by Aubrey Irons
His finger is working magic between my legs, and when his thumb begins to lazily circle my clit, I can already feel myself start to shatter to pieces. I’m close; so close to coming in the backseat of the damned SUV.
“So is this how you touched yourself the other night?” he says darkly, curling his fingers for emphasis as he pulls back from my lips.
I suck in a breath of air and shake my head side to side, denying it to the bitter end.
He smirks, the look both cocky and arrogant, and also toe-curlingly sexy at the same time. Literally, my toes are curling right then in my modest nude pumps while I very immodestly spread my legs and let him push me right to the edge of climax.
“Well, by all means, I’d love to see how you do it, doll.”
It’s useless to deny it; he knows. Somehow, the cocky prick knows anyways, and he’s teasing me for it.
And it’s maddening.
I’m so close, so close to biting my hand between my teeth and exploding under his fingers; I’m so close to coming for him.
And that’s when the car jerks to a stop.
Hunter grins a knowing little smirk at me as he suddenly withdraws his fingers from between my lips. I’m gasping for breath, just shy of being pushed over that edge. I watch him wide-eyed as he casually licks his fingers.
“Guess we’ll just have to wait until you can show me how you do it, princess,” he says with that damned wicked little grin on his face.
Damn him. It’s like he knew exactly where we were on the drive and timed it all exactly so that he’d leave me like this — clawing at the edges of sanity with my body practically trembling for release. The hell with that, he probably did know exactly where we were, the little shit.
I’m still gasping for air, my face bright red and my hair wild while I just stare daggers at him when the car shuts off.
Hunter grins and he takes one more lick of his finger. “Better cover up, sweet-stuff.”
“You fucking asshole,” I’m hissing at him as I snap out of my daze and quickly yank my skirt down and into place just as another agent comes to the door and opens it for me. And then I’m taking a deep breath, and praying to God the man can’t fucking smell what just happened in the back of that SUV as I step out and into the flash of news cameras and screaming reporters.
I glance back to see Hunter wagging his eyebrows and just grinning away at me as he blows me an air-kiss.
“We’re not fucking done, you prick,” I hiss as he joins me outside the car and starts to lead me towards the door to the media expo with his hand at the small of my back.
“Oh, believe me, princess,” he growls into my ear as he leans forward under the pretense of opening the glass door for me. “We’re certainly not done.”
His lips linger for a half a second more on my ear, and the words he says next have me shivering.
“We’re also not done fucking.”
And then he’s all business — all stoic looks and narrowed eyes as he does one last sweep of the crowd before ushering me inside to the cameras, the lights, and the screaming questions.
The whole time, I’m standing there forcing myself to smile. Forcing myself to look the part of the all-American girl-next-door. I’m forcing the idea from my head and trying to convince myself that the cameras and reporters don’t know what I was just doing.
And of course, I’m also trying to force myself to forget the fact that Hunter Ryan just had his fingers in my pussy, and nearly made me come.
But that, as it seems, is impossible to forget.
13.
The worst part of all of these little games and and the back and forth with Hunter is that there’s no getting away from him. There’s no escape from him, since it’s his sworn job to literally be my shadow. Of course the first thing I want to do as soon as we’re back stage at my mother’s press conference is shove him away and stalk off by myself to seethe and chastise myself for being so fucking weak that I’d let him get to me like that again.
Except I can’t do that. The second we walk through those doors, he’s just on me. He’s my shadow; my smirking, cocky, knowing-grin-on-his-stupid-face shadow.
The shadow who keeps making a show of bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling when no one is looking but me; the shadow that keeps letting his hand trace over the small of my back as he leads me back stage in ways that a normal bodyguard would never dream of touching a charge.
“Stop touching me!” I hiss under my breath as we duck under a hanging curtain in the dark backstage area of the auditorium. There’s hardly anyone back here, which emboldens me to finally whirl and shove a finger in his face.
He licks it.
I roll my eyes and groan as I whirl back away from him and stomp away, only to hear his chuckle following me as he catches up.
“Stop being so touchable then.”
He runs his hands up my sides, and before I can stop myself, I’m closing my eyes and sighing as I sink back into him. It’s dark where we are, lit only by the lights out on stage, and we’re practically alone back here. But it’s still wildly reckless to let myself go like this. It’s insane, actually, to be out in public like this and letting my bodyguard stepbrother run his hands over my sides, his fingers tracing just shy of my breasts as he pulls me back into him. I bite my lip as I feel just how damn hard he is; the bulge at the front of his suit nestling right into the cleft of my ass through my skirt.
There’s a wild cheer suddenly from out in the auditorium, and I jerk my head out to see my mother waving and smiling as she takes the stage, Alec right behind her along with a couple aides as they move towards the microphone array on the podium.
“Hunter, stop it!” I hiss, utterly unconvincingly even to myself as I gasp and let him pull me tight against him.
Reporters are starting to ask questions, and the lights of a hundred camera flashes strobe out on stage, but back here, I’m lost in the heat and the illicitness of it all. I’m gasping as I feel his hands slide over my hips, moving down to rub me between my legs through my formal skirt and my drenched panties.
