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His Plaything(6)

By:Ava Jackson

“W-why are you telling me this?” she finally squeaked. Her eyes were huge pools in her bright red face.

“Because that earlier fuck with Pam just barely took the edge off.” My lips quirked in a hard, hungry smile. “You said we'd be living together for an entire semester. That’s, what, four fucking months? We both need to get our rocks off once in a while, and I can tell you right now that my hand isn't gonna cut it. So if you don't want me hooking up with other women all over this condo … how about helping each other out?” My smile became a leer.

“You … that … “ she stuttered. Emotions flashed over her face, too fast to tell shock from desire from anger. “That's disgusting. You're disgusting! We're practically related!” Her pitch climbed to a shriek. “Get out of my room!”

Anger it is, then. Shit. Maybe that wasn't the best timing. I took her polite suggestion and turned on my heel. The door slammed behind me so fast it almost caught my ass on the way out.

There was nothing I could do but take my blue balls to the shower and jerk myself raw. And now, I didn't even try to stop myself from picturing Avery under me. This is going to be a damn long four months.

Chapter 4


My heart still pounding, I pressed my back against the door, and slid down to the floor as if I were trying to hold the thought of Nixon at bay. But no matter how pissed I was—at myself, at that manwhore and his horrible suggestion—I couldn't stop thinking about his body. I couldn't stop picturing him taking me. The sharp snap of his hips as he thrust in his long, thick cock up to the hilt. All his muscles rippling as he pounded into me with everything he had. His long, sinewy back, his washboard abs, his tight ass...

I wanted to groan out loud with sheer frustration. Just the thought of him was enough to make me ache. I never thought I could be so horny and so angry at the same time. Why did my body have to have a mind of its own? Why did his body, that perfect Mister Universe hunk, have to belong to my douchebag stepbrother?

A door slammed, and I heard pattering water from the bathroom. Was he in the shower? I swallowed thickly at the image that sprang to mind. The spray would run in rivulets over his broad shoulders and bulging pecs, all his hard angles of muscle and bone, down to his …

I let my head thud back against the door. Not too hard—just enough to express my sudden hatred of the universe. Then I forced myself to stand, sliding my back up the door. I had to get my mind off Nixon before I completely lost it. Trying to ignore whatever noises were coming from the shower, I took my first real look around the room I'd be staying in for the next four months.

It was almost half as big as the entire London flat I'd shared with two other girls. On my right was a queen-sized bed with a carved headboard and attached nightstands, dressed in crisp white linens. A wide, shallow closet with mirrored sliding doors occupied most of the left wall. Along the opposite wall was a tall bookcase, a computer desk under a pair of double-hung windows, and a bureau. All the furniture was made of beautiful toffee-colored teak—a matched set that must have cost thousands of dollars.

I pursed my lips. I'd never tell him so, but I was impressed with how clean, orderly, and classy it all was. Guess that's another perk of living with a military guy … he can't claim he doesn't know how to keep things neat.

Wait, another perk? I meant a perk. Just one. I definitely hadn't started a mental list that began with “sweet Lord he's ripped” and ended with “holy shit a man who knows how to dust.”

Now that I thought about it, actually, my new room was almost too neat. The subdued colors and spartan furniture felt depressingly impersonal, like a hotel suite. But I'd fix that as soon as I started putting away my stuff. Maybe put some art up on the walls. This place would feel like home before I knew it.

I kicked off my Gucci kitten slingbacks, wiggling my toes into the soft blue-gray carpet, and opened both windows to let in the fresh ocean breeze. Then I unzipped my suitcases and started carefully unearthing layer upon layer of clothes, shoes, and makeup. It had taken some pretty creative packing to fit everything I needed. And all this stuff would only last me for another month or two—when the seasons changed, I'd need to drive over to Dad's place to switch out my wardrobes. That would probably suck up a whole day of studying, since Irvine was about three hours away by car. What fun indeed… I hope it stays summer until after midterms.

I started finding homes for all my babies in the bureau and closet, letting myself be absorbed into the simple, repetitive project. Hang up and smooth blouses and skirts. Re-fold and stack shorts and pants. Underwear in one drawer, socks in another. Shoeboxes lined up according to color and heel height. Soon my hands were moving unconsciously as my thoughts drew me in.