

  Monica’s shaking her head. “I’m jealous. My last boyfriend was a,” she uses her fingers to air-quote, “a ‘talent acquisition expert.’ He had ‘thought leader’ written underneath that on his business card. He couldn’t even get it up half the time, and I’ve got strong jaw muscles.”

  We have entreated a whole new level of overshare. Until now my conversational repertoire with Monica didn’t extend much further than the weather and what was new in the vending machine, but my sudden announcement has turned her into some sort of sex guru-slash-confidant.

  Someone calls for her back in the office.

  She stands, still shaking her head. “Your guy? He’s out there saving lives, serving his country. That is a real man.”

  “It is,” I agree, smiling on it again while I polish off the rest of my salad.

  He is a real man, but he’s not yours, not technically.

  Not yet.

  Fake or not, maybe this will be good for me, I think, a new experience. It’s about time I got out, even if it is under false pretenses.

  You haven’t even told him you’re in.

  I head into the copy room and close the door, making sure I’m alone.

  I take out my cell and hesitate. Can I really do this? I’m an honest person. This goes against a large part of what I stand for.

  Then I see Daryl flirting it up with one of the new interns and my mind is made up.

  I dial Gabe’s number and wait.

  “Shannon,” he answers, the delight clear in his voice.

  “I’ll do it,” I blurt.

  He laughs, the tone of his voice smooth and rich. I can almost smell the spicy cologne he wears. “Okay. You sure?”

  I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yes,” I announce, “I’m sure.”

  “Good. Great.”

  “I just need one small, itsy-bitsy favor.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  GABE

  ‘Fish out of water’ says it all. I’m standing out the front of Douchebag Central here in the heart of town. I’m surrounded by a sea of suits, yet here I am in cargo pants and a tank top. It’s ninety degrees. Aren’t these guys hot?

  It’s not my world. Without the rattle of gunfire, an imminent threat, I’m on edge. Even now I’m scanning for exits, looking for possible incursions, something out of place. It’s instinct, habit. It’s not something I’m going to get forget overnight.

  A tap on my shoulder.

  I turn, adopting a fighting stance, until I see it’s Shannon.

  She’s a rose amongst thorns—literally. Her red blouse and pleated skirt highlight her curves perfectly. She looks so different to when I met her in the bar, yet she’s still beautiful, still has my cock doing backflips to break free.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” she smiles, eyes flashing that striking, iridescent blue that reminds me of the Aegean. “Thanks for coming.”

  I don’t know what to do with my hands. I shove them into my pockets, fingers fidgeting with the walnut box I’ve been carrying around since last night. “No. It’s you I should be thanking.”

  I take out the box and open it. I feel as though I should get down on one knee, but I remain standing, oddly nervous. “What do you think?”

  She peers in. “Wow. That is some ring.”

  I’m not about to tell her it’s my mother’s, that she gave it to me with her blessing only last night. “I think it will suit you.” They’re my mother’s words, but I feel the same. “A beautiful ring for a beautiful girl.”

  Shannon’s blushing. She goes to draw her hair back over her ear even though it’s in a tight ponytail, her fingers falling away.

  She goes to reach for the ring, but I stop her. “No, wait.”

  I don’t know why, but I take the ring out, pocketing the box. With my other hand I take hers, about to slip the ring onto her finger.

  And I stop. I’m not sure why, but a strange awkwardness builds, like this is a taboo act.

  Just do it.

  I slide the ring on, noting how soft and delicate Shannon’s fingers are, the milky white of her skin that’s still asking for my lips.

  The ring’s a perfect fit. Even I didn’t see that coming.

  I let go and she holds her hand up. “Wow, look at that.” She seems spellbound by it. “I’m not really one of those girls who cares about the size of…”

  “The diamond?” I offer.

  She’s so red her face almost matches her blouse. “Yes. I’m not superficial like that.”

  “I don’t imagine you are.” I look up at the building in front of us. “Shall we go in?”

  I haven’t even noticed the paper bag she’s been carrying by her side. She hands it over.

  I take it. “What’s this?”

  “My lunch.”

  “You want me to carry your lunch?”

  “It’s what fiancés do.”

  “Do they?” I laugh.

  She looks embarrassed, shrugging. “I think I saw it on TV or something. I don’t know.”

  I hold the bag up. “It’s fine.”

  I follow her inside, her ass packaged beautifully in that skirt, the perfect size for my hands to squeeze, to grip as I finally slip inside her, my cock crushed by the wet walls of her pussy.

  Head out of the clouds, son.

  My drill instructor of a dick’s ruling my head these days.

  We’re quiet in the elevator, the cables outside whirring as we rise almost to the top floor.

  I follow Shannon out into a bustling office.

  Well, it was bustling.

  Everyone stops and stares when I walk in. I start to feel self-conscious before I remind myself why I’m here, quid pro quo and all that.

  We pause at a desk. “Is this yours?” I ask.

  I can see Shannon’s trying to stand in front of a photo of herself gathered up with all her pets. She shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.

