Base Instinct: Black Bliss, #1

By Fallen Kittie

Melissa Black is a woman of few words and even fewer friends. Not that she’s complaining. Considering all she’s accomplished, all work and no play are words to live by. Shooting for the moon led her to land among the stars as an astrophysicist. On top of that, she breaks new altitudes on the Air Force. And she isn’t even 30. From sleepless study habits to army crawls on dirt roads, she’s soared above and beyond time and again. So, why the hell should she care when the man who took her virginity twelve years ago flies back in her life?

The Blacks are all Kingsley Hastings has. They weren’t just neighbors. They were the family he’d never had, but always wanted. He’d found a real friend in Lionel and General Black had pledged a paternal promise. But it was Melissa who’d given him his real taste of pleasure all those years ago. Too bad that taste came too little, too late. Searching for a life beyond the base, he was set to leave town the next day. He should’ve known better. Now, his father’s funeral brings him back to the barracks—and he’s determined to make things right.

But the alluring aviatress clouds his judgment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fallen Kittie
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516370726

Fallen Kittie

ABOUT FALLEN KITTIE Fallen Kittie is a freelance writer and sociologist currently studying existentialism and supernatural folklore. Her characters are avenues in which she collates her own realities and musings upon sexuality within fiction. Midway into her academic career, she started to consider writing as a means to escape the miscellaneous monotonies of her syllabi. Her escape became story bound illicit intimacies and other imaginings. As she continues writing, she cultivates a preference for erotica over the emptiness of the empirical.   Follow her on Facebook: http://www.fallenkittie.com  

Book preview

Base Instinct

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For Melissa and Kingsley,

living as friends but likened as lovers

1

As soon as Melissa Black caught the purr of the motorcycle pulling into her driveway, she froze. Her chest stung, raw with emotion. She felt her heart shrivel, then shrink as it fisted to a frantic beat. It was stupid really. She’d known this day would come, that holding her breath or skating on eggshells wouldn’t deter the inevitable. So, why did the sight of Kingsley Hastings catch her by surprise?

The crinkle of her textbook snapped her back to sense. She realized how tightly she’d held it and immediately loosened her death grip. Tucking it under her arm, she watched as Kingsley rolled to a stop some feet away. Her brother, Lionel, stalked past her while she stayed rooted to the spot. Against his nudge of encouragement, she pretended to be engrossed in their lawn.

You go catch up, she forced a smile. I’ll finish watering—

Come on, I’ll do that later. Lionel wouldn’t hear any of it. He caught her hand in his own death grip before she could come up with any more excuses.

Instinctively, Melissa wrestled her hand away, determined to stake her strength as always. For as long as she could remember, she’d always warmly sparred with her brother but life on the base had made them both coldly competitive. The military bred defenses, awareness, and keen tactics, not love and especially not fuzzy memories. Being a kid didn’t change that. Growing up, all the brats fished for validation in a stream of ominous officials and gruff generals. Melissa and Lionel’s father was of the latter, now retired and proudly dusting his metals.

Along with theirs.

Well, mostly Lionel’s. Melissa still had a long way to go before she could speak to the family legacy. Which was why she was back from college, catching up on mechanics and maneuvers to train on the base. If everything went well, she’d have another degree to frame next to the family metals pretty soon. When she shipped out, she’d earn her keep in the display case and go down in the books like everyone else. It was all about hard work, focus...

But Kingsley tempted her eyes to stray from the prize.

Hastings! Lionel roared over the bike’s engine. It’s about time!

Melissa hung back, spurring herself to indifference as she clung to her book. That reminded her, she had an exam to cram for. But it was useless. Kingsley turned her brains to mush. Even if she hadn’t recognized his trademark Harley, she would’ve known it was him. He commanded casualty, confidence. She’d never met anyone like him, someone who sauntered every step and savored every smile. For him, success came easy.

Just like women.

Just like her once.

After he killed the engine, he slid off his helmet and ruffled his slick, jet black hair into place. His lips curled and Melissa’s heart took a dive. If it weren’t for his shades, that would’ve been the end of her. As much as she strove to stiffen, she knew she’d fall apart if she saw his eyes. She would’ve lost herself in their black fire and her pride would’ve been swallowed to silence. Those eyes struck a chord. Remembering how they’d smoldered into hers as he slicked away her virginity twelve years ago struck her speechless.

Unlike her voracious brother, his voice was leveled, like his broad shoulders. Lionel, he stood. It’s been too long.

The men slapped their hugs.

When Kingsley nodded in her direction, Melissa forced a smile, Hi.

Hi, he echoed. How’ve you been?

Meekly, she motioned to her book, Studying.

Thankfully, Lionel cut in and spared her from forcing more conversation. Things haven’t changed—not with Mel anyway.

Yeah, I’m...just still up to the same old, she shrugged and started off. Good to you see you, Kings—Hastings.

Her cheeks were on fire as she caught herself embarrassingly on the verge of using his first name.

