by Kira Blakely
How am I supposed to cross the branch with him staring at my panties?
“Give me your backpack. I’ll hand it to you when you’re in your room.”
I do that, making my way across the branch. It dips beneath my weight, leaves shaking in the breeze, and I feel terrified, but somehow, I make it through, opening the window fully and tumbling inside. Dash gets on the branch, handing me my bag.
“See,” he says. “Your first attempt to breaking into your room is a success.”
“Only because of you,” I tell him, setting my bag down on the floor.
If not for him, I would have frozen to death on the porch.
“Well, it was partly my fault you missed your curfew.” He grins like he’s proud of that. “Partly.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You mean entirely.”
He chuckles softly. “So I guess this is goodbye.” Goodbye?
Right. He’s signing up for the Marines so I’ll likely never see him again.
“Wait,” I tell him just as he starts to move back. “Don’t leave yet.”
I don’t want him to leave. Not yet. Not like this.
He stops, holding my gaze. “You know what will happen if I come in there, right?”
I nod, licking my lips. I know it all too well. My body is already buzzing in anticipation, my heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it might jump right out of my ribs, and my hands are shaking and sweaty. My mind, on the other hand, is screaming against the idea. I barely know Dash. He’s leaving, and I don’t do one-night stands. I’ve never even had sex before! Second base is the farthest I’ve gone.
Maybe it’s because I’ve had too much to drink. Maybe it’s because of the fact that he’s leaving, or maybe it’s because I’ve dreamed of this once before… but I don’t want him to go. I don’t want the night to end like this. I want him to stay, to be mine, even for just a night.
I want him.
“You’re sure?” Dash asks, his voice and his gaze holding both a plea and a warning.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice trembling.
As he comes across the branch, the rest of my body begins to quiver in excitement, heat coursing through my veins and filling me up, some of it leaking out of me and making my panties even wetter.
I want him. And I’m ready.
“I told you I’m not a monk,” Dash says as soon as he’s in my room, closing the window quietly behind him.
“No,” I agree. “You’re a soldier, and you deserve a proper send-off.”
He moves away from the window, stopping right in front of me and running his fingers through my hair. “Is that what this is?”
I swallow. “I don’t know.”
All I know is that every nerve in my body is lit like a fuse, every inch of my skin tingling. I can feel adrenaline pumping through my veins, filling me up with pure excitement and raw desire.
I want more of him. I need more of him.
Standing on the tip of my toes, I place my hands behind his neck and kiss him. At least, I thought I was kissing him but when he places one hand on my cheek and the other on my back and presses his lips against mine, I realize that this is a kiss. A real kiss.
The best I’ve ever had.
I can feel every inch of his soft, smooth lips against mine. I can feel his thumb against my cheek. I can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine as our lips part and then I feel his tongue in my mouth and I’m lost, my hands slipping down to cling to the front of his sweater as the taste of the beer and something else much more delicious and exciting washes over me, making my head spin and my knees grow weak.
Dash pins me against a wall and as I shift my legs, I feel my thigh brush against something hard, the awareness of it making my sex melt even more. It presses against me as his tongue rubs against mine, hands unzipping my sweater and finding my swollen, aching breasts, freeing them from my bra.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he says hoarsely, staring at them as he cups them.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I simply gasp as he rubs my stiff nipples with his thumbs, trembling.
Dash pulls me to the bed, pushing me down on it and kissing me again as he plays with my nipples. I let my fingers get lost in his hair as I kiss him back, pulling on some strands when he suddenly abandons my mouth to kiss one of my breasts with reverence. His fingers crawl under my skirt and up my thigh, slightly tickling me before reaching their destination.
When they brush against my soaked panties, I let a moan out, but I quickly clamp one hand over my mouth to suppress the sound.
I would die if Mrs. Cook walked in on me like this, both from embarrassment and from Dash stopping.
I clamp it tighter as Dash sucks on my breast, the heat from his mouth quickly spreading throughout my body like wildfire. At the same time, his fingers start stroking me through the wet cotton, brushing against my clit.
“Shit,” the soft curse escapes my lips as another shiver racks my body.
He pulls my skirt down, grinning as he stares between my legs.
“What are you grinning for?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he answers, holding my gaze as he moves lower, settling between my legs.
He lowers his head so all I can see now are his eyes and the top of his hair, those eyes mesmerizing me as his fingers slip beneath my panties.
I close my eyes, unable to look any longer but they fly open, wide as saucers, as he pulls my panties away and kisses me there.
“Dash!” I try to push him off. “That’s too–” Too much? Too embarrassing? Too dirty?
“Good for you to miss out on,” he finishes my sentence. “Trust me.”
I whimper, giving in. I did say I was coming to college to try new things…
Dash continues kissing, but not just kissing. The tip of his tongue rubs against my clit, making me wetter. Then his tongue moves even lower, delving in.
I grab fistfuls of the sheets as my mouth gapes to let out a silent cry.
Shit. It is good.
