by Grey, Helen
“All the stuff you need is in the cabinets under the sink,” he said from the bedroom.
I crouched down and opened the cabinets one at a time. Even the supplies and accessories underneath the cabinets were neatly arranged. On the left; shampoos, soap, wash cloths, and towels. In the middle, the piping. On the right I found two white plastic bags with pull strings that looked like those the hospital gave you to bring supplies or personal belongings home. I pulled the bags out from underneath the counter and placed them on the countertop, looking inside each one.
I rummaged around for several moments, found several paper packages containing sterile squares of gauze, a small role of one-inch webbed surgical tape, a pair of surgical style scissors — good, I wouldn’t have to go back to my room to get my own pair. I also found the antibiotic ointment and a small, metric plastic measuring square.
I grabbed what I needed and quickly made my way back into the bedroom, startled once again. He lounged on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, a pillow behind his back, and his legs crossed at the ankles, still stark naked.
His dick lay flaccid in its nest of dark curls, but this time I resisted the urge to stare and glanced up at his face. Was he smirking at me? What to do about it was another question entirely — one I didn’t have the energy at the moment to deal with.
I was a professional, I reminded myself. I was a practiced, trained, and experienced nurse. I had dealt with a wide variety of clients, personalities, and challenges. Unfortunately, I’d never dealt with anyone quite like Jax Andrews.
With a sigh, I approached the side of the bed upon which he lay, arranging the supplies side by side on the oak bedside table. A small lamp stood on one corner of the table, a small digital clock with red glowing numbers on the other.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
I had a feeling that he’d been through this routine enough to know exactly what he was supposed to do, but if he wanted to test me, so be it. “Turn over and lie on your stomach, please,” I instructed.
Without a word, he did as I bade. I saw a brief wince of pain cross his features before he turned his head away from me and slowly rolled over, like a log slowly rolling in the water. Good. He’d learned that much at least. Once again, I was graced with a view of his glorious buttocks. For a second, I wryly wondered if a coin would bounce off them. No doubt it would. What would it feel like to run my hand over those hard mounds?
I cleared my throat and focused my attention on the surgical incision in his lower back. It was about four inches long, running at a slight angle at his lower back, just above the two dimples near the top of his buttocks.
The edges of the surgical incision were clean, unlike the still healing and puckered scar tissue over other gashes on his back. The gashes had been caused by shrapnel, but not the spinal injury. He lay with his head turned away from me, his face toward the window.
“How did you break your vertebra?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything for several moments, and I figured he would ignore my question.
“Our Humvee hit an IED,” he mumbled. “I was blown out of it and landed on some rocks. That’s when I broke the vertebra.”
I didn’t know what to say. He had answered the question so simply, as if it was nothing. It must have been a horribly frightening experience, but he related the incident without a tinge of emotion. Simple. Matter of fact.
I said nothing, kept my questions to myself. I didn’t ask about anyone else in the attack. Didn’t ask how he had gotten from the scene of the injury to the camp aid station. Didn’t ask about how he was evacuated back to Germany and then to the states. I knew better.
I reached for the small notepad and pen I always kept in the side pocket of my scrubs pants and placed them on the table next to the supplies.
I yanked a couple of surgical gloves from the box I had retrieved from the bathroom, pulled them on, and then carefully measured the length and width of the surgical scar, jotted down my notes, remarking on the color of the skin and healing scar tissue around it. Then I pulled off the gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair, only then reaching for the tube of antiseptic ointment. I squeezed some onto the tips of my fingers.
“Sorry, this might be a little cold,” I said, and then gently dabbed the ointment over the length of the incision. I felt just a brief contraction of his muscles as I applied the ointment. “The incision looks clean, but I’ll keep an eye on it for a day or two.”
I finished with the ointment application, removed that glove, and replaced it with yet another. Next, I reached for a package of 5 x 5 square gauze and tore open the paper wrapping. “Please don’t go into the pool until this is completely scarred over,” I instructed as I retrieved the gauze square and gently laid it over the incision site. In a matter of moments, I had the new bandage taped into place.
I briefly glanced at the other healing scars that I could see, but knew I also needed to check the ones on his right hip and thigh. Closing my eyes and stealing myself, I spoke. “Can you roll over please?”
He did, slowly, once again crossing his arms behind his head, watching me. I knew he was watching every reaction, so I schooled my features and refused to give him any satisfaction. I was here to do a job, and I would do it to the best of my ability, no matter how aggravating the guy could be.
I was used to getting tested by my new clients, and if not by the client themselves, by their family members. It was kind of like a “getting to know you” interaction that didn’t so much involve me as it involved clients and their families trying to figure out if I was professional, skilled, patient, slow to anger, or whatever.
This was especially true of family members of those with dementia. I understood. They wanted to make sure that I was the right fit for their loved one and that I would be patient, understanding, and compassionate. Still, this experience with Jax was totally new. I had a feeling that he was testing me for altogether different reasons.
I carefully eyed and measured the jagged and freshly scarred wound threading down his right hip and then the one on his thigh, curling around to the back of his knee. I ignored, or tried to, the fact that his cock was only inches from my hand.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. What the hell? I briefly shifted my gaze to the movement and realized that his dick was moving, slightly, but moving nevertheless.
