by Kristy Marie
With a cloth between her fingers, Breck is singing a song about a lollipop. Full and plump, her lips mouth the words into the mirror, her tongue snaking out, licking and caressing the softness there. I find myself biting down on my own lips, containing almost a whine of neediness when Breck pops her hips out to a certain part of the song. The scrap of fabric she calls a romper is inching higher with each shake of her rounded, voluptuous ass.
Oh my God? Is she trying to twerk?
Breck arches her back, engrossed in the music, and pops her hips in and out, thrusting slowly like she’s riding—get a grip, Cade.
I manage to tear my eyes from her ass when she straightens, the music fading. She scrubs at a spot on the wall of mirrors and I laugh silently when her brows lower, her mouth pulled tight in concentration as she works the rag, trying to clean a nuisance spot.
When she tries scratching it with her fingernail, I make my appearance known. “I wouldn’t touch that mirror without gloves.”
Breck startles, her head whipping around, and then very carefully, she tugs the hem of her “romper” down. Fashion my ass. She looks like she would rather be wearing anything but the teasing wardrobe choice only meant to piss me off. I know her game, and I’m not biting.
“Why? What’s wrong with touching it?”
I pull my gaze from the laced hem of her shorts to her curious eyes and push further into the gym, coming to stand behind her.
I don’t know why I like to make her uncomfortable. She fidgets, watching me watching her in the mirror. Slowly, I drag the pad of my finger along her hand, up her arm, stopping at her bare shoulder. She shivers, and a smile tugs at my lips before I lean in, inhaling her sweet scent. “Because that mirror has seen more dicks than a brothel.”
A sharp inhale is her only reaction.
I chuckle, placing both hands on her delicate shoulders which fit perfectly in my palms. “This is Theo and Ans’ favorite place.” I nod to a spot near the bench that no one uses except for them and possibly Hayes. He has no shame. I’m sure he’s christened nearly all the equipment.
Breck swallows. “What about you? Is this your favorite place?”
The shower is my favorite place as of late but I wouldn’t dare admit to gripping myself with enough force to kill a man, envisioning yanking Breck’s head back by her hair while she screams out my name as I impale her from behind. Nah. I think I’ll keep that to myself.
“I don’t know.” I breathe my answer along her neck, my lips almost grazing her ear. “I haven’t had anyone to try it out on.”
Breck blinks nervously.
Why the fuck did I tell her that? Great, Cade. You look like a damn loser.
I push away, a scowl already forming on my face. With a couple of steps back, safely away from the alluring smell of apples, my voice—and sense—goes back to normal.
“I … uh,” I start, tongue-tied at what I need to say versus what I want to say. I want to ask Breck what Vic said to her outside. I want to ask what she said to have him back in the kitchen with laughter in his voice.
But I don’t ask her any of those things. Instead, my gaze drops to the floor. “Whatever you said to Vic …” I swallow and meet her eyes that now shine with … unshed tears? “Thank you.” I hurry out the rest, afraid if she keeps looking at me like she wants to touch me, I may let her. “It’s hard for us to talk about things sometimes. The fact that Vic confided in you is …” I shake my head, still shocked that he confided in Breck instead of me or Anniston. “Unbelievable. He must really trust you.”
Translation: You must be more amazing than I imagined.
A smile tugs at the corner of Breck’s lip. “So, you wanna grab a rag and help me wipe off the dried jizz on this mirror to thank me?”
Low laughter spills out between my fingers as I attempt to mask the amusement at her quick change of topics. She smiles, proud of her comeback, and extends the cloth out to me. I back up, already shaking my head. “Fuck no. Why are you even cleaning it?”
She’s here to cook, not clean. Anniston made sure we knew that before she left. Commander didn’t want us being lazy asses and allowing sweet Breck to volunteer for all the household duties.
Breck shrugs. “I was bored, and I thought I might as well be useful.”
