Ready Ch. 04

The Mating Ritual

Deonne leaned against the car window as Kevin drove them the two hours to the hotel. Leaving her family was always hard to do, but this time was especially difficult as it was also her last day with Kevin. The thought of it felt like a cold pressure all over her body. Her breathing grew shallow, and her stomach clinched. Every time they had to part she felt like a little piece of her was dying.

As the miles rolled along, her mind went back to their early relationship. Relationship? No, far from it! If someone had told her back in college that someday she would fall in love with Kevin Banning, she would have laughed hysterically! Gazing out of the window, yet not seeing, she recalled, the memory was still so clear.

Deonne lay in bed awake. The tears having dried up a while ago, she felt she must have cried them all out. Her mother was dying. A pain so raw and intense had settled in her, so powerful it was worse than physical pain. She had not told anyone. How could she? Her situation demanded self-constraint, and to let go and share would have caused non-stop emotion that could not end at a fixed time. She was a junior at the United States Naval Academy. Finally, alone in her room at her weekend host parents' house, she had allowed herself to dwell on her mother.

Glancing at the clock she saw it was 2:28 a.m. She needed a drink. She had barely touched food this week, her stomach in a constant knot. Having cried a river of tears this evening she felt dehydrated.

Slipping out of her room, she pattered quietly down the hallway and down the stairs. She noticed that the kitchen light was already on. Slowing she caught sight of a dark broad back, thick muscled and well defined, his hips leaning against the island. Damn.

Kevin, the brother of a fellow classmate, James, who shared the same host family, was sipping a glass of orange juice. Kevin had received his Army commission the previous spring and was stopping to see his brother between training and his first assignment. Over the previous two years he had been an occasional thorn in her side, someone to be avoided, a pretty-boy prick. She stopped just outside the doorway, unsure. Maybe she should turn back.

Without turning Kevin spoke up, his deep voice startling her, "Quit hovering little girl. I don't bite."

Sighing, she wondered, how does he do that? How does he manage to make me feel so silly and awkward? Sucking in her breath, she put on what she hoped was her game face and walked into the kitchen, forcing as much bravado into her comment as she could muster.

"Don't you?"

"You're not exactly my taste, so don't worry," he replied, turning his head to give her his usual look of distain. He always seemed to look right through her bluster, then reach in and rip out her heart.

She had no witty comeback. Damn. She had no fight in her now. Taking a deep breath she cautiously approached the cabinet where the glasses were kept to stand between him and the counter, his long legs, crossed in front of him, taking much of the space. She didn't trust her voice enough to demand he move.

Slowly opening the door so as not to accidentally bump into the sexy prick, she reached for a glass. She always became a klutz around him. Well, more of one than usual. Her breath was growing shallow. She must be some kind of pervert for even now her body was betraying her. She would give anything to put this asshole in his place. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon, and here was her pussy twitching, her body longing for contact, affection of any kind. She couldn't breathe right, couldn't think straight over a guy who looked at her like she was a piece of warm shit.

Watching her, he raised both eyebrows, correctly interpreting her cautious movements.

"Need some help?" he asked suddenly into the quiet.

Startled, she jerked her arm bumping the glass into the side of the cabinet, causing it to fly out of her hand and smash to the floor. Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Totally flustered and blinking rapidly, unexpected tears welling up, she spun around and bent over to start picking up the pieces.

"Don't do that. I'll get the broom."

Ignoring him, she continued to pick up the bigger pieces. Looking down she noticed blood starting to run down her hand. Hoping he wouldn't notice, she carefully walked to the trashcan to throw away the broken bits she was carrying.

Walking across the large kitchen with a broom in one hand and dustpan in the other, he stopped when he saw three little drops of blood on the floor.

She heard his heavy sigh. Busted. Striding over to her, he grabbed her wrist and, avoiding the glass, he dragged her to the sink. His long sinewy fingers pulled her hand under the cool water, rinsing the blood from the cut. Holding her hand under the light, he carefully pulled a sliver of glass from the small cut before pressing his thumb over it to stop the bleeding.

His tender, efficient movements contrasted with his usual careless attitude toward her. Looking up her eyes caught his and quickly fell back to stare at his lean fingers on hers. Her breath caught, he always caused a stirring in her. God, pull yourself together, Deonne!

