One Day You'll Be Mine: Steamy Contemporary Military Romance

by Hart, Alana

  I got hot reading one of the sex scenes with Amy and her client, whom she referred to as “The Engineer”:

  “You sure know how to treat a man, baby,” he groaned as I continued to release the tension from his feet. “I don’t call or text you as much as you would like, and I’m always busy. But you sure know how to remind me where I belong. Why are you so good to me?”

  “Because you deserve it,” I replied coyly. Every man wants to be a King, even if it’s a fantasy.

  My foot massage turned into a back massage, turned into a chest massage. When I rolled him onto his back, he was hard. I licked my lips when I felt his bulge underneath me. My pussy was nearing uncontrollable wetness and I still wore my dress.

  Lightly buzzed from the D’usse, he placed his thick hands on my thighs and slid my dress up, exposing my thong and suspenders.

  “You’re such a naughty girl,” he murmured, rubbing the sides of my hips in a circular motion. “Such a naughty girl…”

  “You like?” I asked, continuing to rub his chest while trying my damnedest to ignore the tiny wildfire of desire set ablaze from feeling his cock harden even more as I straddled him.

  He slapped my ass hard. “Love it when you’re my dirty angel, precious.”

  The wildfire between my legs roared when he did that. I began slowly rocking myself back and forth on his bulge, moaning as I paid attention to the sensations building as I satisfied myself on his bulge.

  He sat up on his elbows slightly, basking in the pleasure of my impromptu performance. Slowly he rocked with me, helping me build up the intensity.

  “Take it off, sexy,” he said, tugging a piece of my dress with his fingers. The sight of the full outfit, with my breasts pushed up in the bra elicited murmurs of indecipherable pleasure. He reached up and squeezed my breasts, then motioned for me to get topless.

  My entire body exploded with desire when he touched my nipples. They remembered the way he massaged and rolled them and responded favorably to his touch. I threw my head back in pleasure and moaned yes when he did that, telling him that his touch was going to make me cum.

  In response, he stopped what he was doing and looked up. “Yeah?”

  Grabbing me by the ass, he pulled me forward until my thighs were on the other side of his face. He pressed his nose into my panties and inhaled the scent of my arousal, groaning in approval of my aroma.

  Using a carefully selected index finger he pulled my panties to the side, exposing my bare clit. Aroused and unafraid, it looked back at him, defiant and bold. He pulled me forward by my panty, sat me on his face and promptly started tasting my succulence.

  I fell forward, leaning my hands against the wall so I wouldn’t hit my head. Overwhelmed by the pleasure, unfiltered and hedonistic moans of satisfaction escaped from my lips, swirling around the room like butterflies released from a cage.

  The scene was erotic. His moans danced with mine as I rocked myself on his face, urging me to have my first orgasm. I tried to break free from the intensity, but he gripped my legs and grunted “Uh-uh,” lapping at the cream in my wet opening. “Where you going?”

  He finally released me, digging into his pockets to grab a gold Magnum, an appropriate choice for his size. He dropped his pants, fished out his cock from his dark grey boxer briefs, and tore the wrapper with his teeth.

  Face wet with pussy juice, the engineer looked at me with fire in his eyes as he crawled over, spread my legs and slid right in. His thick shaft pushed all my walls apart, tearing through the tightness of my canal.

  “Oh God, that’s amazing,” I gasped.

  He said nothing as he grabbed my legs, hoisted them up in the air and began thrusting in me. The look on his face as he bit his lip and his eyes rolled up told me how incredible my pussy felt. The wet, gushy sounds of sex mixed in with our pleasure-filled moans, groans, ooohs and aaahs.

  I was heady with the scent of our passion filling the room. I reveled in the scent of his Green Irish Tweed cologne, and I came when he pumped me hard and told me to look him in the eyes as he came inside me.

  His erection didn’t leave after his first orgasm, so he ordered me to get on all fours, bit and kissed all over my ass, then mounted me. Legs shaking, I regained my composure enough to stay steadfast. But as he thrust, filling me with his big cock, another hot crush of arousal began to build deep inside my wet core.

