And I love it.
Cal slides down my body, dragging his chest hair over my sensitized skin. He reaches out and snags a pillow to slide it beneath me before smoothing a hand over the curve of my ass. Taking a small bite of it, he then smooths the sting with his tongue, before telling me, “Lift.”
I comply immediately.
He flips over onto his back, resting his head on the pillow. Pulling my hips down, he slides his fingers in just before my clit comes in contact with his waiting mouth.
Yes. Oh, God. “Oh, more,” I whimper.
Tearing his mouth away, Cal kisses the inside of my thigh. “Ride my face and fingers. Catch fire for me, my beautiful wife. Then, I want to take you on your knees all wet and open for me.”
My hips buck in answer. It’s a good thing they manage to talk for me, because I can’t find words. My head has dropped into my hands as Cal’s mouth begins to suck on my clit as his fingers press deeper. He twists them, curling them inside of me, never letting up on the sweet sucking of my clit until I jerk as I cry out coming.
As I float back down to reality, I wonder aloud, “Who knew married life would be like this?”
Then I feel my legs being spread. A quiver races down my spine when I feel one hand trail over each vertebrae until it finds purchase on my hip. The other begins stroking the skin of my ass. Then I feel that hand slide around and begin caressing me between my legs, working me in tight little circles until my head falls back against him.
“God, Cal, I can’t…”
“You can. You will,” he demands as he curls his back over mine. His hand slips away long enough for him to guide his cock inside of me. And just like every time since the first time, I feel like I’m whole because we’re connected in the most elemental way possible.
Cal begins thrusting, driving into me in short, quick strokes. His free hand not gripping my hip is alternately tweaking my nipples or circling my clit. I keep grinding back against him. My head is on his shoulder.
Bracing myself on one hand, I wrap the other around his neck. Cal, taking that as a sign, swoops my other out from beneath me. I cry out. “Cal?”
But his thrusts don’t miss a beat. Now, with both hands free, one glides up over my ribs to cup my breast, and the other notches itself between my legs, putting pressure firmly against the spot where we’re joined, the heel of his hand rolling firmly against my clit. His wicked mouth works my neck, and soon I’m chanting, “More, Cal. Yes, yes, God!” And driving down, I come again, this time around his cock.
“I’m coming, Libs. Just like that. Stay…” Cal’s voice breaks as he surges up into me, and his body jerks as he spurts deep inside of me.
Still joined, we collapse back against the sun-warmed sheets of the bed. “I love you. Of course I’ll stay,” I whisper in the quiet of the room.
I get a tight squeeze as a response.
My eyes start to drift shut. Just before I find sleep, I hear Cal whisper, “I love you, Libby. Always.”
Knowing that, I realize I really don’t partially care if we leave the hotel room for the duration of our honeymoon. The water looks just perfect from our room without us frolicking around in it to mess up the perfect ripples.
There’s time enough to do that at home.
32
Present Day
Elizabeth
“I thought I knew what it was like to make love to Cal. Until my wedding night when I knew we were an irrevocable us, I had no idea.”
“There was a difference?” Dr. Powell asks, unperturbed.
I blush a fiery red. “Cal’s guard was completely down during our honeymoon—maybe for the first and only time during our marriage before the events on the Sea Force.”
“So, it was a significant change?”
Crossing my legs in front of me, I wish I’d made us later than we were because the memories flashing through my mind are stirring my pregnant body up. “The difference of Cal before our honeymoon and during are like comparing a springtime shower to a hurricane. Or like when someone jumps in a swimming pool and you get splashed versus a tsunami.” I laugh softly. “We like to say we went to Grand Cayman for our honeymoon, but the reality is we could have been at the Super 8 off of I-95 for all we saw of the island.”
Dr. Powell smiles. “It sounds…”
I interrupt. “Like paradise. It was absolutely everything I ever wanted from the man I dreamed of.”
“So, what changed? When did you start to notice the cracks in your marriage?”
I feel the bite of my nails in my hands as I hold back my initial response. “I really don’t know how to answer that.”
“Try.”
“I didn’t notice any problems other than Cal working unusual hours. Occasionally, that would happen, so I didn’t think anything of it. That is, until…” My voice drifts off.
“Until you left.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I finally snap. “If you found yourself in the same situation I was in, would you not have walked away?”
He opens and closes his mouth. I’m waiting for the typical platitudes I receive from the number of people of his type over the years, so I’m floored when he answers, “Yes. Presented with the same evidence, I likely would have.”
I sag into myself. “Throughout the time I was filing for divorce, I was dying inside. Because I had a secret I still had yet to share with anyone. By the time I boarded the Sea Force, I was ill with the ramifications of it.”
“Are you ready to talk about them?”
