Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) Page 10

  Some sense of propriety was holding him back. Did he know I was a virgin, or just sense it? I wanted him so badly I couldn’t stand it. Please, put it in me, I thought, begging him inwardly, as I writhed against him. I didn’t care that it was so big that it was sort of scary. I was willing to take the risk.

  I leaned my head down against his. “Please,” I whispered in his ear. “I need you. Please.”

  He looked at me for a moment, his eyes burning. I hoped he would give in. He moaned slightly and then he reached down and took off his briefs, and I could finally see it, tall and erect and imposing. I straddled him, not thinking, and held him in between my legs, stroking him with the wetness that had suddenly appeared there.

  “Oh my god,” John said, his eyes rolling back into his head. He moaned again, louder.

  I was starting to get a rhythm, rubbing him back and forth against me, getting ready. I threw back my head in pleasure. This was it. Finally.

  Then my alarm clock went off. John sat bolt upright, comically, his hair sticking out from me lustfully running my hands through it, a dazed look in his eyes. He turned the alarm off and slammed the clock down. “Liberty,” he said, gently. I ignored him and kept rocking back and forth, willing him to be quiet, to submit.

  “Liberty. We have to stop. It’s training day,” he said, and lifted me off of him.

  “Nooo,” I whined, and tried to climb back on him. We were so close...

  He pushed me off of him again, gently. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is,” he growled at me. Then, as if to reassure me, he grabbed the back of my hair and kissed me, hard, searchingly. It made my insides ache. He pulled away and sighed heavily.

  “Let’s pick this up later.”

  I nodded mutely and then sat there and pouted while he put his clothes back on. At least I got to watch. “I have to go shower and get changed before breakfast.” He tapped a bag on top of my dresser. “These are for you,” he said. “You’ll need to wear them today.” He leaned down and kissed me again, tenderly, and I wound my arms around his neck. He pressed his forehead to mine and held me like that for a minute. Instead of lustful heat I now felt warmth emanating from him, surrounding me.

  I gently kissed the side of his face. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “Twenty minutes,” he said, getting up. “Be ready.”

  I sat there for a second after he left and I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. Other thoughts, troubling one, tried to creep in, but I kept them at a distance. Then, looking at the clock, I quickly jumped up and grabbed the bag from the dresser. I couldn’t be late.

  Inside the bag were more fresh, clean clothes waiting for me. I started to scowl as I inspected them further: sports bra, running shorts, tank top, running shoes. Heh? I’d never worn a sports bra in my life.

  This couldn’t be good.

  Obediently, though, I took a quick shower, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and got dressed. I could barely breathe in the sports bra; it was like a scuba suit. I was glad that there wasn’t a full-length mirror in my room. I was positive that I looked idiotic in these pink running shorts. I pictured John smirking as he’d picked them out for me — they were absurdly short.

  There was a knock at the door. I automatically went and opened it; I was surprised to see Matthew there, with a tank top and mesh shorts on.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “I was expecting John.”

  “You’re gonna get in trouble,” Matthew said, smiling at me. “You didn’t look through the peephole before you answered the door. Let’s go back and do that again.” He shooed me back into the room and closed the door. He knocked again.

  “Who is it?” I asked, glad that he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes. This was ridiculous.

  “It’s Matthew,” he called back, and I could hear him smiling.

  I looked through the peephole. “Okay, I can tell it’s you. For real,” I said, and stepped through the door.

  He looked at me and laughed. “I do what I’m told,” he said, and gestured for me to follow him down the hallway.

  “I’m trying,” I mumbled under my breath. Then, at an audible level, I asked the question I was dreading the answer to: “What exactly is Training Day?”

  Matthew looked at me with sympathy and shook his head. “I don’t know why he calls it ‘Training Day.’ It’s really more like ‘Training Three Weeks.’ It’s a variation on the physical training you have to do for the military.” He looked at my expression, which was one of utter horror. “Aw, it’s not that bad. You’re in pretty good shape, right?”

  “I’ve never even run a mile,” I said, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “Well, you’re young. That’s at least in your favor,” Matthew said, kindly. “Here we are.”

  He motioned me through the door to the yard, where they had erected a pop-up mess hall. There were two long tables set up, where the guys were sitting and eating; a canopy tent was overhead. There was no sign of Darius ... he wasn’t my favorite person, but I still hoped they were feeding him. Matthew showed me a buffet with serving dishes, plates, silverware and coffee. He grabbed some coffee and headed towards one of the tables. “Help yourself,” he called over his shoulder.

  I started with a very large cup of coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need the extra energy. Then I grabbed a bagel and some cream cheese, because they looked familiar — something a mere mortal like me would eat. There were also lox and capers, I think, but I had never tried those before. Probably not best to be adventurous before military-style training, I reasoned. I turned and searched the room for John but I didn’t see him, so I slid into an empty seat away from the others. I noticed they were all in workout clothes, talking in boisterous voices to one another. They were all extremely fit; they probably looked forward to today.

