by Sandra Hill
He was ready, more than ready, obviously, but how about her? She was still in her underwear. No matter! Slipping his fingers under the crotch of her panties, he almost passed out at the sheer pleasure of the wetness he found.
Then, he shoved the fabric aside, and:
I’m in!
Warm.
Slick.
Clutching me.
So good!
Don’t come. Just don’t hot damn come this soon. Dammit!
And so it was that he took her for the first time in twelve years, or she took him, against the wall, then halfway up the stairs, him on bottom, then her reversing roles, as they staggered and crawled up to the second-floor hallway in one unending fuck unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. It was love remembered and lost, new and old sexual triggers, lovemaking and payback at the same time.
“You bastard!” she said, but so softly he couldn’t be insulted.
“You left me,” he retorted.
“I had to. I hurt so bad.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, yes, touch me there,” she said on a moan.
He chuckled. “You always liked that. Remember the first time we discovered this spot.”
“The first time and the second, and the fiftieth.” She tried to laugh but it came out as a choke. “How about this, though?”
He saw stars, practically, as she held his favorite body part between both hands and moved it just so, while he was still in her, the short span of cock just outside her body. “Yes, I remember,” he gasped out.
“It’s never been like this with anyone else,” she confessed, and there were tears in her eyes.
“I know,” he agreed, and he might have had tears, too. You have ruined me for anyone else, Wendy.
“I don’t want this to ever end. Don’t stop.”
As if I could! “We’re going to be black and blue,” he pointed out. “Or else I’m going to have splinters in my ass.”
“War wounds,” she said, sitting atop him now as he lay splayed out on the hallway floor outside his bedroom. She still had on a bra, but her panties had vanished somewhere along the stairway. She began to ride him then, first slow, then fast, and faster.
Caught in a whirlwind.
Hang on.
Spinning.
Out of control.
Faster. Fasterfasterfaster!
Oh! Ohhhhhhhhh!
Blast off!
When he finally came to his senses, they had moved several more feet toward the open doorway of his bedroom, and he was on top now, still imbedded in the aftershocks of her climaxing muscles. He stared at her in wonder, disarmed, yet pleased by her uninhibited sensuality. Was she always that way? I can’t remember. Hell, I can’t remember my own name at the moment.
She was staring back at him through caramel-colored eyes glazed with passion, only temporarily sated. I hope. Her lips were kiss-bruised and parted. Like Botox, but better.
What was she thinking?
That I’m a good lay?
That I’m not as good as I used to be, or better?
That I’m nothing compared to those notoriously virile SEALs?
That now she finally has closure?
He knew what he was thinking.
I love you.
But he couldn’t say those words aloud. Not now. Not ever again.
Tonight was for memories. Not forever.
Love sucks . . . sometimes . . .
I love you, Wendy thought. And she was shocked. Oh, she’d known she was still attracted to Ethan. That had been apparent on their first encounter back on the ferry. But love? That had died a sudden death twelve years ago, or surely faded over time.
Or so she had believed.
Until tonight.
They’d engaged in hot, frantic, almost-embarrassing sex in the hall and on the stairs, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. And then they’d made slow love in Ethan’s bed. Both events should have been alarming to Wendy, and the intensity of her response to Ethan was shocking, but, at the same time, surprisingly satisfying. Almost fated. Inevitable. Something she wasn’t fighting anymore.
Not that she was going to tell Ethan about her suddenly realized feelings! Oh, no! That was a road she had no intention of going down. Commitment and an impossible future together lay in that direction, both of which had no place in the new and reinvented Ethan and Wendy scenario.
Still, I love you, she continued to muse as she lay on her side, propped on one elbow, staring down at his body, relaxed in sex-satiated slumber. A crisp white sheet covered him from the navel downward, but the rest of him was exposed for her private appreciation. There was a dim bedside lamp that gave the room a warm glow.
Despite being a businessman now, Ethan must still work outdoors a bit because his arms and neck and face were “farmer tanned.” She didn’t see him as the exercise club kind of grunt, but his body was well-muscled in the biceps and in the planes of his abdomen. Perhaps not the hulking muscles that some of her SEAL buddies displayed from continual grueling exercise, but a modest six-pack to be sure.
She liked that he had some dark hair on his chest, leading down a “happy trail” below the sheet. And she also liked the “five o’clock shadow” that feathered his face. But she love, love, loved those thick black lashes that lay like fans against his cheeks.
“Do you like what you see?” he murmured, opening his eyes slowly, the blueness dazzling in its intensity. His lips twitched with humor.
“Maybe,” she said, slapping at him playfully. “How long have you been awake?”
He grabbed her hand and kissed the fingertips. “I haven’t been asleep at all. Do you think I’d waste the little time I have with you by sleeping?” He tucked her to his side with an arm around her shoulders and her face resting on his chest.
The “little time.” Yes, he was right about that. So little time! Not to be wasted! “Hmmm. I guess not,” she murmured. “And, yes, I like what I see.”
