His, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  He came to stand in front of me and leaned down to capture both my hands. He drew me to my feet. “Jenna.” In the soft, dim light, the sky-blue of his eyes was deeper, more like the mysterious depths of the ocean.

  Breath catching nervously, I waited. With another man, it would have been simple. I’d have initiated the action, leaped playfully at him, and tumbled him to the bed. But with Mark, nothing was normal. My physical reactions, my emotional ones, were off kilter.

  He seemed uncertain, too, just holding my hands and gazing down at me. Then he lowered his head and I tensed, unsure if I wanted to kiss him. Not knowing what would happen when our lips touched.

  He dropped a quick kiss on my nose, surprising a smile out of me. He smiled back, then reached for the hem of my tee, and slowly tugged it over my head.

  I was braless under it, and my nipples immediately perked under his appreciative gaze. They tightened further when he undid my shorts and shoved them down my hips.

  I let them slide, stepped out of them, and waited to see if he’d strip off my thong.

  He didn’t. “Get into bed. The air’s cool.”

  Maybe it was, but I didn’t feel it when his heated gaze caressed my bare skin. Still, I obeyed, sliding between the sheets and watching as he took off his shirt and shorts. When he was down to just lean muscles and a pair of blue boxers, the front distended by a hard-on, I gave a seductive smile and crooked my finger, beckoning him closer. “You know you’re a hottie, right, Dr. Chambers?”

  “I don’t even know what a hottie is,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

  “How can you be totally oblivious to everything but science?” I ran my fingers up and down his firm thigh.

  He touched the back of my hand. “I’m not oblivious to that.”

  “Thank God.”

  Gently he tugged my hand up to his mouth and feathered a kiss across the palm, his soft lips stirring arousal. He put my hand back down on his thigh, then stroked up my arm in a light caress, all the way up to my shoulder. “Not oblivious.”

  He leaned over to drop light kisses on my butterflies, moving my hair aside. Then he twined a long curl around his finger. “Nope, not oblivious.” He tugged it back to reveal my ear, caught the lobe between his teeth and nipped lightly, darting an erotic spark down to my sex. When he followed up with a kiss, I sighed with pleasure. These kisses, I could definitely handle.

  “Well, I’m definitely not oblivious to this.” I drifted my hand over the front of his boxers, feeling the thrust of his cock underneath.

  Wanting to kiss him there, to free him from thin cotton and take him into my mouth, I started to sit up.

  He caught my shoulders and held me down. “Oh, no, it’s not going to be fast and hard this time.”

  “I could change your mind if I tried,” I teased, liking the idea of being in control.

  “You could.” His eyes danced. “But we’ll both have more fun if you don’t.”

  Hmm. As I’d already learned, the man gave great fore-play. “An excellent point, Dr. Chambers.” I relaxed, waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Mark leaned down, mouth approaching mine, and automatically I tensed, still uncertain about kissing him. Maybe he read that uncertainty in my eyes, or maybe he hadn’t intended to kiss my lips anyhow, because he instead pecked my cheek. Then my forehead, my eyebrows, my other cheek. Quick, soft kisses.

  “Mmm, nice.”

  More kisses brushed my chin, then his lips found the sensitive spots on my neck and his lips and tongue firmed, speaking erotic messages that made my body hum with need.

  I answered him with soft moans of pleasure. And watched him, his lean body golden-brown, muscles shifting each time he moved.

  He didn’t speak, just murmured sounds of approval, arousal, low enough I could still hear the hushed roar of the ocean.

  He made his way across the upper plane of my chest, then eased the sheet down to kiss my breast, making me gasp when he laved my areola then sucked my nipple. I ran my fingers through his hair and held on for the ride as he inched the sheet down bit by bit and followed up with sensual kisses, sucks, and nibbles—across my ribs, my navel, my belly—each one sending tingles to my sex, fueling my desire.

  By the time he reached my pussy, I was squirming with the delicious ache of focused arousal, the need to come.