  I for one was not looking forward to it, but I dutifully drank my coffee and ate my bagel, even though there was a pit of dread in my stomach. Someone pulled back the seat next to me. I looked up into two kind blue eyes bracketed by a multitude of wrinkles.

  “Well, hello,” said the older man. He was very dapper, wearing a cream linen blazer with a blue handkerchief sticking out of the pocket; he removed his straw fedora as he carefully sat down. “You must be Liberty,” he said, and extended his hand to shake mine. “I’m Ian, John’s father. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  I quickly swallowed my bite of bagel so I could smile at him. “You as well,” I said, surprised at his firm handshake.

  “So, are you ready for training?” he asked.

  “Um, no, sir, not at all,” I said, sheepishly, and he laughed.

  “Well, if you get too tired, you come up and see me at the big house. We can have iced tea and watch golf,” he said. “I mean it. I know John won’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Of course I don’t want her to get hurt,” John said, appearing out of nowhere, smiling at his father. “But she’s not watching golf with you! Next thing I know, she’ll be obsessed, quoting statistics and talking about people’s drives. Boring,” he said. “I’d rather make an athlete out of her.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, in front of everyone, as he sat down. “Good morning, darling.”

  Both Ian and I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “Well, I guess my son’s officially got a girlfriend,” said Ian, struggling a little bit to stand up. “It’s about time. And by the way, nice work.” He smiled roguishly at John. “Remember what I said about the iced tea,” he called to me, as he slowly made his way out of the mess hall. “And we have central air-conditioning…”

  I smiled at John while I took in his workout clothes. Some sort of red high tech tank top and matching black and red shorts, and bands around his biceps, forceps, whatever-ceps … my mouth filled with water. Yum. All those bulging muscles; he was delectable. I, apparently, was turning into one of Pavlov’s dogs, salivating on cue every time I saw him or thought about him. “Your father’s extremely nice,” I said, trying to
stop my wayward thoughts. “I can see where you get your fashion sense from.”

  “He’s an impeccably dressed man — more importantly, a good man,” John said, drinking his coffee. “And,” he said, smiling and crinkling his eyes up at me, “he liked you. I can tell.”

  I smiled as I felt warm approval flood through me. I wonder if Ian knows I’m a stripper from a broken home, though. “Does he know about me?” I asked.

  “My father is not a judgmental person, Liberty. Besides, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” He stroked my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guys looking anywhere but at us. I’m sure they saw that kiss, though. I wondered what they thought, or if John having a girl with him was the norm. Stop, commanded the voice inside my head. You heard what his father said: it’s about time he has a girlfriend.

  But the fact that it was me? It just seemed to be too good to be true.

  “Hey,” said John, gently rousing me from my reverie. “Finish that bagel. We’re running in a minute.”

  My heart plummeted and I felt my palms start to sweat. See? Don’t worry about too good to be true: now you’re back to normal — anxious, sweaty and fearful. I rolled my eyes at myself and got up to follow the guys into the field. Please God, don’t let me trip over my own two feet in front of all these people. And please don’t make me run too far.

  * * *

  We were running too far. Way, way too far. I was having a hard time breathing. Actually, I was pretty sure I was going to die. Up until this point, I really only had felt love and some mild distrust for John. Now however, I was starting to dislike him intensely.

  He was right next to me, running backwards no less, not even breaking a sweat. “Are you trying to kill me?” I barely managed to hiss out at him. “And how much further?”

  “Liberty, honey, this is day one, mile one. We’ve only been running for five minutes,” John said. “By the end of the training session you’ll be able to run 10 miles, no problem. You just have to suck it up between now and then.” He turned around and sprinted off towards the guys that were running way ahead of me. They were chatting easily and laughing. I was pretty sure I hated all of them.

  Matthew was keeping a slow, steady pace behind me. I craned my neck around to look at him. He smiled at me and I noticed that he did not have a single bead of sweat anywhere on him. “You don’t need to run slow just to stay by me,” I called to him.

  “Oh yes I do,” Matthew called, merrily.

  “Sorry to bore you,” I huffed out.

  “Don’t tell John, but it’s not exactly boring back here,” he said and laughed.

  “I heard that!” John yelled from the front. “One more comment like that, and I’m calling your wife!” They all laughed. Ha, ha, I thought. Had I had the energy, I would have given them all the finger. The stitch in my side in my side, however, was preventing me from doing anything besides just trying to put one foot in front of the other. Pathetic, I thought. I’m 21 years old and I can’t even run for five minutes straight without wanting to die. Some bounty hunter I was going to make.

  We ran for a few more minutes until the stitch in my side was almost unbearable. Finally I caught up with the rest of the group, but only because they were sitting down stretching out, talking animatedly to each other. I collapsed and sat down towards the back, not wanting anyone to hear my insanely loud breathing. John was at the front of the group. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, now it’s time for sit ups, pushups and the rest of our core workout. Then, when we’re done warming up, we’re running some more.” I saw him smile at me and I couldn’t even smile back. Damn him. I just laid down and tried to do the first sit up of my life.

