by Hazel Hunter
He opened the shower door and quickly cranked the water on, all the way hot. As it ran over his hand, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. The water was ice cold to start. It’d been sitting in the pipes for a couple of days. But slowly it started to turn warm. He turned back to Jules.
“Nice and–” he started.
Her jacket was on the counter and for a moment he thought she was wearing a short dress. But when she bent to pick her slacks up from the floor, he realized she was wearing his polo shirt. It fell to about the middle of her thighs. He stared at the backs of them, smooth and gently curved, as she unwrapped her ankle.
As she put the pants and elastic wrap on the counter, she looked into the mirror. He slowly approached her from behind, watching her reflection gaze steadily at him. Steam began to rise from the water, warming the room. He quickly removed his jacket and tossed it onto her slacks. Her eyes immediately went to his bare chest. As he stepped behind her, he put his hands around her waist and ran them down over her hips. As he stared at her in the mirror, he slowly began to lift the shirt. As the cloth rose higher, his eyes moved to the light pink panties she wore. The lacy hem hugged the roundness of her hips and lay flat against her smooth abdomen. But, as he lifted the shirt higher, she slowly turned toward him and lifted her arms over her head.
What had begun as a slow unveiling, took on a sudden urgency. He had to will himself not to simply rip the shirt in two. As he lifted it higher, her tiny waist came into view, then her ribs, and now her breasts.
He let his eyes completely take her in. The perfect roundness of the fleshy mounds was incredible. As the shirt rose over her elbows and her head, she shook her hair out and opened her eyes. The shirt landed on his jacket and his hands immediately found the bra clasp at her back. In moments, her dark pink nipples danced in front of him. Though the steam was slowly spreading, the small nubs at their centers were stiff.
Hands on her shoulders, he eased her back against the wall. Looking into her eyes, he quickly ran his hands down her arms and intertwined his fingers with hers. As he stepped closer, he raised her hands just above her head and rested them against the wall.
“Jules,” he muttered, leaning down to her as she tilted her chin up to him.
His mouth quickly covered hers, her lips as velvety as he remembered. They pressed against his, responding to his every move, moist and clinging. As her jaw dropped, his tongue tested hers. She was dragging in air through her nostrils as her fingers tightened around his. Something had changed. There was a need in her now, something moving her, that hadn’t been there before. With her perfect body only inches from his, he gave in to his own need. He left one hand holding both of hers and quickly lowered his mouth to her breast.
Jules gasped as his lips gnawed into her. His tongue slid down over the silky skin, as his lips alternately sucked and kissed the soft flesh. Her chest was rising and falling ever faster but as he approached her nipple, he felt her tense. He paused and stroked his tongue just above it, back and forth. His teeth gently grazed the rounded skin just next to it. He kissed the softness to the other side of it and Jules began to pant. Though her hands were immobile above her and she balanced most of her weight on the one foot, she slowly writhed, raising her rib cage, moving her nipple toward his mouth. His tongue slowly circled it, easily keeping up with her movements.
“Logan, please,” she whispered above him.
But she needn’t have, as his mouth closed around the stiff nipple and sucked. Her back instantly arched as her breath caught. He cupped her other breast and, as his fingers gently squeezed, his lips did the same. His finger brushed the tip of the little nub he held as his tongue lashed the one in his mouth.
Jules’ breath came in quick rasps, keeping time with the escalating rhythm of his movements. The feel of her in his mouth and in his hand was electrifying. Warmth sped through his groin as his arousal jolted to life. His hand lightly squeezed as he sucked furiously. She responded with a low moan that sent a new surge of need through him and he released her from his mouth.
He drew back, his hand still on hers, and looked down her length. The arching curve of her back had lifted her breasts and drawn her hips back. Her abdomen had nearly curved into a hollow. As he ran his hand down the taut muscles and smooth skin of it, he lifted his eyes to her parted lips. He took her upper lip between his as his fingers slid into her panties. Her groan and the pulse of her mound into his palm was like a drug. He closed his eyes as his tongue slid into her mouth and his fingers pulled upward. Her hips suddenly bucked against his hand and he felt the tug of her hands. Again his tongue moved into her and he pulled upward and, again, she bucked.
Worried she might hurt herself, he let go of her and drew back. As her eyes fluttered open, he wasted no time ridding himself of his ripped jeans, underwear, and socks but not before he took the condom from the pants pocket. He turned to the shower, reached in, and turned on the cold water to balance the hot. When he looked back to her through the thick steam, her panties were gone and she was looking down at his groin. He didn’t need to look down to know his arousal was more than ready. Instead, he put on the condom, took her by the hand, and slowly backed into the stream of water, pulling her after him.
Jules closed the door behind her as he moved out of the water, making room for her. As the spray moved over her back, she tilted her head back. He watched as she ran her fingers through her wet hair and water washed down over her face. There were a few different bottles in the caddy under the shower head but one was clearly marked shampoo. He squeezed some into his hand, put the bottle back, and gently smoothed it into her wet hair. Eyes closed, she paused but then her fingers found his. As she started to massage the growing lather, he let his soapy hands glide down to her breasts. They slipped and bobbled as he massaged them and, as he moved to her side, he slid one hand down her lower back and the other down to her abdomen. He marveled at the small distance between front and back and he’d been about to move his hands lower when she backed up.
