GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance (17 page)

“I—I’m sorry. I’m really just looking to act.”

“You must think about the offer. Think about it very seriously. And make sure you look very deep into your heart before you make any decision, because I know you feel it to. I know you feel the arrow.
Fue amor a primera vista.
”

The image of Gage’s face remained at the forefront of my mind. “I’m sorry, Mr Florentine. I’m going to have to pass. I should probably be going now.”

“This makes me very sad,” he said, turning and looking back down on Los Angeles. “But my offer still stands. Search into your heart and I know you’ll feel it too. In Spain, they say that souls are connected.
Almas gemelas
.”

The man in the black suit said nothing as he took me down the elevator and led me back to the limousine.

Saying no to Alejandro meant more than losing my big break. It probably meant losing any possibility of breaking out in Hollywood. Alejandro was the biggest name in the industry. When he said “Jump,” the town jumped. When he said “Don’t cast the little brunette,” the town didn’t cast the little brunette.

I’m sure Alejandro was a nice man. I’m sure he would have given me everything, made my life into a fantasy, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to be with Gage. Sitting in the back of that limo, my mind mulled over scenario after scenario, and only when Gage was present did I crack a smile.

“What’s your home address, Miss King?” the driver asked.

“Take me to the airport, please.”

“You got it.”

I think Alejandro was right. Souls are connected. I could feel it between Gage and I. My heart was pulling me, telling me I was making the right choice.

I didn’t feel nervous about Brit finding out I lost the role, and I wasn’t stressed out about my name being blacklisted from the industry. I felt hopeful, excited to see Gage’s face once again. And whatever would happen after that, would happen—and it would happen with Gage at my side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When I woke up, I was nearly home. Out my window, I could see land—green, lush, beautiful land. For two years, I’d looked at nothing but bleak fields of sand and dirt, an endless wasteland of nothingness. Green was just the color of our training shirts.

A dull, throbbing pain in my wrist reminded me that my hand and wrist were badly broken, and the boxing career I’d been looking forward to, that I’d spent two years training for, was over before it had even started.

I pulled the bottle of pills that the doctors gave me out from my jacket pocket and took a handful. I didn’t bother to count. Ever since the start of the whole soldier-suicide controversy, they stopped giving out lethal doses of prescription drugs. Half of the pills in my bottle were probably placebos.

I had to pinch my arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming after the plane landed and slowed down, and I could see the snow flakes floating down past my window. It had been over two years since I’d last seen a snowflake. Men and women were working outside of the plane, none of them dressed in camouflage or Kevlar.

The stewardess insisted on helping me off the plane before everyone else, but I told her I’d rather wait. I knew it would take a good ten to fifteen minutes for everyone to fight their way off, and I knew that it would take about as long for the painkillers to take hold. Once they did, I wouldn’t need the stewardess’ help.

But she insisted anyway. She reached her arm around my back, counted to three, and then tried to hoist me up. It was a cute gesture, but useless. She was less than half my size, trying to balance in dinky little high heels. I think she just wanted to feel my body. She’d been throwing frisky little glances my way the entire plane ride, and as she helped me to my feet, I was sure her blouse was buttoned down at least two buttons more than before I’d dozed off. She was cute enough, but she was definitely no Ashley. I wasn’t interested.

“I’m fine, really,” I said, stepping off the plane, still getting used to the crutches.

It was a long walk through that airport on those crutches, towards the baggage claim. Long enough to let my mind wander. The day I shipped out for Iraq, I never thought I’d step foot on US soil again. There was a good chance that I would be the only Joe from COIQ-UA-14 that would ever step foot on US soil again.

I was ready to wake up from my dream.

Every fifty feet was a poster for the film, Waterman: The Final Chapter. The rumour I’d heard was, the same director who directed the Waterman movies wanted Ashley for his latest blockbuster. Good for her, I thought. She’s gotten what she wanted and she didn’t have to fuck her way there. She didn’t have to do the nude shoot, she didn’t fuck a soldier despite the pressure, and now she was taking off.

