#dark!conrad

“Here USS Ronald Reagon. Approaching coordination point beta at 18 knots. Estimated arrival 0930 hours. Over“ the woman spoke in the communication device, carefully overlooking all her instruments and measurement displays.

It was a peaceful day at sea. Uneventful without major wind or waves to slow down the massive carrier. Nothing for the executive officer to worry about.

But exactly these days, she found herself musing about the time in Guatemalan jungle, the wild animals, the adrenaline cursing through her veins - and her Captain.

Two months had passed since she was withdrawn from the special forces mission after her father had found out about the bold charade. Two months without a grain of contact to Conrad.

Hell, she didn't even know if he was still alive. But she cared. Deeper than the young woman would've been comfortable with.

Every time she closed her hazel eyes in the now more spacious cabin she inhabited, memories of the compass returned. The elaborate engravings of her future ex-wife.

Did he left it where it dropped or was it still important?

Watching the Pacific ocean gush and tower in mostly peaceful waves, the officer waited for her pause to begin. It was a soothing scene, the sun drowning the white sea spray in a tangerine color.

A soothing sight to anyone for sure.

However, her mind wasn't at bay nor at peace, quite the contrary. Since Captain James Conrad happened it had never been quiet again.

“I'll take over now. Eat something, Jackson. Please“ her new best friend and and cabin neighbor blocked the twisted path her mind was running.

He was right, she thought when her meek gaze took in her own reflection. She had lost 10 pounds in two months, the most obvious testament to her constant unrest.

“Alright. Thank you“ she whispered, smiling weakly before officially announcing the change of power as per protocol.

“Officer Moore is taking over until 0900“.

The door of her cabin fell shut before her spent body dropped on the small bed, the duvet giving way to her white jacket.

Golden specks were thrown on the greyish ceiling as her command at sea insignia met the beam of light. Scoffing, she reached for her phone.

How the young officer hated this golden, glorious symbol.

< Ava Conrad > was quickly typed in the search bar of the military intranet.

Was this a fault? Perhaps.

Was she still curious about the abuse? Unfortunately.

Weirdly hoping Wilson and the other guy were just talking trash about the reason for Conrads soon-to-happen divorce, hazel eyes scanned the results.

There it was, her lips parting in twisted anticipation and her legs clenching at the photo of Conrad in his festive military dress and

...a gorgeous black haired woman in a white wedding dress with a perfect mermaid silhouette.

The screen began to seem blurry as her nervous hands trembled, collecting all the dammed emotions. Anger, disappointment, curiosity - but there were also joy and most of all jealousy.

Again.

Trying to keep her cool and not look like she had cried after this fifteen minute pause, her pointer begun to scroll.

“Divorce still in progress after incriminating testimony against Ava Conrad née White“

A gasp left her suddenly dry mouth, phone slipping out of her grasp and slapping against the metal insignia with a screeching noise.

Conrad was never the abuser. It had been his wife.

The woman's nails dug in the sheets while pity and most of all shame twirled around her spine, feeling horribly stiffening.

“What did you do to Ava“ she heard the angry echo of her own voice confronting the man who had always been innocent.

She felt terrible, as knee deep in debt.

But, however, there was no time for her to panic nor overthink if she would ever meet him again and if so how she should apologize best.

*ring ring*

Fumbling with the sheets and her jacket, her delicate fingers tried to recapture the buzzing and singing phone. Internally praying for it to be mum about to ask whether the sea was calm she hastily accepted the call.

“Sister? Can you hear me?“

The young officer felt her heart clench obnoxiously at the annoying voice of her older sister. Puffing before she held the phone to her mouth, she prayed it would just go by quickly.

“Yes, Louise, I can“

“God, no need to be a bitch“ the real Louise huffed, the eye roll nearly audible.

“I- What? What have I done?“ her knuckles slowly began to turn white from her violent grip around the phone.

“You're always so- so...ugh, forget it. Father told me to call you“

Or course he did, the woman thought, not unfamiliar with her father avoiding to reach out to her directly. It always was a colleague or Louise to inform her about his will.

“Okay. What did he say?“ she tried to remain as unfazed as possible. Since her system was still overruled by simmering feelings towards James Conrad, she could've been assigned an easier task.

