by Holly Hart
"It looks to me like this is the kind of thing that could lose your company a whole load of contracts, and you wouldn't want that on your head, would you…" I notice more sweat building up on Fred’s forehead, and know that I’m on the right track. "It's disgusting," I continue, building up with righteous anger, "how can you treat these animals like this?"
"They're just dogs," he scoffs, "and no one tells me what to do – not you, not nobody. What's stopping me from just taking your phone and deleting them right now?"
He reaches his arm out, ready to grab it off me. I decide to take the wind out of his sails and hand it right to him. "Here you go…" I say airily.
Fred shoots me a confused, quizzical look. "Why did you hand it over so easily?"
"Is there a tick at the top of the screen?" I ask, "just a little icon."
"Yeah, so?"
"So," I say confidently, "they're on the cloud now. Good luck trying to delete them."
He shoots me a hunted, wounded look, and I hold my breath hoping that he's as stupid and technologically illiterate as he looks – because I'm bluffing. For all I know, he can still delete them. I just hope he doesn't know that.
A pause builds up between us.
"What do you want?" he finally mutters, eyes cast directly at the floor, then the wall – in fact everywhere except directly at my triumphant stare. I let out the breath that I've been holding – slowly, just in case he realizes how close he came to calling my bluff.
"First things first," I say with wholly deserved, hard and confidence, "I want Jake."
"Who's Jake?" Fred asks with unfeigned confusion – he actually doesn't know.
"You're a disgrace, you know that Fred?" I say with disgust written on my face, "he's one of the dogs you're supposed to be taking care of…"
"How am I supposed to remember all their names?" he replies defensively, looking somewhat outraged. I decide not to bother arguing with him – I get the feeling that it'll be like trying to punch a brick wall.
"There are only –," I start with reflective irritation before catching myself, "it doesn't matter. He's that one," I say, pointing at Jake.
"Fine," he grunts, "he's all yours."
"What are you going to tell your boss when he realizes Jake's gone?" I ask with genuine surprise.
Fred laughs, a hollow and unexpected cackle that chills me to the core. "My boss? He doesn't come down here often… I'll just say that the little shi-," he begins, before correcting himself, "I mean, Jake, got sick."
"Fine," I reply, sickened by his callous attitude towards his helpless charges, but unwilling to call him out on the topic, especially given I've got a plan to deal with him anyway, "that works for me."
"Is that it?"
"No – glad you asked. These dogs deserve far better than you're giving them. I'm going to swing by once a day and check up on their well-being – and I'm gonna bring a friend who's very fond of his dogs, in fact, that's his dog over there…" I say with a vindictive grin, pointing at Jake.
"You're going to take them out for walks – in the evening," I hasten to correct myself, because I know by now that Fred's too dimwitted and downright malicious to be given any leeway or flexibility in his instructions, "so it's not too hot. You're going to make sure they have water at all times, because it's a disgrace that they don't. As long as they aren't fighting, you're going to let them out of their cages to play with each other. You're going to pick up their shit as soon as it hits the ground, and you're going to make sure that any injury is tended to immediately." I finish, punctuating every point with a firm prod into his chest.
"Is that it?" he asks grumpily, but with a beaten look on his face.
"Yes," I say happily, "but Fred?"
"Yes?" he replies sulkily.
"Don't fuck up, because you know what happens if you do…"
9
Katie
"I still can’t believe you managed to get him back," Mike says, with childlike wonder in his voice. He’ll come in useful… Jake!"
The German Shepherd's sharp ears prick up at the sound of his name. He was way more intelligent than the golden retriever I'd had as a child. They might as well not have been the same species, for all the similarities they shared. Fur, four legs and tail – that was about it. Holly had been lovely, kind, playful – as many superlatives as you could list on two hands.
But clever?
No. Jake was an entirely different proposition.
"Guard."
