by Sylvia Fox
Drill Me, Sergeant
Sylvia Fox
Contents
Front Matter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Cock Me, Pilot
Mentor Me, Professor
Frisk Me, Officer
Copyright © 2016 by Sylvia Fox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Sylvia’s Other Titles
Drill Me, Sergeant
Frisk Me, Office
Mentor me, Professor
Cock Me, Pilot ... with more coming soon!
Chapter One
Snow blasts the windshield of my beat-up Sentra and I flip on the wipers. Not like they’ll help with visibility at all, but I’ve got to do something. The roads are growing more dangerous out here by the minute. I can barely see through the long diagonal streaks my head lights slice through the snow. Apparently not one meteorologist anywhere was expecting this crazy ass blizzard. And who can blame them? It’s still November. Thanksgiving is just one day away.
My knuckles are white and my back hasn’t touched my seat for the last hour and I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath since I turned off the highway—which was a deathtrap of brake lights and skidding vehicles, by the way. As soon as I came slipping down the off-ramp, I let out a long breath I’d been holding for the last two hours.
Boy was I ever wrong to think I could relax.
I skid to a stop at every streetlight and stop sign and I lose control every time I turn the corner. Like right now, I’ve got my foot firmly pressed to the brakes and there’s no way I’m going to stop in time for this red light. I’m going to slide right into the intersection, no matter what I do.
My heart starts its own skid, stuttering around like it thinks it can help the situation by going faster than it’s ever gone in my life. I lean on the horn as I slide through the red light, hoping other drivers will hear it in time to avoid ramming into me. At this point, I don’t even know why I’ve got my foot on the brake anymore. Now that I’m in the intersection, I need out. Like, now. I switch to the gas just in time for another car to slide past me. If the near miss wasn’t so terrifying, it would be fucking hilarious. We slip past each other, staring at one another, both of us wide-eyed and terrified as we pass in a slow-motion version of the Automobile Ice Capades.
While the rest of the drive to my parents’ house is just as tense and treacherous, I make it into their driveway without another incident. The snow is piled high here. It reaches up past the tops of my boots and falls in and melts around my ankles as I tromp around to the trunk of my car. I grab my bag out of the back and trudge through the stuff up to the front door. The porch light is on, as is the light in the living room, but no one’s home. Mom and Dad went to pick up my grandparents this morning and are totally snowed in over there.
It’s just going to be me here tonight.
Thank God.
I love my parents, of course I do. They can just be a little much at times. Add in my grandparents and their constant pressure on all of us to excel and family gatherings become a bit of a pressure cooker.
My grandpa picks on everything my grandma does.
My grandma picks on everything my mom does.
My mom and my dad gang up and pick on everything I do.
I swear, there isn’t a person in our family who can set the table perfectly enough for anyone else to be happy. I mean, how fucking straight does the silverware really need to be?
The only person I’m really looking forward to seeing is Colt Barrett—my dad’s best friend. He knows how to make the worst situations seem like smooth sailing. In his eyes, a fork is a fork no matter how close it’s sitting to the knife.
Plus, he’s hot as sin. Like teenage wet dream, late night vibe-fest kind of hot. Sure, he’s older, but that doesn’t matter one little bit because Colt Barrett is a man that deserves his own classification. Older. Younger. He transcends it all.
He’s a Marine. Or, an ex-Marine, really, but the ‘ex’ part doesn’t really matter. Not only does he have the sex-god body and the short-cropped hair that accentuates his sky-blue eyes, but he’s also got that confidence that comes from being one of the baddest of all the asses in the country. He’s the shit and he knows it. And there’s no shame in him knowing it because not only is it the total truth, but he’s really cool about it, too.
He’s like, oh you want me to hold up that car with one hand while I rescue a litter of kittens trapped underneath with the other? Sure! No problem. Then he just does it like it’s no big thing and then brushes off the gratitude with a smile that feels like the sun has opened early just for you. It’s no secret I’ve had a pretty massive crush on him since right around the time I hit puberty.
Scratch that.
It’s one hell of a major secret.
No one knows. Not grandma. Not Grandpa. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not my diary. And most definitely not Colt Barrett. I fully intend on keeping it that way.
Using the key my parents wouldn’t take back when I moved out for college, I unlock the front door and let myself into my parents’ house. Snow blows right in with me like it’s just as glad to be inside as I am. As soon as I shut the door, the last bit of tension from the drive melts away. There’s something so good about coming home, isn’t there? Especially after fearing for your life for the last hundred or so miles.
My boots are caked with snow, so I pull them off and set them next to the door, just like I used to do when I was a little girl. After draping my socks over my boots and hanging up my coat in the hall closet, I drag my bag into the room I called my own for a good portion of my pre-college years. And then, I head over to my dad’s wet bar and pour myself a drink. Which I never did when I was a little girl.
