If you are reading this and you haven't read its predecessor, "BOOT CAMP", you really should. All characters are the property of Moxy Irish.
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I.
Recruit Emma Castille had won the game.
Her male opponent had beaten her at the contests of strength, but she had outshined him in the contests involving stamina, intellect, and beating her own best time on a course. As well, the recruits that had been voted off were allowed to make one last vote. Castille won the vote unanimously. The ragged, sleep-deprived recruit barely kept her feet as she was announced the Best Recruit of the camp. She hadn't slept in 65 hours and the only thing she cared about was falling into bed. She had nearly made it back to her rack when the producer of the show stopped her.
"Congratulations, Miss Castille! Congratulations!"
She smiled tiredly at the producer and stepped into the female barracks, heading for her rack. She murmured, "Thank you, Sir. I need sleep, Sir. I'll be ready for conversation tomorrow."
The producer blinked at the "Sir". Man, there was something to be said for conditioning. He continued, not truly understanding how tired she was. "Oh that is over with Miss Castille. You don't have to call anyone 'Sir' anymore. And if you want to sleep, we have your room at the hotel ready to go. It's fully stocked, and there are *gifts*." His voice ended on a cajoling note.
She fell into her rack fully dressed and pulled the blankets over her, turning her back to him. "This is fine, thank you. Goodnight."
He stood there a bit nonplussed. There were gift baskets and food and a *robe* for heaven's sake!
Taglieri prowled silently up to the man and murmured quietly in his ear. "She'll be fine here. Let her sleep. The gifts and hoopla can wait until she is awake enough to enjoy them."
The producer jumped at Tag's voice, never having heard the Drill Instructor's approach. The tone of voice he used was polite but didn't brook argument. Without a word the producer turned and made his way out the door.
Tag uncovered Castille's feet. They were encased in her still damp boots. He gently wrestled them off of her and folded the blankets up putting a hand on her thigh. The cloth of the fatigues was cold and brittle from having been soaked with water earlier. His hand moved to her waist and he unfastened her pants, easing them off of her. She made a distressed noise and tried to roll away from the movement that was pulling her out of sleep.
His voice was a low, rumbling purr, "Shhhh, Emma. I need to get these wet clothes off, then you can sleep."
She murmured, "Tag?"
His voice was soothing as he finished stripping the pants off and tucked the blankets around her cold feet, "Yeah, Baby. I'm here."
She rolled to her back and forced her eyes open. He took the opportunity to pull the blanket down and unbutton the heavy camouflage over-shirt. Her blue eyes blinked at him slowly and she murmured, "Traveling money."
His dark eyes met hers and he smiled, charmed. She was fuzzy around the edges and cute as hell. He gently removed the shirt and left her in her undershirt and panties, pulling the blankets up to her neck. "What, Hon?"
She purred at him, turning onto her side. "Traveling money. I have an extra quarter-mill in the bank now. I don't have to be home for a while...was thinking of visiting San Diego..."
He chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Hmmm, I know a good place to stay in San Diego."
She smiled with her eyes closed and purred at the kiss and the sound of his voice. There was a teasing tone in her sleepy words, "They have room service?"
Tag smiled as he rose off of her rack, "Oh yes, Baby. They have room service."
Her heavy eyes closed again. Within a minute she was sound asleep.
Tag settled onto a nearby rack and watched her sleep for a while. Her face looked completely innocent. It showed none of the grit and will she pulled up from the depths of her being to endure the final tests and win the game. He had been so impressed with her actions during the contests he could barely stand it. Emma was something else. He meant to make her His.
Tag's eyes were heavy and he shut them for a moment. He was tired himself, having stayed near Emma during the entire battery of contests. A hand gently shaking him roused him and he opened his eyes. Caff was grinning at him.
Caff's voice was a low murmur, "It's noon, Tag.
Tag looked around confused, Emma was still sound asleep on the rack next to his. Noon? It couldn't be! He had put her to bed at 2am! He stood up and stretched, gave Emma a last look and then followed Caff out of the barracks. He needed a shower, a change of clothes and some food. He was starving.
Emma started making small "waking up" noises around 4pm. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked. There was a large man in a chair beside her rack. Her unfocused eyes took in the battered Levi's and the black t-shirt. Her blue gaze flicked up over his face...clean shaven, strong jaw, sensual lips, black hair that looked like fur...her eyes flicked up and met his warm, chocolate gaze, Ah yes...and brown eyes she could lose her soul in. Her voice was a husky drawl, "God, I hope you're breakfast."
