Vital Sign

by J. L. Mac

  “Please,” I whisper pleadingly.

  He draws back looking me in the eyes. “Sadie—Sadie, are you sure?”

  “Yes. Please. Please,” I beg, not lacking urgency in my voice.

  Zander sits up on his knees and reaches back, ready to tug his shirt over his shoulders.

  “No!” I say far too loudly for this intimate moment of panting, heavy breathing and intermittent moans from both of us. “I-I—”

  “Okay. It’s okay.” He nods, leaving his shirt in place, understanding that I can’t face the scar I know he bears. He stands up from the bed and unbuttons his jeans, kicking them off easily once the button and zipper are both undone. His pulsing cock strains against his boxer briefs and the sight of him sends the fluttering in my stomach into overdrive.

  I writhe in place on his mattress, drinking in the sight of him. I grab the hem of my dress and pull it over my head in one easy movement. His eyes rake over my body and I watch as he bites his bottom lip in appreciation. It makes me feel bolder. Stronger. More confident in my womanhood. Zander gets back on the bed and lifts one of my feet. His lips are soft and warm against the instep of my right foot. I shudder in delight at the feel of him. He deposits another soft kiss at my ankle. Another at my shin. His fingers carefully, gently hook behind my knee, drawing my leg up to him. He drops another sweet kiss at the inside of my knee. It’s enough to make me want to cry. I’m so desperate to have him fill me. His eyes meet mine for just a moment, seeking permission, and I give a small smile as my go-ahead. The sole of my foot is planted on the bed. Zander is on both knees between my legs, his palm is warm against the inside of my knee. He runs it down agonizingly slowly all the way to the top of my thigh.

  “Dammit, Sadie. You’re incredible. So perfect.” He rains down his compliments and I drink them up as he goes. His hand reaches around to my back to unclasp my bra. The lacey material falls away and I am on display for him. He brings his hands to my breasts, kneading each one. His eyes catch sight of my scar and I feel nervous all of a sudden. My shoulders tense a little and he picks up on it immediately. Zander gently leans me back, his mouth going to one nipple. He sucks and licks and kisses at it, then shows equal amounts of attention to the other breast. His hot, wet kisses trail down my sternum until he edges over to reach my scar. Zander’s lips cover the disfigured flesh. He drops three soft kisses there, then rubs the pad of his thumb over the area. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

  Tears threaten to pool in my eyes but Zander’s touch quickly shuts down any emotion. The backs of his fingers drift over my scorching hot arousal and a needy whimper blurts out.

  “I’m gettin’ there, baby,” he answers my plea. His fingers slip beneath the cloth of my soaked panties.

  A sharp intake of breath is all I hear. My eyes squeeze shut. My hips rock forward, begging for more contact. More friction. More Zander. The pad of one finger traces the slick line of my seam, smoothing my arousal from front to back. A demanding moan escapes when his finger goes to my clit and he spends a moment there, showing more attention to the most sensitive part of me.

  “Please,” I blurt out. I watch as he moves fast, kicking off his boxer briefs, liberating his erection. It bobs heavily between my knees and I look up at Zander almost in disbelief. He’s perfect. His skin is light pink. Veins and ridges traverse the thick length of him. His skin is stretched tight, creating a glossy shine. Root to bell-shaped swollen tip, he’s flawless.

  The palms of both of his big hands slide up the outside of my legs to my hips. He grips my panties and tugs them. I lift my ass enough for him to pull them down. He tosses them aside, never letting his eyes leave mine.

  Concern etches across his face and I realize why.

  He doesn’t have condoms.

  If he did, he would’ve gotten one out by now. His jaw tenses. I can tell he’s scrambling to remedy our situation. Thank goodness I’ve got the remedy.

  “It’s okay.” I nod my head vehemently against the pillow.

  Zander’s eyes snap back to me, disbelieving. “Sadie, I’ve never—not with anyone.”