Surprised, he looked up to see her pulling him into the water. As the warmth spread up his chest, face, and over his head, he paused. The water felt good. He felt her massaging shampoo into his hair and reveled in the feel of it but he froze when her hands slid down to his pecs.
• • • • •
Logan’s body was mesmerizing. As he washed his hair, Jules watched the tight bunching of the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders. Crazy rivulets meandered this way and that around the bulges–as did her fingers. They traced their way lightly into the dips, sliding easily with the sudsy water. She pressed her palms over the smooth curves of his uplifted pecs. Her fingers kneaded into the hard muscles, sliding down and, as her palms rubbed over his nipples, she saw his six-pack flex. Drawn like a magnet, her hands rubbed over the glistening ripples. In response, they tightened again.
Suddenly, she realized Logan was no longer washing his hair. She looked up to see him staring down at her, the spray of warm water coming down between them. Slowly, he circled his arms behind her back and drew her closer, into the water. She felt the press of his arousal into her abdomen and her nipples sliding against his chest. Though she wrapped her arms around his neck, he was already leaning forward.
“Jules,” he said lowly into her ear, then he gently gnawed just under it.
Her heart began to thud, and she nearly slipped, but his strong arms pulled her tighter to him, melding their slick bodies together.
Though Jules had imagined Logan’s naked body when they’d been in the plane, she could never have predicted how it felt. She writhed against him, just to feel his skin move against hers. His hands traveled up and down her spine. Both of their chests heaved with the quickening of their breaths. Though there was no way for them to be any closer, she clung to him even harder.
Suddenly, his hand slid to the outside of her right thigh and he lifted it onto his hip. The hand behind her back slid lower and pushed her hips forward. As though her hips weren’t hers to control, th
ey immediately tilted upward and her sweet spot pushed into his groin.
As though an electric bolt connected them, her entire body convulsed. A low and shuddering moan escaped her lips as her sweet spot vibrated against him. It pulsed and rubbed and ground against him, relentless as he held her tight. His mouth moved to the front of her throat as she tilted her head back, gasping. His hands pulled her thigh and pushed her hips harder, crushing her sweet spot to him. Her back suddenly arched and she cried out at the sudden heat flooding between her legs.
In response, Logan’s hips tilted up, his hand pressed even harder, and he squeezed her to him. Tension in her abdomen suddenly coiled into a clamp and her hips pulsed into him. But the more she moved, the more she had to move, the cycle rapidly building.
“Logan,” she whispered, barely audible above the water.
His mouth left her throat and he quickly circled his arms around her and lifted. As she picked up her left foot, he stepped forward and moved his hips under hers. But as her legs wound around his waist, her engorged sweet spot was suddenly trapped between their bodies.
“Oh god,” she whispered as she writhed.
Logan supported all her weight but, as she wriggled, he slowly let her slide down.
Suddenly, his arousal pressed at her entrance. Her breath caught as Logan gradually lowered her. Bit by bit, he pushed into her as her sweet spot pulsed wildly into him. Down she went, her hips gyrating, her legs hugging him, as his arousal pushed even further.
“Yes,” she gasped.
The pressure in her abdomen mounted as he let her sink. Even though he wasn’t completely in her, she clamped down on him, unable to stop. He groaned at the sensation, his voice rumbling through her chest. Then he thrust.
A loud ‘unh’ escaped from her throat as he drove deep into her. Her legs squeezed his waist and her hands clutched his neck and shoulders as the pressure inside threatened to split her. Then he lifted her, easing back out, only to thrust again.
She groaned at the penetration, felt it spread and fill her, and then he lifted her again. But rather than thrust, he slowly lowered her. Inch by inch he sank into her, steadily pushing inward, but the anticipation was too much. Her legs relaxed their grip and her full weight settled down on him. To her shock, she realized he had not been fully inside–until this moment.
As he groaned, she cried out and her hips quickly spasmed. Impossibly, her abdomen tried to clamp on the thick rod. She was beyond full and stretched tight.
His hips gyrated beneath her, moving rhythmically in a small circle. Her pelvis had to revolve with his and her sweet spot rubbed against him. She moaned as it pulsed to life and on the next revolution she was ready. Her hips pumped into him.
Her breath came in huge gasps as he sped up. He gyrated and she pumped, over and over, round and round. She bucked hard into him as her torso arched and curved and her legs squeezed him tight. Though he didn’t stop circling his hips, he lifted her and then thrust. Her too sensitive sweet spot exploded in fire. As he thrust again, her abdomen clenched. With each circle, he thrust and with each thrust she clamped down.
His breath was coming in shuddering gasps as her lungs fought for enough air. Her hips pumped faster but erratically as she struggled to keep up with his thrusts.
Suddenly, his arousal thickened inside her. The clench of her abdomen around him was sudden and hard. She cried out as he groaned and his arousal pulsed deep inside. Rapid waves of clenching flowed along him and he responded with another pulse. They clung to one another, breathing hard, even as her clenching continued to milk him and his pulsing made her clench. Just as she thought it might never stop, his hips jerked once and he was still.
