GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Richards came into his office with sweat glistening on his forehead. He’d regained his composure, but his hands were still trembling from his outburst.

And I was a bit shaken myself, that sudden deep roar still resonating in my body. I’d only ever seen Richards get angry like that one other time, when one of the soldiers tried to out him in front of everyone. Richards pinned the bastard to the floor and made him cry uncle. Sitting in Richards’s office, remembering that very moment, it dawned on me that that bastard was Lyon.

Which was somewhat of a relieving realization.

“Are you out of your goddamned mind, Daniels?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t play games with me, Corporal. I’m not in the mood.”

“Excuse me, sir.” I couldn’t help but let a smirk slip. He clearly wasn’t angry with me; he was angry with the situation. It wasn’t the first fight he’d broken up, and I’m sure he got a kick out of seeing Lyon squirming like a bitch on the pavement.

Richards didn’t bother to sit down. Instead, he paced around the room, rubbing his clean-shaved chin and staring at his feet. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Daniels?” he asked.

“He swung first, sir.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you provoked him, I know you did. I was watching from here. You’re supposed to be the one with half a head on his shoulders—not the one running around like a goddamned vigilante in front of a bunch of girls.”

“I was just following orders, sir.”

“Bullshit. What orders?” He stopped and looked at me with his eyebrows pinched together.

“You said don’t touch the girls, sir. I tried to pass on the order but they wouldn’t listen.”

“You idiots don’t listen to half of my orders, and I don’t go around beating the shit out of you.” He continued his pacing and chin rubbing. If he’d rubbed that chin any harder, a fortune would have appeared on his forehead. “I have to punish you. You know that, right, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir.” I looked out the window at the men running around the compound. Thankfully, some cardio was just what I needed to round out my workout. It was a win-win. Beat the shit out of a scumbag and get a good workout.

“I want you to go outside and stand at the end of the heli-pad.”

“Sir?”

“Go.” He pointed to the door.

“You want me to stand at the end of the heli-pad, sir? What kind of punishment is that?”

“You’ll stand next to the fence and watch your fellow soldiers do laps. And you won’t speak, and you won’t move until they’re all done running. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

So I went outside and stood there, next to the fence, watching the other Joes pass once every ten minutes. With each pass, they yelled at me. “Why are you just standing there, you piece of shit?” “Was it worth it, motherfucker?”

I just smiled and laughed. It was a classic shaming punishment, and most men wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t give a shit about any of the other soldiers, I wasn’t friends with any of them. None of them had the balls to fight me. It was pointless—just a pointless waste of three hours.

Though it was somewhat entertaining, watching them struggle to run twenty-five miles. They were supposed to be US Marines, America’s Best—but they were a bunch of nothings, a bunch of sex-starved rodents. The Army wasn’t anything to them but free money and free women. Like a bunch of suburban dads, the moment they shipped out, they let themselves go.

The girls watched the other guys run for a while, whistling and catcalling, until they all got bored and went to do other things inside. Once the girls were all inside and the men were taking turns throwing up along their trail, Ashley came out to talk to me.

She stopped and stood silently for a moment before saying anything. She dug her toe into the dirt and swivelled her foot around pointlessly. Her eyes wandered without aim.

“What?” I asked.

Another moment of silence, then, “Thanks for doing that,” she said.

“Thanks for doing what?”

She kept swivelling her foot. “Beating that guy up.”

I stared at her, confused. I didn’t kick Lyon’s ass for her, I kicked it because Lyon was a prick. Ashley just happened to be the one to make it clear—the one that got Lyon to open his filthy mouth, to push me over the edge.

It didn’t surprise me that Ashley would take credit for the beating. The world did, after all, revolve around her, her Playboy spread, her acting career, and so on. The Iraq War was started to protect her, and 9/11 was a personal attack on her.

She was delusional, but there was no sense in telling her that, no sense telling her I had my own reasons to beat up Lyon. “Don’t mention it,” I said.

“Really. I really appreciate it.”

“I said, don’t mention it.” Out in the distance, Hastings was throwing up. From a quarter mile away, I could see the tears running down his cheeks. The scrawny bastard still had twenty-two laps to run. He’d been lapped a half dozen times by the other Joes. The sun was inching towards the horizon, and soon, Hastings would be running in the dark.

