For Love of Valor: A Bad Boy Military Romance

by Samantha Westlake

  "Are you okay?" Leann asked in my ear as I repeatedly stabbed at the front door with my key, blinking a few times as I tried to figure out which of the four keyholes in my vision was the real one.

  She had to repeat the question twice more before I finally understood, but I gave her a big nod, along with my best attempt at a confident smile. "Totally fine!" I slurred. "Although I'll be better once I get the two of you inside, onto a bed, or a couch, or something flat!"

  Somehow, through a combination of sweet talk, flirting, and the promise of free drinks, I lured both of the girls into the house and up to my bedroom. We settled in on my bed, accompanied by a couple of bottles of wine that I liberated from the rack in the house's massive, almost industrial-size kitchen. The bottles were both screw-tops, which was a relief for me since I doubted that I possessed the coordination to operate a corkscrew, but the girls didn't put up any objections.

  After another few swigs, just as I started to feel my eyelids growing uncontrollably heavy, I managed to get things heating up. Sally traded off between swigs of wine and sloppy make-outs with me, even as my hand explored the inside of her blouse, grabbing those amazing breasts that clearly wanted to hop out and join the fun. Linda didn't have tits like this, I thought distantly to myself. What would I have done with my hands, if I did even have her in bed? There'd be nothing to grab!

  Leann, meanwhile, tackled my jeans with gusto. My boner, hard despite the nearly dozen drinks in my system, gave her a little bit of trouble until she worked it out of my boxer briefs.

  "All for you, honey," I slurred as I pulled my tongue briefly out of Sally's mouth.

  With a grin, Leann set to work on sucking me off, even as Sally moved in closer, grabbing my head by the scruff of my neck and pulling my face literally into her assets on her chest. My own hands dropped down over her body, down to grab a handful of her curvy ass before slipping in between her thighs. As always, I found her wet and ready, and she gasped as I shoved my fingers into her.

  "That's a little rough," she hissed out, but I didn't hear the words. I worked my fingers back and forth in her slit, my drunken brain easily filling in the moans of pleasure. I sagged back, distantly aware of Leann's mouth still wrapped around my shaft. This was great. Why had I stopped drinking? Could Linda offer me anything as good as this from therapy?

  Feeling Leann sucking my cock dry was great, but my eyelids were just so heavy. I leaned further back on bed, my head resting on the pillows behind me. Oh, they felt so soft. I could easily just close my eyes for a minute. It would help me focus on these girls blowing me; strangely, even though my cock was hard, I didn't feel incredibly aroused and turned on. Still, the physical reaction was there, so the rest would surely come, right?

  My eyes dropped closed. No need to worry about anything. I was in my own bed, safe and sound in my family house, a couple half-dressed and very sexy college-age girls playing with my equipment-

  Explosions went off, far too near me. I heard other voices shouting, but it all sounded faint, as if I was only hearing it through a pair of foam earplugs. I blinked, trying to see, but everything around me was chaos. My hearing slowly returned as my vision grew incrementally less hazy, but I saw men around me, some screaming and shouting out, clutching different body parts – while others just lay horribly, deathly still, their eyes open and staring sightlessly at nothing...

  "No!" My eyes shot open and I rocketed up, panting as I tried in vain to suck in a breath. I couldn't breathe! I'd been hit, somewhere, probably punctured a lung-

  A second later, as my frantic hands found no wounds on my bare chest, I finally felt the drowning tide of panic begin to recede from my head. I gasped in a few more breaths, but gradually felt myself returning back to the present moment.

  The girls, however, hadn't taken well to my unexpected outburst. Leann, her dress bunched up in a baggy ring around her waist, had scrambled backwards, nearly falling off the bed as she stared at me with wide eyes. Sally, meanwhile, had actually tumbled all the way off on the other side, and now screamed bloody murder as her underwear, tangled around her ankles, kept tripping her up and preventing her from climbing immediately to her feet.

