by Sandra Hill
With his fingers tunneling her hair, he bit her bottom lip gently, then not so gently, as his tongue invaded her mouth. At the same time, his hands began to search for all the pleasure points on her body, old and new. When he found them, he made a rough sound of triumph deep in his throat, then moved on in his agonizing exploration.
Each caress of his hands, each lick or suckle of his mouth inflamed her, moving her further and further up the scale of arousal. When his thumbs flicked her nipples, then he took them into his mouth, one after the other, her mewling sounds turned to incoherent pleas.
“If you don’t end this soon,” she gasped out, “I just might scream.”
“I feel like screaming, too,” he said and lifted her off the floor by the waist and walked them to the bed where she landed on her back with her shoes on the floor. Before she had a chance to blink, or question what he was up to, Ethan parted her legs with his knees and knelt, exposing her to his close scrutiny.
“Oh, no! Oh, wait! Ooooh!” She tried to sit up, to no avail.
He gripped her ankles and raised them to rest on the edge of the bed, still in those silver high heels. Then he spread her even wider and made love to her there where liquid pleasure pooled, just for him.
His ragged breath against her was the only indication that he was as aroused as she was.
Her inner walls fluttered, then morphed into soft spasms that had her tensing her legs and undulating reflexively against his mouth which was wet with her. She was too far gone to be embarrassed. The sweet burn became a flickering flame as he cupped her bottom tipping her up, and his tongue found and lightly worked her clitoris.
Her climax came in a burst of wildfire that spread in ripples and rushes throughout her body. Even her fingertips and toes tingled.
She must have passed out for a moment because when she opened her eyes she was up on the bed, the high heels gone, and Ethan poised above her body, gazing down at her, expectantly. Why? She wasn’t sure. It was as if he was waiting for some cue from her. A condom had already been rolled over his erection. What was he waiting for?
She wanted to remind him that she was safe, but her tongue wouldn’t work. She wanted to say there was no reason for him to hesitate, she was willing. She wanted to ask why he always looked so sad, even when he was smiling. She wanted to say so many things. Like:
“I have missed you so much. It was dumb to leave.”
“Will it always be this way?”
“I left a piece of my dumb heart in Bell Cove.”
“Will my already broken heart be broken more when I leave this time?”
“I want you.”
“I love you madly, I love you gladly. I love you dumbly, I love you smartly. I love you, love you, love you.”
But the only thing that came out when he continued to stare at her inquiringly, waiting for something . . . maybe a commentary on his performance, was, “Hoo-yah!”
How dumb was that?
Chapter 19
Smile while your heart is breaking? . . .
Hoo-yah? What the hell does that mean? Ethan wondered as he stared down at Wendy, offended at her lack of sentiment.
A simple “I love you” would be nice. Or thanks for the Big O. But, no, Wendy has to remind me that she’s in the military now, and old times are long forgotten.
This was sex, and nothing more.
At least from her side.
From his side, it was love, always had been, always would be. And he’d told her so a few moments ago before she’d swooned off to La-La Land. Either she hadn’t heard him, or she’d chosen to ignore his declaration with that casual “Hoo-yah!”
“I love you, Wendy,” he’d said.
“Hoo-yah!” she’d replied.
I’ll be damned if I say those three words out loud again.
When will I stop hoping that we still have a chance? They say hope is eternal. Hah! Hope is a big fat kick in the gut.
He probably would have gone flaccid then, except Wendy had him by the base of his shaft now . . . UN-BE-LIEV-ABLE! . . . and was guiding him . . . AY-YI-YI! . . . into her rippling folds. He was panting like a race horse, trying to avoid going over the finish line waytoofast.
She must have sensed his negative—or shocked, take your pick—emotions because her voice was quivery as she said, “Make love to me, Ethan. Please.”
Not “Fuck me.”
Or “screw me silly” for closure.
Not even, “Do it!”
She’d used the word “love,” even if inadvertently.
So, sucker that he was, that’s just what he did. Made love to Wendy.
And he was good.
