Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  Not on your life, she thought. Pervert. She scanned for a vacant seat on the crowded bus and lowered her voice. “No one takes the Greyhound bus, especially in the middle of summer. This was your idea.” She listened, a slow burn forming in her belly. “You’re ditching me for a short track race with your crew? Come on, Justin, you promised to make time for me. You and your dumb rice burner.” She quickly looked around the bus, apologetically, hoping no one caught her racial slur. “You think it’s more important than I am.” With one angry flick of her thumb, she disconnected the iPhone with Justin mid-sentence. Blah, blah, blah. You’re only going to get your way in the end, like usual. I need to stick up for myself. One of these days.

  Her gaze snagged on the good looking male a couple rows back. He sat quietly, clean shaven jaw propped in his hand, staring out the window at the sweltering heat oozing from the asphalt like steaming butter.

  Man, oh, man, what a hunk, she thought, appreciatively.

  Dressed in a crisp, button down, light brown short sleeved shirt, and creased linen pants, he bore classical chiseled features, and closely cropped blond hair. Blood pulsed slow and steady in the veins of his thick neck, making Tara feel slightly hypnotized. His arms rivaled a sculpture she’d seen in her art history class of Adonis, the god of desire and beauty. A tattoo of an anchor peeked out from the bottom of his sleeve. Under his right eye, a nasty looking scar puckered the skin, lending cruel mystery to his otherwise gorgeous appearance. For one hot second, she pictured him nude, sitting in the middle of her drawing class at the community college, all the students staring, fawning, drooling, pencils poised, yet unwilling to take their eyes off his magnificent body for even an instant.

  The man behind her in the aisle cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you going to move, or what?”

  “What?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the sour faced male. “Oh, sorry.” She studied the seats. It’s either next to Adonis, or the next row back across the aisle beside the elderly woman with the knitting. She chose the latter. My mama always taught me safety first.

  The grump settled next to the hot stranger. Adonis adjusted his position, seeming to shrink to keep from touching the cranky man.

  Tara lifted her dark brown mane of hair from her neck to let air cool her sweaty skin. Next, she pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her moist chest. Her low cut yellow cotton top stuck to her skin while her wired bikini bra dug into her breasts. She wondered if her skin, already fused to the seat, would rip free from her thighs when she stood again. Shouldn’t have worn such short shorts. They’d been meant for Justin’s eyes. The prick. I’d have been more comfortable in a long, flowy beach skirt.

  The elderly bus driver picked up his black console phone and listened.

  Tara studied him in the oversized rearview mirror designed to keep an eye on the occupants of the bus. His face sagged like melting chocolate under whipped cream hair. Poor guy. He looks like he’s been at this job too long. She turned her attention to her surroundings, eyeing every means of escape, should the need arise. Everything about this bus looked as old as the bus driver—faded plastic seats, worn carpet in the aisles. Maybe it was built when the driver was born, a gazillion years ago.

  The Greyhound employee placed the receiver back in the console, slowly got to his feet and asked, “Is there a Zack Brannon on the bus?”

  Adonis straightened. “That’s me,” he called in a smooth southern drawl.

  Sexy voice, Tara thought. It reminded her of her childhood home in Kentucky. She hated the So Cal jungle. All her friends were in Kentucky. Here, only Justin kept her company. Well, he isn’t really here, is he? And the only company he keeps with me is… Her thoughts faded. Too much work to think in this heat. A wistful sensation stirred in her heart like a dog turning ‘round and ‘round in her little bed, making safe before settling down to sleep. Sexy and comforting, she thought, still staring at the back of Adonis’s head. Hearing his voice, she wanted to go home.

  “You dropped your wallet in the waiting area, sir.”

  “I did?” He leaned to the side and presumably patted the back pocket of his trousers. “You’re right, it’s not here. Excuse me,” he said to Mr. Grumpy.

  The chubby man stood, and Adonis strode to the front of the bus, a slight limp marring his stride.

  Damn, he’s tall, Tara thought. Nice butt. But he looks too old for me. Maybe thirty? And then there’s Justin. She stuck out her tongue at the thought of him, and extended her pink flip flop clad foot into the aisle, trying to get comfortable. A text blipped from none other than her supposed boyfriend.