  * * *

  My limbs were so heavy I could barely stand up in the shower. I looked down at my feet and I could see blisters cropping up on my heels and in between my toes. We had worked out all day. These people were insane.

  I didn’t even bother to blow dry my hair. Instead, I came out, put on my pajamas and flopped into bed. The clock said that it was five; I was officially ready for bedtime. Just then there was a knock at my door. “Who’s there?” I called, groggily.

  “It’s me, John,” he said.

  “I’m mad at you,” I called. “I’m not even sure that I like you anymore.”

  “Open the door anyway,” he said. I could tell he was laughing.

  I got up and looked through the peephole. There he was, handsome, clean, and gorgeous. I felt a wave of lust roll through my belly and I clapped my hand over it. Not now, I growled to myself.

  I opened the door and he smiled at me. “You did a great job today,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” He smiled at me and I lit up inside, in spite of myself. He rolled in another tray of food; I could see macaroni and cheese, a large dark chocolate Hershey’s bar and a glass of milk. I eyed the food thoughtfully. Hmmm, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t that mad at him.

  Plus, John looked yummy. He had showered and put on camouflaged cargo shorts and a ratty black tee shirt….he looked so, so….normal. I’d never seen him dressed like such a civilian before; I liked it. He looked clean and dirty all at the same time. Mmmm, I thought, forgetting all about the food as another wave of desire ripped through me. He left the cart and came over to me, smiling, and put his hands on my hips. Ripples of heat tore through my sides, undulating down in between my legs. I leaned up and kissed him and I felt heat course through my body.

  He pushed me back onto the bed and laid on top of me, crushing me with his full weight. I wrapped my heavy, sore legs around him; I didn’t care if it hurt. The ache inside of me hurt worse. “Can we?” I whispered. “Please?”

  John kissed me hard again, crushing me, and then abruptly sat up and cursed. “I have to go interview Darius,” he said, balling his fists in frustration.

  I looked at him grimly, trying to get my body to calm down, to stop shaking, stop throbbing. I blew out a deep breath as he got up.

  “Still mad at you,” I said.

  “I’ll be back,” he growled at me, and kissed me on the side of the face. Then he was gone.

  I sighed and sat up wearily. I was sad that he had to go, and my insides were still shaking...but when I saw my food, my mouth pooled with water and I realized that I was starving. I hurriedly and happily stuffed my macaroni and cheese into my mouth, followed by the entire chocolate bar, taking large gulps of milk in between, glad to be alone so no one could see me eating like a cavewoman.

  I then brushed my teeth, climbed into bed and promptly fell into a sound sleep. No nightmares, I dreamily thought at one point. Maybe this exercise thing isn’t so bad.

  There was a loud knocking at my door. I didn’t know how much time had passed. “Leave me alone,” I called groggily. I rolled back over and sleep overwhelmed me.

  “Liberty, it’s John,” I heard him call, but I was so tired I couldn’t get up.

  I’m never going to lose my virginity, my inner voice huffed. That woke me up a little. “Hold on!” I yelled. I managed to drag myself to the door and look through the peephole.

  I opened the door and John was looking at me sheepishly. “I’m so sorry to wake you,” he said, softly. “But I just can’t help myself.”

  I pulled him into the room and snuggled back into the bed while he locked the door. He took off his clothes and joined me, rubbing up against me seductively. I could feel his underwear still on; I felt some heat roll through me, but it was no match for how tired and assaulted my body felt. Sleep, I need to sleep, I thought. I couldn’t believe sleep was going to win out over lust for his hot body, but then again, I ran over four miles today, did sit ups, pull-ups, and some weird plank pose that made my arms shake like I was a cartoon character. Damn. I didn’t want to think about that plank pose ever again. I had a bad feeling I was going to be doing it again sooner than I hoped. I opened one eye and looked at the clock: midnight, again. Six and a half hours till the plank.

  Grrrr, I thought. I limply patted John’s behind and rolled over. My inner
voice huffed some more but at this point, I didn't really care.

  “Liberty,” he called seductively, and rubbed his hardness into my backside. If anything would have woken me up, this would have been it; desire rolled through me, powerfully, but I was absolutely too out of it to give in.

  “G’night,” I mumbled, succumbing to the fuzzy blackness.

  I heard him roll over onto his back with an immense sigh. “Goodnight, my dear.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE

  John was standing at the door, waiting for me. “Liberty,” he called, gently. “Honey, you have to get dressed and come to breakfast now.”

  I rolled over and tried to yell out something obnoxious, but it only came out as a garbled moan. Noooo, please, I thought desperately, let me stay in bed. With you.

  I knew it was no use. It had been eight days of boot camp hell. My blisters had broken and new blisters had formed on top of them. I had scabs from my sports bra and something called chafing had caused me to get two wicked red burns on each of my inner thighs. Two of my toenails were bruised. Worse yet? John and I had slept together every night, and I still hadn’t lost my virginity.