This whole situation was crap. All he wanted to do was go home, have a beer or three, and sleep for a week straight.

Instead, he was ordered to see some head doctor about his feelings. What did this guy know about deployment? Had he ever gone through it? Probably not. Most likely the guy had read a few books, took a few tests, and declared himself an expert. He couldn’t think of anything that was more of a waste of time.

Brock Turner sat outside of the nondescript building and stared straight ahead, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the worn steering wheel of his beat up Jeep. Maybe he could find an excuse to get out of this stupid appointment. Surely there were any number of important tasks that needed done, like cleaning his gear. Or watching paint dry.

A steady beeping pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced down at his phone. How kind of it to alert him to his impending post-deployment evaluation. Despite this being a mandatory requirement, Brock was still tempted to skip it; however, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from his commanding officer. Better to go, bullshit his way through it, and get it over with as quickly as possible. Since it was almost 5pm on a Friday, hopefully this Doctor Davidson would be just as eager to sign off and go home.

Unable to justify stalling any longer, he hopped out of his Jeep and walked up the cracked concrete path. Someone had taken the time to attempt to make the grounds look appealing, opting to plant hydrangeas, the splash of color providing a sharp contrast to the boring beige of the office building. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand over his freshly cropped hair, he’d been picking little black pieces of it off his uniform all day, and reached for the front door handle. Although Dr. Davidson’s office was on the fourth floor, he opted for the stairs rather than the elevator. He figured it would allow him to postpone things a little longer and maybe help him work off some of the nervous energy flowing through him at the moment.

All too soon he found himself outside of a frosted glass door with simple lettering that read “Dr. V. Davidson.” Taking a deep breath, he braced himself then knocked once. Surprise flooded him at the response he received. He had been expecting to hear a masculine voice, not the soft feminine one that called out for him to enter. Maybe it was the guy’s secretary.

Pushing the door open, Brock stepped through the doorway and froze. He had assumed Dr. Davidson was some middle aged man with graying hair and a gruff exterior. He had been dead wrong. Seated before him behind a large oak desk sat a pretty woman in her early thirties with green eyes and brunette hair pulled back from her face in a long braid. She rose and extended her hand to him.

“Hi, you must be Brock. I’m Dr. Tori Davidson.”

Still reeling, he shook himself and grasped her hand, her palm soft against his calluses. “Uh, hi. Nice to meet you, Dr. Davidson.”

“You can call me Tori. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to one of two comfortable looking leather chairs in front of her desk. “Before we get started, I’d like to say that I realize you most likely don’t want to be here and I can’t blame you. I have not personally been deployed, but I grew up an Army brat and both my father and brothers have been deployed. I’ve seen the effects it can have on a person, so I do understand better than many therapists. As unpleasant as this may seem, it’s important. Far too many of our soldiers come back from deployment with wounds that may not be visible to the naked eye and we want to make sure we don’t let anyone fall through the cracks. The more you cooperate, the faster we can get through this.”

Brock felt his lips twitch. “I take it you’ve dealt with your fair share of reluctant soldiers.”

A soft smile crossed her face, enhancing her beauty. “You could say that. Shall we get started? I’m sure there are a million places you’d rather be right now.”

As he settled into the worn leather, he returned her response. “You could say that. How does this work? Do you ask me what I think of my mother and analyze my dreams or something?”

“If that’s what you want to talk about.”

Unsure if he was more surprised or amused, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his legs. “Seriously?”

Tori laughed, and the sound sent ripples through his body. “Not unless you really want to talk about your mother. I’m more interested in hearing about your experiences overseas and how they’re affecting your daily life.”

His mind flashed with an image of bloody sand. Careful not to betray any hint of his thoughts, he sat back again and began to build every wall possible.

* * *

Tori eyed Brock Turner from across a low worn coffee table. Nothing stylish, simple military issue furniture. This was going to be like plucking teeth from a seagull. She’d had her share of soldiers who weren’t the talkative type, but he seemed even worse than most. Which meant she was about to spend an hour in silence playing a game of mental ping pong.

