Marius

34 Daisy Lane

9:00 PM

Go Commando

Gretchen didn’t have to ask me twice for a booty call.

I wasn’t half the man she deserved, and I was less a man without the leg, but I could at least deliver orgasm after orgasm to that eager, beautiful girl.

The woman was a goddess. It was the only explanation. I’d never been so thoroughly fucked in all my life—physically, mentally, emotionally.

My every instinct demanded that I take Gretchen again and again, as hard, fast, and ravenously as I could. It was a desire I didn’t trust, a lust I’d never known, and a need so primal it’d transformed me into an unquenchable beast.

She might have been a virgin, but I was the one broken. She’s shattered my mind, transforming what should have been a night of fucking and rapture into something…more.

One night had turned into two.

Two into three.

And a week into more.

What the hell had she done to me? I existed as a raging, desperate animal, salivating for the next moment when I’d take, consume, and utterly ruin her.

I’d braced myself for the inevitable—when Gretchen would realize the true danger of this game, what I wanted, what I’d do to her.

But she was braver than me. Just as eager. Just as…

Insatiable.

She’d welcomed me into her tightness again and again, twisting my soul into knots. I had no idea who I was when I took her to bed, but that animal had become so real, so raw, so right, that I learned I wasn’t losing myself in her pleasure.

I found myself inside of her.

And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my seed belonged in her.

But I hadn’t told her how much it terrified me, how desperate I was for her to have my child, and what I’d do the day she whispered in my arms that she was pregnant.

I was a soldier, trained, ordered, and built to destroy.

My mind fractured as every desire in me demanded that I create.

Gretchen gave me the time and place, and I vowed to be there. I’d counted the dates with her. Tonight, we expected good news. The couple days of fucking was probably more than enough to ensure a little plus on that pregnancy test. I figured the booty call was a celebration.

I should have known Gretchen had other plans.

She hid in a hedge.

Fantastic.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

She put a finger to her lips and hauled me into the bush with her. “Quiet. Don’t let them hear you.”

“Who?”

Her whisper chilled into a scold. “What are you wearing?”

I glanced down. The denim wasn’t comfortable, but it did the job. No way she could see through it.

“What you told me to wear.” I smirked. “And what you told me to leave at home.”

“I told you to go commando.”

“I did.”

“I wanted camouflage!” She slapped my shoulder. “You’re not even wearing a tiny bit of face paint.”

“I’m a SEAL, not a clown.”

I crawled out of the bush. She dove after me, ducking away from view of the street.

Her dog wasn’t anywhere near the home. Great. That meant she’d pre-planned this idiocy.

“What the hell are we doing here?” I pointed to the house. “Who lives here?”

“I need a favor,” she said.

She needed a lot of things. A lobotomy was at the top of the list. “Please tell me this is your property.”

“You were a Navy SEAL. Covert ops? Right?”

“Oh Christ.”

“And you probably did a ton of missions in really dangerous places.”

“What the hell are you planning?”

She took my hand, squeezed, and offered me a sweet, charming smile. “I need to—covertly—get inside.”

What was worse—that she was serious, or that she thought I’d actually help her do this?

“Why?” In what universe did I need to ask this question? “Why do you need to get inside? Whose house is it?”

“Chloe’s.”

I dreaded that more than any ISIS hangout. “You want me to break you inside of your father’s fiancée’s house?”

“And keep watch.”

As much as I loved a night of trespassing and vandalism, those days were behind me. “No.”

“You don’t understand.”

An understatement. I took her by the hand and hid in the shadow of an evergreen, though no cars drove along the backass road this time of night.

“You texted me.” I grunted. “Aren’t we having sex tonight?”

“Get me in the house, and you’ll have more of me than you can handle.”

Pretty sure no man could handle Gretchen’s crazy. “I thought…isn’t today the day you could take one of those early tests? Did you get one at the store?”

Gretchen hesitated. “How about I tell you the result of a different pregnancy test?”

I knew better than to ask. I did it anyway, like an idiot. “What makes it different?”

“Because this one won’t be mine.”

The night had switched from weird to batshit insane with one count of breaking and entering. “Don’t tell me…”

“Chloe might be pregnant.”

“Good for her womb. What about yours?”

She didn’t look at me. “It might just be too early.”

“Or you might not be pregnant.”

“Would you just focus, please? I need your help.”

I frowned. “No, you need the number for a good shrink.”

“If Chloe’s pregnant, you might be right,” she said. “I saw her at the store today. She was talking about how her and Dad have been trying—really, really psychologically scarring things. I have to find out if she’s pregnant.”