Kingsley Hastings had never been one for small talk. When he was young, he’d learned the value of meaningful conversation—which was probably why he didn’t get on so well with most. He’d never been the type to waste words. It was a curse, just like his conscience.

What was left of it anyway.

Ever since that night twelve years ago, he’d grown into the art of forcing pleasantries. The assets of artifice ensured his own. He’d made a lucrative living in sound investments. All that time spent beat up and bumbling through the base, and it all it took was Melissa’s broken smile to push him to break out on his own. He’d never forget that night: her kindred kisses, homely hugs, and the searing sex they’d shared until sunrise. What stuck with him most was how numb he’d felt, how silently he’d snuck off into the cold dawn, and how Melissa couldn’t look him the eye after she and Lionel saw him off at the bus station. As his oldest friend, Lionel was pretty much family. Melissa had practically been his sister too.

Until that one night.

Now, Melissa caught his eye again. Even here, in the dusty driveway that defined most of his childhood, she was all he could think about. He figured she must’ve thought about him some too. The few words she’d uttered gave something away. He wasn’t sure what it was—anger, shame, shyness—but he’d heard that clipped tone. Nostalgia gnawed his nerves, likely hers too.

Lionel was right. Nothing had changed. He still couldn’t find the words to explain and he wasn’t about to insult Melissa’s pride more than he already had by trying to apologize. And, why should he? That night made Kingsley feel a lot of things, but he sure as hell wasn’t sorry. Truth be told, he would’ve done it again if he had the chance—just differently.

The base wasn’t a place for romance. Most of the kids laughed off the idea of relationships. The odds of them turning up in a box or hitched abroad gave them reason to. The base was a place to sow your oats. Overseas was where you steered your soil. The wondrous world beyond these bunkers beckoned. The longer Kingsley stayed here, the more it felt like a prison.

When he turned nineteen, he’d realized he couldn’t grow here. His family wasn’t like the Blacks. There was no pride or valor in the Hastings’ metals, just obligation. Every metal and milestone symbolized sacrifice. His family was driven by duty, defined by frigid formalities, and bristled when it came time to bond. The Blacks had opened their home to him and more often than not, Lionel had been the one to set him straight. Sometimes, Melissa had too. His house was cold. The Blacks had always been there to put him back together when the loveless void tore him to pieces.

Lionel was the one who talked him out of running away. If it hadn’t been for him, he would’ve been pulling endless shifts at some dead end job. More than once, Kingsley itched to take off on his Harley even if it meant drifting to nowhere and drying up to afford his independence. The only thing that’d kept him back was Lionel’s voice of reason. When it came to sparing a bunk or setting an extra plate, the Blacks were always more than understanding.

And, he made up for it by alienating their only daughter. Not that they’d known. Knowing Melissa, she’d probably kept it a secret—and of course, that memory didn’t tug at her heartstrings. Kingsley knew she told herself it was best. Some things were just better left unsaid, under some pretext of pride and practicality.

At least, that was what Melissa thought.

That hadn’t changed.

Lionel rounded up some of his old buddies, mostly seasoned servicemen who stuck around to gloat. Most of them had known Kingsley but now, hardly any of them could place his face. His parents were long gone. Between shifts, the Blacks kept up his house and a gardener popped by every month in the summers to weed their lawn. Kingsley wasn’t that memorable.

He knew he wasn’t exactly well liked either. Every greeting dripped with something disingenuous. Over their beers, the boys were boiling beyond the summer heat. A grain had fallen over them, a film of revelation and resentment. Kingsley had chiseled his charms in gyms and jogs through the suburbs while they’d built their brawn earning their stripes—or leaves, since they were Canadian.

Lionel smiled, So, how’s the business?

Yeah, a staunch soldier quipped. How’s the wife and kids?

Kingsley nodded. Nonexistent, but business is good.

His father’s death drove him back here to tie up loose ends, but all he could think about was getting tangled up with Melissa. 

Again.

You staying here? Lionel asked. Because if you need a place to crash—

He kept his voice light. Is that cool with Melissa? If she’s with you too, things could get a little cramped.

Of course, it’s cool, Lionel chuckled. You’re family. Winking, he added, Besides, she’s hardly around. School’s got her working hard.

Guess we know who got the brains, a pilot chirped.

That’s not all she’s got, another added. She’ll be in the barracks soon.

The statement struck Kingsley cold. Melissa’s joining the service?

Yeah, Lionel shrugged. She wants to be a pilot.

Kingsley tried not to groan picturing it. Melissa would look damn good in aviators, but pretty comical steering a plane. He never thought little Mel could ever muster the guts to climb into a cockpit. But he never dreamt she’d climb over him either.

I thought she was going to get a degree or something, Kingsley rubbed his neck. You said she went to college.

You can do both, the pilot jeered. We aren’t just fighting machines.

After some chitchat, the men dispersed to the pool tables. Lionel and Kingsley hung back and caught up over nachos. As they brought each other up to speed, time and patrons flew past them. The boys couldn’t be bothered to stick around. Dusk drew them out.

