Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  Miranda led them toward an office that had a desk on the inside and two chairs; one on either side of the desk. She stood by the door and as Logan stepped inside, she closed it behind him.

  “I’m looking forward to our sessions then, Miranda.” He smiled again and took a seat in the guest chair.

  She smiled in return and took a seat, then opened the folder. She took out the papers inside and laid them out in front of her.

  Logan found himself staring at her neck. She wore a gold chain with a charm that looked to be something like a seashell. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and he quickly looked to her breasts and grinned as he gazed upon the crease between them. He smirked and definitely liked what he saw of her so far.

  Then Miranda cleared her throat. Logan met her gaze and she raised a brow. “Right,” she started and sat back in her chair. “So, I’ll begin and you lead in when you’re ready.”

  I guess she won’t call me out for openly ogling her, he thought. “Oh, so we’ll just jump right into it then?”

  She nodded, crossed her legs and laid her arms on the rests of her chair. “You were at war and found out your wife died in a car accident.”

  Logan raised a brow and lowered his gaze. He did not like where she started this conversation. He cleared his throat.

  “My condolences for her death, Logan. Truly.”

  He nodded and kept his gaze down. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “Then after her funeral, you found evidence that suggested she was having an extramarital affair.”

  He nodded again and felt his throat began to constrict.

  “Soon after came the sex and booze. Am I on target so far?”

  Logan rubbed his forehead and stared at the floor. He cleared his throat again to the constriction threatening to suffocate him. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. His chest tightened and panic set in.

  “I… I can’t…” He stood from his chair and turned his back to her. “She fucked around on me while I was at war. She got what she deserved.”

  It was quiet in the room for a moment. “Do you honestly feel that way?”

  “Fuck, yes.” He turned to her. “Subjected to gun fire, war, people chasing me, and me trying to survive? Yeah, fuck her and the asshole who died with her.”

  “Logan, I think…”

  “No… there’s no thinking here, Miranda. She fucked around. She died. End of story. I’m over it. I moved on. Fuck that and fuck this.” He reached for the doorknob.

  “Logan, if you leave, your sessions will be cancelled. You cannot walk away from this unless you care to spend your time in jail.”

  He quickly turned on her and leaned his palms onto her desk. Leaning in, he glared at her. “You have no idea who I am, what I’ve been through, the shit I had to endure when I found out that cunt had been cheating on me!” As the rage began to fuel him, a voice inside his head told him to calm down… and also give credit to the woman for not flinching.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “What?” He pulled back and stood. “Do I feel better?”

  “Yes,” she stood and rounded the table and came toward him. “You have a serious case of PTSD. Post Traumatic--”

  “I know what PTSD is.”

  “Oh, well good. Then I don’t have to explain what it means… the acronym anyway. I do, however, need to explain what it is and how we’re going to get you through it. You have the ability, Logan, you just have to recognize it. Do not live in denial about this. Denial is a river, not a condition.”

  Was she trying to make a joke? Denial is a river, not a condition?

  She turned from him and reached for his file. “I want you to come to my group therapy session. It’ll do you good.”

  “I would rather not do anything in a group setting,” he mumbled.

  “And if I said you had no choice?” She stacked the papers and pulled the folder to her.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  She smiled. “Oh, but I am. It is this, or jail. Your choice.”

  He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked toward, but I’m telling you right now,” he looked into her eyes, “I’m fine. I do not need help.”

  “So you say, but I say different, as does your commanding officer.” She made her way past him and rested her hand on the doorknob. “Your first time in, feel free to listen, but your next visit, you’ll be required to talk,” she glanced over her shoulder to him, “okay?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “I would rather not.”

  She smiled. “Good. Then let’s go.”

  He blinked. “But I just said--”

  “No, you didn’t. You said you’d rather not.” She opened the door. “Which leaves room for interpretation for me to assume you said yes. So, let’s go.”

  “Umm… that’s not very professional.”

  “And you checking out my goods isn’t professional, either.”

  “Oh, you saw that?” He grinned.

  She nodded. “I did.” She turned on him and poked him in the chest. “And you’ll do good to not do that again. Understood?”

  He blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Logan left his first group session feeling… dirty, maybe used. He took in everything everyone talked about: drunk driving, drug addiction, sex addiction, abused as children, thieves, and then there was Logan. Considering he had been arrested for fighting in public, he felt he had been placed in the wrong group. Listening to their stories made him feel as if he were taking them home with him.

  He did not enjoy the feeling. He most certainly did not enjoy why they were there. Logan had never used any illegal drugs in his existence… or recreational. Drinking he enjoyed, but never drove drunk. Sex addiction? Doubtful. He didn’t steal. So why had he been placed in this group?

  Did the other therapists in town report not taking on any new patients?

  He sighed and sat behind the wheel of his car; dead silence enveloped him. He glanced over to the passenger seat at the pamphlets Miranda gave him. He picked one up and quickly read it over.

  PTSD and Trauma

  PTSD is a mental health problem that can occur after someone goes through a traumatic event like war, assault, an accident, or disaster.

