Authors: Cordelia Blanc
HUNTER
A BAD BOY MILITARY ROMANCE NOVEL
FIRST EDITION
BY
JOIN CORDELIA BLANC'S MAILING LIST!
Thank you for picking up one of my books. Chances are I’m in the process of working on another one! Hey—Did you know that you can read my whole catalogue free when you subscribe to
Kindle Unlimited
? It’s true! If you aren’t subscribed, I would highly recommend it.
I have started
this little newsletter
to let all of my beautiful readers know when I’m offering discounts, releasing new books, and giving away
FREE EXCLUSIVE CONTENT
. The sign up takes about four seconds (seriously). I will never share your email address with anyone, you will never receive any spam, and you can unsubscribe at any time with the click of a single button.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP FOR CORDELIA BLANC’S MAILING LIST NOW!
Can’t open the link? Copy and paste this link into your browser:
This book is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book are fictitious and any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidence.
Published By Cordelia Blanc
Copyright © 2015 Cordelia Blanc
Cover by Honey Hut Design Services
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
To the ones who clawed their way to the top.
Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.
—KURT VONNEGUT, CAT’S CRADLE
A BAD BOY MILITARY ROMANCE NOVEL
PART 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 nozzle 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. Still, I unsuccessfully.
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.