“You can’t just grope me whenever you feel like it, you fucking caveman,” I hiss. But even as I’m saying it, I’m running my hands over his muscled forearms, scratching my nails over his suit up his arms to his biceps, and then sliding my hands up to the back of his head to pull him down to my neck.
I gasp, a soft sound in the dark of the backstage area as his lips find my neck. He grazes his teeth over my exposed collarbone, making me bite my lip and sink into him as his fingers start to creep lower, to the hem of my skirt-suit.
“I’ll touch you whenever I damn well please,” he growls roughly into my ear. His fingers finally bunch up the hem of my skirt, and he starts to pull it up my thighs. “And I’ll touch you whenever I please because we both know damn well that you’re dying for me to touch you.”
I whimper as his fingers slide across the front of my panties, making me shiver and moan.
There’s another cheer from the audience that snaps me out of the total insanity of what we're doing and I freeze against him for a second.
“Hunter, no—” I bite my lip through the moan as his fingers delve between my lips through my panties. “Not here, you can’t touch me here like that!”
“Fine,” he growls into my ear. “Then you can.”
I gasp as he suddenly reaches up and envelopes one of my hands in his before sliding them both down over my stomach, delving right between my legs. I moan as he pushes my fingers over my aching pussy, using his hand to move mine across my lips.
“Hunter—“ I manage to gasp out before he’s pushing both of our hands under the waist of my panties and sliding right over the slick heat of my pussy. I melt against him as our fingers find my clit, both of our hands there, but he’s controlling the movement. I’m limp; a rag-doll writhing against him as he uses my fingers to play with my clit.
It’s like something out of a forbidden fantasy; something not real, and something that could n
ever be in reality, but here we are. I’m backstage at a press conference, with a million security eyes everywhere while my mother, the President, gives a speech on stage, with my stepbrother’s fingers buried deep in my pussy. My conservative skirt is pulled around my waist, my legs are spread, and my toes are curling inside my extremely polished pumps. I am the picture of wanton inappropriateness, and in that moment, with his fingers and mine right there, I couldn’t care less.
And then in the madness of my own lust, I’m reaching back around, grappling for the zipper of his pants and yanking it down. He growls as I reach inside, and I’m biting my lip as I wrap my fingers around his thick cock. The pants are too tight around my hand, so I’m pulling him out, and gasping as I feel the throbbing heat of him press against my ass. Hunter rocks against me, his breath hot in my ear, sending shivers down my back as his fingers make my legs weak.
He thrusts forward, the head of his cock slipping under the tiny back of the thong I wear beneath my hiked-up skirt. He rocks against me, and I whimper as I feel him nestle between the cleft of my ass and start to stroke him rapidly with my hand. There’s nothing sensual or slow about this; this is raw lust and need, and we’re barreling towards the oblivion as fast as we can. I’m stoking the pulsing hot length of him, and feeling his fingers and mine slide deep into my pussy as he grinds the palm of my hand against my aching clit.
I see flashing lights, and and feel the heat pooling between my legs erupt as the teasing from earlier, and the fear of being caught, and the utter wrongness of it all finally hits me like a hammer. I turn and bite his arm, hard, as I squeeze my eyes shut and go crashing over the edge. His breath is hot and stuttered in my ear, and suddenly I can feel his cock throb in my hand.
Oh my God, he’s coming.
I moan as I feel him pumping against my ass; feeling it run hot against my fingers and soaking into the back of my panties. It’s so fucking dirty and so totally wrong, and hot with both of our hands buried between my legs that I shudder as another small orgasm tears through me.
There’s the roar of applause again. I gasp and look up in time to see my mother walking off stage again. I hear the sudden squawk of Hunter’s ear piece, and then suddenly he’s pulling away; we’re both pulling away from each other like we’ve been shocked.
I’m guilty turning away from him then, red-faced and unable to even believe what just happened as I hurriedly smooth down my skirt and groan at the feel of his cum still warm against my panties.
I’m lost in it all, speechless and still floating as he’s suddenly putting his hand on the small of my back and growling a “we’re moving” into his mouthpiece as he guides me out from the stage, back through the mercifully empty halls of the building, and out a side-door the waiting embrace of the SUV.
14.
Maddie avoids me for the next three goddamn days after that. It’s like turning off a switch. And yeah, normally it’d be hard to avoid each other completely what with me being her shadow any time she leaves her fucking quarters. But that's the problem; this girl doesn’t leave her quarters for three fucking days.
It’s borderline crazy, like she’s one of those Hollywood starlets you read about in tabloids that shuts themselves away in a luxury hotel on the strip and orders room service all day. But that’s exactly what it is, and guess who the sucker is that has to sit there outside her goddamn door for all three fucking days.
Yeah, bingo.
Three days of just sitting there outside her door thinking about what happened. Three days of going over every detail of the last week or so and trying to figure out how the fuck we got to this point. Three days of rolling my eyes and knocking on her door to let her know when the service is up with her fucking meals, or when the maids are there to clean up her little hermit-sanctuary, or whenever Emma comes by to do scheduling or whatever with her.
“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.”