  "What the FUCK!" she shouted out, finally making it up to her feet and staring down at me. One of her tits still lolled out of her top, I couldn't help noticing. It made her look distinctly unbalanced. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "Nightmare," I grimaced, reaching up to rub my face. My words sounded fuzzy, and it seemed that the drunken euphoria was wearing off. Every word from Sally's mouth, spat out at maximum volume, sent knives stabbing into my brain. "Can you just keep it down-"

  "You fell asleep?" Leann jumped in, just as outraged as her fellow female. "Are you fucking serious? You fell asleep just as I was about to fuck you?"

  "You were gonna fuck him? I was going to-" Sally started, her ire shifting momentarily from me over to Leann, but the slimmer Asian girl didn't give Sally a chance to finish.

  "Yeah, well, he's all yours," she spat out, grabbing the fabric around her waist and struggling to pull it both up and down simultaneously, up to cover her chest and down to cover her bare, shaved pussy. "I'm done! Delete my number, you ass!"

  "Leann," I said, but even the single word made my head ache horribly. By the time the red haze of pain faded, she was gone; I could hear her high heels clacking as she stomped down the stairs towards the front entrance.

  I turned my attention instead towards Sally, who was currently wrestling with her underwear once again. She'd yanked them off when they kept tripping her, it seemed, and she was now having a little trouble getting them back on. "Sally," I tried. "Look, I'm sorry – and I'm still hard! You're the sexiest one, anyway. Why don't you come back to bed-"

  "Why don't you eat me?" Sally threw at me – and a second later, her panties hit me in the face. She'd apparently given up on putting them back on, choosing an expedient escape over any remaining shreds of her dignity. "And you can delete my number, too, you pig!"

  I stared after her as she stormed off. Would she think to tuck her tit back into her shirt before stepping outside? Idly, I wondered if she'd stormed off on a guy while topless before; she seemed somewhat practiced at it.

  So now I was in bed, starting to feel the first effects of what promised to be a killer hangover, hadn't been laid, still had an almost painful erection in my lap, and had been deserted by my female companions. Perfect. The night just kept on getting better and better.

  I started to climb out of bed, not sure what I wanted to do next, but the pain of my aching head forced me right back down. I groaned loudly into the pillow, then pulled another pillow over my face, trying to block out the light that seemed to cut straight through my retinas. I knew that, if I fell asleep now, the voices, the visions, would come rushing back.

  My hands, groping about blindly in the bed, found one of the wine bottles. Amazingly, one of the girls had screwed the cap back on, and the bottle was still approximately half full.

  I chugged as much of it as I could keep down, then pushed myself back into the sheets. Please, let that be enough, I prayed as blackness washed over me.

  Chapter Nine

  LINDA

  *

  I sat in my office, carefully keeping myself calm. Think calm thoughts. Yes, it's almost fifteen minutes past the hour, but that doesn't mean that I should worry. Richard's never been late before, but there's always a first time.

  Maybe he's been in a car accident-

  Actually, that wasn't a better thought. Maybe he's got some big business deal, something that's taking his time but will help him get past any lingering issues so that he no longer needs therapy. That's a better consideration.

  Feeling a rush of nervous energy sweeping through me, I hopped up from my seat in one of the leather chairs. I paced around the office, running my fingers over some of the shelves in a vain attempt to distract myself by checking for dust. What could be happening with Richard? It didn't seem like him to just fail to show up
without calling ahead, letting me know that he was canceling the appointment.

  A sudden thought occurred to me, and I glanced slightly guiltily over my shoulder back at the desk, its surface mostly covered with folders. I had Richard's file over there, in amid some of the others. Included in that file was his home address, the mansion that he'd mentioned a couple of times in his previous sessions. The mansion, he'd told me, originally belonged to his parents, but now acted as his home. I could easily stop by and check on him, just to make sure that he was okay...

  A little voice in the back of my head whispered that this was probably not the best idea. I muted that voice's further words, scooping up the folder from my desk and flipping it open. It only took a single glance to spot Richard's address.