“Can I ask you something?” Ashley asked.

“No,” I said.

“What?”

I knew that she was going to ask me to hide her again, to continue our sham relationship so the other guys wouldn’t touch her, but I wasn’t interested.

“I was just going to ask—”

“—I know what you were going to ask, and the answer is no,” I said, turning to look at her. Her eyes were wide and watery, like a puppy in a Sarah McLaughlin commercial.

“Why are you such an asshole?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t you be inside doing your makeup like the other girls?”

She took a deep breath, as if to contain an angry outburst. Once recomposed, she said, “I was going to ask if you were okay. He got you pretty good with that hit to the face. You’re still bleeding.” She reached up and wiped my cheekbone, and then showed me the blood on her finger. She stared at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for me to say something.

“I’m fine,” I said, turning back to the exhausted men trotting past.

“There’s dirt in the cut. It’s going to get infected.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

She wiped the blood off on her pants. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You think your cool, pretending like you don’t give a shit about anything? Are you some sort of James Dean wannabe?”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t bother to look at her while we talked. I didn’t need to; I could hear all the eye-rolling in her voice that I needed.

She sighed and finally walked away. The relief was short lived, though. Before the Joes were finished their fifty laps, Richards called me back into his office. This time, he was sitting down behind his desk with his hands together, composed. He’d had some time to cool off, let his temper simmer.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“I’ll stand, sir. What do you want?”

He tapped his foot a few times while he composed the best opening sentence in his mind. “I think I have this thing figured out.”

“What thing, sir?”

“I’ve already gotten a call from HQ. They’ve seen the picture of you and the Playmate girl, and they’re not happy about it.”

“Why do they care?”

“Because it makes you and me and all of us look like a bunch of frat boys, Corporal.”

“Right.”

“It’s a PR nightmare. But I was thinking—the journalist hasn’t published anything yet. He wants to do a smear piece, but if we can clean up our act, he won’t have anything to write about—that photograph and your little scrap aside. So, what I proposed to HQ, is that we give the journalist a different story.”

“Sir, I thought the journalist was here to cover the Playboy visit. Why does he care what we do? Shouldn’t he just be concerned about the Playmates?”

Major Richards tapped the tips of his fingers together for a moment before raising his index finger in exclamation. “Because you fucked one of the Playmates, and he caught you.” He said it with a strange casualness.

“Right, sir.”

“Don’t fuck any more Playmates.”

“I know, sir. I think you’ve made that clear enough.”

“But keep up your thing with Miss King.” He stared into my eyes and waited for a response with a blank stare.

“My thing, sir?”

“That’s right. Keep it up.”

“Keep what up?”

He took a long breath and tapped the tips of his finger together again before responding. Apparently, I was getting on his last nerve.

Major Richards went on some bullshit tangent about how it looked bad if soldiers were having one-night stands with girls, but it was somehow fine to have a five-night stand with a girl. Even he didn’t sound like he believed it, his eyes wandering around the room while he talked. He knew it was all a load of crap, but he had no choice. He was acting under orders of his boss, and probably had a similar eye-rolling conversation just before he brought me into his office.

When his rant ended, the room became silent.

“Are you asking me to fake a relationship with Ashley King, sir?”

“That’s correct. Except I’m not asking, it’s an order.”

I laughed. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no.”

“You’ll follow orders or it’s a month of ground duty.” His voice became louder. It was an argument I wasn’t going to win. “Besides, I’m going to give the same order to the other men. Everyone’s going to pick a lady and court her over the next week.”

“Court her, sir?”

“I expect everyone to be charming and chivalrous. Pull out her chair, give her your coat, cut her goddamned meat if you have to—understood?”

I left his office with, by far, the dumbest order I’d ever been given—fake a relationship with a desperate, aspiring actress.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was an hour before we were due to meet the soldiers for dinner and another round of socializing when Nancy came to my room and told me to follow her to a private room. It was a welcomed distraction from the other girls, all jabbering on about the guys they slept with the previous night.

Barbie claimed she was gangbanged by three men, and unfortunately, I believed her. The real shame was that she talked about it with pride, as if letting three horny marines have their way with her was some sort of accomplishment.

