by Jenna Gunn
It’s like a lit match thrown onto kindling doused in gasoline. I gasp as he presses gently, cry out - and come, right then. He looks up in surprise as it happens.
“You okay, baby?” he asks.
A pet name. Just that simple word, “baby”, and I’m overwhelmed with desire. I pull him to me and kiss him as fiercely as I can, grinding my hips against him. He lets out a muffled noise of surprise before wrapping his arms around me and holding me to him. I feel his hardness brushing against me again and again.
He growls and pushes me back; I flop down on my back, laughing, and he grabs the waistband of my panties.
“Careful,” I say, lifting my hips so he can slide them off. “These were expensive.”
He looks me dead in the eyes and slides them off comically slow. “Want me to wear gloves or something?”
I laugh; he grins and tugs them off me. I pull my ankles the rest of the way through, and he lays down between my legs, pushes my thighs apart, and buries his face there.
“Perry!” I gasp as his tongue laps at the center of my pleasure. I’m sensitive; I’ve just finished, and now he’s going to make it happen again. His fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs, anchoring me to the bed as I try to wiggle away. “It’s too sensitive!” I cry.
He lifts his head momentarily. “Does it feel good?”
“I mean, yeah, but - ”
I’m cut off as he dives back in. I gasp and arch my back, writhing as he continually plays with the oh, so sensitive bits of me that build me, again, toward my climax. “Perry,” I moan, halfway begging him to stop, halfway begging him to continue. I push my fingers through his hair, tangling them, grabbing fistfuls as the pleasure rises to a frenzied point where I have trouble understanding if it feels amazing or hurts.
He takes me into a growing crescendo. I feel my involuntary cries getting louder and louder, until he brings me to the edge and tips me over; a cry bursts from my chest, louder than I’ve ever made. My thighs squeeze together around his ears, my hands wander from his hair to his sheets to my own breasts. It’s like a thunderstorm; the electricity in me has been building until lightning strikes, followed immediately by the loudest clap of thunder anyone’s ever heard.
“Perry,” I sigh as he backs off. My hands go limp at my sides. My chest heaves as I pant.
He hovers over me. “You all right?” he asks.
I just moan in reply and reach for him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “So much more than all right,” I say, pulling him down to press my lips against his. He reaches between my legs again, but I laugh and grab his wrist. “Give me time, baby.”
He makes a rumble in his throat and kisses up my neck. “Then...can I…?”
He’s making little movements with his hips. I grin and kiss him. “Yes. Please do.” I lift my legs; he grabs them and positions himself between them. I feel his bare arousal brush against me, and I’m so sensitive that it makes me gasp. He reaches down to stroke himself and find the right angle.
He pushes inside just a bit, and I moan. Now he’s panting too.
“So tight,” he sighs.
“You’re not even all the way in yet.”
“Oh?” He looks at me, and then thrusts the rest of himself into me, burying himself up to the hilt in one quick, smooth motion. I let out a cry as it happens.
“Oh - Perry - ” I gasp as he begins to move.
“Am I not - in - all - the - way?” he asks, still looking at me with a sly grin, thrusting to punctuate each word.
“You are!” I say, relenting. “You are, and it feels good!”
“Good,” he growls, bending over me. “Now I can really start, then.”
And oh boy, does he. The way he moves his hips is sinful. I lift my own hips while he rocks into me; at this angle, he’s pushing against something inside that is going to build me up again.
I reach down to touch myself while he moves. He sees me and moans. “That’s so sexy,” he whispers between pants.
“You’re sexy,” I reply, then gasp as he thrusts harder. “And big,” I add.
He grins at that and keeps going. I lose myself. Perry’s grunts and moans become louder, and I feel my own volume raising in return. All that exists is the sounds, the feelings. Perry’s body against mine. His hands moving from my hips to my breasts to the back of my neck. My legs wrapped around his waist. The warmth inside me as I finish again, and again, and he gasps and moans each time I tighten around him.
