Captain's Choice

by V. K. Powell

  “Ben?” She glanced toward the bathroom, the open door and dark room confirming what she suspected. She checked the nightstand for a note. Why had Bennett left without a word? Hypocrite, but she was more upset about being deserted than she cared to admit.

  Now she understood how other women felt after she bolted from their beds like a freed animal. She shook her head. She’d been honest with those other women going in that she only wanted sex, and Bennett knew as well. Didn’t she? Why shouldn’t she leave and avoid the awkward morning-after? Kerstin accepted the logic, but Bennett’s departure still stung, and her body still ached. Grabbing Bennett’s pillow, she inhaled her distinctive scent combined with sweat and sex, and the ache worsened. Did she simply crave sex, or had Bennett somehow weakened her and touched a part she’d kept inviolate for years?

  Kerstin flung the pillow and bolted from the comfortable nest of sheets and blankets Bennett had tucked around her, suddenly feeling too domestic and tame. She glanced at the clock as she approached the coffeepot and diverted to the bathroom. In her sexually sated daze, she’d overslept and completely missed the alarm. “Snap out of it, Anthony. It was just sex.”

  She took a quick shower, but the washing reminded her of Bennett’s hands on her body. Switching the temperature between hot and cold, she tried shock treatment to zap her back into work mode. No luck. “This is not happening to me.” She wasn’t ready to examine the specific definition of this.

  She donned a pair of sweats and settled at the corner desk, determined to finish the cost estimates. She pounded the calculator, made computer adjustments, and printed a clean copy of the changes. With her feet propped on the desk, she read over everything, pleased she and Bennett had reduced the overages to only two thousand dollars. Good enough. She reached for her phone to share the news, but before she could dial, it vibrated in her hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Anthony?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Chief Ashton’s office. He asked me to notify you the meeting scheduled for tomorrow with the full building committee has been rescheduled for Monday at the same time. Chief Ashton and Chip Armstrong have been called away on a budget retreat.”

  Kerstin dropped the papers on the table. Another damn delay, city government at its finest. “Thank you for the call.” Now what? Five days to do nothing. If she stayed in Greensboro, she’d go stir-crazy in her hotel room or give in and eventually have sex with Bennett again. Neither option was a good one. She needed a break from the slow pace of this town and a return to the familiar, to the places and things that made her feel in charge of her life again. She fired up her computer and booked an afternoon flight back to New York.

  She quickly packed her bag and tapped out a text to Bennett.

  Budget revised. Looks good. Going home. C U at meeting Monday.

  * * *

  At the airport bathroom in New York, Kerstin changed into black jeans, boots, and a white silk blouse. Nothing said prowling lesbian like black and white, especially at her favorite hangout, Cubbyhole. Slipping into her black jacket, she inhaled the deep, rich smell of leather she associated with recklessness and danger. She slid her hands over the soft buttery finish and checked the pockets for her club kit: two condoms and a dental dam. After hailing a cab, she stopped by her mother’s building and dropped off her bag, securing the concierge’s silence with a couple of crisp twenty-dollar bills, and then headed to the West End. She wouldn’t make it in time for happy hour, but Wednesday was whiskey night, and though she wasn’t a big whiskey drinker, with enough mixers she could manage, and she’d get a quick buzz.

  The taxi dropped her a block from the building, and she walked across the cobblestones to the green corner building, its paint peeling from trapped summer heat and bitter winter storms. People were already overflowing into the street, and she found the anonymity of the crowd comforting. Loud voices and the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes wafted in the air as she got closer. When she entered, the small space closed around her, making her feel welcome. The ceiling decor, which included everything from paper lanterns, rainbow flags, and lights to leftover decorations from St. Patrick’s Day, the Fourth of July, Easter, and Thanksgiving, added a cheerful element.

  She squeezed in beside two young women and shouted to the bartender, “Whiskey and Coke with a lime, heavy on the Coke, please.” Her drink arrived, and she slid a ten across the counter for the five-dollar drink and faced the crowd. Cubby had a reputation as a trendy, intimate hangout for the area’s diverse population, welcoming gay, straight, and everything in between and beyond.

  Oldies from the jukebox and singing patrons made conversation difficult, but she wasn’t here to talk. She found security among the throng of people searching for the same things—closeness without intimacy, connection without commitment—mosquito lovers, she called them, one taste and release. Here, she expected superficiality and got what she wanted. She took a swig of her drink, forced the bitter liquid down, and scanned the room. On the second pass, she spotted a dark-haired, sporty baby dyke in the corner staring back at her. She finished her whiskey and raised the empty glass in the woman’s direction.

  As her target walked toward her, Kerstin admired the way she elbowed a path confidently but gently through the crowd. Black hair shaved close on the sides with a longer swath falling across her forehead topped her stocky build. The woman stopped in front of her, and Kerstin boldly finished her inspection: muscular chest and arms, small breasts with no bra, tight T-shirt, low-rise jeans, and a jean jacket. Yummy.

  “I’m Dale. Can I buy you another drink?”

  Her voice was higher than she’d expected, nothing like Bennett’s husky one. “Stop it.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Good, because I thought you said stop, and I haven’t even started yet.” She gave Kerstin a slow visual from head to toe and settled on her breasts. “You’re hot.”

  “Thanks.” Not a great conversationalist, but again, not here to talk. This was going better and much faster than she’d hoped. One more drink. “Whiskey and Coke with lime, please.”

  Dale ordered two drinks, paid, and nodded toward the back of the club. Kerstin was content to let her lead for the time being, hoping they wanted the same thing. Dale cocked her leg against the wall and leaned back, and Kerstin straddled it and slid up.

  “Nice. Come here often?” Dale asked.

  Kerstin shook her head. “I’m not that girl.”

  Dale smiled, and her dark eyes sought Kerstin’s mouth. “So there’s no misunderstanding, what girl?”

  “The one who needs small talk.”

  “What about foreplay?”

  “Seriously overrated.” Kerstin slid her crotch along Dale’s leg again.

  “Kissing?”

  “Not the first time.”

  Dale encircled Kerstin’s waist and pulled her close. “How about fucking?”

  “Perfect. Do you live nearby?” The scene playing out in her mind teemed with dominance, getting off, and walking away, and her body vibrated.

  “No, but I have an SUV parked down the street. Is that too high school?”

  “It’ll do, but not another word about high school. Got it?” She hadn’t had sex in a vehicle ever, but she wasn’t letting location interfere with her plan. Besides, people in the city didn’t care what you did on the street as long as you didn’t block their front stoop or the door of their favorite coffee shop.

  She ran her hand up Dale’s leg, producing a needy moan she craved. “One more drink for the road?” She wanted to be a tad drunker so she wouldn’t notice the slight similarities between Dale and Bennett’s appearances. Her goal was to forget, not to fuck a surrogate.

  They finished their third round, and Kerstin grabbed Dale’s belt and pulled her out the door and into the street. “Which way?”

  Dale pointed down Twelfth Street. “Red Escalade ESV.”

  The power of control layered with sexual arousal ignited
inside Kerstin. She was in charge for the first time since—nope, not going there. She stopped beside the vehicle Dale indicated. “This thing is huge.”

  “Bought it for the extra-long body and tinted windows. I put the seats down, and it’s party central in there.” She climbed in, and a few seconds later the entire back of the vehicle was an adult play space.

  “Impressive. Get in and take your clothes off.” The inside reeked with the cloying scent of lemon air freshener, but Kerstin focused on the prize.

  Dale eyed her before complying. “You weren’t kidding about foreplay.”

  “I’m sort of a control freak.”

  “Figured that out already, and you don’t hear me complaining.”

  “You don’t hear me complaining.” Bennett had said the same thing before she scooped Kerstin up and settled her across her lap in bed. Get out of my head, Bennett Carlyle. Kerstin climbed into the back of Dale’s vehicle and closed the door, determined to return to the familiar. This woman wouldn’t tell her what to do, restrict her actions, bring her to multiple orgasms, or rock her into a satisfied sleep in the comfort of her arms. She would control this scenario, and she would decide when or if she came. End of story.

  “Hey, you still with me?” Dale was on her knees in front of Kerstin, her torso bare and her jeans pushed around her ankles behind her.

  “I’m so with you.” She needed exactly this, a woman with no connection to the past, raging hormones, willing to be dominated, and no agenda other than to get laid.

  Dale crawled closer and touched the side of Kerstin’s face. “You really are beautiful.”

  Kerstin slapped her hand away. “No touching unless I tell you. Understand?”

  Dale raised her hands and waited.

  “Down on all fours.” Dale’s response was immediate, and Kerstin thrilled at the power and safety from confusing emotions and worries about intimacy. None required. Dale’s smooth back and the swell of her ass beckoned, awaited whatever whim Kerstin chose.

  And suddenly a flash of memory stopped Kerstin—Bennett in the same position, moaning her pleasure. Kerstin draped over her back, fingers buried inside her. She couldn’t do the same thing to another woman that she’d enjoyed with Bennett. She considered other variations but got the same result. Kerstin shivered from a combination of fiery anger and cold sweat. Her go-to attitude adjustment failed, and she was pissed. “I can’t do this.”

  Dale turned and looked over her shoulder. “What?”

  “I’m sorry.” She opened the back door, jumped out, and ran.

  The next night Kerstin returned to the Cubbyhole, determined to regain control of her life and her favorite pastime. She spotted a tall, busty, femme blonde, the physical opposite of Bennett, in the crowd and winked at her. That’s all it took.

  The woman weaved a slow, deliberately evocative path through the crowd, lightly touching patrons with her hands or brushing up against them until she stopped in front of Kerstin. “Hi. I’m Candy.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Candy’s white designer dress dipped low on her large breasts and rose high on her shapely thighs. The package didn’t really turn Kerstin on like a hot butch would’ve, but she could do variety. “Want a drink?”

  “I’m good. Had a little something earlier.” Candy touched the side of her nose with her forefinger, the sign for snorting cocaine. “Let’s get comfortable.”

  “Sure.” Kerstin followed Candy to the back of the bar into a quieter room with low, cushioned benches.

  Kerstin dropped onto the soft surface with her back against the wall and motioned for Candy to sit beside her.

  Instead Candy spread her legs and made a show of inching the hem of her dress higher, exposing flesh all the way up. She straddled Kerstin’s lap and hooked her hands behind Kerstin’s neck. “I’ve got something for you, lover.”

  Kerstin’s clit twitched, and she was immediately wet, her sexual responses automatic. But tonight she yearned for something else—different but the same—more tenderness, but controlled. “Why don’t we talk for a bit first?”

  “Who needs talk when you’ve got these babies? And they’re real, not silicone.” Candy grabbed her breasts and squeezed before scooting closer and grinding her pelvis into Kerstin’s crotch.

  “Wait.” What was wrong with her? Wait? Talk? Those weren’t part of her sexual vocabulary until…Bennett had ruined her. Having sex with a stranger wouldn’t feel the same now. She wouldn’t feel the same. Kerstin slid from under Candy. “This isn’t going to work.” She rushed to the door, Candy’s angry voice gradually absorbed by the music.

  Kerstin stood on the sidewalk outside the Cubbyhole and waited for a taxi. What was happening to her? She never turned down sex, until recently, and now twice in as many days. She returned to the same answer—Bennett Carlyle.

  After thirty minutes with no cab in sight, she started walking. A couple of blocks over was a busier street with a better chance of hailing a ride, but still no luck. She’d forgotten about the large tech security conference in the city and strolled three more blocks to the subway entrance, but it looked like a hobo convention. She kept walking, trying to flag down a cab until she was back at Central Park in front of her mother’s building.

  She dropped onto her bed without getting undressed and fell asleep immediately. When she woke the next morning before daylight, she was rested, clearheaded, and not hungover. She’d slept all night for the first time since Bennett had held her after sex.

  As she dressed for her early flight back to Greensboro, she stopped in front of her bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. Pick-up sex didn’t work for her any longer. It didn’t get her high, make her forget, or make her feel powerful or safe. But if pick-up sex didn’t work, how was she going to control her stress, her life?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Bennett rolled the lint brush up the front of her uniform, across her back, and down her arms for the second time, finally satisfied with the result. The full building-committee meeting started in half an hour, and she’d finally see Kerstin again. Four days since she’d left her stretched across her hotel room bed, a sated look on her sleeping face. Four days that seemed like months. She’d played the casual lover, but leaving went against her grain. As she drove downtown to the city building, she mentally chanted, sex, sex, only sex, but the words magnified her desire for something more meaningful and enduring with Kerstin.

  She entered the lobby, and Kerstin stood in front of the information desk wearing a burgundy skirt, which brushed her knees, a matching jacket with stand-up collar, and a cream-colored scoop-neck shell. Bennett almost tripped over a magazine rack as she approached her. Kerstin’s shoulders were rigid, her posture square, and she kneaded her neck with her fingers. Bennett took a deep breath. “Good morning. Are you ready for this?”

  Kerstin slowly glanced up but didn’t make eye contact. The pulse point at her neck pounded rapidly. “Yes. Are you?”

  “I’m always ready.” Bennett noticed dark circles under Kerstin’s blue eyes and a washed-out pallor to her skin. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Kerstin was unsettled and restless in a way Bennett hadn’t seen. Something significant gnawed at her, even if she wasn’t willing to admit it. “Your mother?”

  “She’s good too.” Kerstin’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I think we did a great job with the cost cuts. The committee should be pleased, and once we get the go-ahead, the full work crews can return.”

  Bennett wanted to talk, to ask all her questions, but Kerstin had shifted to business mode. Nothing she said would change things between them anyway. Kerstin made the rules, and she abided by them, like it or not. “Shall we go in?” She held the door, and Kerstin passed, sucking in a breath as she brushed her in the doorway. Her flowery-citrus perfume coaxed a moan up Bennett’s throat that she released as a choked cough.

  They walked into the chief’s conference room, and the five men huddl
ed around a coffeepot quieted as they approached. Chief Ashton joined the usual committee consisting of the city architect, planner, public works, and Chip Armstrong, the manager’s rep.

  Armstrong shook hands with Bennett, then touched Kerstin’s elbow and escorted her to a seat. “Can I get you coffee, Ms. Anthony?” He didn’t offer any to Bennett.

  “No thanks.”

  Chief Ashton nodded to Bennett. “Let’s get started. I’m sure everybody has other things on their agenda this morning. Captain Carlyle, will you or Ms. Anthony be updating us?”

  “I will,” Kerstin said before Bennett could answer. “Since the focus is primarily architectural changes that affect the budget.” She passed a stack of papers to her left and waited until everyone had a copy before starting her briefing.

  Bennett watched, her chest puffed out, as Kerstin outlined the new items on their budget proposal, her voice strong and confident. She made eye contact with each committee member as she talked, except Bennett.

  “I’ll let Captain Carlyle field that question,” Kerstin said.

  “I’m sorry?” At least she was staring down at the papers when Kerstin called on her. “Repeat the question.”

  Chip Armstrong pointed to an item. “Why gun lockers in a noncustodial facility?”

  “Safety. We don’t have the luxury of arresting only one suspect at a time, and the entryway into the interrogation rooms is quite narrow. We don’t want armed officers interacting with suspects in such a confined space. If the officers secure their weapons in the lockers, they’re safer and so are the suspects and other officers calling in reports or turning in evidence nearby.”

  “Makes sense.” Armstrong glanced across the table at Kerstin. “Good job.”