For a brief moment, I wondered what it would feel like to wrap my fingers around his penis. It looked so soft and velvety, but I could imagine that upon full arousal, it would be huge, hard, and thickly veined, throbbing with passion. I imagined what it would be like to cup his balls. Would they be heavy? Then I wondered how long his dick would be when fully aroused.
From the size of him, I imagined his cock would be pretty big as well. I imagined what it would be like to sit on it, to lower myself onto it, to feel him fill me up, to make love to him. I tried to stifle my wild imaginings, but just the thought of having sex with him, imagining his tongue swirling around my nipples, his penis pumping hard into me made me wet. The pulse in my neck throbbed, and I caught my breath. My eyes widened in surprise.
I glanced at Jax’s face and saw him watching me with what I could only term as an expression of wry amusement.
“I can’t help it, it has a mind of its own,” he said.
I made a face, straightened, and stepped into the bathroom. Reaching under the sink counter, I grabbed a fluffy blue towel. I returned to the bed, extended the towel, and lifted an eyebrow. “Cover yourself please,” I said. He made no move to reach for the towel, so I unfolded it halfway and without a word, dropped it over his privates.
He laughed. “I’m sure you’ve seen your share of cocks,” he commented.
I glanced again at him with a nod. “That I have,” I agreed.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem at all,” I replied, trying to maintain a cool demeanor even though I felt a bit off-balance and unsettled. I gazed down at him with
curiosity. “Are you always this bold?”
He shrugged. “My squadron is often in close quarters with no expectations of privacy. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it.”
“I’m sure you have,” I said, gathering the trash and crumpling it in my fist. “Nevertheless, I’d appreciate it if you would at least make an effort to keep yourself covered while I take care of your wounds.”
He continued to smile. “Are you a prude, Angie?”
I frowned. “Not at all, but I just met you, for crying out loud. Have you no sense of shame?”
He laughed again. “Shame? About what? My nudity? What you see is what you get,” he shrugged, his arms still crossed behind his head. “Don’t you ever just let it all hang out, walk around your apartment with no clothes on?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
He stared at me, his gaze once again roaming over my body. There went that tingling sensation again, so I quickly turned and made my way back to the bathroom, where I threw away the trash. I couldn’t believe how blatant he was. This would take some getting used to, no doubt about it.
I gathered my emotions and then reentered the bedroom to gather up a few of the supplies and return them to the bathroom cabinet. When I returned, he was sitting up in bed, his feet on the floor, his hands braced against the bed on either side of his hips.
My eyes widened with surprise as he stood and I saw his penis standing at half attention. I glanced up at his face in alarm, but he merely waved a hand at me, gesturing that all was okay.
“You’ll have to excuse my dick,” he commented. “As I just mentioned, it has a mind of its own. You’re an attractive woman, Angie, but you have nothing to worry about with me. I won’t take advantage of you… unless, of course, you ask me to.”
I felt the heat of a blush warm my cheeks, and despite a weird sense of pleasure that he found me attractive, I wondered if this situation was a mistake. Could I do my job in such a sexually charged atmosphere? I was in uncharted waters here. My own attraction to him was undeniable, but I had to maintain a professional relationship and demeanor.
I was a nurse, dammit!
I was also a woman, but I couldn’t allow myself to be swayed, influenced, or in any other way open to any physical relationship with Jax Andrews.
As he slowly made his way over toward the tall chest of drawers standing in a corner of the room, I quickly finish cleaning up the supplies and then returned the bags under the sink. By the time I exited the bathroom, he had retrieved a pair of boxer briefs from the dresser and was slowly making his way back to the bed. He glanced up at me, as if he anticipated my next question.
“I don’t need any help,” he said.
His tone was almost gruff now. His mood had changed. I had to wonder about that too, but before I could process it, he glanced up at me again.
“A friend of mine is stopping by in a little while. He might be staying for dinner, although I’m not sure. Your supervisor told me that you often prepare meals for your clients. Is that true?”
I nodded. “Yes, and since I’ll be here full-time, I expect that I’ll be preparing all your meals. I assume that your cupboards and refrigerator are stocked?”
He shook his head. “Not really, but I’ll give you money tomorrow and you can go out shopping for whatever you need. For tonight, something simple and light is just fine. My friend won’t care either, as long as it doesn’t have sand in it.”
Sand? Then I realized he was referring to Afghanistan. They were probably used to eating K rations. “I’ll head down to the kitchen and see what’s available and cook up something. I’ll make enough for everyone.”
He nodded, but said nothing. I glanced outside, saw that it was nearing late afternoon. “You don’t expect me to eat with you or anything, do you?”
“You can eat anywhere, anytime you please,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed, the boxer briefs still clenched in his hand. “I usually eat on the back patio when the weather is nice, and you’re welcome to join me anytime you wish. If you don’t, you can eat in the kitchen, or up in your room. It makes no difference to me.”
With that, he focused on getting his skivvies on, leaning forward slowly as he lowered his hand holding them toward his feet. “Didn’t they give you a grabber?” I asked as I watched him struggle with the underwear.