  I’ll take you somewhere nice, I promise. This is an important race.

  “They’re all important, dipshit,” she muttered to the screen, looking askance at the woman on her right.

  Her knitting needles kept up a steady click, click, click, eyes focused on her fingers and red yarn.

  Satisfied her seat comrade wasn’t paying attention, Tara continued speaking to her device. “They’re important to you, not me. Ever since high school, when we started dating.” She gave the phone a pissed off squeeze and shoved it into her roomy bag, tucking it under the change of clothes she’d brought for her overnight journey and the towel for the beach. When she lifted her head, she blinked rapidly, eyes agog. Adonis, striding down the aisle like a soldier, stared straight at her, with pale blue eyes like a clear dawn sky full of new day possibilities. She quickly brought her leg in, tucking it under the seat in front of her. She folded her hands in her lap and pretended to study them, sneaking peeks at him from the corner of her eye.

  “I’d like to sit in the aisle seat, if you don’t mind. Leg injury,” Adonis said to his traveling companion.

  The short male grumbled, but scooted over.

  Adonis sat in the aisle, letting one long leg extend outward.

  Tara stretched hers in the aisle again, as well, mimicking him.

  He folded his arms.

  She did, too.

  He unfolded them and rested them in his lap.

  She mirrored him.

  The bus began rolling, puffing smelly fumes through the open windows. Damn air conditioner’s busted. This bus is a joke, Tara thought. She kept taking furtive glances at Adonis, wondering if he could feel her looking at him. Her skin prickled, sensing an intense connection between her and the hot male. Give it a rest. My hormones are working overtime, she thought. She closed her eyes, intending to nap for a few minutes on the three hour drive. Damn Justin. Damn me, for staying with him.

  Tara awoke to gnarled hands shaking her shoulder.

  “You’ve been out like a light. I need to get up. This is the last stop.”

  “Huh?” Tara rubbed her face with her hand, trying to work the sleep out of her system.

  “Last stop. Out with you, girlie,” the older woman next to her said. “I’ve got a grandbaby awaiting me. See?” She pointed out the window at the young child waving wildly at her through the window of the Greyhound terminal.

  “Oh, uh, sure. Sorry.”

  The bus driver sat logging notes into his notebook. No one else remained on the bus.

  Damn. Adonis is gone. She got to her feet, grabbed her purse, and shuffled along the aisle, yawning. “Thank you,” she said to the driver.

  He grunted, nodded, and got back to his notes.

  When she stepped off the bus, suffocating heat oozed from every angle. It draped itself around her like a heavy blanket, making her feel listless and heavy. She dragged herself toward the air cooled terminal, seeking relief. “Can you tell me how far it is to the beach?” she asked a middle aged woman standing behind a desk marked Information.

  The gray haired woman pulled a glossy map from the plastic stand in front of her, circled a location and said, “We’re here.” She circled another location, stabbing it with the pen tip, and said, “Here’s the beach. Have fun.” She nodded crisply and looked past Tara to the older woman standing behind her.

  “Um, can you tell me where thi
s hotel is? I have a reservation.” Tara dug in her purse and pulled out a slip of paper, holding it out for the woman to read.

  The woman took the map from her hand, circled a third location, and said, “It’s in the opposite direction of the beach.” She raked her eyes up and down Tara’s body. “Watch yourself. I’d take a taxi if I were you. After hours. It’s safe enough during the day.” She handed Tara the map and turned her attention to the person behind her.

  “I guess I’m dismissed, then,” Tara said.

  The woman ignored her, already helping the next customer.

  Taking one last deep breath of climate controlled air, Tara ventured outside the building. The sidewalk was so hot she wondered if her flip flops would melt into searing clumps of plastic, stuck to the bottoms of her feet. The concrete heated air radiated against her legs like a heater. She headed toward the beach, feeling like she might soften into a flaccid puddle of flesh before evaporating into nothingness. She stopped at a bright yellow lemonade stand, a huge painted lemon poking from the top, manned by a guy about her age—he looked twenty-two or twenty-three.

