The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance

by Serena Silver

  “Fuck me harder, Bradley,” Jasmine said. “I need you to really fuck me like there's no tomorrow. Like we're never going to see each other again. I really, really want it—hard!”

  Bradley picked up the pace and started fucking Jasmine for all she was worth. He gripped her hips like a man clinging to the side of a raft for dear life, but instead of a look of horror on his face, a look of ecstasy rolled over his pensive expression. He could tell by Jasmine's body language that she was on the verge of coming, and coming hard. It made Bradley hard to know that Jasmine was on the verge, and just when she started to convulse with an earth shattering orgasm Bradley started to come as well.

  “Oh fuck, Bradley,” Jasmine gasped. “Holy fucking shit, I'm coming so hard right now!”

  Bradley grunted in affirmation as he pulled Jasmine as close to him as he could manage and allowed himself to empty himself into her. It was always such a good feeling right after he came with a sexual partner, and with Jasmine, it was even more satisfying because the stakes were higher.

  Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms on Bradley's bed. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye for the night because neither of them was sure of what the future held. Both, though, had the suspicion that Bradley would be taking off soon for parts unknown. They were both happy.

  The happiness they felt, although they understood it to be fleeting because they would soon be separated, meant a lot to both of them.

  Chapter Eight

  In the ensuing day's word circulated that the SEAL team Bradley controlled would be tasked out to take a rig off of the Philippines. Bradley didn't know much other than that, and how the rig was held by pirates, or something equally as sinister.

  “Do you think we'll take fire?”

  It was one of the younger SEALs on the team. Bradley didn't like the sound of anxiety in his voice, it made Bradley think that if something happened, the young man might panic.

  “Yes, we'll probably take fire in the dark,” Bradley said. “You have to remember that the guys we'll be going up against are only dangerous because they have nothing to lose. That whole nothing to lose thing ties back into how they don't have night optics.”

  Bradley was having a small meeting of just his team in the close quarter setting of his room. They all looked ready to go, although a few also looked ready to just have it over with. The veterans of his team, men who had been tested by combat, didn't look like they thought much of what was going on. That was something that Bradley had learned to look for among groups of professional gunman—not that it was good to be bored all the time, or unengaged, quite the opposite. But, from Bradley's past experiences, he'd learned that the people who acted like they'd been there before, often had. And the men who behaved like it was all just part of the job were the men who were coolest under fire and handled the pressure the best.

  And even the young guys, like the one who had just spoken, usually did pretty all right their first and second time. The SEALs Bradley actually worried about were the ones who looked like they just wanted it to be over with, because there were several ways it could just be over with that didn't include the rest of the team making it, and that wasn't on Bradley agenda at all.

  “Listen, everyone,” Bradley said. “I know that people are stressed out, but it's important to keep sight of how we don't get to do this very often. We only have a couple of chances to really prove ourselves as SEALs, and this will be one of them. We're going to be closely reviewed, so think of this as something of a business’s evaluation.”

  Bradley looked around the room and was happy to see that most of the people who had looked forlorn before now seemed like they were on board with Bradley's pep talk.

  “And, although this may seem counter-intuitive, I don't want you to worry about taking fire. Will we?” Bradley asked aloud. “Sure. We'll take fire. Are the enemies even going to know where were at when they open up? Probably not. They aren't used to fighting people like us. At most, they are ready to engage the silhouettes of small fishing vessels that might try to board the rig from the mainland. They aren't going to be ready for a group of SEALs to swim from the shore and come up under the rig. They won't have anyone there to meet us. And even if they do, they'll either be sleeping or high. And then one of the new guys on point will get their first confirmed kill. It's really going to be that simple.”

  The team nodded, and a few of the older vets even seemed to come alive. One of the oldest vets, five or so years older than Bradley, spoke up.

  “He knows his shit,” the man said. “There really isn't a whole lot to it. And I want you gentleman to know that it'll be an honor to go on one of my last missions with you folks. And to take it easy with some of the anxiety that the rest of us are feeling radiate from you. All we have to do is show up and be sharper than the people who don't even know we're coming.”

  The team nodded again. Bradley said something about how they'd all have each other’s back and was about to go further into how they were going to take the rig, and what might happen when a knock came at the door.

  “Hello?” Bradley answered.

  It was the General.

  “Well, it's good to see that the talk has started already,” he said, striding in like he owned the place. “Because tomorrow, you boys will be doing your jobs. I'm inserting you in the night, dead of night. Zero dark thirty, as the grunts call it. And these motherfuckers, let me tell you something, they won't even know what hit them. Because as soon as you come up from the water, we're going to have the Apaches on station rake the rig with fire. Then, you boys will quickly move up to take advantage of the disruption.”

  Bradley had a good feeling about the mission, especially now that he was getting details. It would make the team feel better to be here for it, and that was something that Bradley valued as well. It was crazy to think that by the next day, in no time at all, they would be engaged with an enemy force who had no idea they were coming.