“I don't know why but he wants you to attend the annual gala dinner of officials. He has arranged a substitute for you on board, the helicopter will pick you up tomorrow at 0730“.

Sighing the woman, as pale as the white wall behind her, once again cursed her father. Internally.

Last year she had managed to avoid those lavish festivities under the pretense of having contracted the flu that was going around the carrier. Seems like this was not an option this year since said event took place in ridiculous three days.

She was at her wit's end, defeated and tired. And certainly the bloody contrary of keen on being home.

“Alright then. See you, Louise“.

“Bye, Yvonne“

Burying her hands in the big sweater she wore although spring was blooming outside, Yvonne wanted nothing more than to leave.

But flight was not always an option. Conrad had taught her that all lost things could be found again.

Smiling weakly, the blonde indulged in reminisces...

The tall, athletic man's hand felt right on her body, making her feel the polar opposite of what men usually provoked in her irritated mind. He had planted the rich seed of desire in her emotions instead of scaring her. Showing Yvonne how sensual a rough man's touch can be and bending her body to his will.

“You know people expect the General's daughter to look... presentable“ Louise sneered from across the room, helping herself to various delicacies her father's kitchen had to offer.

She had always been like that; disgustingly haughty, chiding your sheer existence whenever she had the chance to.

The lean woman shifted in her seat, face contorted in obvious discomfort. If it was her sister or the thought of tonight's gruesome events was beyond her knowledge.

“I still got the dress from two years ago. It'll suffice“.

“God, Yvonne“ her father's agitated grumble resounded from the staircase announcing his theatric arrival. He couldn't possibly have joined them in a worse moment, she mumbled to herself.

“Louise, my dear, would you please lend your sister a dress? She is incapable of keeping a decent wardrobe“ he said, his tone more angry the nearer he got to the humiliating end of his sentence.

The old man still, even after 23 years of Yvonne's life, didn't care a tiny bit about her own opinion. The beautiful woman with eyes of her mother long living apart from the General, was the annoying anomaly in his strict life.

“Are you sure they would look any good? I mean look at her“ Louise asked with feigned worry, struggling to keep the giggle out of her voice.

Yvonne, however, was numb to her sister's unnecessary gibes. Time does heal, apparently.

“Just give me your smallest. It will fit, dad. I'm sure“ she forced herself to answer.

The right hand balling to a silent fist was perfectly veiled by the oversized sweater when she got up, emotionlessly trolling behind Louise.

This evening was about to become one of the worst in her entire life. Her father would almost be exploding with pride about his eldest daughter while said she marinated in the macabre spotlight illuminated by some patsies of war mongers.

Yvonne was not even aware of the wildfire that was yet to blaze it's way towards her.

It was a cold comfort but at least the dress she was forced in suited her quite well.

She was fortunate to be a woman, Yvonne thought when she watched all the man looking like colorful lackeys in their ceremonial dresses. Frowning, the young officer tried her best to find something pleasing to look at.

Something that could positively distract her from this show.

Just as her hazel gaze crept along the walls of the old manor, military property for exactly such occasions, the terrifying sound of her dad clearing his throat ripped her apart.

“Somehow, I had to make amends for your naive self to walk around as Louise and torment Captain Conrad's whole lead“ he began to chide, awakening a bittersweet premonition to cradle in Yvonne's mind.

“So I invited him“ he continued gesturing to the unoccupied side of the table “...and will introduce the real Louise to him. J'espère que tu n'as pas fait trop de dégâts“.

His mother-tongue leaving the nasty vocal cords of her father was never a good thing. Mostly, an elaborate seeming veil to cover what no one else should understand.

Yvonne was suddenly freezing, even though if she had thought it through before, it only seemed logical that her dad wanted Conrad to meet his trophy daughter.

The one that was actually experienced in ground fighting. The one she had claimed to be to take a glimpse of what freedom, autonomy and her dream would look like.

Shuddering under shiny eyes of her older sister, Yvonne felt dreadfully lonely.

It wouldn't even require an high school diploma to detect what Louise was about to do. Everyone knew Conrad was a handsome, athletic man with the face of a greek god statue. It was kind of hard to blame her for planning to seduce him.