He smiled with pure masculine pleasure and chuckled, drawling, "Now why,..." he rose from the chair and sat on the edge of her bed, "...Miss Castille..." he slid down into a lounging position and threw a leg gently over her body, "...would you want C-rations..." his voice remained a purr as he gently rested himself on top of her, "...when you could have eggs benedict and mimosas at a 4-star hotel?" He braced his arms and dropped his head so his face was a few inches from hers.
She did what she had wanted to do for weeks and raised her hands to his head, running the tips of her fingers through the short, black, hair. It *did* feel like fur. Her blue eyes were smoky with arousal as she met his, her voice husky, "Benedict Shmenedict." Then she raised her face and traced his lips with her tongue.
He groaned and took her mouth. Both of them had waited for over three months to taste the other and they ignited as one flame using their lips, tongues, and hands to devour each other. Emma's hips were arching up to his, her limbs wrapped around his body. She was burning under him and the only thing Tag wanted to do was bury himself in her, but he knew he couldn't. She was mewling incoherently when he reluctantly broke the kiss.
His voice was tinged with regret and lust, "Not here, Em. It's not private enough and the TV people are going out of their freakin' minds waiting for you to make an appearance."
She breathed hard for a few moments getting her passion under control. "God I hate those friggin' TV people."
He chuckled at her tone and lifted off of her so she could rise. She shook herself and started getting up, turning to point a finger his way, "Alright, all right. But you started it. *You*, Sir, are an evil Tempt..." she struggled for the male version of 'temptress', "...tor...a.dor."
He laughed outright, "Is that like 'Conquistador'?"
She grinned, "Very similar but they wore different hats. I think it is more like 'Matador'."
He grinned back, "Conspirator?"
She rose off her rack and started finding her clothing and purred, "Comforador."
"Concilator?"
"Gratifi-or."
He was chuckling outright and desperately seeking an answering word, "Confiador?"
"Vel-oc-i-rap-Tor."
He lost it and started laughing out loud, "I am *not* a Velociraptor!"
She grinned as she dressed, "Oh yes you are. You are my Sweeeeet Velociraptor."
He shook his head smiling, "Oh my God. Velociraptor, huh? I couldn't be 'Shmoopy' or something? Well never tell Schell or Caff, I'll never live it down."
She just grinned and winked then headed to the showers.
The rest of the evening was a whirlwind. She was spirited off to the hotel and showered with gifts. The TV people bought her dinner and she gave exit interviews to the cameras. Several grinning cameramen gave her a giant gift basket full of hotel mints congratulating her and letting her know they had been rooting for her. She didn't see Tag in those hours and missed him. And oddly enough, she kind of missed the heavy scheduling, PT rituals, and yelling Drill Instructors. Man, there was something to be said for conditioning.
The wrap party was that night. She had been given back her street clothes and showed off her newly toned, muscular body in a little black dress. She grinned when she saw Tag. He played it cool, but his brown eyes followed her, burning, and she knew what that meant. The rest of the recruits were there and they all had fun conversing, reminiscing, and dancing.
Tag, McCafferty, and Schell were dressed in street clothes and working their way through the crowd of recruits and TV people. They all found it funny that the recruits still watched them like hawks and straightened their bodies whenever one of them approached. Castille was the only recruit that hugged all of them and spoke warmly with them, laughing and joking. The other recruits were impressed by her bravery, none of them knowing about the strangely bonding experience the foursome had in the Briefing room. Tag and Emma managed to keep their hands off of one another, but they would check in with eye contact regularly.
Emma had just finished dancing with Ex-recruit Davis when Tag sidled up to her murmuring low, "So, Castille, trying to make me jealous by dancing with all the men?"
She looked at him with a wicked grin, "Hmmm, I didn't know I could make you jealous, Taglieri."
She looked around the room until her eyes landed on Thompson. He was a big, good-looking man, whom Castille happened to know was very happily married with a new baby. Her voice grew teasing, "My, my, my, Marine. Will you just *look* at Recruit Thompson. He's very handsome tonight. You know I always thought he was dishy. I think I'll go slow dance with him in my Tiny. Black. Dress."
Tag chuckled and growled in her ear, "Careful, Sugar. You are about to get a big load of manly possessiveness dumped on your head."