Okay, scratch that.
I did my fair share of sneaking drinks when I was a teenager. To this day I’m surprised I never got caught.
My parents’ house is gorgeous. One of those towering ordeals made of wood and stone, with dark beams lining the ceiling and recessed lighting set at the perfect angle. Family pictures line the walls, documenting my transformation from gap-toothed girl in pigtails, through the worst ugly duckling phase of all times, to the grinning almost-college graduate I am today.
Colt is in almost as many pictures as I am, flashing that shit-eating grin at the camera like he knows just how beautiful it makes him. There are pictures of him and my dad in their camo, looking young and serious during their first year in the Marines. Pictures of all of us on their first leave, me just a tiny little bundle in my mom’s arms. She was so young when she had me, but powered by optimism like some kind of inspirational Energizer bunny, she never let that bother her. She was suited to motherhood in a way I don’t think I ever will be.
As we all grow older, Colt’s wife Sheila shows up under his arm only to disappear a few years after that. I never knew why they got divorced, but it wasn’t pretty. Looking at the pictures of him during the year she left makes it clear how hard it was for him. His face got leaner, his muscles got bigger, and the light in his eyes died out. Colt Barrett got hard that year, just in time for fifteen-year-old me to start noticing.
And notice I did.
I take a lo
ng drink of the vodka and cranberry I poured for myself and head over to the other set of pictures. God, how could no one notice how hard I fell for my dad’s best friend? Instead of standing next to my parents, I managed to tuck myself up closer and closer to him in each and every picture. If I wasn’t in the middle of getting a little drunk and a lot turned on right now, I’d be embarrassed for younger me, being as obvious and desperate as I was.
You know what? Scratch that embarrassment part, too.
Honestly, I can’t remember a time the way I feel about Colt has ever embarrassed me. He’s one hell of a sexy man. My attraction to him was inevitable the minute I became woman enough to notice.
I used to fantasize about him taking my virginity. It was all totally romanticized and very much the kind of stuff a little girl would dream up, filled with sappy music and dramatic confessions of love. But then, once I gave my virginity to someone else in one of those typical, fumbling and awkward experiences, my fantasies about Colt switched over to something a little more elicit.
Nowadays? My Colt fantasies are downright dirty.
Remember how I said he might be the one person I thought I was looking forward to seeing this weekend? I take that back now. I’m not sure I can look this man in the face after the things I’ve imagined him doing to me over the last few years.
You know what I need? More liquor. I throw back the rest of my drink and wander back to the bar to make myself another. Outside, the storm rattles against the windows, the rest of the snowflakes wanting in to join their friends melting into a puddle around my boots. Maybe it’ll all turn out okay anyway. Maybe everyone will end up snowed in for the whole weekend and I can just go back to Colorado State without having to face the passive aggressive comments that will start flying at me from every direction as soon as my family gets here.
Except then I wouldn’t get to see Colt.
Now that I’m sufficiently buzzed, I make a beeline for my favorite picture of all time. This particular picture sits on the long mantel over our stone fireplace and has been the highlight of one too many fantasies since the very moment it was taken. It’s just me and Colt and even though I’m way too old to be doing it, I’m sitting on his lap. I remember the day so clearly. His proximity intoxicated me. His scent enveloped me. His hard angles and strong arms fascinated me. But most importantly, I was totally and completely aware of his dick and just how close it was to my ass.
If you know what you’re looking for, you can see it written all over my face, but that isn’t all there is to see. The thing I love most about this picture is that I swear Colt was just as aware of me as I was of him. We’re both smiling at the camera, but there’s something so sexually charged about the way he’s holding me, the way I’m leaning in…
Just staring at it now makes me hot. I down the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the mantel. My hands move on auto-pilot, one squeezing my breast and tweaking a nipple while the other slides into my pants while I stare at the hard line of Colt’s jaw in the picture. I close my eyes and imagine Colt’s hands on me, his tongue on my clit, his dick pressing against my pussy.
My breath quickens as I draw little circles on my clit and I swear I’m about to have one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of the last year when the front door swings open. A blast of cold air jets into the living room and I yank my hand out of my pants and spin as someone walks through the door, looking down as they stomp snow off their feet.
And by someone, I mean the one and only Colt Barrett.
Chapter Two
Colt runs a hand over his head, brushing the snow out of his now slightly longer than it used to be hair. “Well, hey there Nadine.”
His eyes sweep over me and I swear he can see the shame and embarrassment written on my face. I was totally just masturbating to this man. Like, staring at a picture of him and me from when I was a teenager and pretending that my hands were his hands and they were all over my body and now here he is. Yeah, totally not awkward. Not at all.
“Hey, Colt.” I swipe my empty glass off the mantel and head back to the bar. Not only does this situation call for a little liquid courage, but this also gives me a moment to turn my back on him and get a grip. “You want a drink?”