  He noticed my legs were threatening to give out more, so he grabbed both arms and began pile driving from the back. I was helpless and out of control; he hit my G-spot, causing my body to shiver and quake. He held his thrust deep within me, held on to both arms tight, never letting me go as I let go of my inhibitions and squirted all over the bed.

  “Yes,” he encouraged. “Good girl. Cum all over my cock. Cum on my cock. Yes.”

  I was spent from that orgasm, and almost too weak to move, but he wasn’t finished. He resumed picking up his thrusts after I came, holding me by one arm and using the other to slap my ass and pull my hair as he conquered my pussy. Although I couldn’t move too much, my body was under siege and at his mercy. I couldn’t help but to feel the pleasure as I reached a micro fine level of sensitivity that caused my entire body to flare. Goosebumps were everywhere. My ears were buzzing. I felt everything he was giving me, from the stress of his day at work to the primal desire of man in his DNA passed down through the ages.

  He fucked me as if I were the Red Queen, building his thrusts up to a staggering crescendo where he roared and came deep inside me. When he dismounted, a large wet noise let me know that he was no longer hard and had completely spent his erection inside me.

  “Fucking incredible,” were the last words I heard before everything went black.

  My body stirred to life reading that scene. The sex they were having seemed like a passionate play-by-play of the sex I had with Ellis. I could have sworn the author had a secret camera hidden in my apartment.

  My nipples were so hard reading, I didn’t notice I’d snuck my hand under my tank top and began rubbing them. Pulses of pleasure cascaded over the left, then the right, and back to the left, as I rolled each nipple back and forth between my thumb and my index finger.

  I wished Ellis were there with me. I could have read the passage aloud to him, and then we could have acted out this scene together. That’s what we did whenever we were horny, yet uninspired and seeking creative inspiration in the bedroom. Right then and there, I could have used his company as I relived Amy’s sex scene in my head. I could imagine Ellis taking on her lover’s aggressive role, turning me over and inserting his thickness between my thighs while pulling my jet-black curls and commanding me to “take that dick.” Except, in our case, Ellis would more than likely have on his military pants while fucking me, because he knew how much his uniform turned me own.

  I set my iPad mini down as I focused on the scene, and recapturing it move for move in my head. By the time I had finished, my fingers were soaking wet with my juices, and my orgasm had spread all over the sheets. Too tired to do anything about it, I closed my iPad cover, and rolled over, drifting off to sleep with post-climactic satisfaction oozing from my pores.

  Chapter 4: Natalia

  It’d been yet another ridiculously hot, miserable, incredibly sexless week. At this point, I’d run out of ideas for seducing Hollis. He didn’t want to make love, no matter what I’d tried.

  I’d even broken down and looked at some of those ridiculous sex tip articles in Cosmopolitan, something I would have never thought I’d ever needed to do. We were in our thirties, but we’d been together for twenty years, and as such, we had the sex life of people who’d been together that long. NONE!

  “Am I doing something wrong?” I asked my best friend on base, Kelli, at the commissary. “It seems like he doesn’t want anything from me, unless it’s dinner or a blowjob.”

  “No, you’re not doing anything wrong. They get really lazy sometimes, especially when it’s hot and they’re working all the time.” Kelli looked over a row of Jell-
O. “Which flavors should we get? I’m making Jell-O shots with these summer molds I bought the kids.”

  “Kelli!” I gasped. “Don’t do that. The kids will think it’s for them.”

  Kelli’s eyebrow arched. “No, they won’t. Because they don’t even use these molds, and because we’ll be downing them while they play outside as we wait for our husbands to come home.”

  Kelli and I lived on the same street. Our husbands didn’t work together, but they had grown to be pretty amicable with one another. I suspect their shared love for the Dallas Cowboys had something to do with this. Both men were from Texas, and had no problem letting the world know they proudly whooped for America’s team. Considering I had no interest in the sport, I had no clue why this was such a pivotal moment in the history of their friendship, but it was.

