Free Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel by Emily Whittaker

Admiral slurred, his eyes wandering aimlessly
across the room. I gave him a half smile and went to the kitchen. I quickly
made a ham sandwich with lots of pickles.

 
    Not being much of a drinker myself, I’d heard once that pickle juice
helps with a hangover, so I figured eating pickles pre-emptively would help him
feel better in the morning. As I said before, the Admiral and I were far from
familial, but I did care about him. I
also grabbed a tall glass of water, intending to force him to drink it.

 
    Returning to the living room, I half expected to find him already
passed out. Instead, he was sitting up a little straighter. I handed him the
plate and set the water glass in front of him. He patted the seat next to him.
I didn’t really want to sit that close; he reeked of booze, and he was drunk
and slurring and had already invaded my personal space when he sat down.

 
    “I think I’m actually going to go on up to bed,”
I said, turning towards the stairs.

 
    “Please, Christy, just keep me company a little bit. I want to talk to
you about your mother,” he said. He’d taken a huge bite of the sandwich and was
chewing noisily. I cringed to think about having to sit so close to him, but I
figured I could at least humor him for a little while. I sat down, trying to
curl myself up against the end of the couch so as to be as far from him as
possible.

 
    “Your mother was a great woman. An amazing woman. One of the best I
ever knew,” the Admiral said between mouthfuls of the sandwich. It was gone in
a minute and he reached out, his hand shaking, and grabbed the water. He
chugged it quickly then leaned back into the sofa. When he started speaking
again, he seemed slightly more sober than he had
before.

 
    “She always said how she loved you, Christy. She loved you so much.
Your mother had so much love. And I always told her I’d take care of you. I’m
doing that, right? I’m taking care of you?” He looked at me, a beseeching look
in his eyes. I felt bad for him and nodded.

 
    “You’re taking great care of me, Admiral,” I
said. “You’ve been a good friend this past month.”

 
    He reached out and grabbed my thigh, patting it gently. That would
have been fine if he had pulled his hand away right after that. Instead, he let
it sit on my thigh. My stomach turned slightly. The rational part of me said
that he was just drunk and emotional. The irrational part of me was getting
scared.

 
    “You’re a beautiful young lady, Christy. You really are. You look like
your mother. She was beautiful, too. So many beautiful women in my life. I’m
lucky to have so many beautiful women in my life,” he said with a sigh.

 
    His hand still lay on my thigh, and now it began to move back and
forth slowly, rubbing against my bare flesh. I wished I’d worn long pants that
day. I put my hand on his to stop the rubbing, but when I tried to pull it away
I found I couldn’t move it. He was strong. A lifetime in the military will make
sure of that. I began to get more scared with each passing second.

 
    “Don’t I take good care of you, Christy? I take care of all my
beautiful women. I take good care of you,” he said, his face turned to mine,
his eyes locked on my face. I turned away. I felt nauseous. I knew I should
just get up and leave, but something told me that it wouldn’t help. His hand on
my thigh was growing heavier and heavier, and I realized it was because he was
actually pressing down on it, holding it in place.

 
    “You take good care of me, Admiral,” I repeated, hoping against hope
that everything I was feeling was just in my head. We were alone in the house
now…

 
    “I just want to take care of you, Christy. Anything you want, anything
you need, I want to give it to you. Anything,” he said, his stare growing
harder and fiercer. My heart was starting to race, my blood pumping quickly. I
tried to stand up, needing to get away. He felt me starting to rise and