Her entire body shook in response as they both fought for breath. The tension inside her finally released and the spasms slowly faded. He was still stiff inside her but, without warning, her legs began to feel heavy. He must have sensed it as he lifted her off and lowered her so she could stand. No sooner had her foot touched the floor, though, than he picked her up. In moments, she found herself on her bed. She collapsed back into the soft comforter and in the distance she heard the water stop. She wanted to open her eyes but the lids were incredibly heavy. Something soft was moving over her skin.
“Logan?” she murmured.
“Just a towel,” she heard him say. “Sleep.”
• • • • •
That was the smell of coffee. Jules slowly opened her eyes to narrow bands of sunlight streaming in through the edges of the wood shutters. Curled up on her side, she looked at Logan’s empty pillow. Only the deep hollow in it said he’d been there. She reached out under the covers to his side of the bed and it was cold. He’d been up for some time. The angle of the window light said it was probably mid-morning.
It was warm under the comforter and she kept it pulled high against the cold air as she turned toward the door. Small noises were coming from the living room and the smell of coffee grew stronger. She noticed the crutches propped up against the end of the bed and her white terry cloth robe laying next to it.
She couldn’t help but grin as she tossed back the covers, put on the robe, and used the crutches to hobble to the dresser for a quick brush of her hair. In the living room, Logan crouched in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace.
“A fire!” she said, crossing the room.
Logan stood and turned to her, his smile more bright than she remembered.
His tousled dark hair and two days of beard leant the boyish face something of a lumberjack look. His blue eyes glinted with more than reflected firelight and they were focused on her lips. As he stepped in, his hands went around her waist. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, she tilted her face up to him and he kissed her. Their bodies softly came together and his lips gently pressed into hers. Her heart raced as she gripped the handles of the crutches but, as quickly as it’d begun, he drew back. Her eyes opened to him beaming down at her.
“Good morning,” he said.
She knew she must have the most crazy grin on her face.
“Good morning,” she replied.
He let her go.
“There’s coffee,” he said, heading to the kitchen.
She leaned the crutches against the wall next to the brick facade of the fireplace. Carefully, she sat on the wool rug, just in front of the hearth, careful not to use the sprained ankle. The fire crackled in front of her and she was suddenly reminded of the lean-to. Logan came back with two mugs of steaming coffee. He was back in the polo shirt and jeans and she could clearly see the stitches on the side of his knee through the rip. The dressing was gone, no doubt soaked in the shower. As he set the mugs down on the bricks in front of her, she looked up at him.
“I need to put a new dressing on that,” she said.
“In a bit,” he said. “Enjoy the fire.”
He sat next to her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her over to lean on him. She handed him a mug and took the other but she couldn’t stop thinking about his knee.
“You say it’s less painful now?” she said. “Your knee, I mean.”
“Mmm hmm,” he said sipping coffee.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, shaking her head.
There had to be at least thirty stitches. The bullet had left a shallow trough that the ER doctor had simply closed. Though it’d probably been the most expedient solution, Jules wasn’t sure it’d been the best.
“The shrapnel came out,” Logan said.
Jules stared at him, his face only inches from hers.
“The shrapnel?”
He finally told her the story, from the downed CC-130 and the deaths of the crew to his eventual extraction by RCAF forces. His voice became quiet, especially when he talked about killing those two men. Out of all of it, that had been the worst. She remembered that yesterday he’d said he’d chosen not to kill someone. He eventually became quiet and she laid a hand on his knee.
“Sometimes they leave the shrapnel,�
� he said. “I was told that trying to remove it can cause more damage than just letting it work its way out over time. It may take years, but eventually it comes out.”
Though what he said made sense, it still shocked her. The body naturally tried to surround and move foreign particles to the surface but she’d never thought about something the size of shrapnel. Or a medical treatment that was simply to leave it alone.
Images of Logan rubbing his knee popped into her mind. It’d been painful. How could it not be? But he’d never said anything.
“So the bullet dislodged the shrapnel?” she asked quietly, as she set her coffee down.
“Or the running,” he said. “Or a combination. It seems as though my knee is a metal magnet.”
He set his mug down next to hers.
“However it started, the shrapnel is gone and a couple of ghosts with it,” he said quietly, looking into the fire, the smile gone now. “The old wounds are starting to close.”
She looked into the fire as well, felt his arm around her, and listened to the crackling of the flames and popping of the wood.
“I’ve waited a long time,” he said.
She nodded, hardly able to imagine what it must have been like. To carry the emotional and physical scars created by the war, not able to leave one behind without the other.
“It must have seemed like the shrapnel wasn’t ever going to move,” she said.
“That’s not what I was waiting for,” he said.
She looked up into his face.
“I was waiting for you,” he whispered.
She blinked at him.
“For me?” she asked, but even as she said it she understood–the divorce.
He’d said in the mountains she was on the rebound. She remembered all the flights and their conversations. Not until she thought she’d lost him did she really understand how much he meant to her. How much she loved him.