“Anything you want to share?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet her eyes. Years of practice kept the long sigh from escaping her lips.

The seconds ticked by, slowly and with pronounced exaggeration as the wall clocks ticking grew louder with each silent minute.

She threw out another bone. “We don’t have to talk about your feelings. We could talk about sports, weather... anything you want.”

He gave her a nice-trick-lady stare and said nothing.

Damn. Sometimes that dragged a few monotone syllables from even her most reticent clients. Brock Turner was a challenge... and she hated those.

The urge to sigh rose again, but she stifled it and glanced down at the moving screen of her iPad. Maybe she could get a book on there and read... then she wouldn’t have to waste an entire hour.

She watched him shift and shuffle across from her on the chair. “You can take off your ACU top if you want.”

He met her eyes for a heartbeat and then pulled apart the hook and loops, unzipped the top, and stripped it away. If they were going to sit in the warm room, they could at least be comfortable.

Once he settled back in she tried again. “Do you have a girlfriend, Sergeant Turner?”

His brow crinkled up like smudged wet nail polish.

“Are you applying, Doc?”

A blush tracked up her neck and made her ears burn. “Of course not, just making conversation.”

He grunted. Such a masculine sound. Tori didn’t like the butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence in her belly. She shouldn’t be appreciating that sound—not from a client. Not from him.

She checked her watch. Twenty minutes of nothing was a long time. She stood, arranged her skirt, and went behind her desk to gather some paperwork.

“Are we done?” He asked, gruffly.

Tori looked up at him and then took a seat. “No, I’m simply doing some work since you won’t allow me to do my job.”

“Your unnecessary job.”

“That’s your opinion.”

He stood and skirted the chairs to stand in front of her desk. “Name one person you’ve helped with this head-shrinking nonsense.”

Now he was just insulting her for no reason. She pushed herself up meeting his goading stare with a glare of her own.

Without a word she turned to the filing cabinet behind her desk and gestured at the long line of folders. “Every single one one of these men or women was considering suicide when they walked in my door. I helped them. They are your battle buddies, your friends. One of them may have saved your life in that sandbox. Maybe you should be grateful for that.”

Her tone was harsh. She could hear it hard and unyielding, her patience at its breaking point. When he didn’t respond she pointed to his ACU top. “We are done for the day. I expect to see you back here tomorrow, and every day until you are cleared to resume active duty.”

A tick started in his jaw, tightening it like a crank wheel. He pushed out a gruff, “Yes, Ma’am.”

She watched him fix his uniform and leave her office. It wasn’t until she plopped back in her chair that she let herself breathe normally again.

Why was it all the stubborn bastards she found attractive?

* * *

What an utter waste of time. Not only was Tori nothing like what he had expected from a therapist, she seemed barely competent to do her job. What was the point of going to these dumbass appointments if she was going to ask him inane questions about whether he had a girlfriend? Of course he didn’t have a one; why would he? He had seen how rarely relationships worked out during deployments. Women were more trouble than they were worth.

As he sat in his car, basking in the cold air blasting from the vents, he flinched at the sharp sound of a door slamming nearby. Brock forced himself to ignore the images threatening to encroach on his thoughts. He was stateside, he reminded himself, not in the damn desert. There were no enemies waiting to ambush him here, just the typical every day assholes.

Angry now, he put his seatbelt on and pulled out of the parking lot, heading to an old, familiar location. He didn’t need someone trying to get him to talk about his feelings. What he needed was a few beers with some friends. Knowing his buddies, he wouldn’t be drinking alone for long.

Brock pulled up to his favorite bar, a little hole-in-the-wall called O’Malley’s, and pulled out his cell phone to text his best friend. Hopefully Jason was up for some mindless conversation. He had barely started typing when a knock on his window startled him. On high alert, he reached for his weapon, only to realize he didn’t have it on him. He steeled himself for a fight and turned to face his attacker.