She was good, too.
It was good.
Face it, they were good together.
He took her hands, encouraging her to caress him as he rocked inside her. Skin to skin, heart to heart, they moved as one. They were one.
His blood thickened and heat curled in his belly and shot out to all his extremities. His heart rate rocketed through the roof.
Softly spoken words were exchanged:
“Your heat is scorching me,” he murmured.
“Sweet burns are the best,” she countered.
“You taste like heaven.”
“Your eyelashes should be outlawed.”
“I’m addicted to your kisses.”
“Don’t stop.”
“I can’t stop.”
“Oh, Ethan!”
“Wendy!”
“You’re trembling.”
“For you.”
“Make it last, Ethan.”
“Forever,” he promised.
That last was a lie. There was no forever, not in lovemaking and not among lovers, Ethan reminded himself.
But then, he rolled to his back, and she was sitting astride him, smiling like a cat who’d just lapped up a bowl of cream. After she shifted her butt on him, which caused her inner muscles to give his cock another “Yo, howdy!” welcome, which caused his eyes to practically roll back in his head, she looked down at him and smiled some more. Not a self-satisfied, teasing gesture now, just a sweet, I’m-glad-to-be-here smile.
That made everything all right with him. If this was all they had, it was enough, and, yes, he’d told himself that before, but this time he meant it. So, he inhaled and exhaled to slow himself down, then gave his full attention to the present and making love to Wendy.
And what a result!
Forget Navy SEALs and their legendary staying power. Ethan outlasted the best of them. And Wendy . . . oh, Lord! . . . he didn’t want to think about where she learned how to do that!
She rode him like a rodeo cowgirl.
Not to be undone, he flipped her and drove her across the mattress, like . . . what? A NASCAR driver? A bulldozer? An Olympic curling contender? A raving maniac?
They were laughing.
They were gasping.
They were loving.
This was lovemaking the way it should be. A mix of skill and uninhibitedness with a dash of humor.
Of course, they weren’t laughing when they came to a mutual roaring climax. She arched her body up off the bed, taking him with her . . . There is something to be said for special forces exercise! . . . as he thrust in one last time, to the hilt, threw his head back, and gasped out, “Yeeesss!” Even when he shot his wad, her vaginal muscles continued to clasp and unclasp him with diminishing strength until he could barely breathe, in a good way.
When they lay sated beside each other, she turned on her side and kissed one of his nipples. Glancing up at him, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Well, it wasn’t “I love you,” but it was nice just the same.
“No, thank you.”
Talking Heads (or “Why Do Fools Fall in Love? Wah, wah, wah!”) . . .
Wendy lay in Ethan’s arms and thought, Say it, you fool! Tell me you love me. Ask me to stay.
Ethan kept his eyes closed, just relishing the afterglow of lovemaking and the simple pleasure of holding Wendy
in his arms. Tell me you love me. Stay with me, Wendy. Don’t go away, again.
No, no, no! I don’t wish that. Yes, I want him to love me, but I can’t stay. What am I thinking? I’m not thinking, that’s what.
What am I thinking? I am such a fool! She can’t stay. Even if she wanted to, she has a commitment to Uncle Sam. But I wish . . .
I should tell him how I feel.
I should tell her how I feel.
Neither of them said anything.
Forget about sugarplums dancing in their heads that night. It was Frankie Lymon crooning, “Why do fools fall in love? Wah, wah, wah!”
Peace comes, and peace goes . . .
It was Christmas Eve. Already. Time was passing so fast for Wendy, and there was still so much to do. And that didn’t include Ethan. Because she didn’t have a clue what to do about him.
That morning, following her wonderful night with Ethan, events moved from one crisis to another. Which at least kept her from obsessing over Ethan.
First crisis: Gloria was in full-blown dementia mode. When Wendy tried to return the Tiffany bracelets, Gloria accused her of theft and wanted to call the police. When Wendy tried to calm Gloria down, she attacked her by clawing at her face and had to be pulled away by JAM and K-4.