  The ocean was rough, but Bradley and his team of SEALs were so at home in the water they didn't even notice. They glided under the surface smooth and silent as sharks, although looking bulky in their SCUBA gear. The approach was a really short swim, nothing at all, really. Bradley had been thankful for that because he knew as well as anyone that it didn't matter how great or locked-on your team was if they got to the site too tired to operate effectively.

  When they left the shore, the light was just dying in the sky. It made Bradley wonder what the window of time was because the night before the General had talked about how they would be getting to the rig at zero dark thirty.

  Things had been moved up, and that was something Bradley and the other SEALs were used to as well. There were often times when command would change things around, and the men on the ground would be the last to know. It wasn't as if it would throw things off too much, and Bradley was glad to be underway.

  By the time they resurfaced underneath the rig, the sky was completely black. Bradley looked at his watch to see that only a little over an hour had been spent swimming over. That was the part that Bradley always liked the best, the swim to wherever they were about to demolish. He heard that some SEALs didn't have the same experiences he did, but Bradley almost always had underwater insertions. That was just the way things had panned out over the course of his dozen odd mission career.

  The swim over was always cathartic because Bradley knew that when he got to where he was going all hell would break loose. People always thought of Marines when they thought of military personal absolutely laying waste to an objective, but Bradley knew better. He knew that when things got hot, every man in his team of nearly twelve people were going to go nuts, in the way that was productive for military conflict. People who were normally mild and meek of manner were going to flip their weapons to full auto and unload belts of ammunition at rooms full of people they didn't know. It was part of the rush of the job, the real reason most people wanted to be a SEAL—the ability to do all the cool high-speed low drag stuff they'd seen in t
he movies as kids.

  Although Bradley had thought about it on the swim over, it didn't really matter to him who the men were that they were about to crush like bugs. They could be pirates, or maybe this was something else entirely. He had to trust command because, often times, even the most informed people were only making educated speculation. There had been times in the past when Bradley had fretted about the specifics, but now he didn't. Now he knew better. There wasn't anything he could do for the men on the rig who they were about to fight. Apaches on the station were about to rake the rig with explosive bullets roughly the size of big dildos, and that was really going to fuck their shit up. And then, while they were all still in a daze, Bradley and his team were going to rush in.

  And just as Bradley finished counting his men as they came out of the water the sound of choppers filled the air. Bradley screamed for his men to take cover where ever they could as the Apaches started to pump a swarm of rounds into the rig. The platforms above them caught fire, and men jumped overboard as smoke rose to choke them. Some of the SEALs picked the men off before they hit the water, and other SEALs were already making their way up the ladders to the gangplanks above them.

  Bradley was starting to feel the old feeling of raw power pulse through him. He too joined his team as they ascended the ladders to the upper decks. It was like the pirates were so shocked at the shooting from above that they hadn't heard the shooting from below—and that was a very real possibility considering the amount of ordnance that had just been pumped through the rig. Bradley spotted his first hostile target across the void between two gangplanks running parallel. It felt strange as if he were dreaming again. The smoke in the rig felt oily against his skin. Lights from somewhere above strobed, making the space between the two men seem surreal. Bradley shouldered his weapon and fired, squeezing the trigger slowly at first, and then more frantically. The man across from him on the gangplank seemed unaffected at first but then began the rag-doll twist Bradley identified as death throws targets went through when the hot lead he was throwing their way struck bone.

  After that, things really started to blur. Bradley wondered if he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The smoke was thick, and after he inhaled it left him feeling woozy. But he didn't have time to rest, didn't have time to stop and think. He had to push forward, onward, and upward. And that's exactly what he did. There were SEALs above him, Bradley could hear them fighting other hostiles. He needed to join them, to lead from the front. As Bradley started to ascend a ladder leading to a platform just under what appeared to be some kind of control room for the rig, he looked down to see that his team had missed someone on the lower levels. It was easy to miss a target during a dynamic entry into a high-stress environment, especially because the team had been going up and could have missed anyone roping down.

  As Bradley watched the man beneath him, and kitty-corner across the space, shoulder an RPG—a Rocket Propelled Grenade—he wished he had thought to bring up to his team how they needed to stay online with each other when it came to moving up. It would have made catching this guy easier; or maybe this guy had jumped down and pulled the RPG out of a hidden compartment, Bradley would never know.

  Everything slowed down as Bradley watched the RPG leave the front of its firing tube and begin its climb toward him. It should have been so fast he could barely see it, but because of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, it seemed to lift up at him at the pace of a tired pigeon. And then it rushed passed him, smashing into an iron girder and spinning off into the ocean. Before Bradley could react one of the younger guys appeared out of nowhere by the hostile combatant and took him down with a few shots.

  Bradley climbed like crazy, and when he got to the top, the day was already won. As he thought would happen, the SEAL team had done a good job of taking care of itself. They'd pushed ahead of him and cleared out the control room, and a few of them were even climbing up to the very top, cramped levels to make sure that no one else appeared out of nowhere to shoot RPGs at them again.