I roll my eyes at her generosity and snatch the rag from her hand. “It’s Hayes’ turn to clean. There is a schedule posted on the door.” I point to the laminated calendar taped there. “Besides, most of the” —my brows lift when I quote her—“‘jizz’ is probably his.”
Her face scrunches up like she tasted something sour.
“Gross,” she says simply, backing away from the mirror.
With a smile, I head towards the door. “Come on, we’re going out back to skeet shoot.”
In her defense, she only looks slightly scared for a second.
In my defense, her innocence makes me weak as fuck and I asked her before my brain caught up to my actions.
“B!”
Mason shouts to Breck from the bed of my truck, reaching over the side for her hand. She squeals and takes off in the worst run I’ve ever seen. She could use some lessons on proper spine alignment. I hold back a smile as Hayes lifts her over the edge, grabbing his back in a moan when he sets her down in the bed with him, Mason, and Killer.
She slaps his shoulder as Hayes winces. “What did you eat this morning? Lead?” Breck shoves him, and he grabs her hands, pulling her into him for a hug. “I’m just teasing, darlin.” Still in his arms, Hayes winks at me over her head. I keep my cool, walking over to the driver’s side and opening the door.
“Hey, Major?” Groaning, I push back from the door and peer into the back where Hayes has finally let go of Breck. “You planning on teaching her to shoot?”
I shrug a shoulder and remain indifferent even though my dick just jumped at the idea of wrapping my arms around Breck, my hands on hers, breathing calmly into her ear and telling her when to pull.
“If she wants to,” I say to the way too eager sniper who is still far too close to Breck for my liking. But he knows he is, and that’s exactly why he’s staying so close. He loves to push my fucking buttons. Not much gets under my skin … except this girl.
My jelly girl.
The brunette that annoys me and intrigues me.
The first woman in five years to get a reaction out of my dick.
“Whad’ya say, honey? Want the best sharp shooter in the southeast to teach you how to beat the major in skeet shooting?”
I make a face when he winks over her head while she blabbers about not being sure if she wants to or not.
I’m not going to stand in his way if he really wants to teach her. Hayes’ eagerness to pick up a shotgun is nothing short of a miracle. Eighteen months ago, he couldn’t look at a gun without having an anxiety attack. It wasn’t until he had to fire a shot into Lou, to save Anniston, that he overcame most of his issues. He still doesn’t practice sniping, as was his profession in the military, but he will shoot skeets with us and practice with targets occasionally.
Anniston and I consider anything gun related a win.
“We need to get moving. It will only get hotter,” I say, rethinking this whole idea when I see that Breck’s romper is already sticking to her breasts. Her neck is damp and the hair at her ears is starting to curl. “Breck, get in the cab with Tim. Vic can ride in the back.”
Breck glares at me, her chin tipped down and her smile bearing way too much confidence. “I’m good here, thanks.”
Hayes wastes no time jumping in. “I’ll take care of her, Major. Come on, beautiful. You can sit in my lap so I can keep my arms around you.” The walking erection flops down in the bed and pats his lap for a grinning Breck. “Safety first, B. Ain’t that right, Major?”
He wants me to beat the fuck out of him.
He’s literally daring me to punch the cocky smirk right off his face.
I play it cool, tamping down the urge to snatch him out of my truck and take a c
heap shot at his pretty-boy face. “Right. Safety first. Let’s go.” I tap the edge of the truck and get in, feeling petty when I see Hayes’ smile drop. Another confirmation he’s not into Breck and only doing these things to piss me off.
After putting the truck in gear, I turn up the country song about a body like a back road, reminding me of Breck’s delightful curves.
“Ooh! Turn it up!” she yells into the open back window.
“Sit down,” I scold her when she stands up against the back glass, her hips already moving to the music.
“I promise, I’ll hang on,” she screams over the wind. Vic tosses me an amused grin as he watches Breck dance in the bed of my pickup. I slow down, careful not to jostle her since she’s stubborn as fuck, and find my eyes darting to the review mirror more than they should.