Too good. With each stroke of that tongue, I can feel my body raging out of control and my mind slipping away.
But at the same time, it isn’t enough. I want more. More of him.
“Dash.” His name escapes my lips as a plea.
He stops, licking his lips as he looks at me with darkened eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
I reach for the bulge in his pants, stroking it. His breath seethes out in a low hiss.
“I want you.”
He nods, taking off his shirt. My eyes grow wide as they devour the muscles of his chest and his abdomen and unable to resist, I run my fingers over them, delighting in each dip and curve and how they quiver beneath my touch.
“Beautiful.”
Dash chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s the word I’m looking for.”
He continues to undress, taking off his pants and then his boxers.
At the sight of his cock, massive and pulsing, I gasp. Now, this… this part of him is magnificent.
I’m filled with awe, my heart pounding with excitement. At the same time, though, I feel a tinge of fear. Will this even fit inside me?
He takes my hand, guiding it to his cock. “Are you sure you want this?”
I nod, wrapping my fingers around him, delighting in how soft his skin feels, especially the tip…
“Careful,” he warns. “I have to confess, I’m at my limit.” I nod, lying back down. I’m not scared anymore.
He settles between my legs, kissing me as he enters me. I wrap my hands around him, clinging to him as I hold my breath. Inch by inch, he fills me to the brim, stretching me so much I feel a sting but that fades after he stops and all that’s left is awe at how perfectly he fits inside me, the incredible knowledge that our bodies are joined together for the first time.
This is my first time to have a man inside me, and it feels sublime.
I feel like a woman.
I push my hips against him, suddenly bolder. Dash breaks the kis
s, letting out a chuckle.
“You like this…”
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” I answer.
His eyebrows furrow. “Well, let’s make it better, shall we?”
He grabs my thighs, lifting them as he starts moving inside me.
The bed creaks, the sound amplified by the silence throughout the house.
I no longer care. I hug him tighter, nails raking across his glorious back as he rocks my body with his, each time causing an explosion of pleasure inside me.
“Shit. I love the way you move.”
“You mean like this?” He lifts his head and gives a particularly deep thrust.
I gasp then smile. “Faster.”
Dash grins and gives me a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
The grin vanishes as he pounds into me, and I close my eyes. The sheets twist in my fist and I savor each thrust. He’s going to break me into a thousand pieces.
I’ve never felt more vulnerable and yet at the same time, I’ve never felt safer. I can feel everything and yet nothing at the same time.
How on earth do people survive this madness? And how am I going to survive without this now that I know how amazing it feels?
Over and over, he slides in and out of me, plunging into the very depths of me and rubbing against spots I never knew existed. I wrap my arms around him, parting my lips and trying to force as much air into my lungs to make up for what’s being stolen, though I can’t seem to keep up. My body is burning, every inch buzzing, every nerve tingling.
“Janine.”
He pauses to say my name for the first time since he came to my room, and I open my eyes.
That gaze from his dark, half-lidded eyes is more intense than ever, taking me by surprise, and yet, somehow, it’s softer, too, more tender.
Shit, it’s sexy. Not just his eyes but how he has this thin layer of sweat on his forehead, how his hair is even more of a mess now, how his features seem to be wrenched between ecstasy and agony.
I wonder if I look the same. I know I’m a mess. I can feel some strands of my hair sticking to my cheeks and I can feel tears at the corners of my eyes. I don’t care.
I brush some of the hair off his forehead and pull his face closer, kissing him. He starts moving again, faster, uncontrollably. There’s no rhythm or pace; we’re more like animals than people. He just bucks into me, the friction between my body and his increasing by the second.
“Dash!” I cry out as my body arches against his, the plea- sure overwhelming.
Every nerve in my body explodes, lighting fireworks across my vision before I squeeze my eyes shut. My mind goes blank as I throw my head back.
God…
I recover my senses just as Dash gives a final thrust, deeper than the rest, grunts spilling out of his lips as his body shakes and cock bursts inside me.
Then he collapses on top of me and I lay still, arms lying limply at my sides and eyes staring hopelessly up at the ceiling.
I can feel his heart pounding against me, each beat like the ticking of a clock.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Seconds ticking away.
How many until he slips from this bed?
I wrap my arms around him, fingers running across his strong back that I’ll miss staring at. Some make their way to his hair, stroking the wisps.
I don’t want him to go.
I say nothing, though, releasing him as he gets off me and off the bed. I feel suddenly empty and sad, but I force a smile as I prop myself up on my elbows.
“For two people who aren’t team players, we make a good team,” I find myself saying, stroking my pendant.
“We do,” Dash agrees with a smile as he puts on his pants.
When he’s put his shirt and his sweater on, he comes over to me, kissing me on the forehead.
“I have to go, Janine.”
My fingers tighten around my pendant, pulling it slightly. For a moment, I wonder if I should give it to him to remember me by but I let that thought go. I simply nod, getting out of bed with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
“Bye, Dash,” I tell him as he opens the window. “Take care of yourself.”