Luckily, Jefferson Hale, the new doctor who was opening a clinic in Bell Cove, had come by with a U-Haul to pick up more of the medical equipment and furniture from the offices of Wendy’s late father. He examined Gloria and gave her a sedative which put her to sleep, and he prescribed some pills that should calm her down on a temporary basis. “She needs to be in a skilled nursing facility ASAP, though,” he cautioned them. Gloria’s daughter was coming tomorrow to take her back with her to Long Island where a different facility had been found for her, one that could take her immediately, unlike the previously planned one which didn’t have a room vacant until January 5th.
Wendy liked the new doctor, who asked her to call him Jeff, and she could tell that he liked her, too. Oh, not “like” in her case, as in sexually attracted, as she was to Ethan. Jeff felt a little different, as evidenced by how eagerly he accepted Aunt Mildred’s invitation to tomorrow’s open house and gave her a little wink.
About thirty-five years old, Jeff had recently completed his residency in family practice. He was part of that government program that paid a med student’s school expenses as long as they promised to serve for a number of years in remote regions where medical care was not readily available. Which described Bell Cove to a tee with an hour traveling time for an ambulance to the nearest hospital, including the ferry ride. Her father’s practice had been sorely missed these past five years since he’d died.
Second crisis: The U-Haul wouldn’t start once it was loaded, and the guys had to jumpstart it from their rented SUV.
Third crisis: Elmer insisted on their having goose for their feast on Christmas evening, after the open house. But no one, least of all Wendy and Aunt Mildred, had realized that it would start with a live goose, which everyone was chasing across the dunes as it escaped its doom.
“If I had my rifle with me, I could shoot that bugger in no time,” Diane said. “Maybe Gabe has one we can borrow from that ancestor of his.” Which Elmer and the guys thought was a great idea, but Aunt Mildred put the kibosh on that suggestion immediately. “There will be no guns fired in Bell Cove.”
In the end, they let the stupid bird go. It was probably hiding in a flock of sea birds on the rocky shore.
A grumbling Elmer went to the Shop-a-Lot where he had to settle for two fifteen-pound frozen turkeys since they were sold out of the big ones. “My dogs could have tracked the damn goose down if you’d let them loose.”
Fourth crisis: Diane sampled too much of Aunt Mildred’s punch, which was heavy on Scotch whiskey, and fell into a drunken doze on the sofa before the fire. Even the dogs took one sniff of her breath and chose to lie on the other side of the room.
Fifth crisis: Aunt Mildred ran out of Glenlivet 12 and insisted that Geek drive to Nags Head where they had the best prices on that particular year. Since she needed ten bottles, it was worth the trip, in her aunt’s opinion.
All Wendy could think was: Ten bottles of whiskey? Holy hangover!
Laura dropped by for a little “girl time” with Wendy. That wasn’t a crisis, but a welcome respite from the constant ups and downs.
“What did you think of the dance?” Laura asked when they sat in the kitchen alcove sipping cups of ginger chai tea and munching on raspberry shortbread cookies.
“It was wonderful. I can’t believe how you transformed that ballroom in less than a day.”
“Gabe couldn’t believe it, either.” Laura rolled her eyes with mischief.
“So, is it something serious with you and Gabe?”
“I don’t know. He went back to Durham today, and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I think I scare him.”
Wendy laughed. “Sometimes you scare me with your wild enthusiasms.”
“Hey, without wild enthusiasms, life would be boring. Speaking of boring, how is Ethan?” She waggled her eyebrows, knowing that they had spent the night together in her apartment. “Are you two a thing again?”
“Hardly. Oh, Laura, I still love him, after all these years. But I don’t know how he feels about me. And what’s the point anyhow?”
“Are you kidding? The jerk is crazy in love with you like he always has been. Disgusting, really! And the point? Does love have a point?”
Wendy’s traitorous heart lifted at those words. “How do you know that Ethan still loves me? He hasn’t said so.”
“Have you said it to him?”
“Well, no. He should say it first.”