It’s totally fine, I tell myself. He didn’t see anything. Just play it cool. It’s not like you’re going to be trapped in the house all alone with the man of your dreams or anything.
Colt shakes his head as he pulls off his coat. “When did you get big enough to start offering me drinks?”
His voice does amazingly terrible things to me. It’s strong and gravelly and goes on a one-way trip from my ears to the throbbing need that’s just moved in between my legs. I was so close to coming just now.
So.
Close.
“Since I’m twenty-one and all grown up.” I try not to cringe. I was going for a little bit of sultry mixed with a whole lot of teasing, but instead, I just sound very much like the little girl he thinks I am.
Colt lets his gaze wander my face and I swear he lingers a little longer than he should. “Ain’t that the truth. You’re not my little Cuddle Bug anymore, are you?”
Oh, I’ll be your Cuddle Bug.
Holy shit, Nadine. Get a hold of yourself.
I swear, I must be as red as Ronald McDonald’s hair right now and probably look just as childish. All my words are stuck behind a big old lump of what the hell am I doing, so I just brandish an empty glass and raise my eyebrows at him.
Colt nods. “After that drive, I’d say a drink is in order.” He smiles and winks at me and that just about does me in. As if I’m not wound up and turned on enough as it is, he’s got to go and do sexy shit like that.
I pour myself another drink, going a little heavier on the vodka than I probably should, and pour Colt a couple fingers of whiskey.
“Here you go.” I finally decide that I can come out from behind the safety of the bar and cross the living room to hand Colt his drink.
He looks down at it and then smiles at me in surprise. “Damn girl, you didn’t even have to ask what I want. A man could get used to that.”
“You’ve only had the same thing every time you’ve been over here for like, the last decade or something.” His fingers brush mine as he takes the glass from me and my breath catches in my chest. I swallow hard and force myself to meet his eyes despite the blush I feel working its way across my cheeks. “It only takes a little paying attention to know you’re a whiskey man.”
He’s so close I can feel the heat coming off his body. Smell that familiar scent of aftershave and whatever it is that he wears that makes him smell like the most delicious and manliest of men. It’s grease and gun oil, sweat and hard work, all wrapped up in cologne and body soap. I could stay this close to him all day and a-ok.
Shit. Let’s be real. I could get even closer than this and be so fine.
So.
Fucking.
Fine.
Colt clears his throat and steps back. Sips his drink and eyes me like I might be dangerous. Or crazy. Or, you know, like I’m his best friend’s little girl who just got a little too close and creepy. I back off and cross the living room to sit down on the couch.
“Your dad texted and said he won’t be able to make it home tonight.”
“Yeah. I got the same text just about the time I got off the highway and realized I might actually make it here without dying.”
Colt laughs and shakes his head. “Between you and me, I’m glad you skipped the dying part of the trip.” He jerks his chin towards the fireplace. “That thing work?”
I follow his gaze and, of course, my eyes go straight to that damn picture on the mantel. The picture. He has no idea just how fucking well it works. Guaranteed to wet my panties every damn time. I bite my lip and turn back to Colt. “I think so. Dad usually has a pile off wood stacked on the back porch.”
“Sounds like Jim. Always prepared.” Colt disappears out the back door and gets to work building us a fire while I do eve
rything I can to get myself under control. If it’s going to be just me and Colt here alone tonight, I cannot keep acting like a stupid little girl with a crush. It’s kind of important that I pull my shit together and start acting like everything is normal and fine or this is going to be one hell of an awkward weekend. Or, at the very least, I’m going to have to change my panties so frequently I’ll either have to do laundry or go buy some more to make it through the next couple days.
While Colt builds us a fire, I head into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” I call out to him, glad to have some space between us so I can think without being so damned distracted by all the things that make him who he is.
“Ravenous,” he calls back. There’s something in his voice that sets my nerves on edge. Why does everything feel like innuendo with him? “Mandy always has something delicious waiting for us, so I came hungry.”
Or, maybe it wasn’t innuendo. Maybe the man just skipped dinner.
I dig through the fridge, looking for something to snack on. With tomorrow being Thanksgiving, the thing is stuffed full of food, but none of it is of the ready to eat variety. After a little investigating, I find a cheese and meat tray hiding under stacks of pies Mom pre-made so they’re ready to pop in the oven tomorrow. I lean into the pantry, certain there’s a box of crackers hiding in the back. Which there is, thanks to Dad and his need to always have non-perishable food items on hand. It’s not exactly a culinary masterpiece, but it’ll do.
Hands full, I whirl and come face to face with Colt. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and I swear, I mean, cross my heart and hope to die, he was staring at my ass. I gasp and step back, stumbling over god knows what. Colt lurches into action and grabs my shoulders to keep me from falling while I do my best impersonation of a juggler to keep from spilling the cheese and meat all over myself and the floor.