The command is simple, and Jake cocks his head at the sound. I couldn't be certain, it almost looked like he’s – nodding? Well, not nodding – but there was definitely a nod…
"I thought he was a bomb dog?" I ask, looking down at our obedient helper with a grateful smile. My quarters aren't exactly in the busy part of town, far from it in fact, but even with Sophie occupied at the hospital, having Jake on watch duty gives me a little bit of comfort.
Fraternizing with a patient is certainly frowned upon, even if it's not banned. It's best for both of us that no one finds out, even if we did ‘fraternize’ with each other before he ever became my patient.
"He is," Mike smiles, "but they all start out with the same basic package of training, can't help it. So he's primarily good at bomb disposal – well, not disposal, but finding them anyway, you know what I mean…" He trails off, the awkward look on his face making it completely clear to me that he's worried he's messing things up.
I chuckle, making light of the situation. "Thanks for clearing that up, Mike. Good to know that Jake hasn't figured out the secret of opposable thumbs…"
He smiles back, and as usual the sight warms me. There's nothing forced, artful or concealed in his expressions, there never is. When he's hurting, you know about it; when he's upset, he can't hide it; and when he's happy – like right now – it's obvious.
"So, you gonna invite me in?" he asks, his warm and genuine smile transforming ever so slightly to a wicked, cheeky grin. Apparently my little joke worked…
"Oh it's like that, is it?" I quip back, making it seem like he's asked for the moon, even though really he's only putting into words what I've wanted him to ask for weeks. For a while, I was beginning to think that the night we shared didn’t mean anything to Mike. Now, I realize I was wrong. He was as hurt as I am. Maybe more. I might not want him to have everything going completely his own way, but that definitely doesn't mean I want it to stop.
It doesn't seem to bother him.
"It's like that," he agrees, reaching out and taking the initiative by gently, tenderly trailing a finger down my torso. I shiver at the sensation, and though I try and hide it, I don't put much stock in my ability to conceal a reaction. Not from Mike, anyway. I haven't known him for long, not really, but he seems to be able to read me in a way that no one else can.
The physical contact makes up my mind, and my hands twists around the doorknob, the muscles writhing under my skin as the locking mechanism clicks softly. He leans forward, pushing the door open, and in the process getting as close to me as he's ever been. I start walking through the doorway, but he holds me back, lacing one arm gently around my waist and hooking me back. The motion causes me to spin round gently, and pulls me in, so that our waists are touching.
With his other, free hand, he traces a line down my cheek, pushing away loose strands of my long hair and tucking them tenderly behind my ear.
"Mike, we shouldn't…" I begin, desperately trying to warn him that we shouldn't be doing this out in the open, knowing that one of my colleagues could be back to pick something up from their bedroom at any point, and that if they saw him here, so we were doing then it could mean awful things for both our careers.
But every thought, every protestation, every sense of tiredness and exhaustion and stress that's been building up over months and months of this endless toil in this remote desert base disappears in a second when his lips touch mine.
But I've come to know this man on a level that I wouldn't have believed if someone had tr
ied to tell me only a few weeks before. I've seen him in his darkest moments, moments in which most men would push away help, but he's defied the odds and let me in. Mike's not like most men.
And it's not just him, it's me as well – I've changed.
I've always been insecure, desperate for approval and lonely. I mean, there's a reason I became a nurse in the first place. It's not just that I wanted to help people, although that definitely played its part. No, becoming a nurse was a goal, something I could aspire to, and something which everyone around me respected, approved of.
I needed that respect, still do in fact. After all, why else would I pick Afghanistan, out of all the different options I could have chosen back home? I want to be different, want to be respected, and in my darkest moments, I just wanted to be loved. It was that hole in my soul that drove me here, out to the far edges of human civilization, that hole which ironically drove me away from making any real relationships.
And it's that hole that Mike seems to fill so effortlessly. It's like he's not even trying, but when he loops his arms around me, and pulls me in for a hug, I feel different. I feel complete.