Meanwhile, Lionel had drawn Melissa in. General Black sent her to fetch him and their guest for supper. That’s right, she remembered, Kingsley was their guest. Despite all their years apart, he was still family. She would’ve done well to bear that in mind. Instead, she’d thrown herself in school and training as if she could pretend he didn’t exist.

But he did exist. He always had, always would.

Just like that night.

Just like the bar too.

The place was just another thing Melissa ignored out of existence. The bar, its beer, and buxom broads bred drama. For the longest time, she’d never understood the appeal. The beer tasted like shit, the only music was the whine of the jukebox, and the only other kicks were darts and the pool tables. It all made sense when she’d turned sixteen, when she burgeoned behind the other army brats who’d hung off the barstools so the soldiers could drink them in with their shots. It all made sense after Kingsley dipped into her panties and feasted on her charms.

Chewing the inside of her cheeks, she pushed back the memory. That was then, she reasoned, this is now.

Spotting Lionel by the window, she marched over. General wants you back.

With a curt nod, she acknowledged Kingsley and sucked in a breath. When she exhaled, cigarette clouds and whiffs of whiskey pinched her nose.

Against Kingsley’s objections, Lionel left them to pick up the tab. Melissa avoided his eyes. Outside, she stiffened. Inside, she cringed. Steeling her resolve, she sank her hands in her pockets and leaned on the table. Kingsley tried not dwell on her jeans or the soft sway of her hips as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Emptying his glass, he racked his brain for topics. It was all he could do as he fought flashbacks.

What’re you studying again? he asked. Astronomy?

Astrophysics.

Doesn’t that sound tough, he whistled. That’s impressive.

She raked a hand through her hair. I didn’t major to impress.

His face broke into a grin. Doesn’t make it any less impressive, Mel.

No one calls me that anymore, she frowned. Except Lionel.

So, she didn’t want him calling her that then. It was probably for the best. He hadn’t called her that in ages: not on that night, not when they’d said goodbye either. But he’d called her name many times.

Just like she’d called his.

I’m sorry, he nodded mostly to himself. "I’ll try to remember it’s Melissa from hereon out."

Coolly, she shrugged. All you can do is try, right?

"Guess things have changed, he stood. For you, trying was never good enough."

He was right. She’d always been a perfectionist. Melissa didn’t try; she either won or negotiated her threshold. She turned out on top, or didn’t turn out at all. Kingsley had been one of her rocks when they were kids. Lionel and her father were the others. When she reached too high, all of them had kept her grounded or knotted her safety net. She never would’ve guessed Kingsley would’ve broken her heart like he broke her falls.

It’s been a long time, she offered. I guess I’ve learned to compromise.

Like hell, he thought. It’d be a cold day in hell when Melissa Black buckled her ambition. Or maybe he’d been gone too long after all. The stiff scholar who stood before him was rigid with resolve. Maybe her world revolved around rhyme and reason. It’d been so long and they’d been so far apart—and Kingsley had wedged most of that space between them. Sure, he’d lived worlds away from the base but he’d kept up with Lionel. If he could face Melissa, he wouldn’t have made himself scarce.

You still paint? Kingsley asked. For a while, I thought you majored in art.

Art’s a hobby. She didn’t speak in past tense. So, she still painted.

He owed her more than she realized. Her painting led him to his career as a curator. After a few traveling exhibits, he’d taken a shine to the corporate aspects of art and the history in the paintings. Some summers before he left, he’d convinced Melissa to enter one of her paintings in contests. If he’d stayed, he probably would’ve pushed her to apply for liberal arts and put all those paintings in a portfolio.

I still have the one you gave me, he smiled. The one with the palm trees.

I don’t remember, she lied.

Lionel came back, crinkling the receipt in his pocket, before Kingsley could speak further.

2

General Black had always been an enormous man. Kingsley had always remembered him as a gentle giant, a man who his father barely shadowed. He’d survived four deployments and served two consecutive terms overseas in warzones. Everywhere he went, he commanded respect and prided his prestige. As kids, Melissa and Lionel always vowed to do his legacy justice just as he’d done their grandfather’s. For the Blacks, service wasn’t just a rite of passage; it was genetic. They all fought for something.

Kingsley’s war waged within. Metals, mentions, or patriotic portraits held no consolation but he could appreciate the pride and purpose of those things. After they hugged their helloes, General Black shook his hand in a firm grip and set a place for him at their table. Over dinner, they rehashed their political views. Melissa hardly spoke.

Once in a while, he caught her eyes across the table but they fell to her lap before he could read them. After dinner, she rose and headed for the kitchen. Lionel shook his head when he asked why hadn’t rejoined them.

Melissa will come around, The General assured. I think she missed you more than she thought.

Midnight rolled around by the time they finished catching up. Kingsley was beat. The day had been one long exorcism summoning memories, but he had yet to purge the demons wearing his nerves. All he wanted to do was lose himself in a hot shower and turn in. In the morning, he’d wake up and jog off what sleep remained in his eyes.

But The General insisted he stay the night. He wasn’t in much of a mood to argue either, even if the long trek