  When he lapped my clit, I exploded.

  He eased back a little but didn’t stop, licking my sex, thrusting his fingers in and out, tonguing and sucking my clit, until my climaxes came in waves, one starting before the last one had ended.

  “Oh God, Mark,” I gasped, eyes squeezed shut, lost in a world of blissful sensation. Oh yeah, he had an advanced degree in foreplay.

  Somehow, he must have eased his boxers off, because now he slid into me, his shaft so much thicker than his fingers, so blunt and primitive and single-minded as he drove deep.

  So deep, I gasped.

  Then his lips captured mine, and this time I had no thought of holding back. When our mouths fused, I felt a shift. Before, I’d been in my body, totally aware of each delicious sexual sensation he created. Now, somehow, it was different. It wasn’t me, it was us.

  Our mouths spoke a secret language, one of caring, of belonging, of merging. I was vaguely aware our arms were stretched above our heads, fingers interwoven as our bodies twined and melded. As tenderness and passion fused together in an erotic dance, our mouths caught and cherished soft cries and moans.

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t like any kind of sex I’d had before. Orgasm caught me, tumbled me, rolled me, then sucked me under until another wave rocked me.

  Mark’s hoarse shout rang in my ears and echoed in some deep place where words no longer existed, just sensations and emotions.

  Then, finally, the wave released us and tossed us, still clinging together, gently to shore.

  We lay gasping, both emptied and filled in ways I’d never imagined. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, an expression of wonder on his face, but he didn’t say anything.

  Nor did I. There weren’t words for what had just happened.

  As our breath finally slowed, he rolled off me, taking me with him so we lay side by side. The surf sang a lullaby through the open windows as Mark turned off the light and pulled up the sheet and sleeping bag.

  I knew I should worry about what this was between us and where it was going, but I was too tired, too satiated.

  A kiss whispered light as butterfly wings across my forehead, and I was asleep.

  Mark woke as dawn light filtered into the camper. For a moment, he lay with his eyes closed, feeling the soft warmth of Jenna next to him and listening to the ocean and the chirps and trills of awakening birds. What a perfect way to start the day.

  He opened his eyes, and the morning got even better. Jenna was sleeping, turned on her side toward him, face peaceful and innocent. His leg lay over hers and her arm curved across his waist. Even in sleep, they’d subconsciously wanted to stay connected.

  Making love with her last night had been … There were no words. He’d never experienced anything like it. He knew she felt it, too. She’d had lots of other lovers, so her expression of wonder and amazement last night had told him the two of them, together, were special.

  His heart—even his mind—told him his friend Adrienne was right, and he was definitely falling in love. He had little experience with deep emotions, but what else could the incredible lovemaking mean? Pheromones or major histocompatibility complex codes couldn’t explain so profound a connection, one that went far beyond merely physical. He and Jenna weren’t perfectly compatible, but his grandparents spoke about base pairs and how a strong bond required being both complementary and different.

  He was sure Adrienne was right, too, about Jenna being scared of love. When she’d been a vulnerable teen, she’d been hurt by that boy, Travis. She’d walled off her heart so she’d never be hurt again. Now, Mark had to convince her that he would never, ever hurt her, and t
hen they could explore what their future might hold. She had to see it was time to change her life—to let herself love and be loved, to find focus and meaning, to stop drifting.

  She stirred, sighed, and her soft brown eyelashes fluttered as her eyes gradually opened. She focused on him, a smile curved her lips, and a sparkle lit her blue-green eyes.

  Those eyes. She carried the ocean in her eyes. If he were a romantic, that would be the only sign he’d need.

  “Good morning,” she said sleepily.

  “It is.” And perhaps so could all the rest of their mornings be. Suddenly, the future was clear. Once her sister’s wedding was over, she could come with him to Indonesia. They’d work together, sleep on the beach, make love on the sand. Make love in the tropical ocean. Could anything be more incredible than loving Jenna as the ocean surrounded them?