I moan as I get close again. We’ve done this before, he and I. But now there’s this real connection, this desire to be close to each other, not just to get off. He bends over me and wraps his arms around me, holding me close as he continues to thrust.
“Baby,” he whispers in my ear. “This is so good.”
I close my eyes and press my face to his bare skin, kissing whatever I can reach. I keep one hand between on my clit; the other I place on the back of his head, cradling him to me.
“You feel really good,” I breathe.
“I’m close.”
“Me too.”
He moans, still keeping a steady rhythm. “You feel amazing.”
I smile. His lips gently kiss my neck. In this moment, as his breaths get shorter and his thrusts begin increasing in speed, I feel like I could -
“I’m close,” he says again, interrupting my thoughts.
I arch my back. “I’m c - c - coming,” I gasp.
“Trisha.” He moans and gives me one last big thrust.
With my back arched, his lips in my ear, I finish so hard I feel I might burst into pieces. He finishes, too, climaxing within me. His weight on top of me is so good, so safe. “We’re so close,” he says, still inside me, hugging me tightly.
I wrap both my arms around him. “As close as two people can get.”
He buries his face in my shoulder. I feel something wet trickle down my skin; with a glance to the side, I see tears running down his face. I blink and, to my surprise, find tears in my own eyes, as well.
I hug him to me. Neither of us want to untangle ourselves. Neither of us wants to break the embrace. I almost tell him, but it might be too soon.
I know I love Perry Logan.
27
No nightmares.
It’s the first time since my first deployment that’s ever happened. Trisha and I finish; slick with each other’s sweat we curl up together and fall asleep. She cuddles close to me, murmuring in her sleep. I push my face into her hair and close my eyes.
And sleep dreamlessly.
I don’t know what it is; maybe it’s Trisha’s comforting presence, or being so exhausted, or just feeling so, so happy that I’ve got someone to call mine. Maybe it’s the fuzzy feeling blooming in my chest that might blossom into love. But the last thing I remember is stroking Trisha’s hair, hooking my good leg around one of hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
And then I wake up alone in bed.
I sit up. The curtains on the window behind my bed are open just a bit; sunlight lances through, making a bright line on my sheets. I run a hand over Trisha’s empty spot. Did she go home already?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a little pale pink shape on the floor - her panties. Probably not, then. How would she even leave? I drove her here, and I doubt a town this rural has any rideshare apps.
I push the comforter off me and swing my good leg off the bed just in time to hear the TV click on in the living room. Low voices of some morning talk show rumble down the hallway before the volume decreases dramatically. I open the top drawer on my dresser - I put it close to the bed for a reason - and pull out some boxer briefs.
As I go through the other drawers, I see that Trisha’s been ruffling through them. Why, I wonder? One of my neatly-folded Army T-shirts is missing.
Again, my eyes go to the floor; near her panties is her outfit from last night, lying in a pool of fabric.
Is she...wearing my shirt?
I slide on some pants and tie one leg in a loose kno
t below my stump before shifting myself into my wheelchair. From there, I can open the bedroom door and wheel myself into the hallway.
The talk show’s voices are still quiet, like a soft murmur drifting through the house. “Apple, water,” whispers Trisha.
I watch Apple dart toward the kitchen from the living room; she freezes as she sees me in the hallway, wags her tail at me, and then continues to the fridge. Good girl - she won’t be distracted from her task.
I wait for Apple to trot back into the living room with Trisha’s water bottle before rolling out toward her. She’s sitting on the couch in my Army T-shirt, just as I suspected. Her hair is pinned up in a messy bun at the back of her head; red tendrils fall out all over the place. Her bare legs are bent beneath her as she sets the water bottle on the coffee table with one hand - the other is palming the bottom of a bowl filled to the brim with cereal.
She’s absolutely gorgeous.
“Morning,” I say.
She starts and glances over the back of the couch. “Morning!” she says brightly, breaking into a grin.