  “I’ve got it covered. It’s okay,” I say again. And it is. I believe him. I trust him and I trust the IUD that I’ve had for almost three years. The way he’s so careful with me tells me all I need to know. Zander would never hurt me. I’m sure of it just like I was sure that Jake would never let anything happen to me.

  He licks his lips and lowers himself to me. He leans down, hovering just above me, his shirt still on, bare everywhere else. One hand presses into the mattress just beside my head, bracing himself above me. His other hand curls around the nape of my neck and Zander plunders my mouth. His tongue dips in and out. His luscious lips suck and nip at mine. It’s all I can do to keep up. I buck my hips forward, needing him to fill me. He abruptly breaks away. His hand leaves my neck and I watch as his fingers curl around himself. He makes one lazy stroke down then back up his length and for the first time in my entire adult life, my mouth waters to taste him. I lick my swollen lips hungrily.

  “I need you. All of you.”

  “Okay.”

  “All of you, Sadie.”

  I nod my head and wait. He positions himself at my clit and drags the tip of himself slowly down my wet center. I suck in a breath and hold it absentmindedly. He drags the tip all the way down then back to the top. I look down at the junction between our two bodies to see the tip of him glistening with my arousal. It slips down a little more and then, slowly, Zander pushes inside. He breaches the entrance of my body with his cock and we both groan in unison.

  “Fuck,” he grates out in pleasure, falling all the way forward, effectively caging me with his entire body. He sinks further and further into me until every divine inch of him is sheathed with my quavering flesh.

  I hook my arms under his. My fingers dig into his back through his shirt, silently asking for more. Zander doesn’t hesitate to oblige. He withdraws himself to the tip then drives back into me. I moan into his ear. My legs tighten around his waist. He withdraws again and thrusts back into me, harder this time. A delicious little streak of pain shoots through my womb. I revel in him. All of him.

  It takes no time for Zander to begin the slow build to release. A tingly tightening sprouts up deep in my core. My breathing has become ragged and desperate.

  “Oh, please, keep going,”

  Zander growls in approval and drives forward, edging both of us closer to release. His thrusts become a little harder, faster. The walls of my channel tighten down on his length as his cock pistons in and back out of me. I suck in a breath through gritted teeth. My eyes squeeze shut. Zander’s breath comes out in uneven little huffs of air. His cock thickens even more. My back arches. My nipples press against his chest, gliding back and forth with our movement. I toss my head back and my body seizes violently, blissfully, around him. I see bright little spots behind my closed eyes as my muscles grab and twitch around his length. Zander lets out a harsh moan and spills himself into me with jolting shudders. He sags against me and I pull him close, planting a tender kiss against his collarbone and tracing little circles on his back with my fingertips.

  “Do I have to move?” he muffles into the pillow.

  I laugh, feeling carefree and relaxed for the first time in 756 days. March 29, 2011, is when my carefree life came to a stop. I think I may have forgotten how good it feels.

  “No. I’m sure we can stay like this for a while.”

  “Good.” Zander moves his lips to my cheek and I can feel him smile that boyish grin and I swear it feels even better than it looks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Drink Up

  Zander

  I meant it when I said that she scares me too. She does. Sadie scares the shit out of me. I’ve never felt so needy and protective of any woman in my entire life. She makes me think things that I’ve never thought of before.

  Sadie Parker makes me want more. More hours in the day. More things to make her smile. Mo
re life. More of her.

  But none of that is the stuff that scares me.

  What scares me is the thought that what if she wakes up tomorrow and decides that she wants nothing to do with me? What if she finds out how much of an asshole I was all those years? What if she finds out that I haven’t been half the stand up kind of man her cop husband was? What if she finds out what my dad did to get her husband’s heart? What if I find out, she finds out, that her husband’s death was no tragic coincidence? I’ve never been as worried about my dad’s backhandedness as I am now. I don’t know much about Jacob Parker’s death and I’m nervous to know any more than I already do. Ignorance is bliss right now. For both of us. I just hope that this bliss lasts.