Cursing, Brock scrubbed a hand over his face as recognition dawned. He glared at his best friend as he pushed the car door open. “Son of a bitch, Jace. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?”

Jason Riggs shrugged and leaned against Brock’s Toyota Corolla, his posture relaxed, but his eyes scanning for possible threats. “I knew you had your post-deployment appointment and figured you’d need a beer or three. No one likes doing these damn appointments. Who’d you see? Edwards or Tanner?”

Brock grunted and began walking toward the entrance. “Neither. Some chick named Davidson.”

His friend flashed a wide, devilish grin. “Seriously? You got Davidson? Lucky bastard. Is she as hot as they say?”

“Not sure what they say. I thought II was meeting with some middle-aged bald guy.” They grabbed a couple of stools at the bar and Brock thought back to his meeting with Tori. He wondered how her hair would look freed from that braid and tossed around her face.

Jason rolled his eyes and took a long pull from his bottle of beer. “You must be living under a rock then. I heard she’s got legs for miles, a hell of a nice ass, and perfect tits.”

Irrational annoyance filled Brock, and he found himself struggling against the urge to punch his friend. “Sure, I guess she’s hot. Doesn’t change the fact she’s trying to get inside my head. All that bullshit talk about feelings? What good does that do us? She has no idea what it’s like.”

Sobering, his friend grimaced. “Yeah, none of us are happy about the appointments. Be glad you didn’t get Edwards. He’s a real asshole, not to mention ugly as sin.”

Sipping his own beer, Brock had to admit he’d lucked out in getting the therapist that was at least easy on the eyes. Like Jason had said, her legs went on for miles and she sure as hell had a body that wouldn’t quit. The professional clothes and hairstyle only added to her allure somehow. Feeling his dick grow uncomfortably tight, he shifted on the hard stool and scowled. Damn, it had been far too long since he’d gotten laid if he was letting her get under his skin.

“You’re thinking about Dr. Hottie, aren’t you?” Jason asked, amusement clear in his voice.

Brock flipped him off without looking his way. “Shut up.”

“How often do you have to see her? Mine’s got me going every few days.”

“Every fucking day, she said. Can you believe that?”

Jason winced. “Why don’t you just tell her what she wants to hear? That’s what I’m doing with Edwards to get him off my back.”

“I should.” Yet, something told Brock she would see straight through that ploy. Besides, as annoying as the appointments were, he wasn’t going to object to getting a little more face time with the pretty therapist. It sure beat staring at the same tired faces every day when he’d been in the sandbox. And even better that it got him out of early morning formation.

* * *

Tori popped the cork on her white wine with a little more enthusiasm than usual. She even eyed the glass she sat on the countertop but tipped the bottle to her mouth instead. Every day was turning into the same old routine. Hard-headed men who assume she can’t do her job while staring at her legs or her boobs or her ass. She could wear a paper sack to work and they would still feign machismo while imagining god knows what involving parts of her anatomy she didn’t even consider on a regular basis. It was to the point she’d begun changing her wardrobe for them. Skirts were out, nude pantyhose were gone, tank tops were definitely a no go. Hell, she lived in fucking sweater sets these days. Anything to cover as much as possible. But she still got propositioned on a weekly basis. She’d give Brock Turner a day before he asked her back to his place. Even if a relationship with a client wasn’t a definite misconduct violation, they never asked her on a date, it was always some sort of code for a hook up.

She threw herself onto the love seat and curled her arm around the bottle. It was getting easier and easier to pop a cork and drink her stress away. That worried her more than the indifference that seemed to be building when it came to the men she saw in her office on a daily basis.

When she joined her practice with military medicine, she imagined herself helping these men. Helping men like her father. Helping men like her brother. The memories rushed to her mind, but she fended them off with a quick guzzle of wine.

She kicked off a high heel and then the other before slinging her feet over the opposite arm of the love seat. Now it seemed she was barely keeping herself together let alone helping them.

