Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  “You’re an asshole,” she muttered. “I can’t believe I did this.”

  “You came in here after me, the men’s bathroom. I’m also called Chase for a reason, woman.” He opened the stall door, then left her. He heard Lila groan behind him as he walked to the sink and washed his hands. “I wouldn’t tell him, if I were you,” he mumbled. “He might break up with you. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? To relive the chase?”

  She adjusted her dress and glanced to herself in the mirror. Her neck and chest were flush from where Logan had rubbed his face against her body. “Fuck you!” She stomped hard out of the bathroom and Logan simply smirked.

  As he made it back to the bar, Brody shook his hands at him to stop. Logan raised his hands as if to gesture, what?

  “ASSHOLE!” Sterling came quickly through the crowd of dancers and targeted Logan. “You fucked her in the BATHROOM?!”

  “Dude! She came at me! She threw herself at me! What was I supposed to do?”

  “Tell her no, maybe?”

  Sterling didn’t stand a chance against Logan and he knew it. Unfortunately that didn’t stop him from throwing the first punch at Logan. Stepping back, Logan held his hands up and shook his head.

  “Dude, I’m not going to fight you. I would seriously hurt you. I’m twice your size.”

  “FUCK YOU!” Sterling threw himself at Logan again and punched him in the face. Anger began to rise inside of Logan and he stepped back.

  “Last warning, fucker, last warning.”

  “I’m going to kick your ass!” Sterling ran at Logan and threw himself at him. Logan lost his balance and stumbled backwards, his back hitting the ground. He grabbed Sterling and threw him off, then stood to his feet.

  “Motherfucker!” He reached for him and grabbed his head, slamming it against his knee. Logan felt the crunch against his leg, felt the warmth of blood cover his jeans, but didn’t care. Fisting his hand in Sterling’s hair, he punched him hard on the side of his head. He then punched him in the gut.

  Sterling doubled over and he coughed blood onto the floor.

  Suddenly, Logan saw white spots in his vision and a pain erupted in his head. Another hit knocked him unconscious.

  Chapter Eight

  A slight haze invaded his sight as Logan’s eyes began to peel open. He reached up and rubbed the back of his head, then cringed from the pain.

  “What the fuck,” he whispered. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton. He pressed his hands to the side of whatever he had been lying on, forcing himself to sit up. Leaning over, his elbows pressed to his thighs and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. His head throbbed and the knot on his head screamed in pain.

  “About time you woke up,” came a voice.

  Logan looked up and squinted his eyes; the florescent lights were almost too much. Whoever had been talking stood in the shadows. “Where am I?” his voice sounded gruff, almost as if he had been smoking, mixed with a serious dry throat. He coughed and rubbed his temples.

  “Drunk tank,” came the voice.

  Logan looked up once more and really took in his surroundings. He blinked and felt a tightness in his chest. He had been placed in the county jail…to sober up.

  “I was not drunk last night. How can I be in the drunk tank?”

  “You sure about that?” the man talking stepped forward and the shadows fell behind him.

  Brody.

  “What the hell happened, man?” Logan asked as he finally stood; his head felt dizzy. He made his way toward the bars and grasped them.

  “Depends on what you remember. You drank quite a bit, fucked Sterling’s woman in the bathroom, then he swung at you when he found out.”

  “I’ll have you know that bitch came to me.”

  Brody shook his head. “Doesn’t make it right.”

  Logan shrugged. “Not my fault the man can’t give her enough.” He groaned. “Fuck my head fucking hurts.”

  “Yeah? It should. You were clocked over the head, twice, with a nightstick. MP came out due to the disturbance you two managed to make.”

  Logan shook his head. “Sterling, he okay?”

  Brody nodded. “He’ll live to fight another day. He took an ass beating though.”

  “What of his woman?”

  Brody chuckled. “When Sterling was well enough to speak, he told her to go fuck herself.”