  After a trauma or life-threatening event, it is common to have reactions such as upsetting memories of the event, increased jumpiness, or trouble sleeping. If these reactions do not go away or if they get worse, you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

  Have you, or someone you know been through combat? Lived through a disaster? Experienced any other kind of traumatic event?

  He shook his head and turned the pamphlet over. Starting up his car, he headed toward the barracks. He needed a drink and needed a woman. Logan knew he could drink away whatever he had been feeling, and a little pussy would definitely make him forget… at least for a while.

  Chapter Ten

  One week had passed since he met Miranda and she set up weekly sessions for them to meet in this group setting. How long these sessions would last had been up to her. If it were up to Logan, he would have put himself in the clear.

  Nothing wrong with me. Fuck this shit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his face and stepped outside the barracks. The time struck noon and a pick up volleyball game started in the field next to the building. Logan decided rather than therapy, he’d play some ball.

  And there were women playing as well. This could definitely play to his advantage. He grinned and made his way across the field.

  After the games ended and the afternoon sun began to set, Logan headed back up to his room… and brought a woman with him.

  She said her name was Jen, but he didn’t care. He closed the door and locked it, then turned on her. “Shower with me?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Most definitely.”

  Logan grinned and closed the distance to her. Her back against the wall, leaned in and ki
ssed her. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and as she lifted her arms, he pulled it over her head and tossed it. He kissed down to her neck and ran his hands up her back. Grabbing the clasp to her bra, he unfastened it, then slowly pulled it from her body.

  He grinned at the perky, soft skinned flesh of the breasts in front of him. He palmed them both and squeezed. “Fuck, you have amazing tits.”

  She gasped and perked a brow. “Thank you. Get naked, soldier.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled. Logan quickly stripped off his shirt, then his pants. Jen did the same with her skirt and sandals. He kissed her again and grabbed her ass, giving it a squeeze. “Damn, your ass… I might have to bite it.”

  Jen nibbled on his lip. “I might have to let you.”

  “Get the fuck in the bathroom with me.” He grinned and led her toward his room, grabbing a condom on the way toward the shower. He turned it on, then stepped inside, pulling her with him.

  As he closed the shower curtain, he pressed her body against the tile and held her hands above her head. “I’m going to fuck you hard, woman.”

  “Don’t tease, just do it already. You’ve had me so turned on all afternoon with the sexy talk and games outside.”

  He chuckled against her skin. Lightly grabbing her chin, he forced her head up as he looked into her eyes. “I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while I grip that tight ass of yours.” Without giving her an option, Logan quickly shifted her body in front of his and pressed against her shoulders. Jen palmed her hands against her thighs and spread her legs apart.

  “Fuck, your ass is begging to be slapped.” He rolled the condom on his dick then slapped her ass cheek. It echoed throughout the bathroom.

  “Oww!” She grinned and glanced over her shoulder to him. “If you’re good, I might let you fuck my ass.”

  He raised a brow. “Well, how can I pass that up?” Lining his head up to her sex, he pushed and slid inside her. Jen groaned and closed her eyes. Logan gripped her hips and thrust himself hard against her. He started out slow, enjoying the way her walls clamped around his dick. Then she started to push against him… needing more.

  “You want it hard?” he asked her and slapped her ass.

  She nodded. “Hard and fast.”

  “Good.” He gripped her hips tighter and dug his fingers into her skin. Logan pulled her against him at the same time he thrust hard and fast. Their bodies slapped against one another’s, his balls hitting against her clit.

  “Fuck me!” she screamed.

  Logan closed his eyes and for a split second, Miranda haunted his vision.

  You should have gone today.

  “Fuck me, harder!” Jen screamed.

  Logan opened his eyes and growled. He fucked the woman as hard as he could. She screamed in her pleasure as her orgasm surrounded his length. He continued to thrust as his balls began to tighten. Suddenly, he exploded inside her and he groaned louder.

  “FUCK!” He thrust once more, then slowly pulled out. He removed the condom and reached around to the toilet and dropped it into the commode. Letting the water rinse any signs of their sex down the drain, he looked to the woman in front of him.

  She turned to face him and began to lift her arms around his neck. He quickly grabbed her forearms and shook his head. “Come on, let’s get out.”

  She nodded and stepped back. Once the water had been cut off, Logan reached for his towel, then grabbed one for her. He towel dried himself and walked toward his bedroom. Grabbing his cell, he had a missed call from Master Sergeant Landry.

  “Ahh, fuck,” he mumbled.

  Lips touched his back and hands caressed his skin. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he tossed his phone onto his bed, “perfect.” He turned on Jen and grabbed her arms again, putting distance between them. “Get your shit and get out.” He crossed his room to his dresser and pulled out boxer-briefs. He pulled them up his body.

  When Jen made no attempt to move, he frowned. “I know you’re not deaf. Get your shit and get out. You know where the door is.”

  She blinked and rested her hands on her hips. “What the fuck was this?”

  “It was a quick fuck. I needed a release and you gave it. Now go.”