  “Mamacita,” he said, enthusiastically. His devilishly dark eyes swept up and down her. He twisted his blue ball cap around so the bill pointed backward over his shaggy brown hair, in an attempt to appear cool. “What can I do for you?”

  “One lemonade, please.”

  “How big?” He gave her a provocative leer.

  “What’s the biggest you’ve got?” she countered, thinking, puh-lease.

  “Oh, I’ve got a big one for you, little mama,” he said, mischievously.

  “That’s what they all say,” she said. “And then they whip it out.” She shook her head.

  He laughed, filled a paper cup with ice, and poured lemonade from a spigot at the bottom of a large glass jug sitting on the counter.

  “How much?” she asked, before taking a sip from the curly pink straw he slid into the cup.

  “For you? Three dollars.” He winked.

  “For me and everyone else,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  The guy took her money and stared past her shoulder, his face growing somber.

  “What?” she said, whipping her head around to see cars, buildings, the street…nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  “Nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew. A soldier.”

  Tara shivered. Adonis?

  A cheeky grin replaced the frown. “Come back and see me. I work here until nightfall. You like to salsa dance? I can take you somewhere…to dance.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Thanks, but I’m meeting my boyfriend here,” she lied.

  “We’ll find him someone to dance with,” he said. “I guarantee I dance better than him. You’ll be satisfied when I’m through with you.”

  She lifted her hand dismissively and sauntered toward the beach. As she approached, she welcomed the breeze, however slight, pushing the waves against the shore, pulling back, and pushing again in ceaseless rhythm. The refreshing lemonade made her feel significantly cooler. She slurped it down and got busy sucking ice cubes. “What am I going to do for the next twenty-four?” she mumbled. She gazed at all the happy people surfing, playing Frisbee and volleyball in the sand, and enjoying time with friends and loved ones. Pangs of loneliness caused tears to sting her eyes. Stop it. Make the best of it. You have one whole day and night to do whatever you want. All she wanted was Justin to show up and give her the pleasured weekend he’d promised.

  She trudged next to the beach, sticking to the sidewalk until she found a good place to settle in and sunbathe. A strange sensation of being watched fell over her, making her turn her head right and left. Nothing. Overactive imagination. It’s probably Mr. Salsa from the lemonade stand. Spying a place on the beach with few occupants, she risked entering the sizzling sand zone, feeling like she stood out like a lonely wallflower…the girl who stood at the back of the room on prom night, waiting for someone to dance with her. On the way to her destination, she passed an ice cream stand. In mock amusement, as if Justin were there, she said, “You know I love chocolate. What would you like, Justin? Your usual vanilla?”

  A few minutes later, chocolate cone in hand, she managed to retrieve and spread her towel with her free hand, and wiggle out of her shorts. “Thanks for holding my ice cream, Justin. I appreciate your consideration.” She plunked on the purple and gold terrycloth to watch the waves, people, anything to distract her from her loneliness. As her tongue lapped the chocolate, trying to keep it from dripping on her legs, the creepy feeling of being watched grew more intense. She craned her head to the side. And, there he is. My beautiful stalker. Adonis. A surge of excitement powered along her inner shore.

  He sat on a lounge chair several yards away, underneath a big blue umbrella, his eyes sheathed in dark glasses, his gaze focused on the horizon, wearing nothing but black and blue surfboard shorts. Several empty chairs sat next to him like invitations. His belongings rested in a black sports bag nested inside a dip in the sand. His long legs extended off the edge of the chair. His tattoo, now visible on his upper arm, looked like some sort of military symbol.

  Tara did a quick double take. She’d been right. He could give the Adonis sculpture a run for its money. The god of beauty and desire, times twenty. Perfected male sin.

  He turned his head slightly, as if still looking at something past her.

  Nuh uh. You can’t fool me. I’m your target, buddy. She opened her mouth, positioned it over the top of the ice cream, and deep throated the cold, sweet cream. Brazenly, she stared directly at him as she slid her mouth up and down the rapidly melting dessert. Holy mother of God, is he hard? She quickly swallowed, wondering if her eyes deceived her. How could anyone get that thing inside? About to cough, she swiftly pulled the ice cream cone from her mouth, lest she choke. The only guy who’d ever gotten past her garden gate had been Justin. He could get the job done, but honestly, she had nothing to compare it with.