“Vice versa, baby. Very vice versa!” he said, making a growling noise against her neck. Then, “Tell me about your work in California. What is a typical day like?”
She was the one lying on her back now, and he was propped over her.
“I’m not sure there is a typical day, but, even when we’re not out on a live op, or preparing for a mission, we always, always have to be in shape. That means exercise every day, and not just five-mile runs before breakfast. It’s carrying a log, climbing the cargo net, sugar cookies on the beach, drownproofing, surf penetrations, every kind of body torture imaginable, all to make us be in the best physical condition at any one time. You never know when your body’s ability to survive in the wild will be tested.”
“What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?” he asked, a fingertip idly tracing the scar on her neck. He was fascinated by that scar, or perhaps repulsed, she wasn’t sure.
Snuck into a Syrian compound, dressed in full burka, to help rescue three Marines who’d been imprisoned for a year. HALOed into hostile territory in Afghanistan. Took enemy fire in Nigeria. “I can’t really tell you.”
“Or you’d have to kill me?” he quipped.
“Something like that.”
“You ever shoot anyone? No, forget I asked that. Do you have any trouble killing someone?”
“Not at all. The tangos we go after—that’s a SEAL name for bad guys—these are the dregs of the world. Evil-to-the-core terrorists.”
Ethan cringed at her words. “I don’t like that you have to do these things.”
“Someone has to. Besides, I choose to. In fact, I’ll probably re-up in June.”
He shrugged. “I just wish—”
She interrupted him. “Tell me about your work.”
He seemed reluctant to give up his questioning, at first, but then he acquiesced. “The first couple years after you left, I worked with my dad on tree farming, until his death. I soon learned that he loved the farming aspect, but was an incompetent businessperson. He di
dn’t go out and seek customers or new markets, just waited for people to come to him.”
“Where did you learn to do those things?”
“A few nighttime college courses, some online, but mostly instinct, and I guess an aptitude for business. We sell trees to some of the largest wholesalers and department store chains, and I just bought additional land to expand the business. The key to the future is hiring aggressive salesmen and some young people with innovative ideas for what the future holds. The world is changing fast, even for something as simple as Christmas trees.”
“I can see that you love what you’re doing.”
“I don’t know about love, but I’m content with it now.”
“Tell me about your daughter.”
“Ah, Cassie is what makes it all worthwhile.”
“So, no regrets?”
“Oh, I have regrets, all right, but Cassie makes up for everything.”
Wendy felt oddly hurt at his words. By regrets, she knew he referred to her.
“Will you come with me and Cassie to the pool tomorrow?”
She hesitated. It’s best to make tonight be a one-off. Best not to establish any connections with his daughter. Best if I leave right now and don’t look back. “Sure,” she said.
“In the meantime, I think I need a few swimming lessons of my own.” He stood suddenly, unconscious of his nudity, although she was very aware of it if the sudden lurch in between her legs and the ache in her breasts were any indication. Extending a hand, he pretended to leer at her as he said, “Come see my pool, Flipper.”
His pool was the claw-foot tub in the bathroom, one she was more than familiar with from days gone by. In the soapy water (courtesy of his daughter’s bubblegum-scented bubble bath), he showed her a few moves he’d learned over the years. Then he had to check out every inch of her body to make sure she was in as good a shape as she’d proclaimed all the special forces men and women had to be.
He licked the bubbles off her breasts and sucked the nipples into hard points of almost painful arousal. He cupped her buttocks and coaxed her to take him into her as he watched. He kissed the dimples in her lower back, which she informed him were called “Venus dimples” these days, an indicator of a woman’s sexuality. He seconded that opinion with more kisses in that region.
Telling her, explicitly, what he liked, he also encouraged her to speak of her own desires, the things that excited her most.
“Do you still like me to stick my tongue in your belly button?” she asked.
“Only if you’re holding my cock at the same time.”
“Will you flutter your eyelashes over my nipples, like you did before? Oh, my God! That is so hot!”
“Remember the time I finger-fucked you behind the pool house at Jennifer Wilson’s birthday party?”
“And you had a bit of premature ejaculation into your swimming trunks when you thought Jennifer’s dad was about to walk in on us? The SEALs have a slang term for it: dishonorable discharge.”
“I don’t recall that,” he lied.
So, they played with each other’s bodies and laughed and moaned until Ethan stood and took her against the tiled wall behind the tub, with her legs wrapped around his hips. A couple times he almost slipped and dumped them into the tub. When they were done, they were both laughing and the floor was covered with water.
Once they were toweled off and heading back toward the bed, Wendy remarked, “Those are the nicest sheets! Do you hire someone to press them?”
He looked at her, shook his head ruefully, and said, “Don’t ask.”
It was three a.m. by then and Wendy said, “You need to take me home.”
“What? Why?”
“I am not going to do the Walk of Shame this morning among a gauntlet of senior citizens and military types. Believe me, Navy SEALs do not engage in political correctness. Hoochie Mama comes to mind. And those seniors of Aunt Mil’s aren’t any better. They have no filters whatsoever. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked me how many orgasms I had.”
