Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 17

Disgusting. Repulsive. Sickening. Nasty. Weak. Pathetic. Samuel's heart thumped to the rhythm of his own perversion.

His stomach burned from the bile boiling up inside, turning his mouth sour with anger. He was a fucking sissy, unable to control his impulses like a street junkie. No breathing, counting, nor visualization exercises had stood a chance when Rivers' lips lingered a breath from his own. A little masculine scent too close for comfort, and he'd given in like a teenage girl on prom night. No brain waves, only a painful twitch in his pants.

All it took was a tickle for him to toss pride and caution to the wind. Ten years of working on himself, five of building a career and a perfect life meant nothing in that split second when Samuel had ruined everything.

Why the fuck hadn't Rivers moved?

It must have been the shock of seeing Samuel's revolting true colors. How to blame him?

He was lucky Rivers didn't chock him, punch him, or any of the horrible things his father had promised would happen if people found out. Still, Rivers could always change his mind. What if he told Ben? Or worse, what if he reported his immoral and unacceptable conduct as soon as he returned to San Diego? People like himself had no place in the Marines. Major Smith had made it very clear—his behavior was exactly what the policy meant to tackle, and Rivers had zero tolerance for lack of discipline.

It was a fucking disaster. He needed to prove to Rivers it was all a misunderstanding and that he wasn't a... Bile coated Samuel's tongue with the thought. He had to get a goddamn grip and act like a man. His life depended on it.

"–under your belt, what are your thoughts?"

Samuel's gaze flicked to Rivers. "What?"

Rivers' eyes were on the black desert where the yellow beams of the headlights swallowed the road ahead. He lowered the music and glanced at him. "Now that you have one cycle under your belt, how do you feel about the job? Did it meet your expectations?" His tone was casual, interested even, as if speaking from a parallel reality where Samuel wasn't a repulsive deviant.

Samuel cleared his throat, his gaze downcast. "Oh. Uh... Yeah, I loved it. I mean... It did. Meet my expectations, I mean." He took a sip of coffee to steady his voice, worthy of a whiny three-year-old girl. What if Rivers listened with deeper focus now?

But no matter how carefully Samuel picked his words or the tone he used, the kiss wouldn't disappear. The burning hole in his stomach kept growing.

"I'm glad to hear that. It was love at first sight for me, too. There's just something about being in charge of the next generation of Marines that's so satisfying." Rivers chuckled. "I might have a God complex. No, if you ask my sister, or Leah, they'll tell you I do a hundred percent. They think all Marines do. The audacity. Have you ever gotten that?"

Samuel peeked at Rivers from behind his hood, unable to look away as the incoming lights danced on Rivers' relaxed features. No shame, no awkwardness, no disgust.

Maybe he'd bought it. And why wouldn't he? It had been an accident, after all–a stumble in Samuel's journey to recovery. And if he'd learned anything from Dr.O., was that believing in something with his entire self made it true.

Samuel tapped the lukewarm coffee cup and sat straighter. "Most of the people I know are in the corps and, well, Cheryl's a surgeon... I don't think she would recognize it in other people."

Uttering her name should have torn his heart to bits, but tonight, she was the last of his Rivers-sized problems.

Rivers chuckled and settled deeper into his seat. One hand rested on the steering wheel, the other on his knee. "What do you guys have planned for tomorrow?"