  Kelli and my friendship blossomed on its own once we realized our men would happily abandon us for each other on Sundays whenever the season picked back up. Over time, we realized we also had quite a few things in common. Sunburn sensitivity that required the highest SPFs possible for protection, for example. I thought I had the mother of sun blocks when she told me she had a secret source for an even higher SPF than I had. (She’d never shared her magical website.)

  “So how do you deal with Frank does this?” I asked. She loaded up the cart with several packages of flavored gelatin, one for every color of the rainbow.

  “I don’t.” Her reply was indifferent, her attention engrossed in looking over a package of jasmine rice.

  “What do you mean, you don’t? That’s your husband. You have to deal with this.” How could any wife not be aggravated with lack of sex in their marriage? Sex was the highest form of intimacy.

  “I stopped arguing with him about it,” she said. “I’ve been through this enough times. I found my own ways to cope.” Kelli’s feline eyes coupled with a wry smirk.

  I watched her as she tossed two packages of rice in the cart. We pushed our carts, hers leading the way. I was out of it, hot and bothered, literally and figuratively. I couldn’t have cared less about being in the commissary, getting groceries, or making dinner. Jordan could eat two bowls of ice cream with sprinkles for all I cared.

  Hollis could kiss my entire ass.

  After the awkward exchange last week, communication shut down entirely. He hadn’t bothered to speak to me, apologize, or make amends. He carried on unaffected, as if being relieved of my attention were a benefit.

  I loved to cook. It was a stress reliever for me, usually. The marriage of flavors, spices, and ingredients into a culinary masterpiece soothed my creative spirit. But this time around, I felt it stifling. I didn’t bother attempting to make any home-cooked meals. For the last week, Jordan’s binged on pizza, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, and any fast food his heart desired. I simply lay in bed, reading books from romance authors like Alana Hart, feeling sorry for myself.

  “Have you tried making any aphrodisiac meals to get him in the mood?” I asked, randomly. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to cook, a huge cut of steak across the aisle captivated me. Like any other supermarket, the fresh goods, meats included, were along the outside perimeter of the commissary aisles.

  Kelli scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t believe the hype. That stuff doesn’t work. When he’s good and ready, he’ll find you. Until then, get you a little release and relax.” She shifted the conversation. “What would be better: Frito Pie, like the boys get back home, or nachos?”

  “You have two packages of jasmine rice in your cart, and you’re asking me about Frito Pies and nachos?”

  “Just because I buy it today doesn’t mean I’m cooking it today.” She sounded exasperated. She looked at me, shaking her head again. “What’s up with you today?”

  “I already told you.” I lowered my voice. Even though nobody else was in the aisle, I didn’t need wandering ears listening in. I leaned in and reminded her. “I’m. Frustrated.”

  Kelli’s eyes were both amused and piteous at once. She wanted to laugh, yet refrained. I was grateful; now wasn’t the right time to do so.

  “We’re going to stop at the MCX; you need some Sweet Bitch in your life.”

  “I need something stronger than Sweet Bitch,” I shook my head. Moscato was nice, but these days I could finish a bottle a day on my own.

  “Fine. We’ll get you some Svedka, get some gummy bears, and have a grand old time. Cooking, drinking, and talking until our husbands get home.”

  ***

  Kelli grew up in a big family, with three sisters and four brothers. She learned to cook by spending lots of time with her mother, and possessed flair for seasoning in ways I had yet to master. Her seafood recipes were amazing. In fact, that’s what she was making that day while we sat back and talked: baked shrimp and crab legs, based upon a recipe she pulled off Pinterest.

  Once she seasoned the crab and shrimp with Old Bay, garlic, and a mixture of chili spices, she put the jasmine rice in the rice cooker. I sipped a strawberry Cosmo made from the Svedka and began boiling water for simple syrup. She’d use it to create her mango lime lemonade, which she’d make from scratch. (Now that’s a recipe she did share, but I’ve never perfected.)

  Jordan and Karter, Kelli’s son, would not be home for several hours. Kelli didn’t work, and it was my day off, so I took the time to really diffuse. I’d been a ball of anger, hurt, and confusion, wrapped up under tight threads of numbness.