He grinned and asked, “How many did you have?”
“Four if you don’t count . . . well, you know what.”
“I definitely count that,” he said, then suggested, “How about you take my car and come back here for breakfast? We can go pick up Cassie and drive to the pool from there?”
She nodded, reluctantly.
Once she’d gathered her clothes, from their path through the house, she dressed and was about to leave. Ethan, wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else, kissed her and said, “Thank you.” That’s all.
She shouldn’t have been disappointed. She didn’t want him to say that he loved her. She really didn’t. But still . . .
He looked a little bit sad, too.
“What might have beens” sucked the big one.
Chapter 16
Feeding the hungry . . .
Ethan couldn’t go back to sleep after Wendy left. His mind churned with too many questions, foremost of which was: Will she return?
I love her, he thought. I never stopped. How did I not know that before? Have I really been that clueless?
He put a load of towels that had been used to mop up the bathroom floor into the washing machine, and replaced the sheets on his bed. No, the new ones are not ironed, thank you very much. He didn’t want his grandmother sniffing around and giving him “the look.” Not that she hadn’t planned it all, anyhow, or at least set it up.
I can’t tell Wendy that I love her. Whatever I do, I have to keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t want forever from me. Not now. Maybe she never did. But that’s okay. I’ll take today, and maybe the next few days.
Besides, I doubt whether Nana will be leaving the house like this again. No privacy in a small town. This is a one-shot deal.
Once he took a shower and dressed, he put together a bag with his and Cassie’s bathing suits, beach towels, her flippers and goggles, a change of clothes, and some toiletries. By then, he was able to toss the towels in the dryer and put the sheets in the washer. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d used either machine.
After starting a pot of coffee, he put some bacon on to fry and whipped some eggs and cream but set the bowl aside. He took out a loaf of whole wheat bread, and set it by the toaster, along with a dish of butter. Orange juice could stay in the fridge for now.
What if she doesn’t come back? Should I call? No, that would be pushing it. And it would be no big deal as far as Cassie is concerned. She doesn’t even know about today’s trip to the pool. But, yeah, it would be a big deal to me.
Aaarrgh! She’s driving me crazy, already. I’m driving myself crazy, already. This whole damn situation is crazy, already.
Just then, he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling around back, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Harvey started up barking, and the cats hissed at the dog for waking them from their slumber. By the time she opened the door, without knocking, there was a whole lot of howling and meowing going on.
She smiled.
And his heart grew several sizes larger, he could swear it did. How was that for a grinch comparison?
He smiled, too, and said, “You came back.”
“Didn’t you expect me to?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
She reached down to ruffle Harvey’s ears and petted the two cats who’d deigned to notice her existence this morning by rubbing up against her legs. She was wearing tight green, calf-length yoga pants with an oversized white U.S. Navy sweatshirt and white athletic shoes. Her reddish-brown hair was damp from a recent shower. Her face was free of makeup and showed signs of their recent lovemaking . . . bruised lips, brush burns from his whiskers on her face and neck, a kind of sated, relaxed expression.
He loved that he’d marked her in this way. How immature is that? Next I’ll be planting hickeys all over her so my buddies, and everyone else, will know she’s mine.
She sniffed the air. “Something smells good. I’m hungry. What can I do?”
“Well, firs
t things first.” He stepped forward to take her into his arms. “Hi!” he said and leaned down to kiss her.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. “Mmm. You taste like bacon.”
He’d sampled some while frying. “And you taste like peppermint toothpaste.”
“Do you like peppermint?” she teased, nipping at his chin.
“My new favorite mint,” he replied.
Somehow, he was sitting on a kitchen chair. Did Wendy really push me down? And she was sitting, straddled on his lap.
“I kept thinking about this on my way back,” she murmured.
And I was doing frickin’ laundry! What a waste of time when I could have been fantasizing this! Apparently my expectations are too low.
He had no time for thinking then as she did the most amazing thing to his ear, alternately tonguing it, then blowing it dry. He felt the zing of pleasure all the way to male central and beyond.
Which caused him to reciprocate.
She moaned and shifted her butt closer to said male central which was long and hard and wanting more. Like skin to skin. Like reddish brown curls blending with black curls. Like long-and-hard inside tight-and-slick.
He reached under her sweatshirt and caressed her back, undoing her bra. Then he took her breasts in both hands, palming them from underneath, flicking the nipples with his thumbs. She must be sore from all his fondling of the past night, but he couldn’t think about that now.
She gasped and opened her mouth wider against his invading tongue which was engaged in a never-ending kiss, which was wet, and hot, and demanding, from both of them.
He’d thought sex with Wendy twelve years ago was spectacular, but it was nothing compared to this. What was she doing to him there? Where had she learned that? He couldn’t let his imagination go in that direction. If she’d been with other men in the interim, and she surely had, he had no one to blame but himself. But, oddly, though he felt a twinge of disquiet, of jealousy, he was okay with it, too, even happy that Wendy had found some measure of happiness over the years.
But all of this speculation was not for now, not when she was doing that.