  Bradley radioed in to command that the rig had been taken, and he heard a cheer go up on the other side of the radio. The people who had sent them must have observed some of the signs of the firefight on the rig and rightfully suspected that chances were high someone had either been hurt or had a close call. They were relieved to hear Bradley say that no one was hurt and that all known hostile forces had been eradicated.

  The sound of choppers filled the air, sweeping low over the water as they approached the rig. They weren't the Apaches from before, but smaller choppers with big searchlights on them. They were looking through the water to see if any of the pirates were swimming around the rig, waiting for things to calm down before they came back. After not finding anyone around the rig they swept out low toward the beach and evidently found someone, as a few of the aircraft engaged the water in certain spots with small arms fire.

  As the final sounds of the chopper sweep faded, and the rest of his team descended back to the base of the rig to make the swim back to shore, Bradley couldn't help but grin like a kid and slap each of them on the shoulder. Even the old vets were grinning. It was one of those moments that Bradley knew he had to cherish, because, like the General had found out, not every day in the life of a SEAL ends with a victory.

  Chapter Nine

  “You boys really did a great job,” the General said. “I can't believe how successful the mission was. No one was killed, hell, no one was even hurt on our side. There were no survivors on their side. And, not to mention, Bradley dodges a rocket! We got that one on camera, and boy, are the people back in the White House eating it up. They aren't running it on television yet, but they're thinking about it.”

  The team was shocked to hear that their mission might become public knowledge. That was something that was usually reserved for a mission that was very high profile, but it sounded like things had gone so well on their mission that the higher ups couldn't help but pounce on the opportunity to tell the world that the SEALs were still the best in the business.

  “And another thing,” the General went on, his voice reverberating throughout the briefing room. “I want you boys to know that I'm personally proud of every last one of you. You've all made me think so much more highly of a military branch that I didn't think I could have any more respect for. The way you stormed up the rig and took it by force, seemingly all at once, is just the way that we want to do it from now on.”

  The General paused.

  “Is it the safest way?” he asked the question and looked around at the men. “Honestly, I don't think so. There were ways you boys could have been a little safer. But then you would have had yourselves a safe two-hour firefight in the middle of the ocean on an oil rig, and this way, there was a not so safe firefight that wasn't even fifteen minutes, and we didn't lose anyone. I really love the explosiveness you all exhibited today, gentlemen.”

  With that, the debrief broke. The team filed out, and Bradley stayed behind to hear a few more words from the General.

  “And you, Bradley, what can I say?” the General asked. “You performed like a real leader out there. Some of the people back in DC, they asked me, 'Why would he expose himself like that on the ladder?' You know why they asked that? Because they don't know how to lead. They aren't natural leaders. They watch people lead and critique. But I told them, hey, he wanted to join his men, he wanted to get in the fight. And they get that.”

  Bradley nodded, trying to keep up with the narrative of people from DC questioning his heat of the moment actions. He was glad that the General was pleased with how things had gone.

  “Well, thank you, sir. I don't know what else to say.”

  Bradley kicked himself for not being better with words. The General slapped him on the shoulder and told him again what a good job he'd done, before sending him to get a good night's rest.

  Jasmine was waiting for him in his room, and she didn't look happy.

  “What were you thinking, acting foolishly brave on the rig?”


  Bradley didn't know what to say. How was he supposed to convince someone who had no idea what the experience felt like what he was thinking at the time, and how that had spurred him forward, upward.

  “I wanted to join my men ahead of me,” Bradley said. “That's not an abnormal thing. No one thinks that I was acting foolishly.”

  “Simply not true,” Jasmine said. “There were a bunch of people in DC who my father had to talk into being on board with what went down. Sure, you might have been pushing up to join your men, but what if you'd been hit? The whole mission would have been dealt a massive blow.”

  Bradley didn't know what to think about Jasmine talking about “the mission” as if she'd had anything to do with it, or really had a clue what she was talking about. Like most civilians, Jasmine thought she was entitled to her judgment of what had happened, even though Bradley was sitting right there in front of her, someone who could give a first-hand account of not just this mission but many. And, no matter what anyone said, at the end of the day, the mission had been a success. There was no way for anyone to take that away from them, no way anyone could tell them they hadn't gone out and done their job to the utmost.

  But Bradley could understand where Jasmine might have some bad feelings about watching an RPG whiz past him and go spinning into the ocean. Thank God the thing hadn't gone off! It might have injured him, and even if it hadn't, it would have made the spectacle look even more blown out of proportion than it already was.

  “People get shot at all the time in my line of work, Jasmine,” Bradley said, but not harshly. His voice was calm and even. “I know that it might be really hard for you to process watching me get shot at, especially with something so visible to the eye as an RPG, but you have to know in your heart that I get shot at all the time. I had bullets go by me through the air long before the RPG went past me. I get that it might look like a lot going on, but all that happened was--”