"I don't know how you fuckin' survive the Naval Academy."

Sucking her lips in, trying to control her emotions, she tried to free her arm from Kevin's hand, but he held on firmly.

"Un-uh. We need to put on some ointment and a bandage," he told her firmly, pulling her across the kitchen towards the bathroom medicine cabinet.

Normally he would push her buttons hard enough that she would forget herself and return his hostile fire, but tonight there was nothing in her. He was right, how did she survive the Naval Academy? She got a daily ration of pressure and judgment overwhelming enough to make anyone break and the point of it was to build character and mold them into officers who could think and react rationally under severe combat pressure. She had made it three years, this summer she would be a detailer, and be screaming her lungs out insulting incoming freshmen.

She was going to face men just as tough as Kevin when she got her commission, and in much more difficult situations. Heck, she grew up with tough men and her freshman year had been hell on earth. What was it about him?

Jerking her hand from his she finally broke free. "I'm fully capable of bandaging my own hand. So, you can go now," she barked, trying to dismiss him.

"Are you?" he smirked.

Turning back into the small bathroom, he reached into the cabinet and grabbed the box of Band-Aids and ointment. Looking back at her his eyes pointed to the toilet seat, clearly expecting her to sit and let him administer aid. Trying to stare him down, she reached out for the supplies.

"Will you just sit the fuck down?"

Plopping on the toilet seat, she thrust her hand out.

Sorting through the box of Band-Aids to find the right one, he asked, "So, Deonne, what special career is the illustrious United States Navy going to entrust you with?" Coming up with one that pleased him, he squeezed some antibiotic onto its pad.

Deonne stared at his hands again. He had beautiful manly hands. What would those fingers feel like on her breasts?

When she failed to answer he looked at her face catching the hunger in her green eyes. Pulling his head back slightly his eyes narrowed, watching her closely.

Straightening her features, she answered, "Aviation. I've just passed the first round of testing and the physical."

"What kind of flying?" He gently placed the bandage on her hand, rubbing the ends carefully, making sure they stuck.

"Fighters, hopefully."

"God help us!" he exclaimed in mock horror. "You..." he said carefully and distinctly, "you might be doing close air support?" Being in special operations, close air support was near and dear to his heart.

"Fuck you!" Snapping, anger tore through her with unbelievable intensity, replacing her timidity. How dare he mock her! Standing quickly she glared several inches up into his face, so close their bodies touched, breathing hard.

"You Goddamn fucking asshole! Fuck you! What do you know about me? About my abilities? I've fought my way through three years of the Naval Academy! I've worked my ass off getting an engineering degree! I already am a pilot! And I'm good! How dare you fuckin' mock me, you prick!"

Anger continued to roll through her. Without thinking she reached up and shoved hard at his chest trying to move him out of her way. His failure to budge angered her even more and she found herself swinging at his face. Grabbing her arm as he stumbled back he jerked her to him. Out of control she swung her other arm around, connecting with the side of his head. She was so fucking mad. Anger, blistering hot, flowed out of her. As his powerful arms forced hers to halt their assault, her body jerked and slammed against him; hot tears welling up in her eyes.

"Un-uh. Can't have that, little girl, you're going to break something," he cautioned, forcing both her arms behind her back, securing them both with one of his large hands, drawing her tight against his body.

"And quit calling me 'little girl' you condescending motherfucker," she screamed at him before he mashed his hand hard against her mouth fearing she would wake the Andersons.

What the fuck? Was she really this mad at him? He did find her newly discovered potty mouth amusing. And here he had worried that she wasn't learning anything at Belly Button U. She obviously had passed Cuss Like A Sailor 101.

Damn, but she was sexy when she got mad. Her hair mussed, eyes wild, her body vibrating passion. Though he would never admit it, he loved to see the fire in her eyes, angry heat pouring off her. She irritated the hell out of him, but he figured the reason he couldn't stop toying with her was the charge he got from her reaction. His body was still reacting to her earlier heated look. She had no idea how sexy she looked. Before he could think he was pulling her towards him, kissing her hard, and shoving his tongue into her mouth.