I melt into his kiss, closing my eyes and pressing myself into his broad, muscular chest. As much as I'm falling into him, a small part of me is holding back – not emotionally, but physically. Maybe it's the nurse part of me, but I'm uncomfortably aware that he got shot in the leg only a few weeks ago, and the last thing I want right now is for his stitches to open up right now.
He breaks away, and his mouth dances away from my lips, still eagerly seeking his. I have my eyes, confused. "You're right," he says with a smile on his face, "we shouldn't do this out here."
He pushes me back, and joins me inside my room.
"So you're inviting yourself in?" I ask, a small smile curling around my lips.
"Oh," he pouts back, "I was under the impression you'd invited me in. I mean, I can go if you want…" He leaves the question hanging, knowing that I'm going to be forced to give him the answer he wants.
That doesn't mean I need to do it quickly… I leave him hanging, changing my expression slightly to look a little more downcast, and then leave him spinning on the rope for just another couple of seconds – just long enough that he begins to think I'm serious.
And then I wink.
"Come on, then," I grin, beckoning him in, properly this time. "Can I get you anything?" I ask, turning away from him to walk over to a little miniature fridge that sits alongside my meager store of possessions, more out of habit than anything else, since I'm pretty sure it's empty.
He spooks me, growling into my ear. "You."
It's so simple, just one word, and then he's spinning me round, not waiting for my response. His lips meet mine again, less hurried and more insistent now that there's no risk of an audience. Especially since we've got Jake guarding outside. The thought crosses my mind that it's going to look pretty odd if anyone walks in and sees a dog standing guard outside my bedroom, but the thought's gone in seconds as I feel Mike's strong, powerful hands gripping my thighs.
He smells like hard work – not unpleasant, by any means, but musky, as though he's been working in the fields. My fingers tuck themselves into his canvas belt, and I pull him closer to me, like trying to make sure he can't escape.
Not that I think he's got any plans of doing that…
My cheek grazes against the light stubble on his chin as I turn into another long, passionate kiss, pressing my face against his like it's going out of fashion. His hands are rampant, roaming across my body like we've been lovers for months. He's definitely not acting like this is only our second kiss, far from it, and I love it. His self-confidence, his complete assurance in his actions is as intoxicating as it is exhilarating, and I find myself feeding off his enthusiasm in a way I've never tried before.
I grip him firmly by the belt, simultaneously pulling him into me again, and pulling up his white crewneck T-shirt, the only thing he's wearing on his upper body. I get my first sight of his toned, powerful flesh.
The first sight since I saw him strip naked on the operating table, anyway. This is better, much better. He's filled out, getting back to proper food and not having to hike up and down thousands of feet of mountainous hills every day seems to be doing him a world of good. His strong, powerful abs aren't quite as angular as they were the first time I saw them exposed like this, but his strong, toned stomach looks – if anything – firmer and more powerful than ever before. I rest my right hand on his stomach, desperate to touch it.
He growls into my ear. Not words, just an expression of insensate desire. His stubble grazes my ear and I shiver yet again, biting his lip to express my approval.
"The bed," I say, not trusting my brain to come up with anything more complicated than that. He gets the message, and we dance our way across my room, feet locked in step with each other, my hand still resting on his muscular stomach, his on my waist. We could be performers in some passionate Spanish dance, but judging by how it feels, I think it would probably be too X-rated to do in public.
He pushes me backwards onto the bed, and I trust that he's picked the right spot, and allow my body to go limp, falling backwards onto the mattress. He lowers himself down, supporting himself with his strong, powerful arms, and crawls on top of me.
"How is it," he grins, "that you nurses get all the good stuff?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused – he's put me off balance again, he seems to have quite a habit of doing that.
"The bed," he says, and then gestures around, "and the room. You should see where us grunts have to sleep…"
"I have, or don’t you remember?" I interject, with what I hope is an alluring expression on my face.