I was relieved when I got through customs and I reached the escalator towards the baggage claim. The pills successfully dulled the pain in my body, but they didn’t fight off the exhaustion of hobbling the length of an entire international airport.

I thought for sure I was in some sort of pill-induced psychosis when I saw Ashley standing at the bottom of the escalator, her hands clasped nervously together. She was staring down at her feet, looking sad and broken, but beautiful.

Her hair was nicely done up and she was wearing a cute little dress underneath a white coat. Her head tilted up and her face lit up when she saw me.

I still wasn’t sure whether or not I was hallucinating or dreaming. Or maybe I passed away in that hospital, and this was all some kind of vivid, dying fantasy.

Her eyes became wet and she pressed her lips thin. She was still there after I blinked.

She was real. She was there for me.

I was only a few steps from the base of the escalator when she ran up and threw her arms around me. “I’m sorry I left,” she said, squeezing tightly. Her body was warm, soft, light. I’m sure the doctors would have advised against it, but I lifted her off the ground and squeezed her back.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too.” She didn’t let go. I could feel her tears wetting my shoulder.

She told me about the director, Alejandro Florentine, proposing his love to her, and how she turned him down. I offered to beat him up, but she told me not to.

I told her about my hand, how I probably would never box again. She became silent and she looked at me with a familiar look—a complex look. It was filled with sadness, confusion, joy, and a glimmer of relief. Her lips parted but she said nothing. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly again.

“We’ll make a new life together,” she said.

And for once in my life, I was excited about the uncertainty. I was looking forward to see what would happen, where our lives would lead. The future looked strangely bright, despite being completely unclear.

All I knew was, Ashley would be there with me, and whatever happened, we would be happy.

THE END… But don’t go away yet! Flip a few pages ahead because I have included a FREE BONUS NOVEL with the purchase of GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance. I hope that you love HUNTER: A Bad Boy Military Romance.

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HUNTER

A BAD BOY MILITARY ROMANCE NOVEL

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

After three months in that Congolese P.O.W. camp I was pretty sure I was going to die, so I started thinking about regrets and all the people I hurt and bullshit like that. It took a while. There were a lot of regrets. But even with the barrel of an AK pressed against my skull, I just couldn’t convince myself that fucking Kyla Rose was one of them. I wanted it to be—I wanted to regret it so badly. I’d just watched a bullet end her boyfriend, my best friend, Sammy Boy’s life. The least I could do was regret fucking his girlfriend the night before we shipped out.

But fuck, I didn’t regret it, and that made me feel like a real piece of shit.

She was drunk and so was I, and somehow that made me feel a little better about it. We were at a party—a party for me and Sammy Boy and a few other guys that were shipping out for the Congo the next morning. Niles, our squad’s First Lieutenant, said not to stay up too late, but he was an idiot, led our squad into an ambush, got pretty well all of us all killed. He was the reason I was in that stupid P.O.W. camp. But no one liked him before, either. He wasn’t invited to the party.

It was probably midnight when I noticed Kyla Rose sitting alone in a bedroom. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. She smiled and pretended like she hadn’t been, but I wasn’t dumb. I couldn’t blame her. It was her last night to spend with her boyfriend and Sammy Boy was nowhere to be found.

Kyla Rose was a sweet girl, never hurt no one, never talked shit about no one. She treated Sammy like a goddamn king, which was a first for Sammy. He was used to getting the shit end of the stick his whole life. His dad was a drunk, went and shot his mom, went to prison and so on, you know the story. Kyla Rose was the only good thing that ever happened to him. But I was drunk and so was she, so we fucked.

And fuck me for not regretting it one bit.

It started out innocent enough. I sat down next to her, put my arm around her. I was just trying to console her. But shit, she was wearing this low-cut top and this short—and I mean
short
—skirt. If that skirt was any shorter, her pussy would have been in plain view.

She was a tall girl with long, thick legs. Thick in the best way possible. She wasn’t fat by any stretch of the imagination—just
thick
. In high school, kids called her Thunder Thighs. They meant it as an insult, but I couldn’t think of a better compliment. Tits and asses are alright, but those thighs… I guess you could say I was more of a legs guy.