I did my best to dodge any of the questions that were directed towards me. “How was he? Did he have a big cock?” Barbie asked. Thankfully, none of the girls were bright enough to see through my lies. “He was great and he had a huge cock.” Some of the Playmates rolled their eyes the moment I opened my mouth, still bitter about my viral photo-shoot.

Gage was waiting in the room that Nancy brought me to. He was slumped down in a chair spinning a coin on a bare metal table. He looked like a bored teenager, waiting for his parents to finish a meeting with the school principal. He didn’t look up at me when I walked into the room.

Nancy said nothing as she smiled and left the room.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m here to ask you to be my date, tonight,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone of voice. It couldn’t have been less convincing. It was obvious he wasn’t acting on his own freewill.

“Really? Why?”

“Never mind that, okay? We’re just going to put on a bit of a show for the camera guy and that’s it. Just for dinner. After that, I’m going to get a set in, and then I’m going to bed. Got it?”

“Can I sleep in your bed again?”

“No. After dinner, you’re on your own. We’re just getting pictures and that’s it.”

I couldn’t figure out why he was being so resistant, so afraid of appearing even slightly interested in me. I didn’t want his pity date. All I wanted was for the other guys to leave me alone until this promo tour was over. “What’s your deal?” I asked.

He just stared at me, not saying anything.

“I don’t care that you don’t like me, you know. I don’t want to date you or be your girlfriend or anything like that.”

“Good. Then it’s mutual.”

“But it would be nice if you weren’t such a dick.”

He stood up and scowled. “I’m not being a dick. I was just minding my own business when you came up to me, begging for help—” Gage cut himself off as a group of Playmates became audible from down the hall, walking towards the room. He waited for them to pass before taking a step closer to me and lowering his voice. “I’m just following orders, okay? It’s nothing personal.”

“Just tell me what you’re so afraid of,” I said.

“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m just not interested.”

“So why do you care about what other people think?”

Another group of girls approached. Gage waited for them to pass before looking back at me. He kept his voice low. “I don’t.” He was hiding something—too committed to making sure I knew he wasn’t interested. I thought, maybe there was another girl he liked, and he didn’t want me to go around telling the other girls we were an item. But then why was he so worried about the other girls overhearing him tell me he wasn’t interested?

And if there wasn’t another girl in his world, what was so bad about me? I didn’t care that he wasn’t interested, but I still had feelings, I still wasn’t a fan of his total commitment to rejection. I wasn’t ugly, I wasn’t slutty, I wasn’t boring. “Just tell me why you don’t like me,” I asked.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Just tell me. What’s so bad about me?”

“You’re stuck-up and stupid,” he said with a little smirk.

I slapped him, overcome by a sudden anger. It was one thing to call me stupid, it was another thing to rub it in with that little smirk. “I am not.”

He didn’t take the slap lightly. He grabbed me, spun me around and pinned me to the wall with force. His hands tightened around my arms. I tried to wriggle free, but he was too strong.

He leaned in close and said, “You’re no different than the rest of them.”

“All those other girls care about is fucking,” I said.

“If you weren’t so worried about your reputation, that’s all you would care about too.”

I wanted to slap him again, but he continued to hold me rigid.

The door opened. Gage quickly released me and spun to face the newcomer. It was the reporter.

“I’m sorry—am I interrupting?” he asked. His eyes were wide and there was a long, crooked smirk on his face. He probably thought he’d caught us making out, about to fuck, me pinned against the wall.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Gage beat me to it. “Yeah,” he said.

“You don’t mind if I get a couple shots, do you? The lighting in here is great,” the reporter said, ignoring Gage entirely. “Just pretend like I’m not here.” He backed into the corner of the room and raised his camera.

Gage looked at me with a flat, unimpressed look. “We weren’t doing anything, man,” he said to the reporter.

“Sure, sure. I’ll just get a few shots and I’ll be gone. Just pretend like I’m not in the room.”

Gage looked back at me with that same unimpressed look. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you want.”

“It’s okay, I get it—camera shy. Why don’t you try holding her hands.” Gage reluctantly took my hands and held them with a serious grudge. “That’s right, just like that. Look into each others’ eyes. Perfect—perfect.” Gage’s hands were warm. “Just think,” the reporter continued, “yesterday, you didn’t even know one another. Now you’re in love. Isn’t that something.”