Recalling her last client of the day, Brock Turner. His eyes told her he’s seen things. Bad thing. Things he should be talking about. It pained her to watch him keep it locked inside his mind like a trap. And more times than not the ones she could pick out, those carrying that burden, were the ones who eventually ended up cracking under the pressure. She refused to attend yet another funeral because of some dumb man’s stubborn pride.

The bottle was half empty now, she sat it on the glass coffee table with a clink. Her laptop sat beside it. Without a second thought she opened her screen and called up a text doc. It took seconds to type a resignation letter and a few more to print it out on official stationery.

Staring down at the paper she thought she might feel something. A sense of loss or hope or dread even. But nothing. It was a white piece of paper that would end a chapter of a her life. A failed chapter at that. She folded it in thirds and sat it on top of her now closed computer. The wine called her back to it. She curled back up on the couch and let herself float in the abyss.

* * *

Brock sat in his car debating the merits of blowing off the appointment while the minutes ticked by on the clock. Though tempted, he knew it would be idiotic. This woman could deem him unfit to return to active duty. Perhaps Jason had a point; he should just tell her what she wanted to hear to get her off his back. Resigned, he turned off the ignition and headed into the building. At least she was easy on the eyes.

He walked to her office and knocked twice, frowning when he received no response. What the hell? Did he have the appointment time wrong? As he reached into his pocket for his phone to check his calendar, the door opened to reveal a harried looking Dr. Tori Davidson. Her hair was messier today, the strands slipping free from the confines of the bun to frame her face in a way that added to her sexiness. An image of her tangled in bed sheets flashed across his brain.

Tori cleared her throat. “Are you planning on spending the hour standing there or do you want to come in and get started? I can’t clear you for duty if you don’t even make an effort to pretend to care.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Something was different with her; today she exuded an air that told him she had zero fucks to give. He wondered what had changed. Regardless, her brusque tone and attitude appealed to him more than expected.

She stepped back to allow him into the office and as he passed, he caught hints of her perfume. The soft floral scent fit her and he felt himself start to harden. Irritated with himself, he took his seat and forced his thoughts away from the off-limits therapist. He seriously needed to get a grip.

“Care to tell me what you’re thinking?” Tori sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, the motion pulling her shirt tight against her breasts. Yesterday, she had worn a rather plain sweater that did little for her figure. Today, however, she wore a tailored blouse that was far more flattering. As if noticing his appraisal, her gaze hardened, and she seemed to dare him to comment.

Brock decided to have a little fun. “I’m wondering what exactly you want me to say, Doc.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what do you want me to say? What do you want to hear so you’ll sign off?”

Green eyes flashed with irritation. “I want you to give a damn. I want you to take this seriously. Is that so hard for you to understand? Otherwise, you’re wasting my time and yours.”

He leaned forward and braced his elbows against his legs, using the posture to hide how much he was beginning to enjoy baiting her. “Fine. War is hell, deployment was no cake walk, and I’m glad to be home. What more do you need to know?”

“That’s really all you have to say?”

“Tell me how you can understand what it’s like over there. Give me a reason to say more. You do that and then maybe I’ll open up.”

* * *

Why did she even bother coming to work today? As if she expected anything different. Tori squeezed the bridge of her nose and took a few inhales and exhales to try to tamp down the headache forming.

She almost gave him some smart ass response but something in his eyes spoke of authenticity. Maybe he really did want to open up but needed to know that he might be heard. Or maybe she drank too much wine last night and now she was looking for qualities in her patients her rational mind knew weren’t there.

Instead of sitting in silence for an hour she did something she’d never done before. She stood, adjusted her blouse, and then crossed the coffee table barrier to sit beside him on the arm of one of the chairs. Even with the height difference her eyes were almost level with his. He watched her, eyes wary, but didn’t make a move to run away. Once she adjusted to meet his eyes straight on, ignoring the subtle scent of soap wafting from him.