At that moment, the child growing inside of me rolls, reminding me that what happened on that boat wasn’t my fault. I’m nodding even as I answer, “Yes.”
33
Elizabeth
Year One - Ten Years Ago from Present Day
With every trip that Cal takes, more and more conflicting emotions arise. I’m so proud of him for building the company he works for to a force to be reckoned with, but at the same time, I’ve only been married for six months and I’ve seen my husband for maybe half of them. There are nights when we’re talking on the phone—my only connection when he’s trying to sell work—that I feel like I only have part of his attention.
And I mourn because I was supposed to have all of his heart.
With the way he seared my soul to his, I don’t feel like it’s just him who walks out the door every time he leaves; he’s taking more and more of me with him. Where before I was strong enough to be on my own, accepted it. I let him in past my defenses. Now, I just exist in the moments in between.
I’m supposed to be stronger for love, but I’m weaker, and deep down I know this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.
Tonight, I stayed late at Deja Vu to write up some invoices and do payroll. It’s after eleven and I haven’t eaten much today. Since I almost paid one of my employees $25,000 instead of their normal $2,500 salary, I know it’s time to head out for the night. “I’m sure Jackie would have loved that.”
It’s easier to spend the long nights working late instead of at home. Here, I can reach some sort of fulfillment. What do I have there to sustain me but longing? Closing down my laptop, I lock everything away until I come back tomorrow. Grabbing the bank bag I need to deposit on the way home, I toss it in my purse before I slip out the back door. After locking up, I slide my keys in my pocket before crossing the lot to head in the direction of my car.
Unlocking it, I start the car and head onto the main road. Since I can’t have what I really want—which is for Cal to be waiting for me when I get home—I debate swinging by my favorite sub shop. “If Cal keeps these trips up, he’s going to come home to two wives instead of the one he left,” I mutter, knowing I haven’t cooked a decent meal in weeks.
Accelerating through the light on Meeting Street, I turn on North Market when I hear a screech of tires.
Then there’s only black.
* * *
I don’t know how long I’m in the dark. When I wake up, it’s like being in a different world. Everything is
in such contrast to what happened. I try to shift, but I let out a painful moan.
“Marcus? She’s awake. Thank heavens.” My mother lifts her head from the side of my bed where it’s been resting next to my hand. She squeezes mine so hard it hurts. I try, but I barely manage to exert enough pressure to reassure myself I’m alive.
Darting my eyes around, it penetrates I’m hooked up to tubes and monitors. “Hospital?” I manage to ask.
“Yes. Do you remember anything that happened?” My father steps up to run his hand over my hair.
I immediately start to shake my head, but when I feel the pain shooting through my neck, it all comes back: locking up, driving, the crash. “Yes,” I get out.
“You scared us, baby,” my mother whimpers.
I swallow with a throat that’s too dry. “Water?”
Dad shakes his head. “Only ice chips.”
It sounds miraculous. He reaches over for the container and puts a chip on a spoon. I eagerly take it from him. Rolling it around my mouth, I can taste the lingering effect of dryness start to ease. “How bad?”
Mom winces and looks away. Dad’s hand, which had resumed stroking my hair, stills. “We can talk about it later, honey.”
“Tell me.” It’s taking all my effort to ask.
“Why don’t we wait for the doctor to come in?” Mom suggests.
Just then, the door pushes open. A tall blonde woman with a wedge haircut wearing a long white coat appears. She’s making notes on a tablet before her attention focuses on us. “Wonderful. You must be Mrs. Sullivan. I’m Dr. Devin. I’ve been monitoring you since you came in.”
I just nod, too overwhelmed by what’s she’s saying to speak. Then the memory of burning pain from the car wreck returns, and I gasp.
“If you’re feeling any pain, Mrs. Sullivan, all you need to do is push this button here.” Dr. Devin hands me a small black button. “This is your pain medicine. Don’t worry, you can’t push it too many times,” she teases gently. “It’s set to only release so much per hour.”
Dr. Devin’s head tilts toward Mom and Dad. “Mrs. Sullivan, when your parents came in, they had a copy of your medical power of attorney. Your husband was listed first, but from what I understand, he’s unavailable. Now that you’re awake, I’d like to confirm I can speak freely in front of them.”
Ignoring the wrenching ache her words cause not my head but my heart, I murmur, “Yes,” so she continues.
“The police are going to want to speak with you when you’re a little more lucid.”
“Wanted dinner,” I mumble, still reeling over the fact Cal’s not at my side. I have no concept of time, but shouldn’t he be here?
“I imagine you’re quite hungry. We can’t allow you solid foods just yet. Maybe not for a few more days,” Dr. Devin informs me.
I inhale sharply, which was an error in judgment. I groan in pain. “Why not?” But Dr. Devin can’t answer what I really want to know.