  In deference to that little voice of reasonable disagreement in my head, I waited impatiently for five more minutes, sitting back down in my leather chair and drilling my fingers in an uncomfortable tempo on the armrest. As soon as exactly three hundred seconds had passed, however, I leapt up from my seat and charged down to my little Honda hatchback, parked out in the single spot allotted to me at the back of the building.

  When I reached the address from Richard's file, I found myself again wondering if I was making the right choice – and also whether I ought to be charging Richard a lot more for the sessions we had together! I parked my car in one of the dozen or so parking spots at the end of the long and winding driveway, climbed out of the vehicle, and just stared up at the building.

  Richard's house (although "mansion" was certainly a more appropriate label here) looked a bit like a reimagined version of the White House, dropped down right in the middle of this old and very well-established neighborhood. The building sat on top of a small, gently sloping hill, a long lawn of perfectly manicured green grass spreading out to provide a barrier against intrusive neighbors. Richard, or someone at the house, must employ an army of gardeners to keep the leaves raked, the bushes trimmed, and the lawn mowed, I thought to myself as I looked around.

  My gaze shifted to the house (mansion) itself. Built in the French Provincial style, the house's soft, off-white exterior featured big bay windows and fluted white decorative columns. A grand entryway extended into the house, a covered archway allowing cars to pull right up to the massive front doors and release their guests without exposing them to rain. The upper windows looked as if they opened, and indeed, each had a small balcony extending out in front, such that guests could step out and peer around at the sights of the city from their tall stance without fear of falling. A dark gray slate roof completed the perfect picture of wealthy elegance, sloping up in a series of flattened triangles.

  "Wow," I said out loud to myself, just gaping at the house. Richard owned this? He'd mentioned in our sessions that his family was well off, but I'd never imagined that it was so extreme.

  Faced with the massive, imposing house, I nearly backed down and turned back to my little economy model car, driving back to my cheap little apartment, my cheap little office, my cheap little life. But I thought about Richard, whether I'd be able to look at myself in the mirror if I gave up on my very first client.

  Sucking in one breath and mustering up my courage, I headed to the massive front door and lifted my hand to knock.

  The loud raps died away, and I listened carefully for any sound coming from the interior. I didn't hear anything, but the house might just be well insulated, its thick walls blocking all noise from inside. I lifted the heavy bronze ring attached to the door and gave it another loud couple of bangs against the base plate.

  Finally, I heard footsteps approaching from inside the house. I took a step back, glancing down at myself rather self-consciously as I waited for Richard to open the door. I ran my hands over my slacks, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles that insisted on sticking around no matter how I folded and stored them.

  The door opened, and I looked up – but it wasn't Richard standing in front of me.

  "Yeah?" asked the rather sleepy looking young man standing just inside the door, one of his arms propped up on the partly opened door as he gazed out at me. His long, dark hair fell loosely across his face, half-covering his eyes so that he looked out at me through a slightly hazy veil.

  "Um." Had I somehow gotten the wrong address? "I'm here looking for Richard Stone? I'm Linda Bisson, his..." I trailed off, realizing that I might not want to disclose that Richard was in therapy.

  "Oh, his therapist, right?" The young man looked amused at my brief little expression of surprise before I recovered. "Yeah, he told us. Come on in."

  I still had more questions, but I obediently followed the young man into the house. He left me to shut the door and padded softly down the front hall on bare feet.

  "I'm Sebastian, by the way," the younger man called back over his shoulder to me. "Richard's younger, more attractive, less broken brother. If you want to hear more horror stories about his twisted childhood, just let me know."

  I sized up the young man. He wore flannel pajama pants and a tight black tee shirt, revealing that Richard's hard and muscled body definitely ran in the family. I guessed that he was probably in his early twenties. I caught a faint whiff of pot coming from him, although I couldn't guess at how long ago he'd picked up the odor.

  "And you live here, too?" I asked.

  He nodded, glancing back at me with one eye as we climbed a set of grandly majestic, sweeping stairs. "Yeah. Richard's here because he's the new dad of the family, at least when he's not drinking himself into a stupor. I'm just here because this place is great for parties."