Her hands drum on the hood as the chorus kicks up and I have to fight the urge to slam on the brakes just to take it all in. Her rhythmic hips sway behind the glass, matching the melody of the song that seems to have been written just for her.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t take it all in.
Instead, I tap the brakes and bark out, “Keep your hands on the hood!”
She laughs, unfazed. “Yes, sir,” she says, but she doesn’t put her hands down. She reaches up even farther, pissing me off more when the shorts of her romper lift up higher, exposing a small birthmark on her inner thigh. Tim masks a laugh and Vic looks out his window to hide his own smile.
I sigh. “The fucking women in this house…”
Vic chuckles and raps his knuckles against the door. “It’s best if you realize it now.”
“Realize what?”
Vic stares longingly out at the hills as the new barracks we’re building come into view. “That you’re already done for.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him. Really. He might as well be speaking Mandarin right now.
Vic blows out a breath and smiles. “You’ll know soon enough.”
I slow to a stop and Hayes bails out the side, helping Breck down. Vic hops out with Tim right behind him and I don’t have time to ask him exactly what he meant about knowing soon enough. Sounds like voodoo to me.
Everyone has already gone around to the back of the barracks and set up by the time I arrive. Hayes is going through the basics of gun safety with B. “This is the safety here.” He demonstrates how to flip it off and on and then explains how to track the skeet and brace the shotgun against your shoulder. Breck nods and worries a piece of hair between her fingers.
“Will the kickback hurt?”
Mason makes an amused sound low in his throat before answering. “We’re just using a twenty gauge.”
Breck casts a worried look at me and I explain. “The smaller the gauge, the less of a kick it has.” I walk over and pick one up, running my hand over the barrel. “You’ll be fine.”
Breck takes a deep breath and bobs her head up and down like she’s trying to will the confidence into herself. “Yeah. I’m ‘bout to smoke y’all bitches.”
I choke on a laugh when the guys all join in a cacophony of laughter.
“Come on, Annie Oakley, let’s see what you got.” I tug Breck by the arm to the designated spot and Mason mans the skeet shooter, ready for B’s command. Hayes passes me the cocked and loaded gun, and I place it into Breck’s shaking hands. “You’re okay,” I soothe, coming up behind her, my fantasy coming true as I place my hands on top of hers. “Breathe with me,” I tell her, my voice deep and raspy as I struggle to hear it over the intense pounding of my pulse.
In and out, Breck breathes in time with me until her hands have stopped shaking. “We’ll do this first one together, okay?” She whimpers out a noncommittal noise and I take that as an answer. “When you’re ready, yell pull.”
We breathe another few breaths together and then she yells into the open pasture, “Pull!”
The machine raps out a springing type sound and my eyes track the discs’ movement in the sky. I pull on Breck’s arms and she follows my movement fluidly. My index finger presses harder on hers. “Squeeze,” I whisper into her ear, pressing down on her finger. She does, and a loud pop sounds right before the clay disc explodes.
“I did it!” she shouts, handing me the gun so she can jump up and down. I hand it over to a grinning Hayes as we both watch her silly victory dab. “I really did it,” she cries out, her voice growing louder right before she rushes me, jumping up for a hug. I catch her in midair, the momentum making me take a step back. She’s excited, her uneven breaths blowing the tiny hairs along the back of my neck.
“I did it,” she mumbles, squeezing my shoulders in a hold I’m sure she considers tight.
“You did,” I repeat, basking in the sweet smell of honey from her hair. Breck’s body molds to mine, and fuck if I want to put her down.
The old Cade wouldn’t have.
The old Cade would take her back to one of the empty rooms and celebrate the victory with her.
Instead, the new Cade sets her down on her feet and asks, “Can I offer you a ride home?”
Dear Dork,
You cannot imagine the smell of five guys who have not showered in a week. Holy shit. We call it the FAN smell. Feet, Ass, and Nuts. I think they should add armpits, too. The smell of Lewis’ should come with its own biohazard warning. #youthoughtmygymclotheswerebad #jesshasnttextedme #doesshehaveaboyfriend?
Your big bro.