Oh, the things he could make her feel...Yvonne's skittish mind trailed off like in countless reclusive nights before, surging through a minefield of dangerous souvenirs.

The way his rough, strong hands felt so arousing as they cupped her breast and pressed her against the tree. How the young woman easily dropped the bits of grace she had left and sunk on her knees for him, sucking until he obscenely came all over her throat.

Now that it was confirmed that James had never been an abuser and therefore falsely accused by her, Yvonne wished to make amends for it.

She couldn't quit decipher what it was, however her deepest urges longed for him, craved to be back under his controlling gaze that lost notes of it's sinister only for her. There was no sense in denying her attraction towards Captain Conrad.

Maybe she would steal the show tonight?

Yvonne cherished and treasured the images of his steel blues dripping with hot want and hues of sentiment for her.

Was it that far-fetched to presume he would still be electrified by her?

“Probably not“ Yvonne's absent lips murmured, dragging her father's attention as he made her flinch with a simple outreach of his arm. No harm was intended.

Conrad gritted his teeth, feeling his heart crumble stilly at the sight of faux-Louise Jackson jolting.

He would not need to ask to know the reason.

“What is it, James?“ Ava purred when the black haired woman felt his hand clench around her fingers. Not gifting her a single look, Conrad just scoffed, never averting his narrowed eyes from the woman who was bewitching him so badly.

She was a victim and so was he; a bitter connection but the more worthy of exploration.

Furrowing her brows in confusion at the suddenly crestfallen expression of Louise, Yvonne shifted on the leather clad chair. She couldn't see what the fuss was about since the whole hall was filled with guests plus her father's broad frame was prominently blocking her view.

“Mon dieu. Que fait-elle ici?“ Louise breathed, taking her dad's arm and shaking it nervously.

Who was said 'elle', Yvonne still wondered, feeling the wetness in her panties as she leaned over to the right.

And then there he was; the source of her merciless arousal in person.

Conrad looked neat, a harsh difference to how Yvonne had known him with dried blood on his hands, dirt smeared across his razor sharp cheekbones and always clad in that obscenely too tight blue shirt.

But she had somehow known he would stand out from the crowd, rightfully so, looking breathtakingly handsome in the cream suit. A perfectly acceptable violation of the men's dress code.

Yvonne couldn't help herself but grow a beautiful smile when he swaggered closer, intimidating as always. The short moment their gazes met was like pure magic, the yearning cry of a seaman longing for his significant other.

Then her father greeted him, turning to another person when he gestured Conrad to take a seat on your table.

Ava.

Yvonnes jaw dropped, eyebrows slanting in pure confusion and shock.

She was indeed pretty, long legs in a caramel tone were halfway covered by red fabric which snaked around her waist all the way up to where her perfect boobs were on display.

Bleak disappointment was the next sentiment in line to torment the blonde, suddenly feeling so much less attractive in her golden dress that did poorly at propping up her breasts or highlighting her delicate collarbones.

She felt as misplaced as always, no, this situation was even worse.

Meanwhile Conrad forced himself to look at anyone but the angel of his sweetest dreams.

The tall Englishman didn't dare to arraign her for not properly introducing herself. Well, for not speaking at all. He, how unfortunate it may was, knew exactly that she was waiting for her arse of a father to tell her to. Punishment was to be avoided.

Abhorred and deep inside regretting treating her as he had done, chiding and making fun of her as the Marine Corps General's spoiled daughter, Conrad was drawn back in his own hell of a reality.

“James, what would you like to drink now that we've been so politely invited?“ Ava's serpent tongue chirped.

“Before we start dining, Captain Conrad, please excuse my younger daughters shenanigans“ your dad announced, drawing quotation marks in the air when his sharp tongue hit the last word.

She were embarrassing him.

But Conrad, in his usual cool and distant demeanor just waved off, returning your father's exaggerated smile to a rather limited level.

“General Jackson, I assure you she was in no way hampering the mission nor my duty“ in his short pause those almond shaped eyes, deeper than any ocean Yvonne had ever navigated, found her hazel glance. The one of a silenced vixen begging to be released into the wild.