No. She wanted me to find it out. “What are you planning? Babyjacking the pregnancy test?”

“It’s gotta be inside. I’ll just check the garbage real quick.”

Jesus Christ. “Sweetness—”

“There.” She shuffled through the darkness to the side of the house, about a stealthy as a one-legged SEAL picking through an overgrown hydrangea bush. “That looks like a bathroom window. We can get in through there.”

At least she could plead insanity when Sheriff Samson arrested her for this bullshit.

Since when was I the reasonable one?

“This isn’t going to accomplish anything,” I said. “If she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant.”

“We won’t know until we see the test.” She poked my chest. “Think negative thoughts.”

“Already thinking of what attorney we can call when we get busted.”

“Can you get me into this house or not, sailor? You must have learned something from the SEALs that could help.”

Sure. This was exactly why I’d dedicated fifteen years of my life to military service. Long ago I knew that at some indeterminate point in my future, I’d need perfect psychological endurance, back-breaking physical training, and balls-to-the-wall bravery so I could—one day—be prepared to boost my baby momma’s ass through a broken bathroom window so she could Jerry Springer her way out of a family crisis.

Losing my leg? Just an excuse to engage in the most dire and dangerous espionage of a lifetime—a case of stolen, used pregnancy tests and the gold-digger who peed on them.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve been wasting my skills in the Navy.”

“Marius.”

“Maybe next year at the county fair, I’ll hold my breath for three minutes in the dunk tank. Scare the kids.”

“Can you get me inside or not?”

“Next spring, I’ll HALO drop over the farm, arms loaded with corn seed to help Julian plant the fields.”

Gretchen grunted, storming to the side of the house. She was too short to reach the window, but she hopped anyway. Actually managed to catch herself on the frame and scrape her foot scaling the wall.

“Forget counterterrorism.” I laughed. “I hear there’s geese in the park that require a dog to scare them away. I bet a SEAL could do the same thing.”

Gretchen tumbled to the ground. “Don’t you make fun of the Geese Police.”

“They answer to Homeland Security, right?”

“It’s the only job I have now. And this woman—” She hissed. “Might be destroying the only thing I have left—my family. So, either help me or keep a lookout.”

“Please tell me you have an alibi.” I scoped out the bathroom. Easy enough to open from the outside. I scooped her into my arms, braced my leg, and fed her through the window. “I can’t squeeze through there. You’re on your own.”

Gretchen shimmied across the frame and immediately clattered to the floor with a whimper. A still second passed before she turned on the light. I slammed a hand against the glass.

“Real covert, James Bond. Work in the dark.”

“Sorry!” Her voice echoed.

I sighed. “And you’re supposed to be quiet.”

“Sorry.”

This was bound for failure. The only time Gretchen ever focused completely on any given task was when she was embedded with my cock. If I didn’t help her, she’d forget that this wasn’t even her own damn house.

I hurried to the front, testing the door. Good old Butterpond. Unlocked.

I checked my corners and studied the street. All was quiet in the night, easy enough for me to slip in undetected. I edged inside, gently pinching the door shut behind me.

And Gretchen’s scream echoed throughout the neighborhood like I’d busted the damn door down and sprayed the living room with suppressing fire.

Christ. I grabbed her, slamming my hand over her mouth.

“Gretchen!” Why did this make me hard? “It’s me.”

I let her go before my cock got any ideas.

She slapped my chest. “You scared the hell out of me. Big bully.”

I grinned. “I rather like bullying you.”

Her eyes glanced down. “Keep your head in the game, and your cock in your pants. We’re on a mission, sailor.”

“Pretty sure were just breaking and entering now.”

“Well, help me look through the garbage. We’ll be out before anyone notices.”

“I got you inside. You go hunting for the piss sticks.”

She was dedicated, I’d give her that. Insane, but that just made her a better fuck. Never knew what she was going to do or how much trouble she’d get me in. Problem with sticking your dick in the crazy? Never wanted to pull it out.

Gretchen tore through the wastebasket in the bathroom, but she came up empty, sifting through only a couple tissues in the container. Her eyes widened. She pointed to an empty pregnancy test box on the bathroom sink.

“Where is it?” She launched from the floor. “Do you see it? Where would she have taken it? What sort of person walks around the house with a pee stick?”

“Probably the same person who breaks into a house to steal one.”