  “You look …” She studied him, still smiling.

  “What?”

  “Happy. Contented. Almost smug.”

  “All of those.” Should he tell her he was falling for her? He wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that. Nor, to be honest, that he knew how to say those words. For now, he’d kiss her, and let his body speak for him.

  He touched his lips to hers and she answered the kiss, this time without tensing, without hesitation. Again he had the sense of their two mouths becoming one, like a pulsing heart that sent blood rushing through veins, told legs and arms to twine, made bodies shift, press, interlock until their flesh had no boundaries. Until they were merged in passion, bliss, and love.

  They climbed, drifted, murmured, whispered into each other’s mouths, climbed again, moaned. The swell of pleasure became a wave, building higher and higher, cresting. Then it broke and spilled, and they rode it together, tumbling as it tossed them, crying out in exultation. Finally, it glided them to shore in gentle ripples.

  After, still caught in the spell, they didn’t say a word, just clung for long minutes, bodies locked together.

  Outside, the ocean sang, a siren’s call to come walk the morning beach. Regretting that they needed to get on the road, Mark said, “If we want to get to Vancouver at a reasonable time …”

  She sighed and muttered, face half-buried against his chest, “Right now, I never want to get back. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just stay here? Go for a walk on the beach, have a lazy breakfast, have sex again …”

  “Make love,” he corrected.

  Her muscles tensed. Then she lifted her head and stared at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Yes.”

  It was little more than a breath, but it was perhaps the most important syllable he’d ever heard in his life.

  Then she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she didn’t meet his gaze. Quickly, awkwardly, she untangled her body from his. “I need a shower and so do you. Then a quick breakfast, and you’re right, we have to get on the road.”

  She was pulling away again. He debated trying to stop her, but knew they’d be driving for hours. They’d done some good talking in the front seats of the Westfalia. Somehow, it seemed easier for both him and Jenna to open up when the highway was unspooling beneath the camper’s tires.

  She pulled clothes on and gathered her stuff. When she opened the camper door, he said, “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  When she’d gone, he climbed out of bed and began to make coffee, using his French press and the pre-ground beans he’d brought with him. As he did, he wondered how Mr. Watkins and his wife were doing. He should have found out what hospital the old man was being taken to.

  Once the coffee was made, he poured himself a mug and headed for the shower.

  He returned to find Jenna at the picnic table, sipping from a mug. She wore a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up her forearms, over a long skirt in shades of yellow and blue. On the table lay the muffin bag and a couple of napkins.

  She smiled as he approached. “We have time for breakfast on the beach, right?”

  “Sure. Just let me dump my stuff in the camper and get more coffee.”

  A few minutes later, food and mugs in hand, they crested the dune and gazed out at the ocean. It was calm, the morning almost windless, which was rare for the coast. An elderly couple strode briskly along the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge, and down the beach a couple of kids had started a sandcastle.

  He and Jenna sat on a log and opened the muffin bag. Coffee and a bran muffin made a satisfying combination, especially when accented by the tang of ocean air and the easy company of the pretty woman beside him.

  As the morning sun gathered heat, Jenna took off her shirt, revealing a yellow camisole-style top with lace trim at the top edge. Her bright hair, lightly tanned skin, and top were all golden, and he had the unusually whimsical thought that she’d brought sunshine into his life. Sunshine and play, which she’d shown him were good things. Would she be equally willing to understand that life should be lived with purpose and commitment?

  Her voice broke into his thoughts. “Tonight we’ll both be with our families.”

  “You’re looking forward to seeing yours?” He wasn’t entirely sure, from the things she’d said. He’d heard definite affection but also ambivalence.

  She flashed a quick smile. “Oh, yeah. But it’ll be same-old, same-old.”

  “How do you mean? That I love you, but stuff?”

  “Yeah, and saying I’m a flake. They’re all so superior, you know?”

