SEAL's Virgin: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 15

  “That it’s obvious how fucked up my family is.”

  “Well, my point is that my family is crazy too. I guess every family is in its own way, but mine is more… lurking beneath the surface. Everything on the outside looks nice and perfect, but the second someone challenges it, everything starts to boil up to the surface, if not just plain erupt, and I’m afraid…”

  “You’re afraid that dating someone like me will cause your parents to go ballistic,” he finishes my awkward run-on sentence for me.

  “I… yeah. I do want you to know that no matter what, I want to be with you. But I’m not sure that it’s going to be easy.”

  “That’s fine,” he says, kissing me once again. “That’s all I needed to hear. And by the way, nothing worth fighting for is ever easy to obtain.”

  “Oh sage wise one,” I joke, as the doorbell rings.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Hello, Dear,” says my mom, as soon as I open the door.

  She’s holding a pie, and my dad and sister Samantha are behind her.

  “Hi Mom, come on in,” I say, and step aside to let them through.

  “This is my boyfriend, Jensen,” I say. “Jensen, this is Mom, Dad and Samantha.”

  “Well, hello,” says my mom, as if she doesn’t know what else to say. I watch my dad’s eyes size up Jensen’s tattoos while his mouth curls into a distasteful snarl, as Jensen shakes my mom’s hand and then moves on to meet my father.

  “Jensen, huh?” asks Samantha, when it’s her turn to meet him. “An interesting name for an interesting choice for my sister.”

  Her tone is both flirtatious and condescending, a combination that only Samantha can pull off. Her long blonde hair glides along her skinny back as she turns away from Jensen, and I swear she wiggles her almost non-existent ass. I think about calling her out but I don’t want to ruin the evening before it even begins.

  We head to the kitchen where I serve the chicken cacciatore I made earlier today.

  “Very nice, Riley,” Mom says approvingly.

  “What happened to the low carb diet?” Samantha bursts out.

  “I ditched it.”

  I take a defiant bite of my dinner. Samantha sizes Jensen up again, and he graciously says, “I don’t think Riley needs to be on a diet. She looks great the way she is.”

  “Thanks, honey.” I smile and squeeze his hand under the table. He squeezes back reassuringly.

  I can tell that Samantha wants to ask how a completely in shape guy could like a fatty like me. It’s something I wondered myself, before something changed. At some point I realized that Jensen was really into my body, and that I should be too. And I feel confident enough around him to wear the spaghetti strap dress I’m wearing tonight.

  Samantha doesn’t ask that question. I think even she knows that would be taking things a bit too far. Instead, she asks, “So what happened to Charles?”

  “Samantha dear, that’s inappropriate,” Mom says.

  “But what did happen to him?” asks my Dad.

  “I ditched him too,” I shrug.

  Just before Jensen knocked him out cold, I think, but don’t say. I decide a half-lie is better than the whole truth. He is technically the one who dumped me, but there’s no way I’d want him back.

  “Riley, you know I respect your choices but this is a bit of a shock to us,” my mom says. “One day we’re at the Albuquerque Country Club with your fiancé and his father who is the head of the firm you work at, and the next day we’re…”

  “At my house with my new boyfriend?” I ask them. “And by the way, it’s the firm I used to work at.”

  My father sets his silverware down and clears his throat. I gulp, scared yet proud of myself for putting it out there right away. I could anticipate that asking about my job and career was next on their agenda, and I wanted to be in control of the conversation, for once.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Mom asks, her smile fading.

  “This is great entertainment, Riley,” says Samantha, as she stuffs her face. “And to think I almost went to the movies instead.”

  “Please stay out of this, Samantha,” Dad says. “Riley, what are you talking about?”

  “The firm and I weren’t a good fit,” I tell him. “I don’t want to work there— or anywhere like there— ever again.”

  Jensen squeezes my hand again and I turn my head slightly to see that he’s smiling proudly at me. And I’m proud of myself for saying exactly what I mean, for once. And even for knowing exactly what I mean.

  At lunch after his trial, Jensen said that he had gotten everything he wanted and then realized it wasn’t actually what he wanted. For me, the reverse is true. I didn’t get anything I wanted, but then I realized I hadn’t really wanted any of it anyway. I had wanted something different. I had wanted this.

  “I don’t understand,” Mom says. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to sleep in later than 5 am, and go to bed later than 9:30 pm. I’m going to feel much more relaxed not worrying whether I’ve impressed enough of the right partners for my next evaluation, or whether I’ve accidentally impressed a partner who’s on the outs with the firm, and somehow gotten caught up in firm politics without even knowing what happened…”

  “She meant for work, Riley,” Dad says, as if I’m an idiot and didn’t know that. “What are you going to do for work?”

  “I work for Veterans’ Legal Alliance, representing former members of our military,” I tell him.

  “Tell me that’s not how you met Jensen!” Samantha sputters.

  I glare at her. She’s just jealous because she can’t avoid drama long enough to keep a boyfriend, and she has no career at all, and still lives with our parents. She may be the standard definition of beautiful, but for once I feel confident that I’ve got a lot more going for me than she does.

