TWICE VICTORIOUS

by Judith B. Glad

  His arm tightened around her. "Are you one of those women who says, 'I told you so?'"

  "Only when I'm right." She stifled a gasp as the pain in her hip became a sharp knife down her thigh. Each step was torture, but she wasn't going to admit defeat. If she couldn't manage a little trail, how could she ever ride?

  The sky fell. Without warning, huge raindrops pelted down, drenching them both within seconds. Stell squealed with the sudden shock of cold water soaking through her thin cotton shirt, running down her bare legs.

  Without warning she was cradled in Adam's arms, held closely against his chest, bouncing as he trotted down the trail.

  "Adam! Slow down! You're going to kill yourself." She was way too heavy for him to carry so far, let alone run while doing it.

  He slowed, his breath coming in short gasps. "I guess it doesn't matter anyway. We're not going to get any wetter." His rain-darkened hair hung in wavy hanks across his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

  Aware that she must resemble a drowned rat as much as he, Stell couldn't help but giggle. "If I'd known we were going swimming, I'd have brought my suit." She relaxed against him, grateful for his warmth, liking the feeling of being protected and cherished.

  The rain showed no signs of letting up by the time they reached the picnic area. Adam let her down at the table where they'd left their cooler. "Can you make it now?"

  "Sure. I'm fine," she said, not wanting to admit just how grateful she was that he'd carried her down. Without his help, she might have had to stay on the trail forever. "Can you manage the cooler and the basket? I'll take care of this." Peeling the wet plastic cover from the rough picnic table, she held it as high as she could to let the water drain off.

  Adam made a dash to the car. Stell wasn't sure she could walk that far, let alone do anything like dashing. The car was a good hundred yards away, along an uneven trail. Gingerly she took one step, then another. Sweat joined the rain still trickling into her eyes, blinding her.

  "Idiot!" Adam again swung her over his shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it." He set her down beside the car. Enclosing her with both arms braced on the roof, he glowered at her. "Don't you think I could tell you were hurting? Good God, woman! What are you trying to prove anyhow?"

  She looked into his pale blue eyes, seeing how they sparked with anger. "I thought I could...."

  "You think too damn much!" He dropped his arms and swung the door open. "Get in."

  Stell got.

  Stubborn little fool! Adam fulminated to himself all the way back to Portland. It was a good thing Stell sat quietly beside him, because if she'd opened her mouth, he probably would have bitten her head off.

  He knew her leg wasn't getting any better. And he knew why. She was so damn determined to get back on her bicycle that she wasn't going to let anything stop her, even the threat of permanent damage.

  He'd bet there was a very real chance she was pushing the limits set by her P.T., even though she might believe she was following his instructions implicitly. He would have, once, had something happened to put him on the bench for any length of time.

  Stupid athletes! So single-minded, so tunnel-visioned that they couldn't see anything beyond the narrow path to victory. So selfish, not letting anything or anyone become important to them that wouldn't help them win.

  He was glad he'd learned better in time to let him build a life outside of the Salle. If only... no, there wasn't room in his life for "if onlies." He was successful. He was satisfied.

  He braked to an abrupt stop in front of Stell's house. What a disaster. He'd had such great hopes for today. The picnic would have been a prelude, kindling the fires for another kind of feast later. After a day together, they would have been in perfect rapport, both ready for the night.

  He became slowly aware that Stell was speaking. "...in front of the fire."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said, it may not be as rustic, but we could always build a fire and have our picnic on the living room floor." Her voice was hesitant, as if she weren't sure she really wanted to spend any more time with him today.

  He couldn't blame her. Ever since he'd seen the pain on her face, watched her stubbornly making her impossible way down that steep trail, he'd been angry, furious at her abuse of such a perfect body.

  He forced himself to smile. "That sounds nice. And from the looks of that sky, we're not going to see the sun again for a while." Perhaps they could recapture the perfect harmony they'd shared for a little while before the rain.