Laura sighed and said, “You two remind me of a bad romance novel. No, I’m not saying all romance novels are bad. I devour them, just like you do. I’m talking about the ones where the hero and heroine just can’t get together because of all these miscommunications, and the reader wants to yell at them, ‘Just talk to each other, you idiots!’ Know what I mean?”
That was easier said than done.
“By the way, you people planning on opening a Christmas store?” Laura asked.
She was referring to the huge mountain of wrapped presents that were under the tree, around the tree, and spilling out into the hall.
“The gift exchanging got a little out of hand. We’re going to start unwrapping this evening, after the Bell Walk but before Midnight Mass. You going?”
“I wouldn’t miss either of them. Or tomorrow’s service at St. Andrew’s. This is what Bell Cove is all about, honey.”
“And the open house here, too. Don’t forget. If Gabe is still out of town, you might want to meet the new doctor.”
“Jefferson Hale? You’ve met him? Is he hot?”
“Fickle much, girlfriend?” Wendy remarked with a smile. “I don’t know about hot, but I think you’ll like him.”
“Wow! Sex and the Single Bell Cove Girl is suddenly getting a boost with an influx of males.” She glanced pointedly toward the dining room where Geek and JAM and K-4 were looking over some maps with Frank.
About seven p.m. the Bell Walk began. With the town and its environs sectioned off into quarters, members of the two church choirs split into four groups and began singing carols as they moved from the farthest points toward the center of town. Some of them were dressed in Edwardian era attire (men in top hats and waistcoats, women in long gowns) while others just dressed in normal attire, and still others wore choral robes. Because there was a chill in the air, Wendy wore her mother’s red coat.
As they sang, and rang their bells, people emerged from their homes and joined the walk. All of them carried candles in paper cones and bells of all sizes, everything from tiny dinner-type bells to school bells to cowbells. They sang and rang their bells at the end of each lyric. It should have been discordant, but it wasn’t. There was an odd harmony to it all.
Adding to the aura, snowflakes began to come down, lightly at first, the
n heavier. Everyone smiled. Snow at Christmas on Bell Cove was considered a gift.
Starting with “Do You Hear What I Hear?” leading to “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “Silver Bells,” “O Holy Night,” and all the old traditional songs, the line of carolers got longer and longer until they reached the town square where there was already a crowd of business people and tourists. By now, a half inch of snow lay on the ground, and it was still coming down. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Wendy and many others remarked.
All the bells began to ring at once. Circling around the town square, the marchers stopped, went silent for a moment, then everyone yelled, “Merry Christmas.” And rang their bells some more.
JAM and Geek and K-4 and Diane kept glancing around with wide eyes. Small-town traditions like this were new to them. Their running commentaries amused Wendy, as well as others around them.
“Cool! This is so cool!”
“Oh, wow, look over there. That guy looks just like George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge.”
“Maybe it is George C. Scott.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“You have a really nice voice, JAM.”
“Six years in the St. Vincent’s Boys’ Choir.”
“No shit!” K-4 responded. “I was in a choir for a month one time, but I got kicked out for yelling ‘Who farted?’ in the middle of the Kyries. Which was really unfair because everyone knew that Billy Madison had gas like rotten eggs every Sunday morning.”
“Girls never fart, you know,” Geek remarked as if this was a subject appropriate for a Christmas caroling scenario. “That’s what my older brother Sam told me one time. When I repeated that to my buddies in third grade they laughed me out of their club . . . the cool guys’ club.”
Aunt Mildred made a tsk-ing sound at the subject matter, but then she leaned closer to Wendy and said, “Remember how Grandma Patterson ‘tooted’ every time she bent over to tend the roses in the garden?”
Wendy had totally forgotten that, but she recalled now how embarrassed she’d been, especially when Laura had witnessed the “event” one time. She exchanged a glance with Diane, who winked at her, knowing that Wendy’s initial nickname in WEALS had been Windy because she’d accidentally “perked” when doing duck squats. Thank goodness, the vulgar nickname was long gone in favor of Flipper.