She took the lead. He sure as hell wasn’t going to. “I know war isn’t easy. My father and brother both served. Desert Storm and Iraqi Freedom.”

“And...” he pressed.

“And I’ve seen first hand what war can do to a man. To a family.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed and a sort of panic took root in his eyes. He looked like he was seconds away from bolting. Instead of letting him she reached out and clutched his hands in her own. They were hot and a little damp where they rested on top of his thighs.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re home now and this is a safe place.”

“Doc. People get shot on the street with no provocation. It’s no safer here than it is over there.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean right here, on this chair, it’s safe.”

He swallowed heavily again, and she waited, giving him room to offer something. Anything.

“I watched my friend Beau die. The Med Evac couldn’t get through and he died, bleeding out in a blood-stained pile of sand.”

She met his eyes and held tight to his hands.

He squeezed them back hard and tight as he spoke the last in a whisper. “I had to tell his wife.”

A single tear curved down his tan cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. His every word gutted her. She wanted to heal him, take away some of that pain. If he wouldn’t let her do it the way she wanted to maybe she could do it the way he might let her.

She released his hands and cupped his cheeks softly. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. Then she kissed him. A soft gentle press of lips against lips. Nothing more.

When she pulled back, despite the civility of it her heart jack hammered against her rib cage as if it were trying to break loose from the confines. She’d never kissed a patient before. It was beyond the simple laws of propriety but into the criminal arena. She could lose her job for that one caress.

Fear spiked through her like a baseball cleat to the back of the neck. She didn’t linger but stood and took her chair on the other side of the coffee table’s safe boundary.

She cleared her throat. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Or we could talk about Beau some more.”

His friend’s name seemed to snap him out of a trance. His eyes flew wide but instead of speaking he grabbed his head-cover, jumped up from the chair, and left the room with the slam of the door.

* * *

What the hell had just happened? His mind reeled as Brock drove home on autopilot, remembering little of the journey. Opening the door to his apartment, he headed straight for the kitchen and grabbed a beer from his fridge before collapsing onto his couch, hoping the drink would cool him down. Rather than taking a drink, however, he simply stared blindly ahead as he replayed the visit.

To say she'd surprised him was an understatement; she had flattened him. First, she had gotten him to talk about Beau, a feat in and of itself. He never spoke about what happened, not even to Jason despite the other man being there. Somehow she had thrown him off balance enough for cracks to appear in his walls. Then she had made the one move he never could have anticipated with that all too brief kiss.

It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to return to the office and take her mouth again. He had already been half hard for her after seeing the changes in her. Those soft lips against his, the sweet taste of her and the press of her warm body against him had sent arousal slamming through him faster than a sniper round. It left him wanting more, much more.

Brock had been moments away from pushing her to her desk and taking all she had to give. Only hearing Beau’s name stopped him in time, snapping him from his lust filled haze. What had he been thinking? She was his therapist for fuck’s sake. She could lose her job of anyone found out there was something between them.

Pausing, he considered that. Was there really something between them? There had to be, though what it was, he wasn't sure exactly. Thinking back to his abrupt departure, he winced. She probably thought he was going to report her. He had to call her, to set the record straight. To find out if she felt the same need he did.

Pulling out his phone, he called Jason, relieved when his friend answered quickly.

“Hey, Brock. How'd your latest session with Dr. Hottie go?”

Anger flared, but he tamped it down. “Don't be an asshole. I need a favor.”

Jason chuckled. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Do you still talk to that guy who can dig up just about any intel?”

“Reese? Yeah, sometimes. Why?”

Brock hesitated, wondering how pissed off Tori was going to be. Then he decided it was worth the risk. “I need you to get a number for me.”

His friend wasn't stupid. Long moments of silence passed before Jason spoke again. “Tell me you're not thinking about calling her.”

Impatient now, Brock took a swig of his beer, struggling to keep himself from snapping. “Can he get it for me or not?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, I'm sure he can. Do you know what you're doing?”

