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Raging Hard

By:Hamel, B. B

Raging Hard_ A Stepbrother SEAL Romance (With bonus novel Based!) - Hamel, B. B_

Chapter One: Claire

The bass made a booming thud in my ears, rhythmic and hypnotizing, as I leaned back in my plush-covered chair behind the VIP rope. I sipped my champagne, feeling totally out of place in the club despite everything being owned by my dad.

“Oh my god, bitch, I love this,” Lydie said, practically screeching in my ear.

“You do?”

“Yeah, girl! It’s hot as fuck.”

I could agree with that one. It was hot as hell in the club considering it was jam-packed with people all writhing away to the music. Other than that, though, it wasn’t my scene. I wasn’t against partying or any of that, but I preferred something a little quieter, maybe a spot I could actually think and hear people when they spoke. Not this mass of drugged-up strangers all trying desperately to get in with each other.

“See him?” Lydie cut into my thoughts, leaning over me. “That beefcake is totally checking me out.”

She winked and waved at the guy, and he grinned back at her.

“Ew. Are you joking?” I asked.

“Hell no. Look at those muscles!”

“Lydie, he’s like fifty.”

“Thirty at most. And who cares, so long as he takes care of himself?”

I laughed and eyed up the guy. He probably was in his mid-thirties and wore expensive-looking madras shorts and an expensive-looking white Oxford shirt with an expensive-looking watch, all of which I knew Lydie absolutely had noticed before she saw his muscles. He was tanned and preppy and good looking in a really conventional way, and I could totally see him doing Jaeger bombs with his bros or possibly killing a hooker by mistake. The longer I looked at him, the more sure I was that he had killed at least one hooker in his lifetime.

The Outer Banks were full of guys like him, especially in the clubs and restaurants my dad owned. They were all the same, money managers and investment bankers and hedge-fund assholes all trying to get blackout drunk and impregnate the first thing they could find.

Of course, once they got their rocks off, they disappeared the next morning. Which was fine, if you were into that. And Lydie was, or at least she pretended she was. Truthfully, I hadn’t seen her go home with very many guys at the end of the night. She was more bark than bite.

Me though, I was totally disgusted by the whole thing. It felt like such a weird transaction; plus, I’d never met a guy I was into enough to want to risk getting choked to death or something by a psycho I’d just met. Those hedge-fund assholes cared more about coming on your back than they did about making you feel good.

Not like I had a lot of experience, mind you, but I’d noticed a thing or two in my time.

“Oh, and he has a friend,” Lydie said in a singsong voice in my ear.

“No way, Lydie.”

“Come on. They’re cute and clearly rich.”

“Not my type. Not even close.”

She made a face. “What is your type, anyway? Or do you just bang your calculator every night?”

I laughed, shaking my head. It was the summer before our senior year and Lydie was always making fun of me for putting studying and classwork ahead of everything else. Especially ahead of sex.

“Seriously, Claire, when are you going to put out? It’s more than time.”

“I’ll ‘put out’ eventually. Just not with those guys.” I made a face at her choice of words.

“Come on! We have to pop that cherry before you end up a spinster.”

“I don’t mind knitting, though.”

“Oh sure, it’s all knitting and book groups until you die of a heart attack alone in your house and thirty cats eat your body.” She paused to sip her drink. “You do not want to be remembered as the dead cat lady.”

“Gross. I don’t even like cats.”

“It doesn’t matter; cats are attracted to virginity. You’ll end up with hundreds!”

I laughed and shook my head as Lydie began to wave at the two prep school douches. They came over and Lydie got the bouncer to let them through into the VIP. I sighed, annoyed that she was already ruining our night, and took another sip of my champagne. I had looked forward to a night out with just her and me, but she clearly had other intentions when she had insisted we go to my dad’s club.

“Claire,” Lydie said, “this is Mike. And I didn’t get this one’s name.” She giggled and jabbed a finger into the original guy’s chest.

“I’m Tommy,” he said, smiling at me.

“Oh, Tommy. Guys, this is Claire. I promise she’s more fun than she looks.”

I rolled my eyes at her as Tommy held his hand out. I shook it, and he suddenly brought it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles.