by KD Robichaux
“Really? Well… what’s your story? I told you about my past, so what about yours?”
She cringes, shaking her head. “Like you said, not much to tell. Well, on the relationship aspect.”
When she doesn’t continue, I nudge her. “Care to elaborate?”
For the briefest moment, I see pain in her eyes, but she quickly disguises it with a laugh. “I don’t do well with committed relationships. I’m more a free spirit. If I were in a relationship, I’d have to discuss things like… wanting to run off to Afghanistan to photograph the war. And I’m sure it’d be hard to find a guy who’d be okay with something like that.”
“Fair enough. You’re an independent woman. That’s hot as hell in my opinion.” I smile down at her. “But what about the other aspect though?” I lift a brow.
She plays coy. “What other aspect might you be talking about, Bri?”
I usually hate it when people try to give me a nickname, but I love how she shortens my name, just leaving off the second syllable. It makes me feel like we’re closer than what the actual amount of time we’ve known each other would normally allow. “You’re gonna make me spell it out? You won’t just let me respectfully hint at what I’m asking?”
“What’s the fun in that?” She giggles.
I shift a little, turning my body more toward hers. “All right then.” I muster up the confidence I usually have around women and push away the fumbling schoolboy Clarice brings out in me. And even though it goes against everything my momma ever taught me about being a gentleman, I forge ahead. “There’s no way a sexy, self-assured woman, who doesn’t hesitate to get naked with a man she barely knows, would be a virgin. So tell me, pretty girl. Who have you allowed to sample the perfection I got to see in the shower?” I reach up and trace her full bottom lip with my thumb, watching her eyes go half-mast.
And right when I think I’ve shaken off the fumbling schoolboy, here he comes rearing his dorky little head, as she opens those fantasy-inducing lips and sucks my thumb into her blazing mouth, looking me straight in the eye as she swirls it with her tongue before letting it go with a pop.
And I think I just came.
“I’ve got a few years on you, big guy. Five, actually. And let’s just say you can fit a lot of experience into five years,” she answers vaguely.
When I can speak without my voice croaking like I’m going through puberty, I ask her quietly, “So more than two then?”
She grins. “Yeah. More than two. I would corrupt the shit out of you if given the chance.”
I chuckle. “I don’t know about all that. You look too sweet to do too much damage.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
The way she says it makes me pause. Makes me believe her.
I stroke her cheek and her eyes go soft. “What happened to you, little one?” I whisper, searching her face.
There’s a pregnant pause, in which she looks like she’s trying to dredge up the courage to confess something monumental. But then she smiles and shakes her head, giving a little shrug. “Nothing happened to me. I’m just a kinky kinda chick. Always have been.”
Not wanting to scare her off, when all I want to do is keep her close, I don’t press her. In the past week, she’s shared with me all about her family, who live in Florida, far away from her home base in New York. She told me how she became a professional photographer who was highly sought after by the popular magazine she works for now, and how she doesn’t even rent an apartment because she’s never in one place long enough to call somewhere home. She has an office at the magazine, where she installed a Murphy bed and stores her meager belongings. It was in her contract when she took the job that she could stay on the premises whenever she was stateside. And since there was a full gym on one of the floors, she just keeps all her toiletries and such in a locker and showers there.
So instead of urging her to tell me more about her past relationships, I follow her change in subject, since she seems much more comfortable talking about sex. “What do you mean kinky?”
“Oh, lots of different things. But mostly, I like to be in control,” she replies.
“Control? Like… what? A dominatrix or something?” My eyes widen.
“Are you thinking of Lucy Lawless à la Eurotrip? You picturing a chick dressed in all red latex named Madame Vandersexxx, yelling for her subs to administer the testicle clamps?” She giggles at my expression. “That’s not my thing. I like control, but I’m not big on pain… well, giving it at least.”
I swallow thickly. “But receiving it?”
“A little spanking never hurt anybody… too badly.” She smiles widely. “You’re looking at me like I just stole your lunch money.” She shrugs again. “Vanilla sex just doesn’t do it for me. There’s no big mystery. The physical act of doing the deed just doesn’t get me off. But the second I was introduced to BDSM, I set off like a rocket launcher.”
I reach down between us and adjust the tent beneath my gown. “Ya know, when I met you that day in the chow hall, I detected a hint of… bossiness? No, that’s not right. Authority. Yeah, that’s more like it. I heard authority in your voice when you were trying to get my attention for the picture. It’s why I looked up. Otherwise, I would’ve just ignored you.”
She bites her lip, her eyes going dreamy. “Such a big man who willingly follows orders and respects women. Oh, the things I would do to you,” she murmurs. We stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like an eternity, neither of us wanting to break the spell we’ve put ourselves under. Finally, she commands, “Kiss me,” and without a moment’s hesitation, I do.
I kiss her like my life depends on it, and when she grasps hold of my hospital gown and tugs it up, I continue alternating between nibbling at her lips, sucking on her tongue, and pressing my mouth to hers, because she never told me to stop. Not even when she grips my cock tightly at its base before stroking upward. Not even when she uses her palm to spread the sticky precum around its crown. Not even when she orders me to “Feel how wet you make me.”
But before my hand gliding up her soft inner thigh can reach the heaven I know it’s about to find, Clarice pulls away abruptly, hopping into her own cot and reaching over to tug my gown down before I even realize what’s going on.
Right then, a nurse walks in carrying a little plastic cup containing one of the giant ibuprofens. “How ya feeling tonight, Glover?” she asks, and when I roll onto my back, I lift my leg a little to obstruct any view of my still raging dick.
“Feeling good,” I reply, having to clear my throat as images of what just happened flash behind my eyes.
“Wonderful. Shouldn’t be too much longer until we get you out of here,” she says like she’s delivering the best news ever.
But in my mind, it’s not the best news ever. Far from it. Which makes me feel guilty as fuck. Two of my friends died in that explosion. Six more had to be transported to a medical facility far away from this little clinic I’m in, just to have the equipment needed to save their lives. I should be itching to get out of here, ready to get back to work. But here I am, irritated that I’m healing enough to be released, all because I’d rather stay right here in this little room with this tiny woman who makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.
And the guilt reminds me: this is why I never wanted to be in a relationship while in the military. This is why it would never work between a woman and me while I’m supposed to be focusing on fighting for my country. There’s no way to balance the two. I can’t split my attention, because that could get me—and others—killed in the line of duty. But if I put all my concentration on my job, that would leave my partner feeling neglected and unloved.
“You okay, Bri? You look about ready to throw up,” Clarice says gently, placing her hand on my arm.
I look at where she touches me, and then up into her beautiful face, and after a moment, I give her a small smile. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Well, your vitals look good, so unless you need me for an
ything, I’m going to get some sleep. Feel free to wake me up if you need me,” the nurse tells us, and we each murmur a goodnight.
When she leaves, Clarice moves back into my cot, taking hold of my gown once again, but I grasp her hand, stopping her before she can pick up where we left off. “Wait, pretty girl.”
“What is it?” she breathes, leaning up to kiss me gently.
Keeping hold of her hand, I slide my other one up the back of her neck and into her hair, curling my hand into a loose fist to keep her still. If I allow her to kiss me again, I know I’ll forget everything going on in my head. And it’s important.
“Clarice, I…” I look back and forth between her beautiful chocolate eyes, watching her pupils swallow up the brown for a moment before it recedes a little as lights turn off and then on again in the clinic. It’s a warning the nurse gives every night before she disappears for a few hours of sleep, letting us know the lights will go out in five minutes. It makes me realize how lonely it would’ve been here without Clarice to keep me company, people only coming in and out quickly to get stitches or to get bandaged up for minor injuries. I would’ve been here by myself the whole time, with nothing to do but stare at the tent walls. It would’ve been miserable. I would’ve been dying to get back out there in the midst of war. So maybe they do it on purpose, so soldiers don’t get too comfortable and want to stay.
“Brian?” she whispers, pulling me back from my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I’m just… confused,” I confess, and she relaxes against me, the weight of her a comforting presence.
“Talk to me, big guy. You can tell me anything. I won’t share any of your secrets,” she promises.
I take in her delicate features, perfect even without the amenities of home. Her face is bare of any makeup, her eyebrows thick but naturally arched. Her skin is flawless in my eyes, even with her light freckles and beauty marks here and there. She’s absolutely gorgeous here in this godforsaken country, with nothing but soap out of a metal dispenser to help. I wonder what she looks like when we’re back home, when she has access to fancy shampoos, makeup, and civilian clothes.
I hope it’s not too different.
“When the nurse said I’d be out of here soon, I wasn’t happy about it,” I tell her, and she furrows her brow. “I’m supposed to be dying to get out of here so I can kick some fucking ass, but instead, I want to stay holed up with you.”
She smiles gently. “You shouldn’t feel bad about that, Bri. You deserved a little vacation after what you went through. You earned it when you helped save all those guys.”
“I was just doing my job. It’s what I’m paid to do. It’s what I signed up to do. I didn’t commit myself to the army just to get here and hide away while everyone else does all the work,” I say, shaking my head, angry at myself.
She swallows, looking a little hurt, but she hides it quickly. “Are you saying you wish I hadn’t stayed here with you?”
Her question makes my grip on her hair tighten, and her eyelids dip with what looks like pleasure. “Fuck no. This has been the best almost two weeks of my life, even though I don’t remember the first few days of it.” I smile, trying to ease her tension. “But now that I’m about to be cleared, I need to get my head back in the game. If not, something bad could happen.”
“I can understand that.” Her gaze dips to my lips and then back up to my eyes. “But like I said before, you’re never getting rid of me. You know more about me now than anyone ever has. I can honestly say you’re my best friend, seeing how all we’ve done for the past ten days is talk. I’ve never told anyone as much as I’ve told you.”
“Really?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“Really. I’m not much of a sharer outside these walls. I go on my trips to photograph amazing things, and I’m usually pretty solitary except for when I’m with a guide. And I don’t make a habit of telling random strangers who I’m only going to be around for a few days or weeks my whole life story.”
“That sounds like a pretty lonely existence,” I murmur, watching her expression closely, but she’s good at hiding what she’s feeling.
“Nah, it’s better for everyone if I don’t get too close to anyone.” Before I can ask what she means, she adds, “You’re just the unlucky fucker who I’ve now chosen to be my bestie.” She chuckles. “Isn’t it funny how that works? One day, you just pick a human you’ve met, and you’re like ‘I like this one,’ and then you do stuff with them. They become important to you just because you choose to let them be.”
“Are you saying I’m important to you?” I prompt, the corner of my lips tilting up.
“Oh yes.” She nods. “And that’s why, after you get healed up enough to finish your deployment, and after I go back to the states, I’ll be seeing you when you get home. No obligations. No relationship mumbo jumbo. Just a total understanding that you are now my best friend; you mean the world to me. You are the human I’ve picked to do stuff with.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, like I have no say, and like her words aren’t completely ridiculous according to the amount of time we’ve known each other. Clarice says she likes control, and with her last statement, I believe that. And for some odd reason, I also believe in what she said. She is now my best friend. She will be seeing me when we’re back in the US. All because she said so.
And a small part of me recognizes that I really, really like believing in things just because she said so.
“SO IT WAS THEN you discovered you liked submitting to Clarice?” Doc asks.
“Not in the physical sense. That didn’t come until later. But I liked the way she took the guessing out of everything else. She told me exactly what she wanted out of our friendship. It was clear we had the same aversion to a committed relationship albeit for different reasons,” I reply.
“Your reason being the military, and hers being…?” he prompts.
“If I said I have a perfect understanding of her reasons, I would be lying. She’s never come out and said ‘This is why I do not want to be in a relationship…’ But just from picking up on the different times she’s always changed subjects and microexpressions, it’s gotta be because of a past relationship. Which is strictly forbidden from being discussed.”
“How does that make you feel?” he asks in his therapist’s voice before adding, “You said there were no secrets between the two of you, yet this is something she won’t talk to you about.”
I nod. “It used to irk me that she wouldn’t open up about that, but with time, I learned to embrace it. Because the closer I became to her, the more I realized I wouldn’t like thinking about her with other men. I’d rather not know details of the other people she’s given herself to. For the past eleven years, they’ve been faceless bodies. She’s shared her sexual experiences with me through showing me her knowledge with physical acts. So I don’t see them as secrets. I see it as a time in her life that doesn’t exist anymore.”
He thinks for a moment, looking at me closely, but I don’t fidget. I have nothing to hide. I’ve been completely honest speaking about the way I feel.
“There is something in Clarice’s past that is the reason she prefers being in a Dominant position sexually. In order for her to come as your guest to our club, you do understand I’m going to have to discuss those things with her, correct?”
“And I said before, good luck on that,” I snort.
“But if she isn’t willing to speak about them, she won’t be allowed to come,” he tells me.
“I’m aware, Doc. I’m hoping she gives you just enough tidbits of information that you can use your genius psychology brain to piece together why she is the way she is, and hopefully, it’ll be good enough to get her in,” I confide, scrubbing my hands down my face. “But she’s a fucking vault.”
“To you.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in, dick,” I grumble.
“You allow her to be. You don’t want her to run, so you never press. Also, it’s part of your Dominant/s
ubmissive relationship. It’s her hard limit, and you respect that.”
I press my lips together, nodding in agreement. “Putting it like that, yeah.”
“But here’s the thing. I’m not in a D/s relationship with her. I can press because I’m not scared of making her run. And from what you’ve told me about the time you spent with her overseas, and the fact that you’ve stayed close all these years, I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about,” he assures.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” He smiles, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, my next appointment should be here by now. But I know we have a lot more to talk about. How would you feel about doing some sessions together with Clarice? I’ll assess whether she’s opening up enough while you’re present, and if I think I can get more out of her with you not here, then we’ll do that.”
“What, like couples counseling?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“Exactly like couples counseling. I believe that if Clarice sees how open and honest you are with your answers, it will inspire her to do the same.”
I nod, my knee bouncing a couple times with anxiousness. “Good idea, Doc.”
“I tend to have those quite often,” he states, standing and placing his notepad on his side table.
“Yeah, yeah. I gotta get home. She’ll be here in less than an hour,” I tell him, and saying it out loud makes my heart thud.
“Sounds good. I’ll see what I have free tomorrow and let you know what time to bring her,” he says, clapping me noisily on the back before opening his office door to let me out and to welcome the man sitting on the couch in the waiting room.
I hurry out to my truck, ready to make some final touches to my house to make sure it’s absolutely perfect for Clarice’s arrival.
Clarice
“TURN RIGHT IN three hundred feet. Your destination will be on your left,” the GPS tells me, and my stomach fills with a monsoon of excitement. I follow the directions, and sure enough, there’s Brian’s SUV parked in his long driveway.