  Logan nodded. “Good for him.”

  “You’re getting released shortly. Commander wants to speak with you about what happened. You’re in a lot of shit, Saunders. You fucked up last night getting arrested.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “What are the charges?”

  “Disorderly conduct unbecoming an officer, indecent exposure, drunk and disorderly conduct, and property damage.”

  Logan raised a brow and smirked. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not an officer and I did not expose myself to anyone.”

  “Dammit, Saunders! This is not something to laugh about! You fucked up, man! You could be pulled from Delta Force! Do you not understand the seriousness here?”

  Logan sighed and lowered his gaze. “You’re not my squad leader. Fuck off.” He turned his back to his friend and leaned against the metal bars.

  “No, I’m not, but I am your friend. You fucked up. Royally. Now you must suffer the consequences.”

  Hearing his footsteps, Logan turned to watch as Brody began to walk out of the room. “When am I getting out?”

  “Right now, asshole. You’re welcome.”

  Logan lowered his gaze once again and sighed. He knew he fucked up, but admitting as much…that wasn’t happening.

  Straightening himself in front of the closed door, Logan inhaled a deep breath, then knocked.

  “Enter,” came the voice of Commander Landry.

  Logan turned the knob and pushed the door open. He took a few steps inside and waited at attention.

  “Close the door, soldier.”

  Closing it behind him, Logan released the breath he’d been holding, then turned to face Landry. He looked to the man behind the desk; he had been signing something, then set his pen down. Landry looked up to Logan and just stared.

  Logan felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead, some ran down his spine. A good minute passed before Landry said anything.

  “Logan Saunders. Son,” he pushed from his desk and stood, “you fucked up.” He pointed to him, then turned to the window.

  “So I’ve heard,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  Logan shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”

  “Now look here, I know you’ve been through some shit. It fucking sucks ass to come home to your wife’s funeral,” he turned back to Logan, “just to find out she’s been sucking another man’s cock the entire time.”

  Logan flinched and stared at Landry for a moment. He bit his tongue to keep himself from mouthing something back, or worse, hitting Landry square in the jaw.

  “You need to let go of the shit fucking with you. I can’t look past what you did and the charges can’t be dropped, at least not yet.”

  “Yet, sir?” he asked and raised his brows. Could the commander get the charges dropped? Maybe he could.

  “That’s right, I said yet. There are…stipulations, Saunders.”

  Logan swallowed and knew there had to be a catch. He nodded. “What stipulations, sir?”

  “Counseling. Therapy. Whatever you want to call it.”

  Logan shook his head. “Sir, all due respect and all, I don’t need therapy.”

  “Yes, Saunders, you do. You’ve been in war. You’ve witnessed shit no one can ever prepare you for, no matter how much training you receive. Then your wife dies in a car accident. Toss in she’s been seeing someone else…yeah, son, you need to talk to someone.”

  “Sir,” he started before Landry interrupted him.

  “Saunders, it’s the therapy or you’re out.”

  Stunned, Logan shook his head. “Sir? I’m sorry. I’m out if I don’t go?”
>
  “Affirmative. You go to talk to someone and get the all clear on you being good to fight, then all charges will be dropped.”

  Logan lowered his gaze and offered a slight nod of obedience. “How long is the anticipated therapy supposed to run, sir?”

  “As long as it takes, soldier.”

  Logan sighed and nodded. “Hooah, sir.”

  Landry made his way toward Logan and rested his hands on his shoulders. “Saunders, whether you’re ready to admit it or not, you need help. And it’s okay to talk to someone.” He shook his shoulders briefly, then released him. “You’re released. Don’t disappoint me. I can’t lose a soldier of your caliber.”

  Logan nodded and turned on his heel, leaving the office. He closed the door behind him and muttered, “Motherfucker,” under his breath.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun shone through the window of Logan’s car and warmed his arm. He tilted his head and checked the address on the card he had been provided, then looked to the building again. The digits were the same and he scratched his head. The building in front of him had been constructed of dark red brick and the words “Citizen’s Bank” were in white large letters across the front.

