by Zoe York
Yes. That. He needed that. “On the bed.”
She nodded as she moved past him, her eyes blinking open again.
His gaze caught on the sway of her hips, and his brain thudded against his skull. Hot and cold waves rolled over him as he followed her. He leaned heavily on his cane at the side of the bed and watched her stretch out.
Bare legs, denim cut offs, a soft cotton t-shirt stretched tight across her breasts.
And she had his phone in her hands. With a grin, she turned off the video and tossed it aside. “If you want to watch that again, feel free. But I think…” she reached for her button. “I mean, I don’t want to rush you. But I think we might be ready for more, yes?”
“Rush away.”
Deja vu, fierce and disorienting, slammed into him. Rob away. That kiss on top of the sea container in Urfa happened a lifetime ago, but the want he’d felt that night was so fresh he could taste it.
“How would you like me?” Her voice was a breathy whisper as she unzipped her shorts. The denim fell open, revealing pink underwear underneath.
He licked his lips. “Take the shorts off.”
She wiggled them down her hips. Then her legs fell open as she ran her fingers over the elastic waistband of her panties. “And these?”
He shook his head quickly. Oh shit, that hurt. He blinked away the pain and focused on her fingers. Nimble and slim.
They would feel so good wrapped around his cock.
Deja vu that, motherfucker.
This was going to work. He wanted to crow. He wanted to punch his fist into the air and yell, but there would be time for that after.
She lifted one leg and stroked her toes up his body until she hooked her foot under his shirt. “Now your turn. Take that off.”
Showing off his torso for her was no hardship. He stripped down then slowly lowered himself to his knees after she got her fill of his chest. He cupped his hand around the swell of her calf muscle and she slid closer, until her knees were bent, her legs hanging off the bed on either side of him.
He kissed the inside of her thigh. “Touch yourself.”
She took her time easing her fingers into her underwear, stroking leisurely at first. But he knew the moment her fingers made contact with her clit. He knew that gasp, that pleased little intake of air. He jerked his eyes up just in time to see her head roll back against the bed.
And in the next second, she twisted her head to the side and found him watching her.
Her. Not her fingers, not her sex, although that made him hot, too. But her face…He crawled up onto the bed and covered her body with his. He kissed her swollen lips, keeping his eyes open the whole time.
Bare, brushing kisses. Promises. Pleas.
“I don’t know what I can do…” he breathed against her skin.
“It’s okay.” She smiled as her pupils dilated, the heat that was radiating through him obviously affecting her, too. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
He wanted to kiss her. Breathe her in and taste her skin.
“Take off your shorts, too.” He shuddered at her words. It was the one thing he hadn’t done yet.
She set her hands on his waist, but she didn’t push them lower. If he wanted to fuck his wife, he had to be naked, and it had to be his own action.
“I know it’s complicated,” she whispered. “And we haven’t talked about it, but I just want to be naked with you. All the way naked.”
Cold shivers raced beneath his skin as he pulled his shorts off. He hadn’t put any boxers on under them, and now her hands stroked lower, teasing at the curve of his ass. He tensed up, and she made a pleased sound deep in her throat as she squeezed his muscles there.
He kissed her again, harder this time. “You taste like raspberries.”
“We added more fruit to the sangria. And just ate the fresh berries, too.”
She was delicious. And warm. And soft.
He pressed against her, ignoring the fact he wasn’t hard yet, and kissed her again. “Berries, eh?”
“So good.” She shimmied beneath him, bringing her heat into more insistent contact with his dick.
That was so good. So very good indeed.
She kissed his jaw, her lips soft whispers against his stubble there. “What do you want to do with me?”
“Everything.”
He could feel her smile. “Lucky me.”
“Sean?”
“Mmm.”
“Should we talk?”
He laughed. It wasn’t funny. They should. But it was such a sweet, Jenna thing to say. “Yeah.”
“Can I be more naked for it?”
He slid to the side then rolled onto his back. She took off her t-shirt, then her bra, and finally, she stood on the bed above him and shimmied out of her panties, too.
He loved the way her breasts jiggled and bounced. They weren’t big, but they were perfect. Two handfuls of soft, womanly flesh. As she straddled his waist, he tugged her forward so they dangled in his face.
“You talk first,” he whispered as he kissed first one nipple, then the other.
“I want you to know how happy I am with where we are now.” Her breath hitched. “Especially this very second. Very happy. I don’t have any expectations.”
“I do,” he said. He pulled her breast into his mouth, sucking until she groaned and ground her hips against his belly. “I miss sex.”
“Wanting something and expecting it are two different things.” She eased her hips back, and for the first time in months, he felt the slick slide of her sex against his cock. “I’ll give you anything you want,” she breathed as she rolled her hips. “Anything.”
He couldn’t speak. If he could, he’d be babbling about how good she felt, how warm and wet and sexy this was. But his brain was stalling out in a haze of lusty hormones and misfiring signals. He set his hands on her hips and guided her on auto-pilot.