To be honest, he wasn't sure he did. “Maybe. Thanks man, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do. A big one. I'll call you when I have the number. Knowing Reese, it shouldn't take long.”

Hanging up, Brock tossed the phone onto the table and took another drink. Anticipation hummed through him at the thought of hearing Tori’s voice soon, making his dick tighten even more. It had been so damn long since a woman had intrigued him as much as the gorgeous therapist and she was definitely under his skin.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the buzz of his phone signaling an incoming call.

“That was fast. Did you get it?”

Jason gave a strained laugh. “Yeah, I told you Reese was good. For the record, I think this is a mistake.”

“Duly noted.”

Brock jotted down the number on an old takeout menu and hung up, staring at the digits until they were emblazoned on his brain. Did he really want to do this? At worst, he could reassure her he wasn't going to screw up her career and leave it at that. At best? Well, that remained to be seen.

* * *

Tori only had two more patients before she went home. As she twisted the lock on her door and dropped her bag on the floor, the world lifted off her shoulders. When her brain cleared the only thing in her mind was Brock.

His lips had tasted of mint, even with the barest of kisses. He had smelled like clean soap and that was it. Simple. Pure.

She was afraid to admit how wet that kiss made her. He’d barely responded, and it was more than a liberty to take, but damn it was hotter than some kisses she’d had in her life, a few even completely naked.

She dropped her bag and stripped down to her cami and boy shorts. It was hot outside, and she’d been dreaming of taking her bra off since lunch. When she plopped on the couch, the blanket fell off the back onto her lap and she left it there closing her eyes to the dim light coming from the curtained windows.

It was an early day for her but every bone in her body felt tired. Like she’d been running a marathon and not even realizing it until her mind refused to continue.

Wine called for her but she pushed it out of her head. No. Not tonight. The more she gave into the urge the more it would take over. No wine until she could enjoy a glass without drinking the bottle.

Brock came back to her head. That lopsided grin that said he was better than you and it was best to just accept it. And yet when that tear slid down his cheek, and genuine emotion shone in his eyes, he looked younger, vulnerable, gentle even. A far cry from the man who walked into her office declaring her job lunacy.

The phone rang loudly from the corner of the room. She didn’t want to get it but it could be a patient emergency. With a groan she stood up and grabbed it off its cradle before sitting down again.

“Hello?”

“Is this Doctor Davidson?”

She knew that voice. It shot through her like a rubber band ricochet. “This is she.”

“This is Sergeant Turner.”

“I know, how did you get this number?”

He chuckled low and soft. “I have connections.”

She didn’t know what troubled her more: that he was calling her or that he was able to get her personal information with seemingly little effort.

“Um... Brock. Why are you calling?”

His tone instantly sobered. “You know why.”

That kiss, that barely there kiss. Damn. She cleared her throat. “Look, Brock...”

“Don’t start Doc. I have something to say this time.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Was he going to turn her in for misconduct?

As if reading her mind he spoke. “I’m not going to tattle on you, Doc. Don’t worry. I just want to talk for a second. If you don’t like what I’m saying then you hang up and we never speak of this again.”

She swallowed and waited..

“I don’t know what you went through with your family. I only know my own shit. But what I do know is when you kissed me today something lifted. Like a boulder had been sitting on my lungs and I didn’t know it.”

Her chest felt tight, and she wanted to speak but kept quiet for fear he’d stop talking. His voice in the phone was something else altogether, deep, erotic, sensual.

“I guess what I want to say is that I know that it’s not proper to have something between us but I want...”

He stopped. Silence stretched through the line until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What do you want, Brock?”

A shuffle. More silence.

“Brock?”

Then a whisper. “You. Just you. You’re not only beautiful but something about you eases me. I can’t explain it.”