  I kick the comforter down the bed and cover us in just the sheet. My fingers dance across her skin, both of us wrapped up in only each other. The only piece of fabric between us is the shirt she wanted me to keep on. It’s stings a little, I can’t deny that, but I get it. She can’t face the evidence of her reality yet and I respect that. I just don’t know what I can do to help her. There’s one thing that I am unequivocally sure of, though, and that is that Sadie Parker and I are very much alike. Kindred spirits if I’ve ever seen a pair. I guess if I were in her position, I’d just want the other person to sit back and let me come to terms with things as I go. I can’t be forced or pushed or coerced into a fucking thing and I would bet my right arm that Sadie is the same. She’s wired to do things her own way, to rebel against the natural or expected route. It’s only easy for me to see because I’m the poster boy for rebellion. I want Sadie to stay and I don’t want to put a time limit on it. I want her here for as long as I can trap her free spirit. I’ll convince her. I’ll tell her anything she wants to know in hopes that maybe she’ll want to tell me all about the woman who lives behind those soulful brown eyes.

  “My dad is a dick. King of dicks,” I say out of the blue.

  Sadie props herself up on one elbow and looks at me without saying a word. I find that with Sadie, words aren’t really needed much. The truth pours from her eyes like soul-baring liquid whether she intends it to or not. She gives the secret liquid freely and my only reflex is to drink up.

  “I used to pretend that I was adopted when we couldn’t get along, which has pretty much been all my life. I don’t know why.” I shrug a little. “We just don’t get along. His motives are evident in everything he does and I usually end up hating him for it.” I take a deep breath and go on, glancing to Sadie periodically. “I used to try hard for his approval; felt like begging for scraps. I got tired of it.” I search her face for a response and I see her brows draw up a little making that shallow line between them. I don’t like pity usually, but coming from Sadie, it doesn’t feel like pity. Whatever it is she feels for me right now doesn’t feel like pity, it just feels like someone who sees me for who and what I am and can agree with me when I say that the shit I dealt with at the hands of my father sucked. “When shit got really bad in college,” I continue, “I just changed. Overnight. I’ve never really…um…followed the rules to a T, but I got really bad in college. I just kind of did what I wanted when I wanted even if I knew I would be in trouble for it. Actually, I did the shit that I did because I knew I’d get in trouble for it and it would reflect badly on him.” I speak openly, realizing that I haven’t been able to speak so freely to anyone. Not in a long time. Not since my grandfather passed away. Thoughts of my grandfather leaving me so alone causes a fucking knot to sprout up in my throat. I’m quick to redirect my train of thought. “My favorite color is blue. Shocking, I know.”

  Sadie lets out a small laugh and it chases away the depressing thoughts about my grandfather.

  “I used to drink a lot. Too much. I drink vegetable juice every single day and I always moan and groan to myself, wishing I could pour a little vodka into my cup.”

  She gets down from her elbow and rests her temple on my shoulder, careful to steer clear of my chest.

  “I work out every morning,” I continue. “Same routine. Nothing crazy. It’s the fitness regimen that my cardiologist and nutritionist worked out for me. Speaking of him…I see Dr. Hendrix more than I see my family. Isn’t that fucked up?”

  Sadie nods against my shoulder, but still doesn’t speak.

  “I don’t have any friends. Not really.” Sadie drapes her arm over me almost lovingly and fuck, it feels good. Her fingers trace the bands of muscle in my left arm. Her touch is so smooth and calculated and sure. Questions about sculpting spring to mind but I shut them down, knowing that I shouldn’t push her. Not now.

  “My dad sends security down here from Atlanta to check on me. It drives me nuts. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time. I’ll have to see him at the fundraiser. You never agreed to go.” I brush a lock of hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. I do it maybe because I love the way her hair feels slipping through my fingers or maybe because I need a small pause to gather some courage. “Will you?”

  She gives a subtle nod and I tug her even closer to me. Her face tucks perfectly into my neck. I feel her lips turn up into a smile and it feels so good to know I can make her smile.