And that night, those beautiful legs were out in full-force, only disguised by that little strip of skirt and a pair of black, strappy heels.

She leaned into me, pressed her face against my chest. I could see straight down her top; she wasn’t wearing a bra. Kyla had a perfect rack. They weren’t huge tits but somehow they jiggled like goddamn Jell-O. It took all of me not to rip that dainty top off and squeeze her tits. Had it been anyone else, I would have. But for Sammy Boy, I resisted.

I pushed a strand of hair off her face and told her it was going to be fine, that we’d be back before Christmas, and all that bullshit. Nothing I said cheered her up much. She probably knew it was all crap. Her face remained nestled against my chest. She was wearing the same flowery perfume she always wore, the perfume that always reminded me she was the one Nintipi girl I never fucked. She wore that same perfume when I asked her out for the first time, ten years before. She said no, but I kept trying anyway.

“Don’t let Sammy get into any trouble,” she said, keeping her head against my chest. It was an ambitious request. If there was one thing Sammy Boy was good at, it was getting himself into trouble.

“I won’t,” I said. More bullshit.

“Don’t get yourself into any trouble, either.” She looked up at me with a smile. Her glossy lips looked soft and plump. I wondered if they’d feel soft and plump around my cock.

“I won’t,” I said. More lies.

She planted a kiss on my cheek. It was slow and gentle—too slow to be a peck, and too gentle to be “just friends.” Maybe I was just drunk. Maybe the kiss really was innocent enough. Yeah, and maybe I’m a Chinese jet pilot. After the kiss, she kept her nose against my cheek.

And I could smell that perfume…

That was all I could take. I turned her head and kissed her on the lips. I was right, they were plump and soft as all hell. I couldn’t help myself. She knew what she was doing. She must of known. Kyla knew me better than anyone else besides Sammy. And everyone who knew me knew I was good at two things: hunting and fucking.

In high school, I fucked most of the cheerleading squad (all the ones worth fucking), and the whole volleyball team—even the two lesbians. Guys would come up to me all the time for advice. “Hey Hunter, I like this girl. What should I say to her?” I tried helping the hopeless sons of bitches but they never got it. There’s no art to it, no skill. You either get it or you don’t. Be in charge. You want that girl? Then take the girl. Don’t be a pussy.

It worked on everyone—everyone except Kyla Rose. I’d fucked my way through half the girls in the town, but never Kyla. I sure as shit wanted to, but she was always too good, too perfect. She was always studying, a straight-A student. She had no time for parties, for boyfriends, for fucking. I tried but it never happened, and that just made me want her more. We eventually became friends—good friends. I figured maybe she was the “friends first” type. But nope. I was still unsuccessful.

Unsuccessfully until that night.

I threw her onto her back and ripped off her top, exposing those perfect tits that seemed to just float on her chest, weightless. I grabbed them and squeezed them. I’d waited way too damn long for that moment.

She was shy, covering her tits the moment I freed them from my grip. But I wasn’t in the mood for shy. Never was. I grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms down at her sides. When she finally relaxed, I flipped up her skirt, pulled down her panties, and threw them onto the floor. She was bare-naked, laying on her back like Venus.

Damn. I couldn’t figure it. Of all the guys in town, how did Sammy Boy land a girl like Kyla Rose? What did the scrawny kid have that that the town bombshell thought was so great?

She covered her pussy with her hand before I could get a good look. Her face was pink and her lips were pressed thin.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she bit her lip and shrugged. I didn’t have the patience for shy girls. Still don’t. I told her, “If you’re going to stick your hand between her legs, it better be to rub your pussy. She bit her lip again, hesitated a moment, then started to move her fingers in small circles over her plump lips.

I grabbed her ankles and spread her thick legs wide. Then, I watched as she got wetter and wetter, nestling her fingers between her lips, rubbing her clit. She started to squirm—didn’t take long. I noticed she was looking down at her side.