  To his utter amazement, Stell waited for him to open her door, allowed him to carry her up the steps to her front door without argument. Her leg had to be extremely painful for her to be so meek. He returned for the picnic paraphernalia while she opened the door.

  The rain here was the steady, mist-like fall that was so much more typical of Portland. He shivered in the light breeze of his movement, hoping Stell had a large sweatshirt or something he could borrow.

  He shivered again. Damn, but he was cold!

  The fire was still a few tentative flickers along the logs when he heard her on the stairs. He rubbed his hands briskly in its hesitant warmth. What he really needed was coffee, hot and strong.

  He turned as she came limping through the door. No, what he really needed was Stell, hot and strong. He started toward her.

  "Here," she said, tossing something dark and floppy toward him. "The shower's across the hall, there." She gestured. "Be careful. I swear the water's hotter than upstairs."

  A shower sounded better than anything he could think of. First.

  When he returned to the living room, still plucking at the too-tight shoulders of the sweatshirt, he could hear water running upstairs. While he'd showered, Stell had spread the picnic across a bright red-checked tablecloth before the now-crackling fire. The wine was open and breathing. A soot-stained coffeepot steamed on the hearth.

  He was backed up to the fire when she entered, clad in a long caftan, a deep, rich brown almost as dark as her hair. "Don't you dare laugh," he growled, seeing the broad grin on her face.

  She covered her mouth, but her eyes said it all.

  "At least I'm warm again," he admitted, smiling himself, "even if I won't win any Best-Dressed Man award."

  "Oh, Adam, if you could only see yourself!" Laughter hovered at the edge of her voice.

  "I did." The mirror in the bathroom had only showed his upper half, but that had been enough. Pulling the sweat pants up, he wished he had a piece of the strong elastic from KIWANDA rainpants. If he wasn't careful, he was going to end up bare-assed and hobbled. And his ankles were cold, besides.

  "I'm sorry I didn't have anything else. If I just hadn't given all of Dad's clothes away. He was close to your size."

  "I'll survive," he said, hitching again at the pants. "At least I'm warm." He sank to the floor, half reclining, leaning on his elbow. The fire toasted his feet.

  Stell kept forgetting to appreciate the varied flavors of the picnic. She couldn't take her eyes off Adam. He'd pulled himself up, to sit tailor fashion at the edge of the tablecloth. The too-short sweatpants failed to cover him at both ends, leaving his legs bare halfway to the knees, giving her tantalizing glimpses of his navel and his hard belly below.

  Even pickled herring, one of her favorite deli foods, failed to excite her today. Finally she set her plate down. "Adam."

  He looked across at her, his eyes in shadow. Slowly he set his plate on the tablecloth, dropped his napkin beside it. "Yes?"

  "Yes." She rolled sideways, bringing herself to the corner of the cloth, meeting him there.

  The first kiss ignited them both. Stell wrapped herself around him, wanting the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him, over every inch of her body, permeating her senses. She matched his caresses, taking and giving, filling her hands with his warmth and strength. Glorying in the sleekness of him, she explored the long smooth muscles of his arms, swept her fingers through the curly mat of hair hiding
his pebbly male nipples, dipped her tongue into the indentation of his navel.

  Tugging, she managed to pull the shirt over his head, despite his resistance as he kissed and nibbled his way across her shoulder, along her collarbone. Peripherally aware that his hands were busy lifting her robe away from her, she stroked along the indentation of his spine, lower, until her hands found their way under the loose sweatpants, until they were far enough down his lean legs so that he could push them off, using first one foot and then the other. Her hands found the round firmness of his buttocks. She clutched, hauling him close, wanting his hardness against her belly.

  He rolled atop her, his face so close to her that she could see only his eyes, glittering with desire. "My turn," he breathed, straddling her legs, holding them close together. He held her arms above her head, gripping them in one hand.

  His other hand explored. From the top of her head, it sought and found her every secret place, touching, stroking, inciting her to a frenzied need, so that she felt herself writhing under his hand, knew that if he didn't stop--NOW--she would surely die.