After a thorough scouring of the pantry, I’ve decided that there just isn’t enough food in here to make another meal. It’s been three days since Anniston and Theo left on their honeymoon and I didn’t think to ask Anniston about how I was supposed to get groceries. It’s not like I do this all the time—being a personal chef to five Marines—to have some sort of procedure down pat. So as much as it pains me to do so, I’m going to have to ask him.
I frown a little as I pass by Tim who is adjusting something on the screen door. “Do you know where Cade is?” I ask him hesitantly. Tim doesn’t turn from the door.
And then it occurs to me. I’m such a dumbass.
Tim doesn’t hear well, and for the most part, only reads lips. But he speaks, albeit brokenly, which confuses me on how long his hearing loss has been an issue. Getting closer, I place a hand on his shoulder and grab his attention. He turns from his work on the hinge and graces me with a brilliant, toothy smile. With slow enunciation I ask again, “Do you know where Cade is?”
Tim points to the room next to the stairs. Cade’s office.
“Oh.” I eye the door like some kind of serial killer waits behind it. Damn it. Why couldn’t he have been in the gym or something?
Tim chuckles and stands. He turns me around to face the door and then he whispers ever so lightly in my ear, “You’ll be fine.”
I’m already shaking my head when he pushes me toward the door and knocks twice for me. “I wasn’t ready!” I whisper, but he’s already heading back to his post.
So much for his support.
“I’m busy,” comes the response to the knock.
Great. Cade’s in a fantastic mood. This should go over beautifully.
“I’m sorry. I just have one question,” I say to the still closed door. Something crashes in his office and I take a step back just in case I need a head start to run.
A burst of air rushes from the door as Cade swings it open with force. “What?”
Did he fucking growl at me?
I blink.
One. Two. Three times before I respond to his rude remark. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he waits me out. “Um …”
His brow cocks up and I know, without a doubt, I am annoying the shit out of him. “Um …” he repeats, almost like he’s insulting me.
This asshole.
“We need groceries,” I tell him, looking down at his bare feet. That’s interesting.
“And?” He prompts me for more of an explanation instead of the crystal clear one I just gave him.
“And … Anniston s
aid to ask you when I needed something for the meals.”
Cade sighs and turns on his bare heel, heading back into his office without answering me. This motherfu—
“I need a half hour and then we’ll go.”
We’ll go?
I thought maybe he would ask for a list or give Tim the card to take me. “I hate to disturb you. Can Tim take me?”
Cade looks up from his desk after picking something up off the floor—a paperweight—and levels me with a look that I feel certain brings grown men to their knees. “I said” —he grits out with a nasty frown on his face—“that I needed half an hour. Since I’ve had to repeat myself, I need an additional three minutes.”
His words feel like a slap to the face. Instead of throwing my flip-flop at him, I opt for a more mature route and slam his office door closed, muttering, “You can take those thirty-three minutes and shove ‘em, dick.”
I’m feeling pretty euphoric when the door swings open and Major-Pain-in-My-Ass stands there, a beautiful angry God, his big hand clutching the doorframe. “Get in here. Now!”
His tone only scares me slightly.
I look to Tim. His eyes are wide with shock. Not a good sign.
“Why?”
Both of Cade’s eyebrows climb his forehead in disbelief at my backtalk. What did he think, I was just going to say, “Yes, sir?”
Cade and I stay locked in an epic staredown until he lunges for me, snagging me by the upper part of my arm. I cry out. He’s not hurting me, just scaring the shit out of me. Cade pushes me inside his darkened office and points to a chair. “Sit.”
I hope he sees my what-the-fuck expression and interprets it appropriately.
He must, because he sighs, and then amends his demand with, “Please.”
Since his southern accent makes my nipples tingle, I sit down, but not without huffing so he knows it killed me to do so.
Cade takes a seat behind his desk and gets back to internet shopping or whatever he’s doing on his laptop. Am I really just going to sit here until he’s finished? All because he’s mad at hearing me tell him to shove his thirty-three minutes?