Shocked at his reaction, too stunned to move, she stood still. Deonne's brain registered the orange flavor from his drink mingling with his own unique taste as her whole body throbbed, wanting this. Her brain screamed at her. Stop him! How dare he? Her mouth was kissing him back, desperate for his touch, but her hands shoved at his chest trying to break free, a war going on inside her. Holding her tight against him, he didn't feel her feeble pushes. Finally her mixed signals registered and he pulled his lips off her, still holding her close.

"Let go, girl, just feel," he feverishly whispered, bending down again, his free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her back as his full lips closed over hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth.

Fighting him, she pulled her tongue back, avoiding his, leaning her head back hard into his hand trying to get free. Lifting his lips off hers, his fist pulled on her hair, giving her a little jerk.

"Stop it," he stated firmly, an edge to his voice. "Give me your tongue, baby, you want this as much as I do."

God, he was right. She slipped her tongue under his.

"Now, put it in my mouth," he murmured, his lips still touching hers.

Obeying, she tentatively pushed her tongue past his lips, feeling them close around her. Slowly she fucked his lips with her small tongue. It was so amazingly erotic, her wet tongue sliding over his soft inner lips, a role reversal.

Her pussy was crying out for attention, her panties were soaked. Pure instinct had her climbing over his thigh. Wanton, she rubbed herself on his leg, desperate to peak, to end this struggle and feel the pleasure course through her body. Oh, God. I need to get there, I need to feel it, she thought. She was humping his leg hard now, her arms around his back, hands clenched into tight fists.

"Uh ... uh, ohh... gaw... d... ah, ahhh." Deonne's words were coming out in soft whispers. Her t-shirt night gown was pushed up, Kevin's hands spanning her waist, enjoying the feel of her body moving under his hands.

"My, my. What a hot little thing you've turned out to be. That's right, baby. Let me see you come." Kevin pushed back with his leg against her pussy. Running his hand down her back, he slipped it under her panties, palming her ass. Pulling her closer, his mouth took over the kiss.

Then she remembered. Her mother was dying. Numbness washed through her, stopping her cold. Kevin instantly felt the change.

Jerking herself free, she stared at him wide-eyed. "Oh, God," she panted. "What am I doing?"

Turning, she ran back to her room, stumbling and tripping up the stairs.

Kevin stood, arms falling to his sides, watching her run off.

Her mother had died eight months later.

"Do you want to stop and eat?" he cut into her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. They were on the outskirts of the city and would be staying at a nice hotel downtown.

"No."

"What are you thinking about? You've been so quiet this whole trip. Do you have something on your mind?" Kevin asked. He kept glancing at her expectantly.

"Us," she replied.

"Good."

"I was thinking about back in college. When we kissed for the first time."

"Well, that just proves my point," he said cryptically.

"What point? You haven't spoken for two hours, silly!"

"Oh, babe, you know. We've been having this conversation for months. We're an 'us'. And we have been since way before we first realized it. Why do you fight it?"

"Fight it? Do I look like I'm fighting it?" she insisted, "And I beg to differ on the part that we were any sort of an 'us' in college! You hated me!"

"Oh, I didn't hate you, and we were definitely an 'us'. We were just going through a mating ritual!"

"A mating ritual? Is that what you call that? And I do remember you had a girlfriend during most of college!"

She hated thinking of the lovely, perfect Shawntee. Deonne had taken any chance to give Kevin a hard time about her calling her his Miss Spelman College or The Beauty Queen or her personal favorite, The Trophy. Kevin's eyes would narrow and she would mentally lick her finger and chalk one up for her side. Unfortunately, he was always ahead in the partner slam game mocking Jared's Boston accent, laughing hysterically upon hearing he was on the fencing team.

"Like that mattered. But my point is that we should be together. Why do you keep holding back?" he asked.

"I'm not."

Say you love me, say you care. Tell me I'm more than just a fuck you can't get enough of, thought Deonne.

"Then get out and come be with me, Dee," Kevin started pushing.

She glared at him.

"My point," he stated sharply at her refusal to answer, his eyes starting to show anger.

"I don't want to talk about this now. We just go in circles," she complained.

"Fine," he snapped.

