Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance (17 page)

“I
was
,” I say quietly.

“And I wish I could stay and make sure you’re doing it right.”

I groan, feeling like the blush roaring across my face and neck might engulf me entirely. “I was—”

“Right, only sleeping.” He raises his brow at me again as he moves back into the living room and then strolls towards the door. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me feeling more riled and more on fire than I was before. So much so that he’s barely five seconds out the door before my fingers find my clit again to finish what I started.

Only this time, there’s no illusions to what I’m doing. 

This time, it’s unabashedly Hunter I’m picturing as the orgasm tears through me like a wave.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“So, Emma tells me you’ve been spending a lot of time like a shut-in up here.”

“Well it’s not like I can easily go for a nice jog outside or go to the movies or something.”

My mother sighs, giving me that patented “mom” look that’s somehow translated seamlessly into a presidential one. For a moment, I wonder if
that's
the secret behind her landslide victory at the polls; everyone saw that mom look on T.V. and just didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Madison, I mean
here
, in your quarters.” She smiles at me, “And you do know they have a movie theater here at the White House, right?”

I groan. “Yeah,
not
exactly the same thing. I miss
people
; I miss my friends.”

“Well I believe it was those
people
and those
friends
that got you into trouble in Chicago.”

I roll my eyes, “Are we seriously going to talk about this again? Jesus, mom, Harry
hit
me. I’d have thought standing up for me publicly would do wonders for your stance on domestic abuse or something.”

“Yes, it
would
have, had you not been drinking
drunk
and
high
when the whole debacle happened.”

“You’re being awfully
dismissive
about the whole thing, you know,” I snap.

“And you’re being awfully naive if you think I’m going to use my daughter’s personal life as some sort of campaign talking piece,” my mother shoots back.

“You know what, let’s go ahead and not talk about this.” 

I know she’s on my side, and I know she’s got a lot more on her plate than my messy relationship stuff, but that doesn’t mean I need to hear her talk about it right now. It also doesn’t mean I can go ahead and tell her the reason I’m avoiding
doing
anything is because I’m trying to avoid being around Hunter.

“I think I’m just bored,” I lie. “I’m spending time in here because at least here I don’t have to deal with security and media schedules and whatever other circus goes on in the rest of this place.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder and rubs my arm as she smiles at me, even if it is a campaign-trail type smile. “You’ll get used to it, honey. This is ultimately going to be a good thing for you.” 

“It’s a good thing to be cooped up and denied personal freedom while my life gets scheduled and regimented for me?”

“Madison, this isn’t about stifling freedom, this is about opening doors. Honey, think about what's available to you after this! I’m the
first
woman to become President, and you’re my smart, confident daughter.” She gives me
that
look again. “Now stop moping and put your mind to whatever it is you want to do.”

Damnit I hate when she’s right.

There’s something supremely unfair about having an argument with your mom when she’s a trained legal prosecutor and presidential debater. And again, I know she means well, but she doesn’t get that I
get
all of this. I
do
want to go figure what I want to do with my life, but I want to make my own way, not just coat-tail off my mom being who she is.

“Well is Hunter taking good care of you?” 

I quickly look away to hide the pink that teases across my cheeks at the sound of his name.

Oh, he’s taking care of me alright.

Long after my mother leaves though, with a few more token words of motivation, I still can’t stop thinking about him. Because there’s something so wrong and so illicit about fantasizing about him like this in the secret of my own head that has me hotter than ever. 

It doesn’t help that I’m still
horribly
turned on from last night, because even with the “self-release” after he left, I wasn’t satisfied. It wasn’t what I needed.

Because it wasn’t enough.

“It was good but not great.”

Yeah, well
same
, ass. And then there was the temptation to just do it, the temptation to just throw everything rational out the door. All those things I try to tell myself when he’s
not
around are starting to lose their weight.The temptation to yank him into my bed and and let ourselves fall is real, but it can't happen.

I tell myself that a few more times just to make sure it takes.

*****

Later, my mother’s words must have sunk in, because I’m grumbling as I head down to the dining room to have a real meal instead of having something sent up. Which, of course, entails putting on something besides pajama pants and being a real person, but the growling of my stomach is a good motivator.

“Oh, Madison!” I look up from my sandwich made to order later to see Emma smiling at me as she breezes into the dining room. “I was just coming up to knock on your door!”

