The General

by Gadziala, Jessica

  At the sound, he turned, gaze landing on me. "Do you need something?" he asked, voice deeper than usual.

  I don't know where it came from, the word, the implication behind it, so foreign to me.

  I guess it was simple.

  It came from a place of need, something primal and unstoppable, something so long denied.

  "You," my voice whispered, going up and down a bit more than was normal, but loud enough to be heard.

  I knew it because he stiffened, his head turning over his shoulder like he was sure his self-control was just right behind him and if he eyed it, it might take over him once again.

  "Jenny..." he said, his breath exhaling.

  This time, I recognized the roughness.

  Need.

  Like mine.

  Like how mine made my voice airy, breathless.

  Emboldened a bit by that realization, I sat up, then got to my knees, reaching out, closing my hand around his giant wrist, pulling just the tiniest bit.

  "Sweetheart," he said, gaze still not quite meeting mine. Like he was afraid to. "You've been through a rollercoaster the past week or so. I don't think..."

  "Don't," I cut him off, making his gaze jump up, likely surprised by the sharpness in my tone, something I didn't even know I was capable of until I heard it myself. "Everyone is always telling me what to think, what to feel. Please, don't tell me what to think. Don't tell me that what I am feeling right now is not really what I am feeling."

  "I didn't mean it that way," he said, his wrist turning, his hand sliding down to hold mine, giving a squeeze. "You know I didn't mean it like that." He paused, shaking his head a little. "I just... I don't want you to regret me," he admitted, his gaze meeting mine again. And the depth of vulnerability in his words settled into me, gave me the confidence I needed to move a bit closer to the edge of the bed, my hand raising, pausing in the air for a second, then landing on his shoulder, sliding across the warm skin, up the side of his neck, settling at his jaw, thick with his prickly beard, pulling him closer.

  "I could never regret you," I told him, words certain.

  And I was.

  Certain.

  There were a dozen reasons I shouldn't have been. Not the least of them being that I had never known the touch of anyone other than Teddy, that he had plucked me from the tree, the ripest of fruits for his enjoyment. And despite his endless dalliances, I had been faithful, had never reached for a hand that might give me pleasure that wasn't laced with pain.

  Not that I knew much of pleasure. I had at the beginning, the sweet, warm friction, the promise of oblivion, the happy little tremblings inside.

  But years made Teddy even more selfish than he had been when I was young. He didn't even try to make it work for me. Hadn't in many years. Not that I was sure I even could. Not when his hands only made me see bruises and blood, when his mouth did nothing but spill insults, stoke my insecurity.

  No.

  Even if he had tried, I couldn't have felt pleasure.

  But there was no denying that pleasure was exactly what was flooding my system as my body swayed closer to his, my breasts pressing into his firm chest, my gaze holding his for a moment before my head angled and my lips sealed over his.

  There was no more restraint in Smith as his hand squeezed mine once more before dropping it, his arm curling around my lower back, anchoring me to him as his lips pressed the kiss deeper, hungrier, as his teeth nipped, his tongue moved inside to claim mine.

  My hands became greedy, moving away from his beard to explore his lines. The way his bicep dipped in the center, then swelled, then dipped back down into the crook of his elbow,the way his forearms felt etched of stone, his back sported raised, smooth spots I knew as scars, the way the muscles at the sides of his abdomen contracted as my finger danced over them.

  A low, feral growl moved through him as my hands slipped from his sides to his lower back, down, sinking into his ass, dragging him flush to me, feeling his hardness press into my belly, as demanding as the pulsating need deep within me.

  Smith's body bent forward, pushing me back, settling me back against the pillows.

  I expected him to come over me, but he sat up, kneeling between my feet, his gaze holding mine in the flickering fireplace light. His hand lifted, finding the outside of my ankle, whispering ever-so-softly upward, making the skin prickle with anticipation.