  We made our way to the living room. Kelli’s house had a Mediterranean flair to the design. The home had rich brown furniture, but the walls were a gorgeous deep teal color. There was a picture of Kelli and Kristopher, as newlyweds, hanging on the wall, between family pictures. The photos were below one of those wall appliqués with clichéd quotes on them. Theirs in particular said, “The Love of Family is Life’s Greatest Blessing.”

  “So,” Kelli said, sinking down into one corner of the espresso-colored leather sofa. She set her strawberry lemonade, splashed with vodka, on a rich cocoa coaster. “Spit it out.”

  Her words were straight to the point, no nonsense. Her tone of voice was quiet, contemplative. She wanted me to speak, uncensored, without the fluffy dance around the problems, and she would listen without interruption.

  I leaned back on my side of the sectional, my fist anchoring the side of my head as I spoke. I recanted the experiences of the last few months. I explained that I felt my husband pulling away from me, how I attempted in many ways to be understanding of his busy schedule, and ultimately how powerless I felt over the situation. I nearly came to tears when exposed the cold behavior that followed my attempts to seduce him last week, and how much icier he’d become since that experience.

  “I just don’t understand why my marriage feels so empty?” Shaking my head in disbelief, I pressed. “Why doesn’t he see the break in our relationship? I feel like I’m alone in noticing this.”

  After a prolonged silence on my behalf, Kelli asked, “Have you considered he’s potentially having an affair?”

  My heart sunk into my stomach when she said that. “No. I never considered it. Hollis has always taken our marriage – and any of his obligations – quite seriously.”

  “Yes, most cheaters take their obligations seriously,” she replied, taking another sip of her drink. She looked me dead in the face, her classic features emanating stone seriousness. “He’s showing signs of an affair.”

  Kelli’s tone clipped a tiny corner of my heart. Though she generally gave sound advice in general, something told me she wasn’t just tossing out level assertions. She was speaking from experience. I was scared to press the issue, but it was too late to switch the conversation. Kelli was always a straight shooter, unwilling to let me discard the reputable truth that would spill forward, even if I attempted to place our attention elsewhere.

  She counted off the symptoms with each of her fingers, identifying them individually as she spoke.

  “Hollis’ inability to be affectionate, his unwillingness to talk, all of this t
ime spent at work all of a sudden... Natalia, I hate to break it to you, but honey, those are all key indicators of a cold, hard military affair happening under your nose.”

  Each finger lifted, shearing layers of my heart, as her clear evidence mounted, on full display for recognition. I shook my head, in denial. Hollis really was busy, I stated. The entire battalion was under heavy pressure lately.

  Shaking her head, she asserted her position. Sympathy blanketed her statements. “Of course you’re not going to notice these things. You’ve been with him so long that you won’t see what you don’t want to see.” She was bold enough to speak up, and didn’t lower her voice when she added, “Trust me. I’ve been there.”

  “Kristopher cheated!?” My eyes burst open with shock.

  Kelli and Kristopher always seemed like the perfect happily married couple. They were always hugging and kissing on one another. It was hard to believe they’d ever spent a day out of love.

  My eyes drifted to the picture of them on the wall, wondering from the happiness in their photos, “How is that even possible?”

  “Even the happiest marriages have their dark periods,” Kelli spoke matter-of-factly. She downed the rest of her drink and walked to the kitchen. I didn’t have to follow her to know she needed a couple of minutes to gather her words while she checked on the simple syrup and mixed another drink. I checked my phone while I waited, scrolling through Instagram, specifically visiting Kelli’s page to look at pictures of her and Kristopher.

  Kristopher and Kelli looked like the perfect American couple. He was 6’ even, average build, with dark hair and eyes. He had an easygoing appearance, and a charming disposition. Kelli stood at 5’9.” She had dark blonde, amber colored strands, and caramel colored eyes. Slim and leggy, she was a former model until she met and married Kristopher several years ago. Their son, Karter, was only 7, but he was very advanced for his age.