She loosened her grip on the phone she’d been clutching hard enough to turn her knuckles white. What did she say to that? The resignation she’d typed up the day before sat on her coffee table. She couldn’t lie to herself, part of her wanted him too. Not in the I-just-want-to-help-you kind of way, but the bend-me-over-something-now sort. But did she want him because sleeping with him would mean she could finally force herself to quit a job she hated? Or because she actually wanted him.

There was only one way to find out. “Meet me at my office tomorrow. Early please before nine. We can discuss this further.”

A chuckled came from his end. “Yes, Ma’am.”

* * *

The rational part of his brain told him he should turn around and head back to his apartment. That part could go to hell. He was tired of making calculated decisions for the good of others. It was time to make one for himself. Maybe this was going to be a mistake, but maybe it would turn out to be one of the smartest things he had ever done.

With every step he took toward her, fire built in his blood. All too soon, he stood outside of the door, considering the formal lettering of her name. Brock wondered if she would regret agreeing to meet him like this. He hoped not, but there was no telling what was going through her mind. She stood to lose more than he did; he couldn’t blame her if she wanted to back out.

The door swung open, halting his racing thoughts. Tori arched an eyebrow, her expression amused “Were you planning on coming in any time soon?”

Desire slammed into him. Her hair was down today, tousled around her face as if she had just gotten out of bed. She wore a black pencil skirt that perfectly accentuated her long legs and her light pink blouse was unbuttoned low enough to show tease at her cleavage.

Clearing his throat, Brock moved forward into her office, unsure of whether he should make the first move. As he sat on the chair, she closed the door and he caught the faint click as she turned the lock.

Tori perched herself on the chair across from him and smiled. “Thank you for coming so early. Is there anything you want to discuss first?”

“I do want to apologize for taking the liberty of acquiring your number. For the record, however, I don’t apologize for calling you.”

The soft chuckle she released went straight to his groin, tightening almost to the point of pain. “It was a surprise to say the least. I’m glad you called, though,” she said, leaning toward him slightly and giving him a view of beautiful breasts.

“You’ve managed to get into my head, Doc. More than anyone ever has.”

She smiled in satisfaction. “Is that so? Tell me more.”

Brock decided it was time to up the ante on her. “What would you say if I told you that after we spoke, I jerked off while imagining it was your hand wrapped around my dick, stroking and squeezing?”

Her breath caught and her pupils dilated. Good. He wanted her every bit as turned on as he was. Rising from the chair, he moved around the table and leaned over her, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair. His eyes never left hers as he leaned down to brush his lips along the curve of her ear.

“Did you touch yourself last night, Doc? Did you think of me while you ran your fingers through your wetness? Did you picture what it might feel like to feel my hands on your skin?”

With each of his whispered questions, her breath came faster and he could see her hands clenched in her lap. Emboldened, he reached up to her blouse and began to unbutton the fabric, going slowly to give her a chance to protest. She remained silent.

“Do you want me to touch you, Tori? I want to hear you say the word.”

One heartbeat passed, then another. Finally, she gave him what he needed to hear. “Yes.”

Refusing to give her time to change her mind, his mouth took hers, one hand rising to cup her breast. His thumb brushed over her pebbled nipple and she moaned, her own arms coming around him to pull him closer, the movements frantic. Finally, he would have her.

* * *

A million reasons why she shouldn’t do this cascaded through Tori’s mind. But only one reason why she should broke through the fragments: she honestly didn’t want to stop.

“Stand up, Doc.”

He pulled her to her feet by gently lifting her palms in his. When she stood she teetered on her heels but he didn’t let her fall, circling her waist with an arm as if they meant to share a dance.

“Careful,” he whispered only an inch away from her mouth. The syllables brushed air across the sensitive flesh.

Fuck it. There was no going back now. She swallowed the last of her reservations and yanked him by the uniform top to the desk. The one she’d already begun cleaning out. This was a perfect way to say goodbye to an office she hated, a job she hated, a life she hated.

He didn’t need directions, lifting her gently up onto the edge of the desk without any prompting. “Had a lot of practice at this?” she asked.