  “I never would think a therapist’s office would be in a bank.” He sighed and turned off his engine. Logan stepped out and as he closed the car door, he simply stared at the building. He had never opened much to people, aside from Susan.

  Lot of good that did me, he thought to himself. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. He did not favor letting anyone in, especially a stranger, but if he intended to remain a Delta Force operative, he had no choice here.

  Sure you have a choice, the voice in his head told him. Take the pussy way out and serve time.

  He sighed once more and headed toward the door. The sun warmed his back as he stepped across the pavement. His footsteps felt heavier the closer he came to the door. The distance was not that far from where he parked, maybe twenty feet, but the walk definitely felt further.

  “I feel like I’m walking the Green Mile here,” he told himself.

  The door opened and an older woman came out. Logan quickly grabbed the door and held it for her as she slipped sunglasses onto her face. She smiled at him and he offered her a nod. He stepped inside the building and the cool air quickly replaced the hot. As the door closed behind him, he suddenly felt as if he were suffocating.

  “Breathe, dammit,” he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and focused on what he knew best: weapons, training hard, and women. He took a deep breath and slowly let it go, then opened his eyes again. Looking to his left, then his right, he spotted a sign next to the elevator. Making his way toward it, people passed him as they came and went in the building. For the most part, he ignored them… that is until the elevator opened and a beautiful woman stepped out.

  Her hair had been cut to her shoulders and her build was that of an athlete. Her arms were strong in her sleeveless dress and the front had been cut just above the crease of her breasts. Logan grinned to her and she returned it. Her heels struck the tile as she made her way toward the exit.

  Logan fought himself to follow her. As she disappeared through the doors, he turned his attention back to the directory on the wall and found what he had been searching for: Miranda Lockheart, Clinical Psychologist and Group Therapist.

  Logan shook his head once more. This was a waste of his time, but he knew if he did not make an effort, he would lose everything.

  Why did that bitch the other night have to be so fucking hot and why would Sterling give two shits if I fucked her? Hell, the way I see it, I did the fucker a favor!

  Logan pressed the up button on the lift and waited. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the mirrored elevator. He took in his appearance and raised a single brow.

  His body was thick. “You are built like a lumberjack!” The words Susan used to describe him haunted his mind. He dropped his gaze as the elevator doors opened. Logan waited as it emptied, then stepped inside. He hesitated pressing the floor button he needed, until a man joined him in the lift.

  “What floor?”

  “Eleven,” Logan muttered. The man pressed it and the doors closed. As the elevator began its ascension, Logan crossed his arms over his chest again and stared at the floor.

  In and out, he told himself. I’ll go in, sit through whatever fucked up session this bitch will have me sit through, get the papers I’m good to go, and get the fuck outta here.

  The doors opened to the fifth floor and the man who joined him earlier left. The doors closed and the elevator began to move again. He had a thought to press the stop button and climb out of the top. It wouldn’t be anything he had not trained for; getting in and out of predicaments is what he did. This would be no different.

  “What the fuck are you scared of?” he asked himself. “In and out, Saunders, in and out.”

  The elevator came to a stop and Logan’s heart began to pick up speed. He cleared his throat and the doors opened. When he took his first step off the lift, it felt as if his life fell into slow motion, similar to the dreams of running through glue or molasses. Each step he took, his feet felt heavier. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  The doors closed behind him and he quickly turned, his hands on the closed doors. He closed his eyes and bit his cheek. He tasted iron in his mouth from the blood that pooled. He lowered his head slightly, then turned his body to face whatever lay ahead of him.

  As he looked up, doors to his left and right lined the hallway. He needed 1113 and looking to the directional sign, it pointed an arrow to his right. Glancing down the hallway, he saw it halfway down. He blinked and stared at it.

