Masters at Arms - By Kallypso Masters Page 0,44
papers. Everyone knew that training with the Marine Corps was more intense than any other regular military branch. He could vouch personally that his Great Lakes boot-camp experience was the bunny slope compared to this.
He heard the rack next to him squeak and looked over to see Orlando. The man had just been through the same maneuvers and exercises and looked ready to go dancing. Shit. Marc had no idea how soft he’d gotten at that cushy desk job.
Orlando looked unhappy, as usual. Never saw someone with a more depressing outlook on life. Maybe he could engage the kid in some conversation. At least Marc’s jaw muscles were still in working order.
“So, what got you into the Marines?”
Orlando looked around as if perhaps Marc had been talking to someone else, then his gaze zeroed in on him. “Lost my job.”
“What did you do?”
“Bus boy.” He said it as if Marc would look down on him or something. Damn, the kid sure had a boulder of resentment on his shoulder.
“That’s hard work.”
“It was a living. While I had it, anyway.”
Clearly, this conversation was going nowhere fast. “So, where you from?”
“Just down the coast. Eden Gardens at Solana Beach.”
Again, he looked as if Marc would make some judgment call. He had no freaking clue what Eden Gardens was like, but it sure sounded nice. When he didn’t ask where Marc was from, he just decided to volunteer the info. “I’m from Aspen, Colorado, by way of the Lombardy region of Italy.”
“Mmm.” Orlando removed his boots and began polishing the suede on one of them.
Shit. What the hell could he do to get a response out of the guy? Marc turned onto his side with a groan and propped his head in the palm of his hand. “So, have you ever tied a woman to her bed?”
Orlando’s hand came to a stop and he looked up from his boot. Got his attention, at least.
“Once or twice.”
Yeah, right. He’d remember if it were once…or twice. But there was a look in his eye that Marc couldn’t quite decipher.
“I don’t get off on that shit.”
“Then you must not be doing it right. Nothing sweeter than the surrender of a submissive woman in restraints.”
“Not if she doesn’t want to be in them.”
“Well, no shit. I’m talking safe, sane, and consensual, good old-fashioned bondage and discipline between consenting adults.”
“I had a girlfriend once who was into pain, but I left her. I could never hurt a woman.”
“Even if she needed the pain to get off?”
Orlando got a faraway look in his eyes, his hands remaining still, holding the boot and brush. “There was this girl last fall who got herself into a really bad BDSM scene. Fucking pissed me off when I found her. She sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it.” Orlando shook his head. “No thanks.”
“Why didn’t she say her safe word?”
“I’m not sure she didn’t. She was with two guys she barely knew. Not very good at keeping herself safe, I guess.” He looked as if he were a million miles away again. Then slowly he began polishing the boot.
“Some people don’t take enough time to establish trust. Can’t have a power exchange if there isn’t a firm foundation in trust.”
When Orlando silently continued working at the grime on his boot, Marc eased back onto the rack. If he could move, he’d do the same with his boots. Tomorrow morning, he’d have to get up and go through this pain all over again. If he survived reconnaissance training, it would be a miracle.
Gino had gone through Recon Marine training, too. Marc had a new respect for him after a week with this Marine unit. Funny how Marc had tried so hard to avoid going into the Marines—then had wound up in the same damned unit Gino had served in.
Gino hadn’t said much about what he was doing. He’d been sent to Kandahar in the early days of the war to help establish the base there. If Marc made it through training, he wanted to talk with Master Sergeant Montague about the firefight that had taken Gino’s life. The details they’d been given were pretty sketchy.
But there weren’t a lot of opportunities for a corpsman to chat up the Top. Not that he’d ever dare to call the master sergeant a “Top” to his face without permission. Did the man like the common nickname or not?
After months of medical training, including A-School, Marc just hoped he’d be able to save the lives of the men and