  “You shagged your client! You did!” Samantha gloats.

  I ignore her and continue.

  “I also have my own office, downtown, and I’m going to start to take on some of my own clients.”

  “But how are is any of this going to be enough to make a living on?” my dad asks. “I mean, a real living? And what about all the money we invested into your future? Law school cost a fortune.”

  “It was money well spent, Dad,” I tell him, and reach out to put my hand on top of his. He looks down at it, surprised. He and I have never had the best relationship. “Thank you for putting me through college and law school. I really appreciate it. I am enjoying being a lawyer now more than I ever have in the past.”

  Mom and Dad look at each other, completely perplexed. I can just see them saying to each other telepathically: “This is not the Riley we are used to!”

  But I’m sick of bending over backwards to please them, going along with everything they want and basing my life decisions off of their demands. I’m on a new path, and they can either come with me or stay where they are, stomping their feet at me for not going exactly the way they want me to go.

  “How about some pie?” Mom asks.

  “What?” Samantha says, quickly turning to face Mom.

  “Well, why not?” I say, and stand up to retrieve everyone’s plate.

  “I’ll get it,” says Jensen, getting up with me, and so I go to get the pie.

  I can practically see Samantha fuming and storming inside. She is used to our parents lecturing me and even belittling me like she does. She’s the pretty one and as spoiled as can be. But I’m the smart one and the family expectations ride on my shoulders.

  “We’re only so tough on you because we care so much, and know you’re capable of so much,” they’ve told me many times before. But this time they don’t know what to say. They had no idea I’m capable of being myself. And neither did I, before I met Jensen.

  Later, after they’ve finally left, Jensen and I are laying in my bed, cuddling.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he says, and then laughs.

  “Stop it!” I laugh too, so hard th
at I snort.

  “I totally get what you mean now, about your crazy family. They’re as bonkers as mine. Or maybe more so.”

  “I’m just glad they didn’t completely flip out at me,” I admit.

  My biggest fear was that they would disown me, but now that I think about it, that wouldn’t be so bad, as long as I still have Jensen.

  “It’s because you stood up for yourself,” he says, “and I was so proud of you. It was plain as day that they aren’t used to it and weren’t expecting it. You took them by surprise, and you had the upper hand. Even over that bratty sister of yours.”

  “Isn’t she awful?”

  I laugh harder.

  “I think you deserve a treat for having to put up with them,” he says, as he kisses my stomach and then my pelvis.

  “You’re the one who had to endure meeting them for the first time, and who likely will have to put up with more visits in the future,” I remind him. “But, hey, I could never turn down your offer for such a treat.”

  He’s already pushing up my negligée, and kissing my inner thighs. A satisfied shudder runs through my body.

  His mouth lightly touches me on the outside and then he runs his tongue up and down my eager bud.

  “That feels so good, Jensen.”

  “You deserve to relax,” he says, reaching up to play with my nipple. “You really are amazing.”

  He licks and teases me and then inserts a finger while he nibbles on my clitoris. Soon I’m unable to hold back. I grab his hair as he moves his head all over me while I come.

  “Oh my God, Jensen, this is the best feeling in the world.”

  I let go and feel my orgasm erupt and seem to split into many tiny ones as he rubs and chews on my stimulated nerve endings.

  Then he takes his boxer briefs off and slips a condom on.

  Lying on top of me, he enters me while holding my head in his hands. He kisses my mouth, my neck, and my mouth again, and I’m reminded of the very first time he kissed me and sealed our fate, even though I just didn’t know it yet.

  “I’m so glad I met you, Jensen Bradford,” I say, as he thrusts inside me, up and down, and grunts his agreement. “I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you.”

  He sucks on my nipples while continuing to move in and out of me, causing my breathing to increase once again. I easily come again, and then I feel him pulse and grip my shoulders tightly as he himself comes.

  Lying back down beside me in bed, he says, “If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be hooked back up with that Charles loser, working at that awful firm again.”

  “And if it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in jail,” I say.

  We laugh as we hold each other tight.

  “Good thing Mr. Holt made me volunteer to help veterans,” I say.

  “Good thing my mom made me have to punch a guy out.”

  We lie together in the darkness for a while longer, a comfortable silence between us.

  “Jensen?” I ask.

  There’s no response, and then I hear his deep sleep breathing.

  Oh well. I was just going to tell him I love him. But I can wait to tell him tomorrow. And every day after that.

  THE END.

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  Chapter 1 – Madilyn

  A shiver runs through me as I step out of the elevator and into the open foyer of the Law Firm of Isaacs, Sanchez & Reed. It’s not just because the air conditioning is on full blast to combat the dry August heat and overcompensate to the point where the air inside feels chilly. It’s also due to a mixture of excitement and fear that is coursing through my veins.

  And horniness. There’s definitely a little horniness mixed in there and coursing its way through other parts of me as well.

  “Welcome, Ms. St. Clair,” the receptionist says, standing up and coming over to greet me.