  Meeting my knee, his fingers splayed, sought the soft, sensitive skin behind the bend, an unexpectedly sensitive spot, making a shiver course through me, something that made Smith's eyes light up like he was looking for them - my spots. Like he was going to catalogue them for later. Like they mattered as much as his own did.

  Selflessness.

  Another first for me.

  And I was going to let myself be selfish, feel every new sensation as his fingers shifted inward, teasing over the soft skin of my upper thighs, but pulled away when they were closing in on where I needed them most, choosing instead to trace the space where his tee had lifted above the line of his boxers, moving over my belly, tickling over my ribs, making my body instinctively curl upward as my muscles tensed.

  "I'm gonna remember that," he promised with a teasing little smirk before moving his fingers away, seeking new heights.

  When his finger traced the underside of my breast, any thoughts of future tickle torture faded away as my nipples tweaked harder, the brush of the material over them nearly making me come off the bed.

  My air left me in a wave that made my chest shake, making his gaze lift to find mine even as his hand opened, closed over the swell of my breast, the roughness of his palm inflaming the hardened point. His thumb and forefinger closed around it, rolling deliciously, making my legs slam up to his sides, curling around his back, holding him like I was afraid I might lose him, like he was going to take this newfound sensation away from me.

  His body shifted, one hand bracing on the mattress as he lowered down, leaning forward to close his lips over my nipple, sucking it deep.

  And I damn near came right then, my sex clenching tight as his tongue moved outward, tracing lazy, explorative circles around the sensitive bud until my hands were raking down his back, then going across my chest to repeat the same torment.

  My legs were vice grips around him, but he had no intentions of leaving me as his beard brushed over my breast as his lips shifted toward the center of my chest, blazing a slow trail downward.

  Loving.

  That was what this was.

  Something I had never been given before, something that explained all the endless songs they used to create about making love.

  Now it was all about fucking.

  They had no idea what they were missing.

  I sure hadn't.

  His lips met the waistband of the boxers, making him press up to sit back on his knees again, pressing my legs into my chest so he could shimmy the material off my hips, sliding it down my thighs, over my knees, off my ankles.

  But that wasn't good enough.

  He leaned forward, coaxing my sweatshirt off my body as well, leaving me completely bare before him, his hands sliding down the sides of my thighs, moving in at the knees to press my legs apart, baring me to him.

  His body dropped back down, his arms curling around my legs, preventing them from moving so much as an inch as he buried deep in my heat, his tongue working my throbbing clit in slow, relentless circles, driving me up faster than I could have ever anticipated, teetering me at the edge before throwing me over, sending me crashing into myself, the orgasm overtaking me completely, making every muscle tense and release at once, making my body shudder even as the waves of pleasure kept moving through me, a liquid, endless tide that left me crying out, and deeply aware of something.

  If this was how sex was supposed to feel, I was as virgin as the fresh fallen snow. Because nothing had ever felt like this before.

  As I came to grips with this reality, Smith's teeth nipped teasingly at my inner thigh before moving back upward, be
ard scratching, tongue tracing, lips pressing sweet kisses into my hipbone hollows, the sides of my ribs that didn't feel so ticklish anymore, under my breasts, over them, up the side of my neck, until - at long last - he finally claimed my mouth again.

  Everything was harder, greedier, needier.

  Even as that thought moved through me, I could feel his cock, insistently pressing against me, promising more hidden, unknown delights, more of this sensation that only he had given to me, this little blanket of desire that blocked out everything else.

  The world could have been ending right then, the earth opening up to be dragged down into hell, and I would not have noticed as his teeth nipped my earlobe as his hips ground down into me, his cock pressing against my cleft, making another shudder move through me.

  In a movement so fast my eyes could barely catch it, his pants were off, his arm curling under me, and he was suddenly on his back, and I was straddling him, feeling nothing between us, his cock sliding against my wetness, making my sex clench hard, needing fulfillment, friction, needing him inside me like I needed my next breath.