She holds something small and black up in her hand and waves it before placing it in front of me. I frown at the silver and black phone before I glance up at her questioningly. “What’s this for?”

“It was Hunter’s idea, actually,” she says with her ever-present smile. “It’s a private scrambled phone sort of like the ones the Service uses on duty, to avoid anything like the museum, uh,
thing
the other day.

I glance quickly from the phone up to her face.
No, she doesn’t know. She couldn’t.

“Um, thanks, Emma.”

“It’s for Hunter and me only, so it’s just for emergencies.” She shrugs, almost apologetically. “Or, you know, if you just need something.”
She opens her mouth to say something and then closes it, before she takes a breath and looks back at me. “Look, Madison, I know you hate that you’re cooped up here, but if you ever want to talk or need anything at all,” she laughs conspiratorially. “
Besides
scheduling, I’m here to help, you know.”

A smile creeps across my face. “Thanks, Emma.”

“Any time.”

*****

Got your phone…for emergencies, huh?

I roll my eyes at the new phone as I send the message to Hunter’s pre-programmed-in private number. The response comes a moment later.

Yep, for when you just need me.

I grin as I type a response.

For protection, of course.

Oh, naturally…or if you need me to finish what we started the other night.

I blush as I smile like an idiot at the text before I bite my lip and fire off a response.

Oh, I don’t need your help anymore. I finished just fine without you.

Hunter’s response comes almost instantly.

I’m going to need details on that.

Oh, I think you know.

So you’re saying you finished.

I might be saying that, but that would be extremely un-presidential of me.

Hunter’s reply hits like a delicious shiver up my back.

Were you or were you not playing with your pussy.

His words are so
crude
, and yet I find myself blushing at how much they turn me on. I quickly put the phone face down on the side table next to my bed as I take a breath.

I need to stop this, right now. I need to put this temptation of a phone down and go for a run, or anything else to get Hunter and this wicked suggestions out of my head. But of course instead, I grin as pick the phone back up. 

Use your imagination.
 

Oh, I am.

Oh, should I use mine as well?

Jesus, what the hell am I doing? This is playing with fire, and I know it. This is beyond flirting with temptation, but I already know I’m way past stopping.

I can help with that imagination.

I’ve barely registered his message before the phone buzzes again in my hand at the arrival of a picture.

A picture of the bulge in his pants.

My pulse skips a little at the illicitness of continuing this wholly inappropriate flirtation. I grin as I hammer out my reply.

Didn’t realize you had photoshop on your phone. Nice editing.

Haha…I think you know better than that.

Like I said, forgettable. 

I wait, grinning and looking for a response but it doesn’t come. And for a minute, I find myself frowning as I wonder if I crossed a line from flirting into just being a bitch. But then I’m rolling my eyes at how ridiculous I sound worrying about bruising
that man’s
ego.

I’ve given up on a response, the phone laying on my lap in my bed, when it suddenly buzzes again as picture message lights up the screen.

And very quickly, there’s
nothing
forgettable about what Hunter’s packing between his legs, because there, on the screen, is a big, high-definition picture of his cock. His hand is wrapped around the base and it
still
looks huge, and I’m suddenly wondering how he managed to fit that thing in the frame. 

I’m also suddenly
very, very
wet.

The raw need for him is burning hot between my legs as I bite my lip and carefully send my reply.

Nice fake.

My photoshop skills aren’t THAT good, doll.

His first message is instantly followed by a second that has a shiver running up my back as the heat blooms between my legs.

Your turn. I want to see what’s underneath.

And for a second, I’m actually considering it. I can’t even believe who the hell I am around this man that I’d actually
consider
this for even one freaking second, but it’s there, like a hot coal burning in my head, sizzling straight through the layers of carefully cultivated control I’ve been clinging to so desperately.

That is, until I remember to
breathe
and shake the absurd thought of sending nude selfies to my damn
stepbrother
right out of my head.

Instead, I grin as I kick the covers aside, pull my sock off, and giggle as I snap a picture of my foot with the phone. I’m literally laughing out loud as I hit send.

Cute toes, but not my thing.

Oh well, too bad. I had you pegged for weird shit.

You have no idea,
the text back buzzes in my hand, and I bite my lip as the follow-up arrives a second later.