Her breasts swayed in front of his face. As her nipple brushed against his mouth, desire tugged hard inside him, and he ground their hips together. She pushed back again, and that tug turned into a fast-spooling bobbin of need.
His dick wasn’t even fully hard, but that didn’t matter. He threw his head back, every muscle in his body straining, and with a guttural shout, he came so hard he worried he’d blinded himself.
White, sparkling spots danced in front of his eyes. He gulped for air as Jenna fell on top of him, her mouth brushing the cords of his neck, then his jaw, and finally—finally, yes—his lips.
He kissed her like she was the air he breathed. He inhaled her, consumed her, worshiped her. If he weren’t so wrung out, he thought it was possible he might cry, and Fosters didn’t cry.
Ever.
Maybe they might make exceptions for the return of orgasms.
“That was incredible,” she murmured as she ran her hand down his torso and patted his abs. “Be right back.”
She returned a minute later with a warm wash cloth. He watched through a daze as she cleaned him up.
Holy. Shit.
“I know, right?”
Had he said that out loud? He cleared his throat. “So that was…unexpected.”
“I could tell. Your face went from turned on to climaxing pretty darn fast. It was totally hot.”
“Not something I usually brag about,” he said dryly.
She got up again and sauntered over to the laundry basket and got rid of the washcloth. “No,” she said as she swivelled back to him. “I guess not. Which makes it kind of special for us.”
She was a goddess. An understanding, ridiculously sexy goddess.
“I felt like a teenager again,” he said, reaching for her. “Like it was hard to control.”
“You’ll get it back. The control. And when you do…” She grinned wickedly. “Maybe you’ll have the, uh, recovery of a young man, too.”
“I am a young man,” he growled, kissing her hard on the mouth. “And I think my recovery is going to be just fine.”
She glanced between
them.
He wasn’t all the way hard, same as before, but…he was recovered. Thick and ready for touching again, he was pretty sure. He wrapped his hand around himself experimentally. Yeah, he was ready.
“What do you want to do next?” she asked breathily.
His heart hammered in his chest. “Maybe we could try that blow job now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
September
LABOUR DAY BROUGHT quiet to the peninsula. Cottagers and day-trippers from Toronto disappeared, and in their place came a weekly parade of fall festivals that thrilled Jenna. Apple picking, pumpkin celebrations, and everyone broke out the plaid shirts.
Not Sean, though.
“You know that I love you,” she said slowly as she followed him from the bedroom into the kitchen early one morning.
“Yes.”
“So I’m not saying this is a relationship deal breaker now, but—”
He stopped in front of the coffee maker and grabbed the fresh grinds he’d just measured out. “If you’d known that I didn’t wear plaid flannel shirts, you wouldn’t have married me?”
She tried to sound as serious as possible. “It’s a possibility.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
She gave him an appreciative once over. There was nothing wrong with his tight black t-shirt and cargo pants that hung perfectly from his hips.
Nothing at all. “You know you look good. That’s not the point. There’s just something in the air.”
He pressed the power button on the coffee maker and turned around, leaning back against the counter. “I think it’s called frost. Go get me the shirt.”
She pumped her fists in the air and did a happy dance all the way back to their bedroom.
When she got back to the kitchen, he had her travel mug filled and her bagel toasted. “I love you,” she whispered as he fisted his hand around the red and black fabric. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Was that for the coffee or the shirt?”
“For both. For the way you take care of me. For getting up with me so early in the morning too.”
It was early, too. She wanted to make morning rounds at the hospital.
He walked her to the front door, grabbing his cane on the way. “I’ve got a busy day today too. I’m heading out with the search and rescue team. We’re going to talk about endurance and cross country movement, and then they’re going to do some timed exercises I planned for them in the woods.”
And tomorrow was his last official day in the Canadian Forces, but they weren’t talking about that just yet. He’d been studiously avoiding the topic, other than to tell her he’d be gone in the evening for the unit’s regular training night and the official “mug out” send-off from the officer’s mess.
“Good luck with the training. And stay warm in that super-handsome shirt!” She kissed him again, then grabbed her bags and her breakfast and headed into the still-dark morning.
Dawn broke as she drove out of town.
She put on a top 40 station and rolled down her window. There was frost in the air, Sean was right. She drank her coffee and thought about her case load as the cool morning air pinked up her cheeks.
Her first intake client, Brenda, was five days past her due date. Jenna would have to touch base with her after rounds. And she needed to follow up with her newest intake, too—a Syrian refugee, recently arrived in Canada, and terrified about navigating an unfamiliar health care system.
Jenna’s limited Arabic had never felt so useful as in that first meeting.
But it wasn’t enough. She’d have to help the mother find a native speaker translator who she would be comfortable having at her delivery. Maybe Jenna could put the word out in the midwifery forums and see if there were any Arabic speaking students who wanted to do a spring placement with her. As welcoming as Jenna could be, she was no replacement for someone who shared more of a client’s culture and background.