His mouth dives back to mine, nibbling and nipping gently at my lip in an unceasing, relentless attack that I'm only too happy to be subject to, parrying and whirling back with nibbles and bites of my own. His hands roam all around my body, uncontested and wild in their fervent desire. He's good at this, his hand sweeps in one, long stroke from where my shoulder meets my torso, down the side of my stomach, tracing the curvature of my head and then down the back of my legs, tickling and lightly scratching the whole way down.
And he doesn't stop, as soon as he reaches the bottom of my calf, his hand begins its long, invigorating journey back up, this time grazing my ass, or lightly raking his fingernails across my flat, toned stomach and up to my breasts, lingering for just a second on the hard, fiery points of my nipples.
I push up, grabbing his ass with both my hands, and pulling him back into me. He's as turned on as I am – it's pretty clear by the thick package between his legs – he's hiding nothing and he's got a lot to show. I let one of my hands slowly trace its way to Mike's front, stroking across the durable material of his combat pants, and then slowly coming to rest cupping his cock.
He shivers, making no secret of how pleasurable it feels. He stops his rampant assault of kisses, just for a second, to look directly into my eyes and ask, wordlessly - is it time?
I nod, and he doesn't hesitate for a second, ripping off my tank top in one swift move, and discarding it somewhere out of my sight. I make as if I'm about to cover up my breasts with my arms, slightly embarrassed at how plain my bra is, but he smiles and his strong arms firmly remove the barrier I'm trying to erect as though it's made out of balsa wood.
He rolls, putting me off-balance, and I end up on top of him, with him underneath. I’m straddling him now, my ass now resting directly on top of his thick cock, only a few layers of fabric between our naked skin.
I can feel the heat of his package radiating between my legs, meeting my own heat, now taking on a life of its own, a heat which starts driving me forward, all sense of rational thought extinguished. I hook my hands underneath his t-shirt again, gripping the soft white fabric between my palm and forefingers, and urgently, desperately pulling up and over his head, my turn now to throw it somewhere out of sight.
His skin is smooth, but underneath the
soft covering of dark chest hair, it's weathered, and I can tell he's still not fully recovered from his ordeal – not the injury, the shooting, but the months he spent living on some forward operating base at the top of the hill, eating reheated rations and constantly expecting an attack.
I run my hands through his chest hair, rolling the strands between my fingers, and lower my lips to his chest, kissing it softly. He’s not moving now, just watching what I'm doing, and makes me feel not only that I'm on show – but also that I'm wanted and desired.
I stretch upward, planting a kiss on his lips, and using the opportunity to guide my hands towards his belt, using the left to drag the length of canvas out from the belt loop, and the right to unbuckle it.
As I do so, I feel his hands climbing gently up the side of my stomach, higher, and then looping back behind me. He unclasps my bra in one easy, practiced movement, and slips it off with the other hand, tossing it onto the floor. The cool air of my room dances across my hot, fiery nipples, and I gasp slightly with the tiny, unexpected pleasure.
He places a hand on the back of my head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulls me down towards him for another kiss, but I resist just long enough to undo the zipper on his pants. I hear two thumps, one slightly after the other, as his boots fall gently to the ground, and we roll all over again as he frees up some space to squeeze out of his pants.
It's their turn to fall to the ground, and then he's crouching over me, completely naked, bar the white bandage strapped around his thigh. There's an outline, ever so faint, of blood. I touch it, a tear tickling the corner of my eye.
"Are you okay? We can stop…"
"No." He replies, his eyes wild with desire. I don't know if even feels any pain, not right now, anyway, and that knowledge turns me on more than anything I could have expected – knowing that I have that effect on him is unsettling and unexplainable, but undeniably intoxicating. He crawls forward, coming towards me, and I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't, not on my lips anyway. He takes a nipple, my right nipple, in between his lips and rolls his tongue around it, sending a shock of electricity running across my chest.