  Her desk is quite Spartan compared to those around her, but I like that too—order, simplicity.

  I place the lunch bag down, can see a girl in the corner standing and nodding furiously at Shannon mouthing ‘He’s hot!’

  The door to an office behind us opens. A suited man walks out.

  Shannon turns and freezes.

  So this is her boss.

  Shannon literally can’t move.

  Fuck this.

  I take action.

  I shift forward and take Shannon around the waist, bringing my hand up to the side of her face and placing my lips on hers.

  Her body tenses with the shock of it at first, before easing, her lips and skin warm, intoxicating.

  She presses back against me, her tongue about to slip through, when I break away.

  I don’t want to. I want to smell the sweet, vanilla scent of her body, taste her lips again, but I needed to put on a show here for this boss, not film a porno.

  Shannon straightens herself up, her tongue whisking across her lower lip. Her cheeks are rosy, hot with arousal.

  She’s speechless, so I intervene, extending my hand towards her boss’s, who’s staring at me wide-eyed. “Gabe,” I announce.

  He takes my hand and I squeeze, just enough to let him know I could break every bone in his hand, all twenty seven of them, if I wanted to.

  He pulls his hand away and smiles. “Daryl, Daryl Somerset. I’m sorry, but you are?”

  Isn’t it fucking obvious? I’m just at six feet, but this guy can’t be more than five-five. I dominate hi
m, in height, width, in fucking everything. It’s David and fucking Goliath. I pull Shannon into my side. She places a shaky hand on my chest. Nice touch. “I’m Shannon’s fiancé. Nice to meet you.”

  Now he’s picked his jaw up off the floor, Boss Boy starts to get his wits back. He pockets his hands and presses his chest out, standing with his legs apart like he’s some kind of alpha player who negs on girls and has a copy of The Game on his bedside table. I fucking hate these entitled, red-pill pricks.

  I place the lunch bag on Shannon’s desk.

  She picks it up. “I’ll just run this to the kitchen while you two, ah, get acquainted.”

  We both watch Shannon leave. I’m suddenly overcome with a protective streak so strong it’s a wonder I don’t turn green and start tearing the place up like Eric Bana.

  Shannon told me all about ‘Daryl,’ about his little comments and innuendo.

  Fuck him.

  “So,” he starts, “I was surprised to hear about your engagement. I didn’t know Shannon was seeing anyone.”

  I look around and notice the odd employee prairie-dogging over their partitions. Let them watch.

  I step forward until we’re chest to chest, looking down into this excuse for a man. I bring my hands together and crack my knuckles. It’s a bullshit cliché, but it’s a classic.

  I watch Daryl’s Adam’s apple rise and drop, but he keeps his power pose up. “Look, Daryl,” I begin, “I think all women are entitled to respect, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  He swallows again. The fear’s coming off him in waves. “Do you think Shannon is entitled to it?”

  He nods, can’t form words.

  “Good, because I’d hate to… reeducate you on such a matter. Are we clear?”

  He wants to tell me to fuck off, but the fear’s holding his words at bay. “We are.”

  I take another step forward, forcing him back further. I place my hand on his shoulder. It’s like I’ve dropped a fucking sledgehammer on it. “To put it another way, keep your dirty fucking hands off my future wife.”

  Shannon comes up beside us. “Everything okay?”

  I pat Daryl’s shoulder. “Sure is. Ain’t that right, Daryl?”

  He nods awkwardly, pointing back to his office. “I better, you know…” And he disappears, closing the door behind himself.

  Shannon stands in front of me. “Whoa. What did you say?”

  I shrug. “Nothing he shouldn’t have heard a long time ago.”

  She stands on her tippy-toes and kisses me on the cheek. “See you later?”

  I can’t help but smile back. “Can’t wait, baby.”

  *

  Shannon emerges from the front of the building around six. I’m waiting there in a leather jacket and jeans, the most civilian outfit I could muster even if I do feel more at home in a ballistic vest.

  She smiles when she sees me, fiddling with the strap of her handbag in front of me. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she replies.

  “Dinner?” I suggest, extending my hand.

  She takes it. I consider what it would feel like wrapped around my cock.

  Fucking incredible, that’s what.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, her hair now out, whipping in the breeze that’s barreling between the buildings.

  “How do you feel about Lebanese?”

  *

  Ten minutes later we’re sitting cross-legged at a table at El Phoenician, a small Lebanese restaurant I used to frequent when I was home. I’m surprised it’s still here.

  A belly dancer weaves between the tables, a man drumming on a tubla in the corner. The spices, the musk—it all smells amazing, but through it all I can still detect Shannon, the same cock-stiffening scent I remember from our kiss this morning.

  She nods towards the belly dancer, placing a dolma of grape and rice into her mouth. “If you think I’m doing that at our wedding, you can forget it.”

  I use the bread in my hand to scoop up what’s left of the baba ganoush. “No? I think it would be hot. You’ve got the body for it.”

  “Are you implying I have love handles?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating you’re very attractive.”