“Quite the contrary“ his gravelly baritone then added, leaving the meaning to free interpretation.

Your father's grey brows were twitching, his face loosing it's poise for an instant.

Yvonne was grinning instead, eliciting a silver shine in Conrad's eyes. But she had already spotted that they were glassy, spent with reddened small veins. The Captain had cried and not long ago.

“However, I am Louise Jackson. It's my pleasure Captain“ your sister buried the moment deep as she raked her body over the table to shake hands with the man she was determined to somehow steal from that dragon Ava.

Scoffing subtly, Yvonne's fragile enthusiasm vanished again. The reminder of both Ava's and her wicked sister's presence became too much for the blonde's smile to carry. It dropped helplessly along with her gaze.

She could bare the situation for about twenty minutes until the first course was served. Then, the theatre truly began.

“Care to taste my soup, baby?“ she heard the black haired woman coo, her attention drawn to them by blazing curiosity.

At fist Yvonne had guessed she only accompanied him out of sheer duty since the divorce wasn't through yet. But the sky became more starry when her hand nestled on the apex of his neck while the other guided a spoon of soup to Conrad's lips.

“Ava, stop“ he hissed, the lighter shades of blue in his eyes turning pitch black.

“Aww... are you strained? Need some relief, baby?“ she continued her inappropriate mission. Yvonne suppressed a gasp as she saw Ava's right hand sliding down his torso, landing god knows where.

Probably the whole divorce thing was a farce? Perhaps he was already hard for her under the table, awaiting his wife's wanton hand stroking him through the cream dress pants?

“Excusez-moi“ is blurted out of Yvonne, the clink of the young woman's spoon hitting the white plate drew too many pairs of eyes.

Pinching the fabric of her orange dress and hoisting the material up, she weaved past her seated sister, taking a last glance at her father's boiling expression.

“Tu vas regretter ça - you will regret this“ his gritted teeth wordlessly snapped but the pretty woman, visibly tired by all this couldn't care less.

Out. Now.

Air.

Ignoring every curious gaze that clung to her like a train, Yvonne rushed out of the great hall. The heels were clicking relentlessly on the cold stone floor, joining in the rhythm of her racing heart.

Conrad was a memory, yes, but deep down she knew her mind and heart wanted more of this electrifying man. Devil may care about his flaws. To her James Conrad was the only desirable man, but painfully obviously not only desired by her alone.

She was too good for having to deal with such moronic torture she repeatedly whispered to herself, pacing across the ground floor disorientated.

Fuck, she knew the building.

“Yvonne“ Conrad's rich voice suddenly filled the tense atmosphere, making her freeze for a moment.

Her name sounded too good to be true coming out of the asshole of a Captain's mouth. Nevertheless, he was the last person she wanted to be alone with now so she continued her flight.

“Leave me alone“.

The ding of the elevator announcing it's arrival couldn't have come any earlier to Yvonne's liking.

Internally, she prayed to have lost Conrad while her body ebulliently yearned for his. Soon, she knew, this cataclysmic crevice would tear open and sweep her away.

Taking a skittish glimpse in the big mirror of the elevator's cabin, Yvonne was shocked by the extent of herself she was confronted with.

The executive officer Yvonne Jackson navigating a US Navy carrier because her father denied to pay her college loans if it wasn't to start a military career...she was not there.

Only Yvonee.

The young woman, the underdog of her family having been pushed around and commanded since the day she could walk. A passionate soul living within the lean, small blonde with the cute snub nose that only wanted to be free.

A salty tear began to run down her rosy cheek when the elevator door closed.

Suddenly, the exact cream color of Conrads suit invaded the small gape that was left before Conrad pressed the doors open again. With sheer muscle force, rips of the poor fabric clearly audible.

Hunger lurked in his oceanic gaze, jaw bobbing forth and clenching just as dominantly as it did in Guatemala.

“Yvonne...“ he rasped, eyeing the gorgeous woman and her countless reflections dancing in the go-around mirror.

“Tell me more“.

J'espère que tu n'as pas fait trop de dégâts - I hope you didn't do too much damage.

Mon dieu. Que fait-elle ici? - My god. What is she doing her?