  Adonis casually cupped one of his large hands to the right of his solid heat, as if shielding it from all eyes except hers. He kept his gaze trained at some imaginary distant target.

  Right, dude. You’re aware of everything I’m doing. Tara nibbled the creamy, dark concoction down to the crispy cone, and stuck her pointy pink tongue inside, plunging it in and out of the opening.

  He tugged on his shorts, apparently making more room.

  Have I made you uncomfortable? She almost giggled. Her bikini bottoms felt as wet as the contents of the waffle-textured cone, but fifty times as hot. She let her head fall back and allowed the rest of the chocolate to drip, drip, drip into her mouth. In a gloriously uncouth move, she shoved the rest of the cone in her mouth and chomped on it, using her hand to wipe off the smears on her face.

  The male got up from his seat, threw his generously sized towel over his shoulder, making sure it dangled in front of the bulge, picked up his bag, and strolled away.

  Tara’s mouth fell open. “You can’t simply leave. Where are you going?” she asked his retreating back. “Damn, that was starting to get fun. And hot. Really hot.” So hot, in fact, she felt the need to relieve the ache between her legs. She searched for a restroom, finally spotting one way down the beach, in the direction Adonis had gone. “Here goes.”

  Leaving her towel to mark her place, she trekked to the bathroom. The sun had begun to slide toward the horizon, torturously slow, as if lingering lest it miss something. Groups of beach goers, mostly families, packed their bags and left. Those remaining consisted of couples, teens and an older person or two. A few dogs raced in and out of the surf, chasing sticks thrown by their owners, or chasing each other. In the distance, underneath the pier, a couple clenched in a make out session, the guy kneading his hands over the female’s ass, probably thinking no one watched them…or maybe getting off on the thought that anyone could see them.

  It’s like the world is teasing me, taunting me. No Justin! Tara’s leisurely saunter turned into a furious stomp. She paused when she sens
ed herself being watched. Is that you, Adonis? She slowed to a saunter, letting her hips roll seductively. Lifting her hand, she inserted two fingers into her mouth, and thrust them in and out, pivoting in a slow circle. What if someone else sees you? They’ll think you’re insane. She pulled her fingers free and wiped them on her shorts, bee-lining for the public restroom. What’s wrong with me? Justin and I are monogamous. I’m flirting with danger.

  Stop it, right now, the angel goddess on her shoulder scolded. You’re going to get into big trouble.

  She smiled, the devil goddess on her other shoulder whispering seductively in her ear. As big as Adonis?

  Pressing her hands over her ears, she sprinted toward the toilets, her bag flopping by her side, certain she looked like a raving homeless woman.

  When the heavy bathroom door clanged behind her, a female voice called out, “Person in the far stall.”

  Tara wondered why she said that until she saw for herself—no doors in these stalls. A pathetic maneuver to discourage vandalism. “Okay, heading to the first stall. Close your eyes when you walk past me on your way out.”

  “I hate these stalls,” the female said. “Having no doors sucks.” She flushed the toilet and a raspy zipper sound echoed from her corner location.

  “Me, too,” said Tara. She lingered before pulling down her bikini bottoms.

  “Okay, not looking,” her bathroom companion said. She scurried past Tara’s stall, her hand shielding her eyes.

  Tara waited as water gushed in the sink, the paper towel dispenser cranked out paper, the woman dried her hands and the door opened and closed. She let out a sigh, head cocked for signs of anyone else. Hearing no one, she lowered her bikini bottoms, sitting on top of the metal seat. Tense, she listened some more. Satisfied, she let her fingers do the stroking, sliding up and down her slick folds. This won’t take long, she thought. All I need is a few minutes. Her hand worked furiously, stroking and flicking her clit.

  Footsteps sounded outside the building.

  She stilled, apprehensive, waiting, her shoulders bunching around her ears. She heard the creak of the door hinge and she swiftly removed her hand from between her legs. “Person in the first stall,” she called. “Avert your eyes.”