I wheel myself closer and park my chair next to the empty side of the couch and transfer myself over. It’s getting easier.
Apple wags her tail and comes up to me, pushing her nose beneath my hand, demanding ear scratches. I oblige her and am rewarded with several long licks.
“Y’know, if you were here more often, Apple wouldn’t try to run away.”
Trisha shovels a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. She turns to look at me with her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.
Absolutely beautiful, this woman.
Trisha chews while giving me a long, deadpan look; when she swallows her mouthful, she shakes her head. “Actually, I found her about to make a break for it this morning.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder toward the front door, which still has handles. “When are you getting knobs?”
“I’ve ordered them,” I sigh.
“Well, maybe Apple just likes my house better.” She grins and digs up another spoonful. “Maybe she wouldn’t run away at all if she lived at my house.”
“Pretty sure it’s just you that she likes. And who could blame her?” I scratch behind her ears.
Trisha shakes her head, swallowing down another mouthful of cereal. “It’s the house,” she insists. “It’s nice and roomy. And I have a huge yard.”
“Nah. It’s definitely the company. You should stick around more.”
“You and Apple should come visit me more,” she retorts. “My front door has doorknobs.”
“I’m telling you,” I insist, a little loudly, “she’d like it more if you were around more often. It’s you she’s going to see, not the house. She likes being at the vet’s office too, doesn’t she?”
“But she doesn’t run there. She comes to the house. See the difference?”
“The office is downtown. That’s too far for a dog to run.”
“It absolutely is not,” she laughs, setting her now-empty bowl down. “Especially not Apple. She could make it in no time. But,” she continues, waving her hand as if to wave the point away, “even if it is my wonderful company - which it isn’t - you both being at my house would solve both problems, wouldn’t it?”
I open my mouth to reply; Apple barks sharply. Stunned, we both look at her, and she wags her tail at us.
I laugh and reach out to scratch her ears. “Guess that’s the end of that. Is there any more cereal?”
Trisha, still laughing at Apple, gets to her feet and scoops up her bowl. “Yeah; I’ll make you some.”
“I can do it myself,” I tell her.
“I know you can, I just want to do it for you, you big goof.”
“Well...that’s different, then,” I mumble. I can’t help but smile. “Apple, water.”
Apple rushes off to get a water bottle; I hear Trisha sigh in the kitchen. “I could’ve done that, too, y’know. I’m already up.”
“Yeah, but I can’t just say ‘Trisha, water’ to you, can I?”
“Hmph.” She looks over the counter at me. “Try it and see what happens.”
I laugh as I take my water bottle from Apple, who wags her tail as I pet her. “You know I would never.”
“You better not.” But she’s smiling as she grabs the cereal from my cabinet. “I hope it’s okay that I stole your cereal.”
“It is,” I assure her as she shakes cereal out of the box and into a bowl. “It’s also okay that you stole my T-shirt.”
Trisha grins; she picks up the bowl and walks back toward me. The T-shirt is long on her, but not that long - it stops about mid-thigh. “It’s a good length on you,” I add as she hands me my cereal bowl.
“Well, thank you.” She lays down and props her head up on the arm of the couch. She extends her smooth, bare legs toward me, but bends her knees so her feet just barely brush my leg. If I look at her, I can see the shirt reveal her butt. “The shirtless thing looks good on you,” she says, lifting her foot and touching her toes to my chest.
“Keep your feet away from my food.”
“Keep your food away from my feet!” She thrusts both her feet in my lap.
I smile and put a hand on her calf, sliding it up to her knee. “Hey.”
“Hm?” She’s already got the TV remote in her hand and is looking sideways at the TV.
“I’m really happy.”
She turns and looks at me. Our eyes meet; she smiles broadly, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m happy, too.”
“What’s on TV, then?” I ask, picking up my bowl again.
“Just talk shows,” she sighs exasperatedly, flipping through the channels. “Ooh - a game show!”
“What variety,” I say dryly.
