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."