  I talk. She gives. I drink her in and then talk some more, getting to know her without her ever having to speak a single word. Her eyes, her movements, her touch are all her tell—her story—and I am rapt, wondering what her ending is. Some newly discovered part of me hopes that I’m the main character in Sadie’s ending. Not her happily ever after, because she’s already had one of those, but maybe I can be her second chance at happiness. I think she could be mine. I’d bet on it.

  “C’mon, Slim. Let’s eat something.” I reach forward and pop her perfect ass with the palm of my hand. She squeals and jumps up, still stark naked. The sight of her has my cock feeling warm and tingly again. Fuck, she’s irresistible.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lonely Chef

  Sadie

  Zander sets a plate of wheat crackers, cheese, and fruit in front of me while he moves around his kitchen like a professional chef. I study his form as he reaches up to the pot rack above the kitchen island and pulls down a large pan. He flicks his wrist and the handle rotates 360 degrees in his palm. He sets it to a gas burner on his stove with a clang.

  “Who taught you to cook?”

  His attention snaps to me as the burner flickers to life. Without looking, he zigzags what I guess is olive oil into the pan. “TV mostly.” He shrugs. “Some books. I had to learn how to cook for myself since cheeseburgers and nearly all takeout was out of the question after my transplant. No one else was going to cook for me.”

  I nod, feeling a little pang of sadness at the idea of Zander being so alone in this big house and having to teach himself how to cook and abide by a heart healthy diet. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t had anyone to learn those things with. It must’ve been impossibly hard to make those sacrifices and lifestyle changes without the support of another person. My chest fills to the brim knowing that he has taken great measures to take care of himself and the heart that used to be Jake’s.

  “What are you making for us?”

  “This afternoon’s special, madam, will be cashew-crusted sea scallops, grilled asparagus, and lemon-sage linguine,” he fires off, wearing an animated expression like a waiter at some fancy eatery.

  I toss my head back and laugh heartily at him. “What, no enchilada casserole?” I joke, and it wins me another boy-next-door grin. I could look at that playful grin all day, every day, for…ever.

  “Fraid not, baby. No enchilada casseroles here.” He shakes his head, turning back to the pan on the stove. He lifts it from the burner and swirls the pan around, coating it with oil.

  “My mom cooks for me. My freezer is full of little single-serving meals that only require three minutes in the microwave. She’s a good cook. Makes typical southern food. I like almost everything she makes. But I don’t eat the frozen meals. Want to know why?” I ask, feeling a little nervous but compelled to share a li
ttle of my life with him since he’s shared with me.

  “Why’s that, sweetheart?” he drawls, reminding me how much I love a man with that southern Georgia accent.

  “Because they’re these little single person dishes. I look at them and I just…I feel more alone. So I don’t eat them. I make myself a sandwich or eat cereal or order Chinese because they always send way too much and I can eat more of it the next day.”

  Zander gives a tight little nod, his jaw tense, then he turns back to making dinner. I look on with fascination as he prepares our meal with ease. The asparagus is drizzled with something then tossed haphazardly into a waiting grill pan. He shakes it around twice, making the vegetables tumble around in every direction.

  “I have a nephew. His name is Jackson. He’s my sister’s only child as of now.”

  “Are you going to have kids one day?” he asks as he reaches to a plastic dish on the counter and transfers a fistful of scallops to another dish with crushed cashews in it, I presume. Another flick of his wrist and the scallops are coated.

  “Jake and I wanted kids. He would have been a great dad,” I mumble, thinking about just how true that statement is. Jake was so much more patient than I am. He got along well with kids and had a way of attracting children no matter where we were. Kids would just wander up to Jake like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. It always impressed me.

  Zander nods, his back to me. He carefully places each scallop in the hot pan. It sizzles and sends steam up in rolling plumes. The kitchen immediately fills with the vague scent of garlic and seafood.

  “Will you have any kids?” I ask.

  Zander’s lean shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug as his head tilts to the side in thought. He grabs two little containers of pasta from the fridge of and dunks the linguine down into a pot of boiling water on the back burner. The cold pasta meeting with the water sends huge amounts of steam up in the air, but Zander ducks away from it gracefully.