She ignored me, groping through the darkness. Chloe’s house wasn’t very large. Or occupied. The shower was dry, her closets mostly empty, and her medicine cabinet filled with the bare minimum of supplies. Hated to tell Gretchen, but it seemed like Chloe was spending most of her time at her future husband’s house.

I followed her to the kitchen, scowling as she dove for the garbage. The container tipped, and an explosion of sticky, goopy liquid dripped onto my shoes.

I backed away. “What the hell is that?”

Gretchen scrunched her nose. “I think it’s a vitality shake. It’s meant to…enhance virility.”

And now it soaked through my pants. Last thing I needed some was home-brewed Viagra shake corroding through my prosthetic. “What’s in it?”

“I have no idea. Chloe said it’s made to…help boost Dad’s fertility.” She looked up, her stare glazing over like she’d spent the last five minutes in a firefight and not elbow deep in orange peels and cock enhancer. “Don’t ask me what it does.”

Thank Christ I didn’t need to drink it. “What are you worried about? Your dad is old. If he’s gotta drink some weird ass shake, he probably can’t get it up, let alone knock her up.”

“But what if he did?” Gretchen sunk onto the floor. “What if she’s pregnant?”

“Then there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“That’s just the problem. I have to do something. I can’t let him marry her!”

Her voice broke. So did my heart. Wasn’t sure I could do anything to help except haul her ass off the floor, wash off whatever fertility porridge coated her hands, and fuck some sense back into her.

“I don’t think you can stop it,” I said.

“They don’t know each other. She’s entirely too young for him. And all they want to do is move out of the country, ridiculously far away. If something happens…” Her eyes watered. “I just lost my job, Marius. I won’t have the money to fly to the Caribbean every weekend to snoop through their garbage.”

“Not many people have the financial independence to dumpster dive their own family.”

“You know what I mean. What if something happens?”

“And what if they’re actually in love?” I pointed to the garbage. “If he’s drinking that sludge for her, I think he’s pretty committed.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

She kicked the can away. “What if she did get pregnant? And I’m…”

“You’re…?”

“Not.”

Damn. A sorrow crushed her words. I could understand disappointment, but that level of grief? I wouldn’t allow it.

This woman deserved nothing but happiness and the occasional petty brush with the law. I’d lose the other leg before I let this break her.

“We just started, sweetness.” I pulled her off the floor and into my arms. “You think we’re done after one attempt?”

“Thought that’s all it would take.”

I hardened, pushing her against the counter. “There’s so many ways I gotta fuck you yet. You’ve not been filled with nearly enough of my seed.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“We’re going to fuck. Again and again. Every day. Every night. And I’m not stopping until there’s a baby in your belly and my cum making a mess of that delicious slit. You’re not getting off that easy.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Seems like you can get me off pretty easy.”

“Believe me, little girl. I expect more from that perfect pussy than two weeks of poundings. You owe me a hell of a lot more, and I’m not stopping until I’m completely satisfied.”

Gretchen’s breath escaped in a quiet whimper. “You’re not upset that we didn’t get pregnant?”

“If you weren’t just elbow deep in someone else’s garbage, I’d take you right here. Fuck the ever-loving shit out of you. Take you raw, bare, and balls-deep just for doubting me.”

“But I’m not ovulating.”

“Consider it practice.” I practically tasted her on my lips. “You’re going to need a lot of it if you think you can handle exactly how I plan to breed you.”

She shivered. “Only you would calm a girl down by winding her up.”

“Let me take your mind off of all this crazy shit.”

She pulled the garbage can upright once more, collecting the wrappers and papers she’d tossed aside. “Maybe you’re right…”

The can tipped again. Gretchen slammed against the cabinets, clutching a thin, white stick. She didn’t look at it, just tossed it at me. It smacked off my chest.

“Gross.” I frowned. “What the hell do you want me to do with this?”

“I can’t look.” She panicked. “You tell me what it says.”

“I’m not touching it.”

“Please?”

She bent down to retrieve it, but I stopped her. I listened, hard. The telltale slam of the car door echoed from the street.

“Shit,” I said. “Chloe’s home.”

“Oh, no!”

Gretchen dove for the garbage, replacing the can. We didn’t have enough time to clean the mess. I pushed her down the hall as the front door creaked open.

“Hide!” I hissed the command, though God only knew if she’d follow it. “Bathroom! Go out the window!”

“What about you?”

Wouldn’t be the first time I was trapped behind enemy lines, but Gretchen refused to leave me. She pointed to the bedroom and herded me into the closet.

Great. The situation was getting better by the minute.