  His mouth closed over her breast, hurting in a wondrous, compelling way. She could not move. Her arms were boneless, her body a willing puppet held on strings of sensual need. The hot wetness of his mouth focused her entire being on its path as he kissed and licked his way from breast to navel.

  "Adam. Adam. Oh, please, Adam...."

  Her voice called his name over and over, as if she needed a reminder of who was leading her along the road to paradise. Adam felt her quiver beneath him as he drifted his mouth across her hip. She was hot. Her skin seemed to glow with her passion. God! She was delectable!

  With fingers that trembled, he sought the secret cleft that was his goal. Dipping inside, he found her ready for him. He explored the moist tissues, delving into her tight passage, feeling her spasmodic reaction.

  He tasted her, delicately, letting his tongue only hint at what he wanted from her. Her scent was musky and sweet, with faint overtones of soap.

  Again he tasted her, this time closing his lips about the small seat of her passion. Gently suckling, he listened to her gasping, wordless cries.

  When her mindlessly seeking hands found him, he thought he would explode. Quickly, determined that this time they would share the journey, he caught her hand, holding it so that she could not stimulate him beyond the point of no return.

  He rose above her, feeling King of the Mountain, Emperor of the Universe. Holding himself there on stiffened arms, he watched her, waited until her eyes opened and she looked at him. He wanted to see her face when they became one.

  "Adam!" Her arms lifted to pull him down. He yielded slowly, entering her a millimeter at a time, forcing control upon himself.

  She wrapped her legs around his body and pulled him deep inside. With all his fading willpower, Adam resisted her thrusts, wanting this to last.

  "Please. Please. Oh, please." Her chant went beyond insistence. Even as her voice faltered, his climax began and he gave himself up to it.

  As Adam drove into her, Stell lost what little hold she had on reality. She was the ocean, breaking against a rocky shore. She was the sunset, turning the sky to flame. She soared and dove, spun down...down...forever down.

  Her fall turned to a serene drift, much like a feather on the breeze, and she found herself held securely within Adam's arms.

  His fingers traced the shape of her mouth. "Wow."

  "Wow is right," she agreed, pulling him to her so that she could kiss him without moving. If she could move. She wasn't sure if there was a muscle left in her body capable of contraction.

  A long time later he propped himself on one elbow, leaning over her. "Stell, I want you to promise you won't try to compete this summer."

  His words stopped the breath in her chest, filled her belly with ice?

  "Not try to compete," she said, stupidly repeating his words because they made no sense to her.

  "I've seen how your leg still hurts you," he said, running his hand along her thigh. Her flesh quivered, sensitized to his touch. "If you don't give it a rest, a good long rest, you may never recover full use of it."

  "Where'd you earn your degree, Adam?"

  "Degree? I don't have one. What's that got to do with what I was saying?"

  "I just wondered," she said, working to contain her anger, "what qualifications you have to prescribe for my future."

  "Damn it, Stell, I care! Isn't that enough? And I do know quite a lot about this sort of injury, whether you believe it or not." He released her and rolled to his knees. Grabbing her ankle, he squeezed lightly. Then he placed the other hand on her knee, again squeezing.

  She couldn't help the slight tightening of her mouth. Before she could protest, he was rotating her leg at the hip. Tears sprang into her eyes as the knives sliced within her thigh.

  "All right! So it's not getting better as fast as it should. But I've learned my lesson. I'm taking it easier, following Carl's instructions exactly."

  "Sure you are."

  No longer harsh with anger, his voice sounded...what? Tired? "I am!" Honestly compelled her to add, "Well, I'm mostly following them. Sometimes I walk farther than I should."

  "And exercise longer?"

  She chewed her lower lip. "Sometimes."

  "And what qualifies you to know when to push the limits Carl set?"

  "It's my leg!" But as soon as she spoke, Stell knew he'd used her own words to prove her wrong. "Okay, so I'm not following his instructions exactly. He's being too darned conservative. I think I know my own body better than he does."