Gage’s eyes narrowed and he snapped his head towards the cameraman. “We’re not in love.”

“It’s the making of love. Two destined souls finally meeting. It’s hard to see it with your eyes, but the camera can see it.” The reporter’s nonsense was making Gage angry; his grip tightened and his body became tense. “Get a bit closer. That’s right.”

Gage winced every time the reporter’s camera shutter snapped. “Hold her close to your body. Who would think, under all the circumstances—a soldier and a Playboy Playmate? It’s like a modern day Romeo and Juliet.”

“I need to get back to my post,” Gage said.

“Just a few more. It’ll take two seconds. Hold her a little bit closer.”

I could hear him grumbling under his breath. He pulled me in tight to his body and I could feel all the hard ridges of his muscles. His body was warm and comfortable. He let go of my hands and put them on my hips.

Posing for the camera, I lifted my knee, bringing it up the side of his thigh.

“Oh, that’s great. Good, good,” the reporter went on.

“What are you doing?” Gage whispered.

“It’s for the camera,” I said.

He sighed. The camera continued to snap shots. Gage rolled his eyes, remaining mostly immobile unless requested to do otherwise. I could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Pressing against my pelvis, I could feel his warm bulge. It turned out, I didn’t really lie to the other girls; he was big, and thick too. Even flaccid, his cock was intimidating.

“How’s about a kiss?” the reporter asked. Gage became tense and his eyes quickly darted away from me.

“No,” Gage said.

“Just a quick, little—”

“—No kiss,” Gage said. He finally released me and took a step back. “I need to get back to my post.” Free from his hold, the room suddenly felt cold and empty, and I felt somehow exposed.

“That’s okay—we’ll get it later. I got lots of great shots for now. The two of you together are so photogenic.”

“I’m glad,” Gage said, walking past the reporter, out into the hall.

The reporter thanked me for my time and then left behind Gage. There was still an hour before the dinner, and I hadn’t even started to get ready. The other girls were already perfecting their makeup and their outfits. I still needed to shower.

On the bright side, I didn’t have to fight for one of the six showers in the complex.

I was still angry about Gage’s comment from earlier, calling me stuck-up and stupid. It didn’t help that I could still smell his musk on my body, from him rubbing up against me. The hot water from the shower didn’t seem to wash away the smell.

He thought he was so cool with his James Dean attitude and his gym-toned muscles. The more I thought about it, the more I realized, he was probably just playing hard to get, trying to bait me by acting like some kind of reckless bad boy.

He wasn’t the greatest catch, himself. Aside from his thick muscles and his big cock, he was just a another thick-skulled prick. If I didn’t need him to save my reputation, I would have let him know, too.

He’s lucky he had that big cock and those big muscles. I could see why the other girls might be into it. When I woke up with his arm over me, it felt nice. It felt even better when he held me in front of that reporter, and I could feel his thick biceps hugging my body.

And I could just imagine that thick, warm cock, throbbing and growing against my body while he held me. I could imagine it rubbing between my labia, its thick veins massaging my clit before he slides it into me, stretching me out, making me a limp, helpless mess. Would it hurt? Or would it feel incredible? I’d never been with a man that big before—not even close.

The shower’s hot water streamed the suds down my body, but that smell lingered—that strong, manly musk. I slipped my hand down between my legs and started to rub my clit with my fingertips.

I thought, if I’d given him the chance, he wouldn’t have been able to say no. He would have crawled towards me on his hands and knees like a stray, hungry dog.

He’d hold me against the wall, just like he did in that little, private room—except there would be no one around but me and him. I wouldn’t be able to move while he drove that big cock in and out of me, each drive rattling the thin, tin wall. With the way he’s pinned my biceps, there would be nothing to hold onto but his rigid, muscular forearms.

As I imagined Gage fucking me, my eyes closed and I let my fingers slip into my pussy. No one was around. I started fingering myself, warm water flowing down my body, down my legs.

He’s merciless; just like when he beat the shit out of Lyon, he doesn’t stop for any reason. Even when I cry out, he covers my mouth and thrusts harder.

“Tell me how much you love my fucking cock,” he grunts into my ear.

“I love your cock,” I manage to say between broken breaths. My legs are trembling, no longer functioning. He moves his hands to my hips to hold me up. He has no intention of slowing down, of letting up.