  But Smith seemed content to lie there, his hand settled at my hip, his eyes moving over me, taking me in, committing every subtle curve to memory.

  It wasn't until my hips shimmied on their own, the feel of his cock pressing into my clit making a strangled whimper escape me that his eyes found my face again, heavy-lidded, and his hand moved out to the nightstand, pulling out a foil, pressing my hips back up, and making short work of protecting us before holding himself at the base, waiting for me.

  No pressure.

  Just patience, a willingness to let me go at my pace.

  He just didn't imagine that my pace was bold and frenetic as I shifted my hips just right, and slid down, taking him in on one deep, delicious thrust, feeling him settle almost uncomfortably deep, making my head fall back at the perfect fullness, the exquisite rightness of the sensation of him inside me.

  A low, rolling rumbling noise was what pulled me out of my musings, making my head move forward once again, looking down at the tightly controlled need on Smith's face, the way his jaw was ticking, all his muscles contracted.

  And knowing that his pleasure was mine, I owned it, I was in control, something inside me - something unsure and fearful - fell away, and into the vacant space moved a confidence I didn't know I could have, a complete and utter lack of embarrassment that had me moving , my pace frantic, uncontrolled, maybe even a bit sloppy. But it didn't matter. It only mattered that the desire stoked high, making my walls tighten, making my whimpers turn into unashamed moans, echoing back through the room to me, making Smith's breathing get ragged, his fingertips gripping my hips hard, guiding me into a more steady pace that pushed me up higher, faster, kept me at that edge for the barest of seconds before tossing me over.

  And then I was fall, fall, falling.

  Both into and out of my body somehow at the same time, the intensity of it sapping all the control from my muscles, making me fall forward, resting on Smith's chest, my face buried in his neck, his beard muffling the cries of my release as Smith's hips took over, pistoned up into me, milking the orgasm for all it was worth until I was wrung out, a boneless, thoughtless mass above him as he slammed deep, cursing out my name, coming hard enough to make his entire body jolt hard as his arms crushed me to him.

  I was aware of his voice as I came back down, whispering something to me.

  "What?" I asked, my voice breathless.

  "Noah," he told me. "My name," he added. "Don't get me wrong," he said, his hands moving down to cup my ass. "I like the sound of you coming no matter what, but it would sound better if you said Noah, not Smith."

  "Noah," I said, testing the sound out on my tongue, deciding I like how it sounded. But I liked it more that a little tremble moved through him at hearing me say it by his ear, something he tried to mask by turning us both onto our sides. But I felt it. And it made something happen in my chest.

  There was a crackling, like breaking, like crumbling of the barricades I had built up around my heart.

  And I realized that I could, just maybe, be falling for him.

  EIGHT

  Smith

  She had been half asleep when I climbed out of the bed to deal with the condom. But even so, when I came back, she sighed, rolling into me, nestling into my side, her hand moving across me to rest on my shoulder. And she didn't move. Not the whole night. She stayed pressed against me, her breathing slow and deep, her body completely lax in sleep, grumbling if I moved, pressing close again when I settled.

  Awake, Jenny was careful, unsure, second guessing every move, every touch. She didn't trust herself, didn't trust her impulses, her desires, her right to act on them.

  Asleep, she took what she needed. Closeness. Comfort. Hands that meant no harm touching her skin.

  From the outside, taking her to my house looked like I planned to sleep with her, that I was setting things up to act on the impulses that had been plaguing me almost since I met her.

  That wasn't my intention.

  I just heard the bone-deep need for her to escape her life. Even just for a night. And after freezing her ass off at the funeral, and getting more goddamn bruises by selfish, careless men, then having to put on a show at the club - which was every bit as pretentious as it sounded - I figured she'd earned a night away.

  So I wanted to give that to her. And not some fancy-ass hotel that would be just like the numerous ones she had likely stayed in with Teddy.

  No.