“Look at me,” I said.

She did, but she looked away quickly, cheeks still rosy.

“Don’t look away. Keep your eyes on me.”

She did. Her eyes darted away a few times, but she always came right back. She clearly had Sammy lingering in the back of her mind. But I didn’t want her thinking about Sammy, I wanted her thinking about me. I figured the least I could do was take her mind off her war-bound boyfriend.

She watched me take off my shirt. Suddenly, her full attention was on me, on my chest. That was one thing Sammy Boy couldn’t give her: two-hundred and ten pounds of muscle. Hell, I’d be surprised if Sammy was over one-fifty. Kyla liked my body—obvious from the hypnotized look on her face and the way her fingers dug deeper into her warm slit. Her legs quivered and her knees buckled. Easy.

Almost
too
easy, if you don’t count the ten years of rejection it took to get to this point. She bit her lip—her plump, juicy lips—those perfect cock-sucking lips. I didn’t have to say anything. I simply motioned down with my head and she obeyed, sitting up on her knees and crawling towards me. She made quick work of my pants. My dick sprung free within the same second my belt hit the mattress. Her eyes lit up. That was something else Sammy couldn’t give her—ten inches of hard
meat.

She was practically drooling at the sight of it.

She started off with a tease, taking the tip of her finger and running it along the base of my dick. I didn’t have the patience for teasing around.

“Suck it,” I growled. “Stick it in your fucking mouth and suck it.”

She smiled as if I was kidding, continuing to run the tip of her finger up and down the length of my shaft, inching her face closer and closer. I had no patience. I took the back of her head and pulled her in. Those sweet, plump lips suctioned around my cock like a goddamned airlock, like her lips were perfectly designed to fit around my girth.

I held her tightly for a moment, finally letting her go after she started to gag. She either got the message or she fucking loved the taste of my cock. She started sucking me off like there was a damn prize for getting me to come in her mouth. Maybe the come was the prize she wanted.

For a girl who put studying ahead of partying, schoolwork over fun, she sure knew how to suck a dick. She never even had a boyfriend before Sammy. And hell, Sammy was one lucky bastard to have a girl like Kyla Rose.

Kyla was tall, but not tall enough that I couldn’t reach down her back, between her plump thighs, and over her pussy. She was practically dripping on the bed. I guess I was right, she must have loved the taste of my dick.

It’s rude to keep a girl waiting—so the moment she pulled her face back for a breath of air, I pushed onto her back. This time, she didn’t wait for the command, spreading her beautiful legs for me.

“Wider,” I said. She obliged. “Wider,” I said again. She strained to spread her legs nearly horizontal to her body. I was just trying to see if she’d listen, if she’d follow my command. I also wanted to make sure she’d ditched the whole shy act. She had. The girl laying in front of me with her legs spread out into the air was not a shy girl.

So I stuck it in her and fucked the hell out of her. Didn’t start slow. Didn’t go gentle. I never liked gentle fucks, still don’t. Within seconds, I felt her coming on my dick. Apparently she wasn’t into gentle fucks either. She was my kind of woman—pretty face, plump thighs, obedient, and she liked it as rough as I could give it to her.

Her butt was turning red from slapping against my hips. She didn’t seem to mind; she was into it, like me—the sound of her flesh slapping against mine. She came again, and then again. Either her pussy got tighter or my dick swelled thicker, harder.

She fucking loved it.

Kyla Rose, valedictorian, teacher’s pet, and future NASA engineer, loved being rammed by my big, hard dick. Who would have guessed? Most girls would’ve tapped out by then. Most girls would have screamed, “Stop, Hunter, it hurts!” But not Kyla Rose. She could take it. She could take every goddamned inch of it and still rub her clit like it wasn’t enough, like she wanted more.

I pinned her arms again, gripping her wrists firmly. She winced, but didn’t object. I could hear myself grunting with each thrust. Her moans began to swell into screams. Her body convulsed, but I held her tight. The headboard slammed into the wall. If someone was in the next room over, they’d have thought the Congolese Rebels were invading.