  His mother had been a flake. Irresponsible and, let’s face it, useless. She’d chosen the self-indulgence of free love, drugs, and fun and games on the commune. Though he did think Jenna ought to get more focused and serious, she was really nothing like Alicia.

  He rolled the last mouthful of coffee in his mouth and said slowly, “Seems to me you’ve done as much good in the world as any of your sisters.”

  “Me?” She turned wide, surprised eyes on him.

  “Yeah.” He touched one of her tattoos. “Like a butterfly.”

  She shook her head, squinting in confusion. “Huh? You mean, because I’m pretty?”

  He chuckled. “Well, there is that. But I meant something more concrete. Wherever the butterfly touches down, it pollinates a flower. You fly off, touch down, and help damaged kids, abused women, endangered species.”

  He was about to go on, to point out how much more good she could do if she focused her energy on one field, when she said, “Mark, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” The glow in her eyes was warm, surprised.

  “Really?”

  “My parents and sisters keep saying I should go back to school and learn something useful. But you’re saying I already am useful.”

  “Yeah, and if your family doesn’t see that, they don’t know you very well.” They should acknowledge the contribution she made to the world, then encourage her to pick a discipline and go back to school.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

  The shared moment was so sweet that instinct told him this wasn’t the time to push the merits of further education.

  Three kids came pelting down the dune, racing toward the ocean, followed more slowly by their laughing parents. “Time to hit the road,” Mark said regretfully.

  They walked back to the camper, pausing on the top of the dune for one last gaze at the view. Their route would take them inland from here, to Tillamook and Portland. Then, to make it to Vancouver by the end of the day, they’d have to drive the I-5.

  A few minutes later, they left the campsite with Mark at the wheel, a third cup of coffee in the cup holder.

  “Hope the idiots stay off the road today,” he said. “And I sure wish I knew how Mr. Watkins is. You didn’t ask what hospital they were taking him to, did you?”

  “Sorry. But how many could there be in that area?”

  He gestured toward his phone. “Want to try and find it?”

  She nodded and took the phone. “What d’you figure was the closest town?”<
br />
  “Try Brookings.”

  A few minutes later, she was talking to someone at a hospital. “No, I’m not a relative,” she said. “Does his wife happen to be there?” Hand covering the phone, she said to Mark, “They won’t give out details unless you’re a relative.” Then, back into the phone, “His son? Perfect, I’d love to talk to him.”

  After a pause of a minute or two, she spoke to Mr. Watkins’s son, explaining who she and Mark were, and asking about his parents. Listening, she smiled and nodded at Mark. A few moments later, she said, “Thanks so much. Give our best to both of them.”

  She closed the phone. “The son says they’re all eternally in your debt. Mr. Watkins is doing well. His arm’s fine. He has whiplash, and he’ll need physio for a while, but he should make a full recovery.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Thank God you were there.” She stretched her seatbelt so she could lean over and kiss his shoulder. “You’re a good man in a crisis, Doctor, even if you’re not a real doctor.”

  He reached up to caress her cheek, then put his hand back on the wheel. “You’re not so bad yourself. How’s Mrs. Watkins?”

  “Exhausted and suffering from shock, but fine. Once she knew her husband was going to be okay, they sent her home with her daughter-in-law.” Jenna settled back in her seat, curling up with her floaty skirt around her legs, looking like she was getting comfy for hours on the road.

  “I need to check e-mail,” he said. “We’ll find some place in the next town.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are your parents expecting you at any particular time? Like for dinner?”

  She chuckled. “No, they know schedules aren’t my thing. Mom’ll be in Ottawa, anyway.”

  “Ottawa?”

  “She’s presenting an appeal to the Supreme Court of Canada tomorrow. She’s been busy preparing, and M’s been making up schoolwork and exams she missed when she was sick, which is why the three-pack got nominated to organize the wedding.”

  “And Merilee and Matt only decided just over a week ago that they were getting married?”