  There was a lot in that exchange for me to consider, but Sebastian stopped at the top of an upper level hallway, pointing down it with one hand. "At the end," he said.

  "At the end is what?"

  "At the end," Sebastian repeated, grinning at me with a smirk that looked both mocking and amused, "is Richard's bedroom. Considering all the noise and shouting I heard him making last night when I got back, he's probably still up in there."

  Sebastian started to turn away and head back down the stairs, but I reached out and caught at his arm before he could leave. "Wait!" I said, my head swimming with questions. "You heard him yelling? What was going on? Was he having a party or something up here?"

  Annoyingly, however, the younger man just shrugged. "What's the matter?" he asked, that smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at me. "Feeling jealous, little professional Linda? Something going on?"

  "What? Of course not," I answered hotly, glaring back at him. "I'm just concerned about him as a patient, that's all! And you should be, too, by the way. He's your brother, and he's in pain from something. Are you just going to stand by as he fails to get help? Don't you want him to get better?"

  I'd hoped for Sebastian to look down, maybe admit the error of his ways. Instead, however, he just yawned right in my face, not even making the effort to cover his mouth. When he finally finished, closing his mouth, he shrugged one shoulder at me.

  "Look, I just want to keep having fun, and not have to deal with whatever Richard and Teddy keep trying to add to my list of duties," he said. "Right now, what I want is to go down to the kitchen and eat some cold pizza for breakfast. You can do whatever you want to my older brother up here," and he winked bawdily at me, "but leave me out of it. Got it?"

  He tugged his arm out from my hand and headed downstairs before I could form an answer. I watched him go, descending without once looking back.

  Well, time to face the music. I turned back down the hallway, taking tentative steps closer to Richard's bedroom. Straining my ears as I approached, I heard soft sounds coming from inside, a regular rhythm that reminded me of someone snoring.

  There only seemed to be one person breathing in the room ahead, at least. I'd been concerned that I might walk in on him with someone else, perhaps even engaged in carnal activities!

  Not that there was anything wrong with that, I hastily added to myself. I was his psychiatrist, not hi
s date. Richard was free to sleep with anyone he chose, free to do whatever he wanted.

  I just wanted to help him get better, over whatever still-unclear fear left such a haunted look in his eyes.

  I reached the entrance to his bedroom, the door mostly closed but still slightly ajar. I reached out and pushed it open, looking inside.

  Richard's bedroom was huge, decorated mostly in neutral tones. The bed, a massive king, dominated the room, with a wooden bench at its foot and end tables located on either side. The bed's covers were pushed back in wild disarray, I noted, and most of the pillows had been scattered about on the floor. Combined with clothes draped over chairs and loose, unpaired shoes tossed about, the room looked a bit like it had been struck by a localized tornado.

  The gentle, rhythmic sound seemed to be emanating from the biggest pile of sheets and comforter on top of the bed. I took a few steps into the room, peering curiously into the depths of the huge piece of furniture – and then froze as I realized what I was seeing.

  Richard lay sprawled out across the entire bed, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. His head lay half-buried under a pillow, but he'd apparently kicked off the covers while asleep, exposing his entire body all the way down to his ankles.

  This wouldn't be so bad, I thought distantly to myself with the small part of my mind that managed to continue thinking in words, if Richard hadn't gone to bed without a stitch of clothing. He lay there in the nude, completely and gloriously naked, the muscles on his back rippling every time he took a breath.

  My eyes slid downward. I couldn't help it – I was only human! And although I'd never admit it to Callie, it had been a long time since I'd had the opportunity to check out a man's ass.

  Especially an ass as fine as this one. Despite the injured leg, it was instantly apparent to me that Richard kept himself in excellent shape. My fingers itched, filled with a horribly inappropriate desire to reach out and feel those muscular buttocks, round and strong and just the kind of thing that would remind me what I'd been missing out on by denying myself sex for the last few years as I focused on my career instead, like a fool-