She huddled in the closet with me, pulling the accordion door shut tight. This wasn’t going to work. My good leg pinched on some old storage bins, and a wire hanger tried to scrape my brain out through my ear. Gretchen didn’t fare any better, clutching a couple pairs of ironed jeans, organized on hangers.

No wonder she worried about Chloe. Girl was a freak. Who the fuck ironed jeans?

With a frantic whisper, Gretchen buried her head in my shoulder. “I don’t think she’s alone…”

For a split-second, I thought her problems were solved. A man’s voice rumbled from the living room, and Chloe’s sultry, flirty giggle echoed it. Maybe she’d found another man? Someone younger. Less complicated. Maybe we’d snuck into her house, violated her trust, broke several laws, and would discover she’d been cheating on Gretchen’s dad with someone else.

We weren’t that lucky.

But Elijah Murphy sure as fuck was.

Chloe and Elijah tumbled into the bedroom, arms entwined, murmuring words of affection over each other’s lips.

And tongues.

Gretchen’s fingers dug into my arm, nearly drawing blood. “Dear…God….”

Oh, there was nothing holy about this.

Elijah Murphy, a quiet, well-mannered, older man, seemed like the respectable sort until his pants came off. His graying hair contrasted skin a shade darker than Gretchen’s. He’d kept himself in decent shape, at least well enough to attract the attention of a woman half his age. With a wag of his finger, he scolded Chloe.

“I know you’re keeping a secret from me,” he teased.

“Oh, I have a secret…” A shimmying mass of red hair danced between the slots of the accordion door. “But I’m not telling…”

Gretchen flinched as something struck the wall.

A bra.

Uh-oh.

“That’s not fair,” Elijah scolded.

“What’s not fair is waiting for you all day.” Chloe punctuated her pout by diving on the bed. She lifted herself onto all fours, kicking her toes. “Now all I want to do is play a game.”

Gretchen covered her eyes. “Please be Russian roulette.”

“What sort of game?” he asked.

Chloe lightened her voice, a sultry, singsong tone. “Paging Dr. Murphy.”

Gretchen tumbled over a rack of shoes. Fortunately, the two didn’t notice as Elijah gave a quiet growl.

Chloe crawled over the bed, curling a finger towards her husband-to-be. “Kitty needs her doctor.”

Surely, this was enough to revoke anybody’s medical license, human doctor or veterinarian. Elijah played along, pulling a hidden stethoscope from the top drawer of their nightstand. That drawer was loaded with more than just medical equipment.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

I’d crossed the DMZ on covert missions the government would never verify. Spent half a year trudging around Nigeria searching for warlords and the girls they’d kidnapped. Landed ass first on an IED that stole my leg. War was hell on earth, and I’d kicked the devil in the balls more times than I could count.

But this?

The beaches of Normandy were preferable to Doctor Murphy’s kitten exam room.

What the hell had we gotten ourselves into?

There was no way Elijah could hear a heartbeat where he stuck that stethoscope. “What’s wrong with my pretty kitty?”

No matter what answer Chloe gave, the end result was going to be years of therapy for Gretchen.

“Little kitty needs a checkup…” Chloe purred. “Only this time, kitty’s having kittens.”

Shit.

Gretchen sunk against me and my fake leg. “She’s pregnant.”

If she wasn’t yet, she would be pretty goddamned soon. More clothes hit the closet, the bed squeaked, and Chloe’s meow turned howl.

“Quick.” Gretchen covered her ears. “Can you do a sleeper hold?”

“Yeah, but I’m doing it to myself.”

“What the hell do we do?” she hissed.

“You got any ideas?”

“I hoped you’d have an exit strategy.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “This is your fault. Curiosity’s not just killing the cat—it’s fucking it.”

Gretchen grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and tried to muffle the sound over her ears. It wouldn’t work. Either Chloe was skilled, or Elijah’s hearing was going. He didn’t groan, he battle-cried.

And this fight was just beginning.

We just had to wait until they exhausted themselves, which, given Chloe’s age and whatever was in that vitality concoction, would probably take a while. Just enough time to traumatize us both.

And worry the shit out of me.

Chloe had gotten pregnant. Presumably pretty easily.

But Gretchen had not.

It’d only been one month, only one attempt. But I figured that would be all it took.

The mission was fun, but I didn’t think it’d be difficult. One month wouldn’t set us back—not that the job in DC would demand birth records and sonograms. We’d deal with this.

But how long would it take to get her pregnant?

And what would happen if I didn’t?