He glances back at me. “You, too.”
He places his feet on the window sill then jumps onto the branch. I stand by the window, fingers fidgeting with the pendant of my necklace as I watch him scurry across the branch and jump down the tree in seconds, landing on his feet. Then he looks up, gives me one last smile, and runs to his car, the silver Benz fading from view under cover of moonlight.
He’s gone.
It takes a while for that fact to register, the scent of his cologne still in the air, the smell of his sweat still on my skin, the warmth of his cum still trickling down my thighs.
How can he be gone so soon?
I let out a sigh then go to the bathroom to clean up. Afterwards, I put on my pajamas and get into bed. I don’t fall asleep at once, though, one question looping in my mind as I run my fingertip over my still swollen lips.
Will I ever see Dash again?
3
Dash
March 2017
I’ll never see my father again.
As the Boeing 747 hovers above the sea of clouds on my flight home from Syria, my thoughts are of my father, whose death I learned of just days ago. It came as a shock, of course, especially since they said he died of a stroke. The last time I saw him, he was perfectly healthy. Then again, I remember a doctor on TV saying once that the heart is the biggest traitor of all, turning against you when you least expect it. Besides, it’s been ages since I last saw him. Twelve years, to be exact.
The last time I saw him, he shouted that I should come back a flag-covered corpse or not at all.
Now, here I am on a plane bound for the BWI Airport, returning home alive and intact with just a few scars. The deepest ones are invisible to the naked eye.
I run my fingers over one of the scars just below my right ear, caused by a fucking piece of shrapnel from an explosion that went off too soon.
Twelve years.
It feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time, especially since most of those years were spent in deployment – my choice. I love the rush of combat and I didn’t really have a reason to come home.
Until now.
“Can I get you anything?” the stewardess, whose name tag reads Lisa, interrupts my reverie as she passes by.
My former self would have said ‘a good fuck’, which I so badly need as the last one I had was months ago.
I shake my head, not in the mood for flirting.
Maybe I’ve outgrown it.
She eyes my jacket, her gaze lingering over the insignia. “How long have you been in the Marines?”
“Twelve years.”
“Going home for good?”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “Finally.”
She smiles. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”
And she’s gone.
I take off the jacket, draping it over an arm as I turn my gaze back past the window, wondering what’s waiting for me back at home.
In these twelve years, I’ve barely spoken to my mother, never to my brother or father. Everyone else got emails, Skype videos, and Facebook messages from home. Not me. When I turned my back on my family, they turned their back on me, and we were all too proud to reconsider.
But the battlefield took its toll on me.
Now I almost regret letting things end the way they did.
I was actually preparing to go home and be a part of the Reserves when I got that call about my father. I’d decided it was about time to patch things up with him and the rest of the family. Guess it’s too late now.
I’m even late for the funeral. Had to finalize some arrangements before I could come home.
I sigh as I look at my watch.
Dad gave this to me.
I try to remember him not as he was the last time we spoke, but as he was while
I was growing up.
Mostly busy. Always busy with work or golf or getaways with Mom.
I do remember the few family vacations, though, and how he taught me to play golf and to fish during two of those. I remember him being at my high school graduation, and I remember the Christmases. He wasn’t always around for Thanksgiving or Fourth of July – even those holidays were sometimes taken over by corporate duties – but he was always around for Christmas and he always wore a red sweater on Christmas morning and had the first piece of turkey. One Christmas, he even got me my first puppy, a two month-old black Labrador: Spaghetti. Spaghetti lived a full life, and when it was her time, Dad buried her in the backyard.
Whatever arguments we had, he was still my father.
I don’t know what I missed these past few years, but I hope they were filled with happiness in spite of my absence. I hope that Dad can finally rest and have peace.
Bye, Dad.
I close my eyes, trying to get one last nap in before the plane lands in Baltimore.
* * *
Baltimore hasn’t changed much, and neither has the house.
I stand in front of the imposing house, with its reddish brown, white, and gray façade, and I sigh.
No one’s here to greet me just as there was no one at the airport to pick me up.
That’s fine. After all, everyone must be busy with the funeral or tired from it.
As I go all the way around to the back of the house after leaving my suitcase on the front steps, I see clumps of used tissue here and there, probably blown by the wind from the pile of trash or carelessly tossed away by a guest. I see a discarded funeral card, too, and I pick it up, staring at the picture of my father on it, a picture of my father in his golf outfit on a golf course in Scotland, laughing. I’ve seen it before. It’s one of my favorite pictures of him. No doubt Mom felt the same.
At the back, I see the empty chairs where the guests must have sat, the wreaths of white flowers hanging from makeshift columns and the long tables with leftover food. It seems I missed the funeral reception by only minutes.
As the maids scramble about, cleaning up the mess, I approach one of the long tables, removing the lid off one of the trays.
Ah, lamb goulash. Dad’s favorite. I pick up the spoon and try some.