***** Anger Management?

Lounging on the hotel bed flipping though a brochure looking for something to do, she watched Kevin place his toiletry kit by the sink, his long muscular legs moving with athletic assurance. Deonne couldn't take her eyes off him as he moved to hang his outfit for tomorrow in the wardrobe. She found herself wanting to run her hands over his beautiful sculpted back as he worked, and slip her arms around his trim waist to feel his hard stomach under her roaming fingertips.

He was such a neat dresser, he even made the jeans and red Henley shirt he was wearing look better than a marketing ad, she thought. Deonne kept a photo in her purse of him in Afghanistan looking decidedly more primitive with the sleeves ripped off his camouflage shirt, his hair several inches longer, a beard covering his face, and a short machinegun gripped in his hand casually at his side.

"Hey, maybe we can go to this interesting Brazilian restaurant and then head over to that dance club the concierge told us about."

He didn't reply.

"Kevin?" she asked. "Something wrong?"

He was looking too serious, his movements not as graceful as usual. Actually, as she watched she realized he was getting more and more forceful with his things.

"No, baby. Nothing's wrong," he answered in a decidedly snide manner. "I'm just wondering when you're going to get around to telling me."

"Telling you what?"

"Oh, come on Deonne. It's your specialty these days; it's almost an art form! Keeping stuff from people. When the fuck were you going to tell me you're deploying?"

She looked down in shame and closed her eyes.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"My first clue was that you clammed up a couple months ago. You always tell me what's going on at work, with the fleet, whatever the buzz is. Plus, it's just been too damn long. Then when your little brother mentioned it like it was common knowledge, well, sister, that was the clincher."

He stared at her with a mixture of anger and hurt and she couldn't hold his gaze.

"So, when were you going to tell me? When you got to the fuckin' Persian Gulf?"

"No."

Kevin snorted.

"It's not like that," she tried to explain in a small voice, "I just wanted to have the weekend. I didn't want the deployment getting in the way. I just wanted a normal, happy Thanksgiving." Sadness filled her eyes.

"Oh, don't fuckin' play the hurt puppy with me, Deonne! I'm sick of it! What the hell do you think I've been talking about? We spend a few days together, all cozy and fun, then tomorrow we leave here and bam! It's over. You go your way, I go mine. We see each other who knows when?" He leaned over towards her, extending both arms palms down on the mattress to put his face close to hers. "C'mon, baby, just take the early out."

"Why don't you? You get out of the Army?" she countered.

"We've down this road before. You know I can't get out. I wouldn't get out if I could, you know that," he pushed back and zipped up his bag.

"But you want me to get out, give it up," she spoke accusingly.

"That's exactly what I want you to do."

"Why? Why me? Why don't we both get out?" She knew that with only one year left of her term it would be easier for her to get out as they were doing a RIF, a reduction in force. Even high dollar pilots got RIF-ed. Kevin had three years to go on his four year contract. She knew she was being unreasonable.

"Both get out?" he laughed. "What the fuck would I do, babe? This is what I do, it's who I am!"

"Well, I'm an aviator! It's what I do, who I am!"

"It's not the same and you know it! I spent my whole life planning for this! Ever since I was little I knew I wanted to be a soldier. There was nothing else. My daddy was a soldier, and I didn't think there was anything that could match that. I still don't. When Dad told me I was going to West Point, I believed him. I wasn't pushed, I was excited about it, like other kids can't wait for their license.

"You didn't spend your whole life wanting to be a sailor, it just fell in your lap! You wanted to fly airplanes and this looked like a path to get you there. So, you may have drunk the Kool-aid since you got in, but Deonne, sweetie," his sarcasm getting the best of him, "liking your job and having a passion for it isn't the same thing. So, don't give me this, 'I'm an aviator' shit! There is no way you're going to stick it out twenty years. You have too many other things you want to do."

"It didn't fall in my lap! How dare you say that!" She didn't want to dwell on the other part.

"Babe, I don't have the patience to sit around while you figure it out. I want to know my woman is home safe, waiting in my bed for me."

"What?" she shouted. "This isn't the 1950's! Have you lost your mind?"

"If you want me, this is what you get. I'm old school and I'm not apologizing for it. Take it or leave it."

She wanted to shout, "I leave it!" and stomp out. But she couldn't. If she did that, it would be over and she just couldn't bear the thought of it. So she continued to argue, "You expect me to come live with you and not work? You just take care of me? I sit around and... and do what?"