CHAPTER 4
Brittney
“Brittney. Are you okay?” Sean says.
“Sean!” I say. I stand from my seat. “What are you doing here?”
“Exactly. What are you doing here, Marine? You need to leave. I’m conducting an investigation,” Detective Freeman says. His voice is uneasy and his body language has cowered in Sean’s presence. I’ve seen it before, time and time again. It’s not that Sean has to try. It’s just natural. Guys seem him and they just immediately start deferring to the alpha. Biology 101.
Detective Freeman is trying to keep control of his “interrogation room,” but it’s slipping through his grasp like sand in the hourglass, yet at a much quicker pace.
“I’m the one conducting the investigation, Detective,” Sean says. His voice sounds like the crackle of a warm fire on a cold winter’s night. I can just imagine lying with him up in the Catskill Mountains, cuddling the cold away. Not that we’d be cold after all the things we could do with, and to, each other.
I used to imagine Sean wasn’t the big, bad, burly Marine that he is. I’d fantasize that he was a late night FM DJ. I’d call in and request a song. He’d say, “Sure thing, sweetheart. Anything else I can do for you?”
And that fantasy was how I first explored myself late at night in my room…imagining Sean’s voice as he walked me through exactly what he wanted me to do to myself. Where I should touch myself. The exact placement, speed, motion…everything. And the best part was when he told me he knew I liked it. And he was right. Just fantasizing about him was more than pleasurable. But when he told me why I liked it it would always push me over the top.
I liked it because he liked it too. He liked it so much he was in that DJ booth all by himself touching himself while I touched myself. He would go on air in the middle of our imaginary session and his voice would hit those same deep notes, but you could tell something was different. What was different was that he was pleasuring himself to me as he tried to broadcast to millions of people across New York City. The mental picture of that in my mind always pushed me to climax, not that it was difficult whenever I was thinking about him.
Sean would be hot no matter what uniform he wore. Marine Corps dress blues? Absolutely. Late night FM DJ casual? For sure. He could work the grill at a fast food restaurant and I’d still get all worked up watching him sweat as those forearms of his popped as he flipped his meat, looking up just to catch eye contact as I ordered the special at the register. The special of course would be to go back there and get his very own man meat all for myself.
I think I’ve had every conceivable fantasy of him…and more.
But what is he doing here? And why now?
Sean motions to Detective Freeman and they step outside Jonathan’s office. I sit back down in that plush seat of his, but I barely feel more comfortable alone than I did when the detective was preparing to grill me. Then a strange feeling comes over me.
There’s just something about having Sean here that makes me feel more at ease.
Am I relaxed? Not at all.
Do I feel better? Noticeably.
I can’t see the two men, but I can hear the detective’s voice raise. When it’s Sean’s turn to talk I just hear a deep tune that sounds like it’s coming from the center of a warm fire.
A few minutes later I see Sean turn the corner. He turns the door handle and re-enters the room.
“So. How have you been?”
What balls this guy has. He’s just had an argument with a detective from the New York Police Department, and he comes back in here cool as a cucumber like he’s ready to catch up on old times. Old times we never really got to have.
“What just happened?”
“I’m assigned to NCIS now. I’m working a case involving the guy who was driving that truck yesterday.”
I sit there, grasping the seat of the chair, saying nothing.
“He’s been taken into custody,” Sean says. “And I want you to know you’re safe…Brit.”
When I hear those words I’m immediately taken back. He always called me that when he came around. It reminds me of all those times I thought about him. When I went to senior prom with some boy my age that my friend set me up with, but I secretly wished I were there with him. The big, strong guy who called me Brit Bit. Bit, because I was small.
And who isn’t smaller than him? And I do ever feel safe now…from the bad guys at least.
But there’s something about the way he hovers in that doorway that makes me feel not so safe. He exudes dominance and power without even trying. It’s alluring, but dangerous at the same time.
But there’s a different way that I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel safe to be alone with him. I don’t trust myself. I want to jump up out of this chair and into his arms. Those Popeye forearms and bulging biceps of his.
But it’s really his shoulders. They’re like two softballs, one on each side. I know he could catch me if I fell, and he wouldn’t even feel it. To him, I’m as light as a feather. He looks like he’s used to pressing three times my weight over his head.
But that’s the gym. I want the real thing. I want him grabbing me and tossing me around like a rag doll as he slides me up and down his pole. When he cums I look into his eyes and see that I’m everything. And when he tosses me around some more it’s like I’m nothing all over again.
The duality of it all is a huge turn-on. Plus completing a fantasy I’ve always harbored would be the ultimate rush.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m just still…processing everything,” I say. I conveniently leave out the part where I’m thinking about how I’m processing this situation right here and now, and not that situation from yesterday.
“Situations like these can definitely cause you to feel things you normally wouldn’t,” he says.
“I’m definitely feeling things,” I say. It’s no coincidence he’s a Marine, because I can feel the Sea of Galilee forming in my panties.
“I need to ask you some questions, but not here.”
“Okay.”
“Are you okay to leave right now?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well, if you leave here with me I can get you through that media storm without any trouble.”
“Or?”
“If you wait you’ll have to deal with your co-workers, your boss, the media outside your building all day, phone calls, fake delivery men coming to your desk trying to get the scoop…you name ‘em, they’ll be looking for you.”
He’s offering me his personal protection. How can I say no? I just hope I’ll get to ride out of here on his back, but I’m not holding my breath.
“Now seems like a good time,” I say.
We walk outside the office door and turn the hall, but we’re not heading for the front doors.
“I thought we were leaving?”
“We are.”
“But the exit’s that way,” I say, looking towards the door.
“I brought my own ride,” he says.
This I’ve got to see.