Raging Hard(7)

By: B. B. Hamel

“No, puke. I shit earlier today,” Lydie slurred.

I made a face. Gross.

“No. I mean, I never got that guy’s number.”

Lydie looked at me suddenly, as if she were totally sober. “You done fucked up then, girl. He was hot as hell.”

“I kissed him.”

“You total whorebag!”

And then she turned to the side and puked into the bushes.

That was a great way to end the night. I helped Lydie inside, trying to stay quiet so we didn’t wake up Dad.

I got into my own bed, my head swimming with visions of my mystery man.

Chapter Two: Nathan

I still felt the ache in my thigh every single day where the bullet had torn right through the meat and the bone. I rubbed it absently, trying not to think about that particular mission. I was on leave, after all, and should be getting piss drunk, not moaning about some terrorist asshole that got lucky enough to put a bullet in me.

Besides, the U.S. government owned my ass for the foreseeable future, injury or no. It didn’t matter if I was shot or beat up or burned to a crisp; I still had a job to do. The scar was just another badge of honor.

I got out of the cab in front of the piece of shit motel I was staying at for the next few weeks and climbed slowly up the stairs. I kept thinking about the girl from the club, Claire, and my cock began to stir all over again. I had to grind my jaw to keep it under control as I unlocked the door and went inside.

I wasn’t usually the type to keep thinking about a conquest. Normally on leave, I’d find the easiest piece of ass possible and fuck her until she had nothing left to offer, and then I’d move on to the next one. Rinse and repeat until I was recalled to base for a mission. I’d fuck so hard and fast that my past couldn’t keep up with me. That was how I had to live as a Navy SEAL, always one foot in the grave, a single step ahead of death himself.

And I never kept thinking about those chicks. This girl though, there was something about her. Normally I would have left her and her drunk-ass friend to fend for themselves, not wanting to get caught up in their stupid bullshit drama. But the way she had looked at me, practically dripping wet on my fingers, biting her lip, I couldn’t help myself.

I needed to fuck that girl. I needed to feel her tight pussy grip my dick. I needed to watch her pretty, innocent face take my cock between her lips and suck it hard. I could tell there was something dirty under that prissy, good-girl exterior, and I wanted to see exactly how dirty it was.

Except I never got her damn number. Grumbling, I turned on the shower and decided to rub one out while thinking about her. I had to go see my insufferably crazy mother the next morning, and it was always a bad idea to go into a mission half cocked.

As I got out of the shower and dried myself off, my thoughts kept drifting to Claire. I wondered if her daddy was just another rich asshole with a big house and figured that was probably the case. But girls like her usually didn’t give me the time of day, at least not in public. They were normally too busy trying to get roofied by one of the rich dickwads that went around acting like they owned the place. In private, though, they loved slumming it, and I loved making them come harder than their limp-cock boyfriends ever could.

Which was usually fine with me. I’d pick up a girl that actually knew that she wanted a man. The rich douchebags thought they were better than me because I didn’t drive a Ferrari, but that never bothered me. I’d seen and done things that would make them puke their guts up, because I was a real warrior. They could posture and strut around like peacocks with their nuts cut off all they wanted. I knew what I was.

I was a killer. I was a trained Special Forces operative for the United States Navy, a SEAL with all my training and battle experience. I didn’t need the approval of anyone, let alone effeminate, polo-wearing assholes.

Claire though, she seemed to know right away the kind of man I was. At the bar she was practically oblivious to all the looks those douchebags were throwing at her, until I showed up at least. She just needed a man to take control, to show her exactly what could be done.

I smiled to myself, slightly annoyed that I was still thinking about this girl but interested anyway. I hadn’t gotten her number, but that had never stopped me before. I knew her name and her friend’s name, and the Outer Banks weren’t that big. I was pretty confident that I’d run into her again, and sooner rather than later.

I got into bed and poured a shot from the whisky bottle next to my bed. I knocked it back and shut off the light, feeling drowsy. I didn’t feel like sleeping much, since the next day I had to meet my mother’s, Lucille’s, new rich husband, but there was no avoiding it. I could try to skip, but she’d throw a fucking fit and I’d never hear the end of it. As pushy and shrill as she could be, she was still my mother.

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