But the look in her eyes says it all. She wants me. All of me. Right fucking now.
I groan. I can’t take it anymore. Sometimes, the best things come with risk. “I fucking want you, Lindsey.” I tear at her clothes until she’s bared to me. My breathing comes in shallow pants as I look down at her flushed skin and her beautiful, curvy body.
“I want you too,” she whispers. Her eyes are full of vulnerability.
This is forbidden. We’re not supposed to be doing this. We're not supposed to be seeing each other, we're not supposed to be having sex, and we sure as fuck aren't supposed to be feeling for each other the way we do right now.
But as I gaze into her eyes and see nothing but desire back, I’ve already made up my mind.
Her needs are not only mine to fulfill. They’re my duty.
Chapter 1
Aaron
I'm sweating, even though it's cool and clear outside the classroom. Stress can do that to you, and for me, physics is stress-inducing to the extreme. I just can't quite wrap my head around some of the equations, and I'm the type of guy who needs to understand why before I can really get a good grasp on how to do something.
It's got nothing to do with the weather. Summer this year was hot as fuck, and most of us sweated our asses off out at Camp Buckner, but fall has finally started to come to the Hudson River valley. Thank God. Another long ride in the blistering afternoon sun wasn’t something I was looking forward to. Maybe that's why I spent most of my training time working on swimming the first half of the semester. Now though, the fall has finally come, and I can get some damn work in on the weak points of my game.
Up front, Major Thompson, our Physics instructor, is tapping at the board, trying to get us to understand the slope problem that he's got up there. Of course, to try and make it seem 'interesting', the vehicle isn't just any car, but it’s a Stryker armored vehicle. Leave it to the United States Military Academy. They'll jam something military-based into every little nook and cranny they can.
One thing I've learned so far from my semester of physics . . . when it comes time to pick my mandatory engineering track, I sure as hell am not choosing something physics-based. I don't care how cool the catapults and little robots the mech engineers make are, or how impressive the juice guys are, getting to play around with real electrical generators. I'm staying as far away from this shit as I can.
Thankfully, before the Major can ask any of us twenty-four slightly stupefied and totally wasted-out cadets what the answers are to the problem he's jamming on the board, class time is up. “Okay, everyone, if you want more explanation, check on page eighty-seven of your textbooks. Remember, you have a test on this next week, and I guarantee you, there will be something like this problem on the quiz. Section leader.”
Classes at West Point are run military-fashion, which means at the beginning of each class, everyone stands at attention and the so-called 'section leader' reports to the instructor the status of everyone. All I can say is, thank God I'm not in the Old Corps. They had to march together from class to class sometimes.
Fuck that.
Leaving the classroom, I hurry out of Bartlett Hall, ignoring the few folks who give me a wave. If I'm going to catch the best of the weather, I've got to rush, although I've been rushing for a year and a half now. Firmly into the thick of my yuk year, the year most regular people at regular colleges call sophomore year, I'm just used to hauling ass from place to place.
The main problem is that my barracks is far from where I need to go next. I hurry up to the third floor, where I find my roomie, Matt Cho, already changing for intramurals. He's got on the ugly yellow pants that DPE issues for those crazy enough to play intramural football along with his pads and helmet, which are sitting at the foot of his bed. “Yo, Cho.”
“How was Phys-yuks?” he asks, fiddling with the retention strap on his glasses. It slips off the right bow again, and he slams his hand down on his desk in frustration. “Fucking hate these things. Strap keeps getting fucked up.”