She laughs as she bumps up the volume. We fall silent to watch people attempting to win washing machines and yachts.
I meant what I said; I am happy. Maybe Trisha and I have a long way to go. Maybe we, as a couple, won’t work out, or won’t make it; or maybe we’ll factor into each other’s futures. I don’t know - but I have a good feeling about this. As soft morning light filters in through my windows and Trisha rubs her feet together in my lap, and I gaze contentedly at the TV and eat my cereal, I can’t help but think how good this is. Not just good, either - perfect.
I could get used to this.
“I love you,” I murmur, tracing a soft line up Trisha’s leg with my fingertips.
“What?” she asks, not looking away from the TV.
I smile. “Nothing - talking to myself.”
There will be time. But I know for certain now. I love Trisha Nash. And I want to be with her for the rest of my life.
Epilogue
Leave it to Raina to have an elaborate wedding.
The ceremony was nice and sweet; she cried during her vows, Alex cried, I cried. In the pews almost everyone cried - even Perry, who vehemently denied any such accusation as we got into the car to head to the reception.
“Signature cocktails?” Perry asks incredulously as we near the open bar.
I laugh. “Yeah. Fancy, huh?” I loop my arm through his. “Wanna get one?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “I don’t know anyone here - might as well, right?”
“Super poetic,” I say sarcastically, tugging him along. “Need to save that for the toasts later.”
He laughs at me; we get to the bar, and I look over the menu. The bartender smiles at me.
“So, what’s Raina’s cocktail, then?” Perry asks.
I point to the menu. “Looks like it’s called ‘the fairy tale’.”
“Triple sec, blue cur - cru - I never can pronounce that.”
“Blue curacao.”
He grunts in acknowledgement. “There’s eight different kinds of liquor in that.”
“Sounds like Raina,” I say, nodding.
Perry turns to the bartender. “I’ll have the, uh…‘smoky building’?”
“I’ll get Raina’s,” I tell the bartender, choking back a laugh.
Holdin
g our drinks - Perry’s is smoking slightly - we head to our table. We’re under one of those huge outdoor tents. I’m amazed that the bar can operate outside.
“If you were a cocktail,” Perry asks, setting his drink down on the table, “what would you be?”
“I dunno.” I sit next to him and take a sip of mine; it’s syrupy sweet. And strong. I set it aside. “I’d just be a beer.”
“Oh, come on,” he says, elbowing me. “I’d probably be an old-fashioned. Whiskey and bitters. Classic.”
I snort. “Old-fashioned is right.”
“Hey,” he snaps playfully, but he’s saved from more of my biting wit by the DJ enthusiastically announcing the arrival of the bride and groom. Perry and I stand and clap dutifully as Raina in her sugar-cake dress comes in beside Alex, beaming in his bright white tux. They do a circle around the dance floor so everyone can look at them properly.
“And now it’s time for the first dance!” the DJ calls.
I sigh and sit back down. “This’ll take a while.”
“Why?” Perry asks.
“They’ve choreographed something.” I take a second sip of Raina’s signature cocktail and wrinkle my nose again.
I’m not sure what this is - if it’s the fairgrounds, or what - but the white tent erected over the lush grass next to a highly decorated gazebo is striking, and somehow exactly what I imagined for Raina’s wedding. I lean forward and put my chin on Perry’s shoulder as we watch the newlyweds do their thing. It involves a lot of arm-flailing.
Perry leans his head on mine. What would our wedding look like?
I blink. Why am I thinking about that? He hasn’t proposed or anything; nevertheless, I automatically imagine myself in a white mermaid-style dress with a sweetheart neckline.
“How’s your leg?” I ask Perry, trying to force the thoughts out of my mind.
“Doing good,” he says back. “Much comfier than the last one.”
I nod. He recently got a new prosthetic. “Comfy enough to dance?”
“Maybe,” he replies slyly.
“And now,” the DJ yells out, “the bride and groom invite everyone out onto the dance floor!”