“A what?” he asked, looking up with a frown.
“A grabber… it’s a long device with a handle on one end, like a bike brake handle, and a claw on the other… it’s often used with elderly patients with arthritis,” I explained. “Makes it easier to pull on socks, underwear—”
“I don’t need any grabber!” he interrupted, his scowl darkening.
“Okay,” I shrugged. I decided to leave him be and see what was available in the kitchen. As I neared his bedroom door I glanced over my shoulder.
“What time is your friend coming? I’ll make sure something’s ready by then.”
He glanced up, the scowl still present. “Whenever he gets here. Just have something ready and I can take care of the rest by myself.”
I nodded and quickly left the room, exhaling a huge sigh of relief as I headed down the stairs and back along the hallway to the kitchen.
I busied myself in the kitchen for a while, trying to cool down the sexual heat that had nearly gotten the best of me. Never in my life had I experienced such wild imaginings. I explored the cupboards and the refrigerator, trying to figure out what to make for dinner.
A short time later, I heard the doorbell ring and figured it was his friend. I remained in the kitchen. Let him answer his own damn door. I didn’t hear anything after that and busied myself making up a stew.
Before I knew it, an hour had gone by. I didn’t hear any sounds in the house. With a stew simmering on the stove, I quickly looked into the living room and the small den area, seeing no sight of Jax or his friend. I wondered if he had come and gone already. I slowly headed up the stairs, thinking I’d let Jax know that dinner was ready anytime he wanted it.
I headed down the hallway toward his bedroom and saw that the door was half open. I heard a noise coming from inside and stepped into the doorway, preparing to knock. Stunned by the sight that met my eyes, I froze and could only watch in stunned fascination.
Chapter 3
I should’ve turned away from the door, crept silently back down the hallway, but I couldn’t. I’d never seen anything quite like it. I wondered if this was similar to watching an X-rated movie, which I’d never seen in my life.
Jax lay on his bed, naked of course, but it wasn’t his friend from Delta Force who was with him, but a voluptuous blonde who looked like she had just stepped off an airplane from Sweden. Neither one of them noticed my presence at the doorway. If they did, they couldn’t have cared less.
Jax was on his back, the woman straddling him on her hands and knees, but facing backward. She had taken the head of his cock in her mouth, her head bopping slowly up and down his thick shaft while her other end was, well, receiving similar treatment from Jax’s tongue.
I tore my gaze from his mouth and allowed it to travel down along his broad, well-muscled shoulders, his tight pecs, and down along his sides. I admired the musculature even along his ribs. Of course, I knew anyone in Delta Force would be in great shape, but his body was magnificent.
Just looking at it got me hot. My gaze continued downward, admiring the slight dip of his abdomen below his rib cage, and then his hips and, of course, his erect cock, at the moment receiving the full attention of the woman’s mouth and tongue. Her hands were supporting herself on either side of Jax’s thighs, her huge, pendulous breasts swinging above his belly. With every dip of her head, her breasts jiggled of their own accord, her nipples hard and erect thanks to Jax’s fingers, which alternately teased and tweaked the nipples and then groped her breasts as if they were overripe oranges.
His tanned fingers against her white skin was a fascinating sight. His fingers were gentle, and he alternated rolling her ni
pples along his open palm and then his fingertips would flick, tweak, and otherwise stimulate those oversized, hard, and erect nipples to the point where I almost sensed the same sensations in my own.
The woman made a moaning sound in her mouth as she gave Jax a blow job. I was impressed that she could take so much of him into her mouth and could only imagine that part of him was in her throat. She didn’t give any indication of gagging, which I probably definitely would have. I watched in fascinated arousal as, every once in a while, her tongue swirled around the shaft of his cock. His head was engorged, glistening with her saliva, and seemed to react of its own accord to every movement of her tongue.
Her hand, grasping his shaft, stroked up and down, sometimes slow, sometimes faster. As her hand moved, her own hips rocked gently, her pussy situated slightly above Jax’s mouth, which at the moment appeared to be sucking on her clitoris. Then I saw him shift his head. His tongue stroked the length of her clit and then it disappeared inside her vagina, his tongue mimicking the appearance and disappearance of his own dick inside the girl’s mouth.
Oh God. His hips moved only slightly, and at the back of my mind, I applauded him for his restraint. So he had maneuvered his positioning and sexual needs to cater to his injury. Good for him.
I felt an increasing tingle in my own breasts, wondering what it would feel like to have Jax suckling on my own pussy, those strong fingers gently pulling, twisting, and tweaking my nipples into hard little pebbles. I had never assumed that position with any of my former boyfriends. No, call me dull and boring, but the extent of my sexual experience with those former males had, more often than not, tended to the wham, bam, thank you ma’am kind of sex.
I imagined, just by watching Jax with his Swedish whoever she was, that having sex with and making love to him would be a stimulating experience, if my current feelings were any indication. Finally, after staring at them for several moments, awed and horrendously stimulated, I quickly backed away and quietly made my way to my bedroom. I quietly closed the door and leaned my back against it, hot, horny, and unbelievably stimulated.