  "If you say so."

  "Look, Adam, can we just not talk about my leg, please? We're not ever going to agree, so maybe we should just avoid the whole topic."

  He rolled upright, pulling his long legs into a full lotus. "Sure. But it's kind of hard to ignore something that dominates your life."

  Even after years of work, Stell still couldn't knot her legs up like that. She admired his flexibility, wondering when Carl was going to let her go back to her Yoga class. "You can try."

  There was no doubt Adam wanted the best for her. His warnings, his concern, were real. Stell knew that. If only he would stop jumping on every little weakness, each small stumble in her recovery. She was having enough trouble believing she'd make a full recovery, without his pessimism.

  She stared at him, wondering if they both wouldn't be better off to end this relationship right now. The longer they were together, the more they argued. Not just about her determination to speed her recovery, either. Although he'd never dwelt on it, she knew he had strong feelings about what he called her obsession. Feelings that went far beyond disapproval.

  Perhaps Adam was incapable of understanding why she was so determined to ride in the Sawtooth Classic. Why she needed to prove to herself she could do it.

  Some people simply could not understand the difference between obsession and dreams.

  Adam reached out to her and Stell gave him her hand. Tomorrow. I'll think about all this tomorrow.

  Wrapping her in his arms, he fell backwards, narrowly missing the cluster of food containers. Stell turned in his embrace, burrowing her chin into the angle of his shoulder. This was where she wanted to be, with no thought of anything beyond his hands, his kiss. His hard male body.

  Her breath was warm against his throat, her body a seductive armful. When her fingers played along his spine and her tongue found the sensitive hollow just above his collarbone, Adam buried his face in her hair. "What were we talking about?" he whispered.

  "I forget," she said, her fingers dipping below the inadequate elastic of his pants.

  His seeking hand found the swell of her breast. "I remember this, though." His fingers teased her nipple into a bold peak.

  With eager hands and hungry mouths they brought each other to spectacular readiness. Stell, her naked body slippery with sweat, trembled with anticipation as he knelt above her, parting her legs, stroking the insides of her thighs.
>
  "Now!" she cried.

  "Now!" he agreed, plunging into her. She locked her legs around his waist and arched into his thrusts, endlessly responsive. The world around him shrank, became a microcosm containing only Stell and himself, locked in the eternal dance of male and female.

  When he erupted within her, she was there with him, her shudders of completion enhancing his own climax. And when the world expanded again, she was relaxed within his arms, her tiny moans of satisfaction a melodic counterpoint to his still-pounding heart.

  For a long time Stell dozed in Adam's arms, half under him, not minding his weight. Periodically he would rouse long enough to tighten his grasp on her, to nuzzle behind her ear or drop a sleepy kiss at the corner of her jaw.

  Eventually, though, she grew cold, aware that the fire was merely glowing embers. A draft crept across the floor from the open window behind the drapes. It was damp, evidence that the rain that had driven them inside was still falling. She wondered what time it was. After nine, because there was not a trace of light showing through the high stained glass windows at either side of the fireplace.

  "Adam?" She tried to move under him, but he had turned into a dead weight.

  "Mmmm?"

  "I'm freezing."

  His only answer was to hold her tighter, to send even more shivers down her spine with his nibbles at her earlobe.

  "Adam!"

  He rolled off her and was upright in one swift motion. "My God, woman! You didn't have to break my eardrum."

  She could barely see him rubbing the side of his head. "Poor baby. Shall I kiss it and make it better?" She knew she hadn't spoken loud enough to hurt him.

  "Would you please?" His grin flashed white.

  Instead she flipped over and stretched an arm to the lamp at the end of the couch. Its soft glow lit just one corner of the room, but at least now they could see not to step in supper's remains.

  Somehow in their wild couplings, they had managed to miss the tablecloth. Her mouth watered at the contents of the abandoned deli containers. The tangy odor of vinegar reminded her that she had hardly touched her food. Now she was starved.