  He’s every bit of a proverbial tall, dark and handsome hotty but his perfect hair and impeccable fashion taste— he’s wearing a bespoke suit and tie that puts my carefully chosen skirt suit to shame— signal that he’s gay, damn it.

  “I’m Claude,” he says, with what I swear is a slight French accent, “and I’ll show you to your temporary office.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I shake his hand and begin to follow him. As we pass the receptionist desk I note a framed picture of another man kissing Claude on the cheek. I’m happy for him but sad for me that my suspicions are confirmed.

  It’s not like you could sleep with the receptionist at your brand new job, I think, chiding myself.

  I’m on a mission. I need to have sex.

  But not with anyone at work. I’m not that stupid.

  “Did you say temporary office?” I ask Claude, willing myself back to reality.

  “Yes,” he says, leading me down the spiral staircase. “It’s right this way.”

  “What happened to…”

  I trail off momentarily. I had wanted to say “my office,” but that sounds presumptuous.

  “…the permanent office?” I finish.

  When I’d interviewed here, one of the firm’s named partners, Cameron Sanchez, had showed me an office he said would be mine if I ended up getting the job. It was a large office with an impressive view of the Sandia Mountains and I’d been eagerly awaiting the chance to decorate it and make it my own.

  “You do have an office but that wing is in the process of expansion,” Claude says.

  “Expansion?”

  Am I getting an even bigger office?

  “Under construction,” he says, with an awkward shrug.

  It’s obvious that Claude is just as confused as I am. The poor guy was only assigned to give me the bad news and show me to my “temporary office” and here I am badgering him with questions.

  As we head down to the next floor it also becomes obvious that I’ve been temporarily housed with the paralegals in a cubicle area of a large shared space in the middle of the floor.

  “Here’s your temporary office,” Claude says, and hightails it back upstairs. “Sandy will help you get set up.”

  I wish I could call out after him that it’s not nice to pretend a cubicle is an office and then run away once the truth comes out. But he is so damn cute that I’ll let that one slide.

  A tall blonde woman with frizzy hair says, “Hi, I’m Sandy. Paralegal extraordinaire. Welcome to ‘Cubicle Hell,’ as it’s known around here.”

  “Ha.”

  I half- smile at her, not sure what to say to that that would sound appreciative of her humor yet not sound insulting to the firm. I finally remember to introduce myself.

  “Madilyn St. Clair,” I tell her, shaking her hand warmly, although she doesn’t return my effort very enthusiastically.

  “You’ll just work here until your wing is ready,” she says.

  “And how long will that be?” I ask her.

  She shrugs.

  “No tellin’.”

  We’re in the middle of an area bordering what looks to be a somewhat busy intersection for firm traffic. People pass us by and look at me with curiosity.

  One of the passersby is an overweight guy in a dumpy looking suit who sneers at me and says, “Good luck moving in before Christmas. And welcome to Isaacs, Sanchez & Reed, where the newest associates are obviously the least priority.”

  “Don’t pay Steven any mind,” Sandy says, rolling her eyes. “He’s a senior associate who’s not going to make partner. He’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  She walks away
without saying goodbye or telling me what I’m supposed to do now. I sit down on the pathetic excuse of a computer chair and try not to look as dejected as I feel.

  Today is supposed to be my fresh start. My bright new beginning.

  I’ve dumped the ex, started a new job and vowed to live a more fulfilling and exciting life. Which includes having sex for the first time ever.

  I try to turn on the computer but it won’t start up no matter how many times I make the attempt. Out of embarrassment, I was trying to ignore the bustling people walking past me but now I realize that no one else even seems to know or care that I exist.

  The first day of my new job is supposed to be the scary and exciting part but as I sit and stare at the obviously defunct computer, it dawns on me that I had no reason to shiver when I first got here. Nothing noteworthy is happening today.

  I can’t believe that just a few minutes ago I arrived for my first day as an associate lawyer, bright- eyed, bushy- tailed, ready to learn and eager to please, only to find out that there’s no room for me.

  Sure, I’ve heard rumors about associate life. Every law student does. When you’re a clerk, still in law school but working for the firm over the summer, the partners wine and dine you, anxious for your commitment to work for them if you’re lucky enough to get a permanent offer.

  I’d spent my summer clerkship at a different firm— almost, but not quite as, reputable as Isaacs. The first law firm had made me an offer to be a permanent associate after graduation, but I worked my ass off during my third year of law school and I’d gotten my GPA up to Isaacs caliber.

  Even though I’d achieved my goal of getting an associate offer at the best firm in Albuquerque, now I’m wondering if I’d only won some kind of booby prize. The lack of respect sure seems to take a nose dive for those moving from the summer clerk level to the new associate level.

  Someone walks by and dumps a bunch of files on my desk and then says, “Oh, you’re not the new assistant?”

  I look up to see an older woman in horn-rimmed glasses with her hair pulled up into a bun. I blink and realize I recognize her from my interview. It’s Gloria O’Malley, one of the equity partners.