  I wanted to get her away away.

  And the best place to do that without crossing state lines was to take her to my place set deep in the woods where no one could possibly see her, judge her, get ideas about her. She could just put down all the baggage, be herself.

  I didn't go in her room to climb into her bed with her. The fire had banked in the living room, waking me up to a room that couldn't have been over fifty-eight. And if it was too cold for me, it was damn sure too cold for her since she didn't have an inch of fat to pinch on her entire fucking body.

  I just wanted to get her fire going.

  Then I was going to take my ass back to the couch.

  Where I belonged.

  Because I was staff.

  That was it.

  She had all but said as much.

  I never expected she might reach for me, might say she wanted me, that I wasn't alone in my need, in my desire to feel her skin pressed up against mine.

  But, fuck, was I glad I went in that room with good intentions.

  Because a night with her was everything I thought it might be. More even.

  She had a hair-trigger orgasm, like it had been years since she'd had a proper one. Which, well, may have very well been true. I couldn't claim to know what went on between a battered wife and her abusive husband, but I was willing to bet good money that it was hard - damn near impossible - to feel anything good when he touched you after those hands had broken ribs, eye sockets, cut off all your air, pulled chunks of your hair out. And who the fuck knew what else.

  It was why I made her ride me, why I thought it would be good for her to be in control of her own wants, desires.

  And, fuck, it was a good view while she rode me.

  Just the memory was getting me ready for a round two. And three. Four. A long day of doing nothing but enjoying each other's bodies.

  And as Jenny stirred, making a grumbling noise at the bright light shining through the windows, almost blinding with the world covered in the fresh fallen snow, I was sure we were about to go another round. Half asleep and lazy loving.

  "Morning," I said, running my fingers through her hair, finding it with a bit of a curl when she didn't style it like she normally might, the strands sifting through my fingers like silk.

  "What time is it?" she mumbled, her fingers tracing over my chest.

  "Ah... ten."

  "Ten?" she shrieked, shooting upward, eyes suddenly fully awake, almost frantic. "I have to go," sh
e added, reaching across the bed to snag the sweatshirt, dragging it over her head to hide her body as she gracelessly tried to untangle herself from the sheets.

  "What's the matter?" I asked, sitting up, fetching the boxers off the floor, figuring that was what she was looking for.

  "I have to go. I have... a standing appointment," she said cryptically, hopping off the bed, making a mad dash for the bathroom where she snagged mouthwash from under the sink, swishing it around as she tried to finger-comb some order into her hair.

  "Jenny, what appointment? We can just call, say you're running late."

  "It doesn't work like that," she insisted, finding her dress on a hook behind the door, shucking off the boxers to pull black material up her thighs, turning her back to me as she yanked off her sweatshirt, dropping it to the floor.

  Her hands went behind her, desperately trying to grab her zipper, making me step forward, grabbing it, slowly pulling it into place.

  "Okay. We'll go," I told her, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Give me two minutes," I added, going back into the bedroom to throw some clothes on, not sure what had her in such a freakout.

  By the time I got dressed and brushed my teeth, she was in her heels and jacket, waiting restlessly by the door.

  "I didn't get a chance to shovel," I warned her, "so just hold onto me. I don't want you falling because of those icepick heels you're walking on," I told her, locking the door, leading her to her car. "No, let me drive," I said when she tried to go toward the driver's side. "You're worked up, and this car is going to slip all over the place on the way out of this drive. Just give me a destination. I will get you there as quickly as is safe," I assured her as she reluctantly got into the passenger seat of her own car.

  "Jackson Rehabilitation Hospital," she told me, making my gaze shoot in her direction.

  But she didn't want to talk about it.

  Her gaze was fixed out the windshield, her eyes far away, her teeth nipping her lower lip, a nervous habit I had never seen before, something Teddy and the senator had likely broken her off all the years they controlled her. But just away from them for a few weeks, she was slipping into old habits.