  “You are a fucking DICK!” She left his room and went toward the den area.

  Logan rolled his eyes and opened his closet door. He grabbed a black polo and pulled it on. Opening his dresser again, he pulled out a pair of khaki shorts and pulled them on. Socks and shoes later, he came out into the den to a very pissed off woman with smeared make-up, wet hair and she had just pulled on her other shoe.

  “Don’t ever come looking for me again, Logan Saunders.”

  He grinned. “See ya.”

  She groaned and left the den, slamming the door behind her. “Fucking drama queen.” He pressed the voicemail button on his phone and gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what this call was about and knew it wasn’t to say ‘how you doing?’

  “Saunders, Master Sergeant here. There a reason you didn’t show up to therapy today? Miranda Lockheart called and left me a message of your meeting last week, and that you didn’t bother showing up today. Make this right, son, or you’re out. No second chances. Call and schedule to see her tomorrow.”

  The voicemail ended and Logan ended the call. He set the phone down, rested his hands on his hips and stared at the ceiling. “Fucking bitch told on me? Dammit!” he crossed the room toward his kitchen. “I don’t need this shit!” He grabbed a beer and took a long pull on it. “I don’t need fucking therapy!”

  The next day, Logan arrived at the bank building and made his way up to Miranda’s office. Melissa sat behind her desk and let him know Miranda would be with him soon.

  He took a seat and grounded his teeth. He was pissed at the woman for basically telling on him. Granted, he did it to himself, but then again, he didn’t need this therapy.

  Denial is a river, not a condition.

  “What the fuck does she know,” he mumbled to himself.

  The door opened and Miranda stood on the other side. “Logan, you ready?”

  He stood and met her at the door. “You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?”

  “Well, thank you. At least you know I care.” She walked past him and led him toward a different room. “It was for your own good I called.” She glanced to him. “But feel free to accept it as a personal attack. You do anyway.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t presume to think you do.”

  “Oh, I don’t presume anything, Logan. I call it like it is. Please, step inside so we can get started.”

  Pissed, Logan stepped through the door and as it closed behind him, Miranda joined his side.

  “Welcome to group therapy.”

  He glanced down to her and frowned. “I’m not doing this.”

  “Yes, you are. If you want my all clear to go back to the army, then you’ll do this.” She smiled and turned toward the group. “Everyone, this is Logan Saunders. He’ll be joining us for today only.”

  “Oh, so I don’t have to come back?” he questioned her with sense of renewed hope.

  She shook her head. “Not this group, but I’ll be seeing you back here on your normally scheduled meetings. Now, if we can get started, Logan, have a seat. I’ll start today.

  “Hello, everyone. I am Miranda Lockheart. About me, I come from a colorful family. My parents didn’t want me, the state took custody. My grandparents were dead, so I had no one. In and out foster homes drove me toward helping people. I never wanted anyone to not have an advocate or a voice. I was one of the lucky ones to end up in homes where I was welcome. I had a few fights with my foster brothers and sisters, but nothing normal siblings didn’t do.

  “I graduated college with honors and top in my class. I have my own practice now and when I look back on my life, I have no regrets. Thomas, you’re up.” She looked to the man next to her and he nodded. As Thomas began to speak, Logan looked at Miranda… really looked
at her.

  She had been through an experience Logan never expected to come from her. Man, if first impressions could lie, hers sure did. He never pegged her for being in foster care. He heard horror stories of foster families; apparently that was not her upbringing.

  Miranda survived without her family where Logan had everything. She had not married, as far as he could tell anyway and that was a major assumption on his part, and he did. She seemed to have everything in her life in control where he lived by the moment.

  “Logan?”

  He blinked and when he realized he’d been staring at Miranda, he quickly adverted his gaze. “Umm, yeah?”

  “It’s your turn,” Miranda told him.

  He shook his head and motioned to the person next to him.

  “No, Logan, it is required you share at least one thing about yourself. No matter what it is, this is a safe environment.”

  He still shook his head. “No one here needs to hear anything about me. I’m fine and don’t need this shit.”

  Miranda raised her brows. “If you’re fine, then why are you here?”

  “Because I was ordered to.”

  “Is that all?” she asked as she crossed her legs.

  He knew what she was doing: she was instigating something… trying to get him to talk. He raised a brow, pursed his lips, and then nodded as he made up his mind on what he’d say.

  “All right, if this will get everyone off my case, I’ll talk.” He glanced around the room and found everyone watching him. Miranda had a soft smile on her lips. He wondered briefly what it would be like to touch her, to kiss her, to fill her pussy with his dick. He smirked.

  “My name is Logan Saunders. I’m in the military. I was in Iraq fighting in the war when I got a call my wife had been killed in a car accident.” A woman across the room gasped. “Oh, story’s not over.”

  Miranda sat back in her chair, seeming satisfied Logan was talking. He smirked.

  “So I was brought home on new orders to tend to her funeral. Well, after she was buried, I found out through her own personal possessions she had been fucking around on me while I was away. So the accident she was in, the asshole she was fucking died with her.”