He smiled like a blackjack dealer who rigged the game. “I don’t know what you mean, Doc.”

To that she ripped the hook and loops on his top apart and yanked the zipper down so she could push the heavy material off his arms. His biceps were tanned and flexed tight as he braced his weight on his fists on either side of her hips. She took the opportunity to look him over. Not that she hadn’t before but damn he was built. Most men came back from deployment in great shape. Not much to do but workout.

Before she could work her hands down his abs, he gently flicked open the top button of her blouse. Then the next. And the next. Until the line of her abdomen was bared to him. She liked to keep in shape too, running had long been a solace, when she wasn’t cuddling a wine bottle.

He pulled her blouse from her skirt and then off her arms. Only the black lace of her bra hiding her bare breasts from him. He swirled thumbs around each nipple and she let her head drop back drowning in the sensation of being touched.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Doc, it’s been awhile for me. I might not last long but I’ll make it good for you.”

She looked up at him realizing his hands were now on his belt buckle. He expertly opened it and then his fly. Seeing his lack of underwear was a surprise, but then, she’s all but invited him here for sex.

She didn’t want to wait anymore. Reaching out she cupped him in her hand, circling her palm around every thick perfect inch of him. The accompanying groan he let out trickled through her straight to her clit.

“Careful, Doc, or I’ll come in your hand.”

Hearing him utter the word pushed her too far. She released his cock and jerked her skirt up around her hips. He needed to be inside her. All of him. Now. Somewhere she might have uttered a please and passed him a condom but she couldn't exactly remember. All that mattered was filling that void that seemed to ache with wanting him.

“Hold still for me, Doc.” he whispered in her ear.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him in an attempt to get him as deep and as far as she could.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

As he filled her up she let out a sigh of relief. But it didn’t help. She shifted legs around his hips urging him to move and he let out a soft laugh before pulling away gently. BUt she didn’t want gentle. She wanted it hard and fast and rough. She wanted a little pain. She wanted to remember this.

Instead of telling him what she wanted she brushed her lips on his t-shirt before biting down on the curve of his shoulder. He let out an indistinguishable curse.

“Is that how you want it?”

He pulled out of her, and flipped her around, her bare ass in the air. Yes.

She held onto the far side of the desk as he entered her once more but this time he didn’t take her slowly, he marked her, claimed her with each pound of their bodies against the worn wood. Only her bunched up skirt against her belly saved her from the bruising.

His fingers dug into the soft part of her hips and she thrust her ass back with each brutal intrusion.

“Please,” she begged. He reached in front of her thighs and brought his hand up to her clit. The second his index finger touched the aching bud her orgasm began to build. Finally. He didn’t move it, simply put pressure there, as their bodies moved his finger found a rhythm all its own. It took seconds for her to spiral down and one more to break apart, her face pressed against her giant white desk calendar.

“Is that how you like it?” he whispered, but he wasn’t even talking to her now. He was as lost to it as she was.

He let out another curse and pumped into her once more pinning her hard between him and the desk. His body shuddered over hers and she held on the aftermath of her own climax slowly receding.

Seconds felt like minutes as he lifted his weight and adjusted his pants. She fixed her own clothing but there was nothing to be done about the red mark on her cheek from laying it flat on hard surface.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, running a thumb across the tender spot.

She shook her head. “No, it’ll go away shortly.”

They stood together, the sounds of the rough sex replaced by a weighted silence.

“What happens now?” he finally asked.

She walked around her desk and lifted a small square box. “Now you put those muscles to good use and help me pack.”

He blinked, uncertainty replaced with shock. “What?”

She put the box on top the desk and shrugged. “I’d decided to quit days ago. You were my goodbye present to myself.”

Now confusion. “Thanks?”

She laughed and pointed to the books on the coffee table. “Grab those will you. They are coming home with me.”

With a shake of the head he picked up the two books and placed them in the brown box. “And me, Ma’am?”

“Oh, you can come too if you like.”

He packed her office faster than she could.