  I have stormed buildings, jumped from planes, hell recently tied, gagged, and blindfolded. I can handle this shit.

  He carried himself, head held high, as he approached the door. Reaching for the handle, his hand shook slightly. He fisted his hand, then released it. As he reached for the handle again, the door suddenly opened.

  Logan took a step back and felt his heart beating faster from flinching. He met the eyes of a woman as she closed the door behind her. She dabbed her eyes then looked away. He watched her as she walked toward the elevator. He swallowed hard, tasting the last of the copper penny in his mouth. He reached for the door again and opened it, then stepped inside.

  A desk behind a glass window came into view, then the empty chairs in the waiting room. A television played a late afternoon talk show. The sound had been turned down and he could barely hear the show host talking.

  “May I help you?” A female’s voice took his attention back to the desk. A young woman, probably early twenties, smiled up to Logan. She had young eyes, someone completely inexperienced.

  She would be easy to take home, he told himself. He smiled to the woman, then glanced to her name plate. “Melissa?” the woman nodded. “Hello, Melissa. My name is Logan Saunders. I have an appointment at two?” The nervousness, anxiety, everything began to fade away being in the presence of this beautiful, young woman.

  Melissa nodded and looked to her computer. Her straight blond hair reached her shoulders, the ends of it barely brushing her skin. Her bright green eyes scanned her screen and began to nod to herself. “Yes, Mister Saunders, Miss Lockheart will be with you shortly. Group session is today so you’ve come at a good time.”

  Catching himself staring at her breasts, her words about group session snatched him back to reality. “Umm, group session?”

  She nodded with her smile. “Mmm hmm. That’s right. Group is today. It will be her call if she wants you to participate. Want my opinion?” He shrugged, not sure if it mattered as she would probably give it anyway. “Do the group. It’s great to hear others’ stories and have people listen to you… unbiased.”

  “Right, I don’t think so.” He winked to her. “I do have a question for you though. After this, how about I take you out for a drink tonight?” He grinned and leaned onto the desk. Her top covered her breasts prett
y well, but the tautness of it gave the perception her breasts were good sized. He could already imagine his face buried between them.

  “Oh, that’s nice of you to ask, but no thank you. I’m engaged.” She lifted her left hand and displayed her ring for him.

  He nodded and lifted a brow. “Well, you’re not committed quite yet.” He ran his gaze down her body as far as he could, then back up again in sheer appreciation. “If you’re game, I’ll meet you somewhere later.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.” She smiled and the receptionist named Melissa then shut the glass sliding window in Logan’s face, separating him from her.

  “Rude bitch,” he mumbled to himself. Logan sat on a chair opposite of the reception desk. He gave every ample opportunity for Melissa to stare at him prior to closing the window, whether she wanted to or not. He smirked to himself and grabbed the closest magazine. Not paying attention to what it was, he opened it and looked down.

  Women do not normally climax during sex alone. Stimulation of the clitoris by touching or cunnilingus would enhance the sensation…

  “Holy hell,” he sat the magazine down and shook his head. “Am I in a sex therapist office?”

  “Logan Saunders?” Logan looked up to another woman holding a folder. He stood and approached. She stood to his shoulders, long dark brown hair and had a set of the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. They appeared to be almost caramel in color. Her lips were slightly full and her body… damn did she look good.

  He hoped she is who would be treating him. If he played his cards right, he might be treating her in return. He grinned and nodded. “I’m Logan.” He held his hand out and the woman shook it. She had a nice grip, not some pussy, dead fish hand shake.

  “Nice to meet you, Mister Saunders. I am Miranda Lockheart. Looks like we’ll be spending some time together these next few weeks.”

  “Please, call me Logan. If I may call you Miranda?”

  She nodded and escorted Logan past the door. “You may.” She led him down a short hallway and Logan found himself watching her ass as it swayed side to side underneath her gray business dress.