  She looks down, nervous again. Her eyes flick up. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, but you should know that by now, being my fiancé and all.”

  I dip my head to my shoulder. “That’s funny, because I’ve found flattery gets you everywhere, and I’ve been around. Trust me.” It doesn’t come out the way I want it, Shannon seizing on it.

  “So, you’re a man whore?”

  I lift the corner of my mouth and left eyebrow. “Was.”

  Shannon shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “I barely know anything about you, husband-to-be.”

  I open my arms up. “I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

  She considers this, playing with the side of the meze plate. “Alright. Why this restaurant?”

  I straighten up. “I’ve been stationed in and around the Middle East for years. I suppose I’ve come to a certain appreciation for the local cuisine, not that this is authentic, but it does the trick.”

  “What did you do over there, in the SEALs?”

  “I could tell you…”

  “…But then you’d have to kill me.”

  “With pleasure, wife-to-be.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You sound like Daryl.”

  I laugh. “Now that is an insult. The guy’s hitting the ’roids harder than the gym. There was so much water in those biceps I was worried he was going to burst like a fucking balloon, wet the carpet.”

  Shannon’s laughing in-between bites, struggling to keep the food in her mouth. “My god. You have no idea what I put up with.”

  “But there’s been no trouble today, right? Because I’m not adverse to popping a cap or two.”

  She shakes her head. “No. He was quiet as a mouse. What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I know a hundred ways to kill a man, five with a paperclip.”

  “You did not.”

  “More or less.”

  A waiter arrives, placing more dishes down. “Char-grilled garlic chicken and a freekeh salad with pomegranate for you, miss.”

  Shannon rubs her hands together. “Looks delicious.”

  “You don’t eat out much?” I question.

  We’ve got utensils, but she picks up the chicken with her hands.

  My kind of girl.

  “I don’t get out much, period. Catching me in the wild at that bar was a stroke of luck.”

  My eyes drop for a brief moment, sexual possibility turning my cock to steel under the table. “You can say that again.” I nod to the chicken. “I thought given your love for the animal kingdom you might be vegetarian.”

  She laughs, wiping her mouth. “I’m not about to eat my pets, if that’s what you’re asking, but I do enjoy my meat.

  Down, boy.

  I order mafroukeh for dessert, a delicious mix of clotted cream, semolina and orange blossom water. I’m back in the streets of Beirut from the first spoonful.

  I may be in Lebanon, but given the look on Shannon’s face, she’s in heaven.

  Her eyes are closed. She holds the spoon away, a hand ready to catch the crumbs under her mouth. “My god, where have you been all my life?”

  “Are you talking to me or the dessert?” I ask.

  Her eyes pop open, so damn fucking beautiful I want to sit here and stare into them all night.

  She places the spoon down. “We haven’t discussed the terms of our agreement.”

  “Shoot.”

  She straightens the tablecloth with her hand, her eyebrows furrowed. “Look,” she says, her voice resigned, “this is all just for show, right?”

  “Agreed,” I reply, my throat stiff.

  “Good, because…”

  “Because?” I fill, when she doesn’t finish.

  She looks up, those azure eyes killing me. “
I’m a virgin.” She looks down again. “There. I said it.”

  Like a surface-to-air Stinger, I didn’t see that one coming. “Okay, but I’m not sure what that has to do with our arrangement.”

  I tamper down the excitement of the possibility of being her first, her warm, tight pussy uncharted territory.

  She looks up, unsure of herself. “I’m just saying I intend to stay that way until I meet the right guy.”

  “Alright,” I nod. “I get it.”

  “Great,” she smiles, reaching for the menu, “what’s next?”

  But what I want for an aperitif isn’t on the menu, and Shannon’s just made it clear it’s not going to be.

  Because one thing’s for sure: I’m nobody’s Mr. Right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHANNON

  The next few days at work are blissfully peaceful. I’m starting to realize just how useful having your own personal Navy SEAL is.

  You should put him to work on your clitoris…

  I stifle the sexual thoughts while I hunt through my wardrobe, read: very small collection of clothes, not very many of which seem to spark excitement.

  I’m not a girly girl. I never have been. To me, shopping for clothes is no more thrilling than hitting the supermarket. It’s a chore. But as I push dress after dress aside, a stunning realization occurs to me: I’m actually having trouble deciding what to wear.

  I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up about it. It’s not like I’m even going on a real date. I’m simply going over to Gabe’s to discuss this meeting with his mother—nothing more.

  I show up at Gabe’s in a simple peach shirt-dress thingy one of the girls gave me for Xmas… three years ago.

  I feel out of place in it, an alien, but when Gabe opens the door my reservations are gone. His eyes say it all.

  “You look,” he’s having trouble finding the appropriate words as he lifts his eyes, “amazing.”

  I hold the side of the dress. “Oh, this? Just something I had lying around.” I’ve been dying to use that line forever.

  He stands aside. “Come in.”

  I step past Gabe into the apartment, brushing his chest on the way through and confirming that, yes, the guy’s made of concrete, abs like an exit ramp leading down to…