She liked being this busy, though. It was no hardship. And while a small town practice offered its own unique challenges—like the hour-plus drive into work four or five days a week, and being a significant distance from a delivering hospital much of the time—she wouldn’t give up its benefits.
Like being surrounded by friends.
Waking up to her husband’s kisses each morning.
Having a close-knit support group at the end of an exhausting day.
The pies at Mac’s.
And the chance to make a real difference in an underserved community.
It’s why she’d flown halfway around the world, but she was needed here, too.
The day flew by, and then in the late afternoon, it got exciting.
After a no-news phone call with Brenda at lunch time, she called back at three and said she was having contractions. “They’re not close together yet, but they’re pretty intense. I think. I don’t know.”
“If you aren’t sure yet, then it’s probably still early, but you’re on my way home. How about I stop in and see you in about an hour? And call me again if anything changes.”
She wrapped up the rest of her clinic work, checked her calendar for the next day—which was wide open, as it wasn’t one of her two clinic days for patient appointments. A good day to help a couple deliver a baby, for sure.
She updated her partners about the contraction news then headed for her car. Brenda lived on a farm halfway to Pine Harbour, and when Jenna got there, she found her client hanging laundry on the line.
“Last minute nesting?” she asked with a smile.
“Something like that.” Brenda gave her a nervous look. “The first one wasn’t so bad, but some of them have taken my breath away.”
“That’s a good sign, it might mean that they’re productive contractions. I’ll watch you through a few of them. Maybe we can adjust your breathing a bit to make them more manageable too.”
The first one came as Brenda was hanging the last of the laundry. She stopped and leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees.
Jenna kept an eye on her watch. Only thirty seconds, although she was sure it felt longer than that for Brenda. And when it ended, Brenda slid right back into the conversation.
“They’re definitely stronger like that when I’m standing or walking.”
“Let’s go for a little walk, then, and see how long it takes for the next one to come. But then I want you to go inside and get some rest.”
It was almost ten minutes until the next contraction. In that time, they talked about breathing, and eating, and sleep. All the things a labouring woman needed to maintain her strength.
Inside the farm house, Brenda’s husband was working on his computer, but he came to her side right away.
Jenna patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s get her onto the couch. Your job is going to be enforcing a nap at the very least.”
She took Brenda’s vitals while they waited for the next contraction, and then she sat on the floor next to the couch and watched her client.
There was no magic ball when it came to estimating labour. But as a first-time mom, with weak contractions that lengthened with rest… Jenna didn’t want Brenda to get too excited about having a baby tonight. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “But it is possible for this early labour stuff to go on for a few days. Your uterus is figuring out the contractions. It’s a waiting game now.”
“Can you check me? Inside?”
Jenna furrowed her brow. She wasn’t one to offer an internal exam, but if a client asked for it… there were pros and cons, and she explained them to Brenda.
“I think if I knew what my cervix was doing, if I was dilated at all, that would help calm me.”
Jenna nodded. “And if you aren’t dilated at all, don’t be disappointed.”
They waited for the next contraction to pass, and then Jenna pulled out what she’d need from her travel bag.
Sure enough, the first-time mom’s cervix was maybe one centimetre dilated, just a finge
rtip, and quite firm. Jenna discarded her medical gloves into a biohazard bag then covered Brenda back up with the blanket her husband had brought for her to rest under.
“Your cervix is still pretty high and firm. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything—our bodies are amazing, and things can change quickly, but what we usually see with first time moms is that it takes a while. I do like the look of your contractions, though. Those are nice and regular. This is definitely early labour, but I’d expect it to come and go over the next twenty-four hours. So I recommend you get some sleep.” She glanced at Brenda’s husband, including him in that. “Both of you. And I’ll come and check on you again first thing, or whenever you page me. Okay?”
She made sure her numbers were programmed in their phones.
“Get some sleep,” she repeated. “Tomorrow you’re having a baby.”
After she stowed her bag in the trunk of her car, she called Sean.
He answered on the third ring, and from the background noise, she could tell he was still outside. “How goes the baby delivering?”
“Slowly. It’ll probably be tomorrow, so I’m heading home to sleep. Are you still out with the search and rescue team?”
“No, I’m at the meadow.”
Again. He’d been spending a lot of time there lately. She smiled. “Okay. I’ll see you when you get home, then.”
“I…” He laughed. “I could use a ride home, if you want to stop and pick me up. I walked here.”
“From where?”
“Home.”
“Sean, that’s five kilometres!”
“I made it, though.”
She shook her head even as she smiled with secret pride. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
He met her at the access lane, but when she pulled to a stop, he didn’t get in the car. Turning it off, she hopped out and went around to him.
He kissed her quickly. “How tired are you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got lots of energy.”
“I want to show you something.”
Even though he’d been going since early morning, he was pretty steady on his feet. She didn’t miss that he was using his cane, though. Sometimes it was just a safety net now, but other times—like toward the end of the day, or when he was suffering from a migraine—he used it with every step.