Where is my husband?
“You’re in the intensive care unit.”
That still doesn’t answer my questions. Helplessly, I reach for my father’s hand, but I can’t quite manage it. He reaches down and takes it. I try not to resent the fact it should be Cal’s, but bitterness is beginning to seep into my veins.
Dr. Devin continues. “You’ve been unconscious for almost twenty hours. We took scans to make sure there wasn’t a hematoma. We’ve been constantly monitoring the amount of brain swelling to ensure it was dissipating so we didn’t need to help facilitate it further.”
“What does that mean?”
“By draining it, Libby,” Mom says as she squeezes my foot. “They were concerned there was too much pressure on your brain. It’s one of the options they discussed with your father and I. Dr. Devin was concerned her team might need to drain the fluid around your brain, but you turned a corner, honey.”
“Your responses to stimuli improved remarkably around hour eight. We decided after the second set of scans to let nature work its course.” Dr. Devin picks up my left hand. “Your husband is out of the country?”
I nod, wincing. Then beseechingly, “Cal?” It’s a question for my parents.
“We’re trying to reach him, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s just the time change,” Mom assures me.
“I’m betting he’s already on the plane on the way home. At least he better be.” Dad mutters the last to himself.
“When you speak with him, there’s nothing for him to be worried about long term. However, I’m very concerned about Mrs. Sullivan’s short-term situation. I will not release her to her own care.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t go home?” I want the comfort of Cal surrounding me even if he isn’t there—his scent, our home, our bed. Despite how much knowing that stings.
Dr. Devin squeezes my hand again. “Mrs. Sullivan…”
“Elizabeth, please.”
“Elizabeth, if you continue to improve, we hope that you’ll be moved from the ICU by tomorrow, down to a regular room to be monitored for one day before discharge. It’s my professional recommendation you’re not to be left alone for the next seven days.”
“Work…”
“You are prohibited from any sort of computer work for the next month, Elizabeth.” At the words of protest forming on my lips, Dr. Devin’s smile firms. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
My mother jumps in. “I can help.”
“If I want my employees to get paid, no you won’t.” Then hoping my words didn’t hurt her, I murmur, “I’ll need you in other ways, Mom. Maybe Josh can help me with payroll?”
“Anything, Libby. We just need to get you well.”
The pain ricocheting in my chest hurts as much as that in my head. “And my husband can’t be reached?”
“No, honey. But we’re trying.” Mom’s voice is strained.
“Then it might be best for me to go home with you,” I manage to get out.
Dr. Devin squeezes my hand. “That sounds like a sound decision. Why don’t you rest, Elizabeth; it’s the best thing for you now.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” But I can’t deny the pull of my eyelids drooping.
“The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal,” I’m reminded.
No one has to tell me twice. I want to go back to the darkness where reality didn’t intrude to hurt so much. Closing my eyes, I shut out all of their faces and voices before I absorb any more pity than I already have. As if to reiterate my point, I press the button on the pain machine again and again. And again.
Sweet relief begins to flood through my veins. I begin pressing the pain medicine button in earnest. The drugs are kicking in; I can feel them slithering through my veins.
There’s silence in the room as I start to go under. A door opens and closes. Then just before I lose consciousness, I hear my mother hiss at my father, “Call Cal again.”
“He should be answering,” my father growls.
No, Dad. He should be here. And an unnoticed tear leaks out of my eye before I go back into the void.
34
Calhoun
Year One - Ten Years Ago from Present Day
“Nice driving, Cal,” Sam says laconically. “Next time, why don’t you hand out barf bags.”
Iris, who’s been puking in her boot for the last fifteen minutes, gives her nonverbal agreement of her husband’s assessment.
“Listen, it wasn’t my fault you literally got caught with your pants down and the situation went from hot to inferno in about two minutes.”
“Yeah, but we got the intel,” Sam smirks. “And the location of the weapons warehouse.”
Since I can’t disagree with him, I focus on driving because one false move and none of us are making it home. We’re barreling down the Italian Alps in a stolen Humvee trying to escape the carload of Spanish tangoes on our ass. The team split up. Even though it’s the other team that has the intel, they want Iris and Sam for playing them to get it.
“Fuck me,” I cur
se as my phone pings with an incoming voicemail just as I’m taking another hairpin turn. “Whose fucking idea was it to try to take this route to the rendezvous point?”
“Yours,” Iris manages in between bouts of nausea that I’m beginning to suspect have little to do with my driving. “And I hate you for it.”
Sam and I both chuckle. “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah, man?”
“Check my voicemail to make sure nothing’s changed. It’s been pinging nonstop since we crossed over from Germany. If we’re not meeting up with the team in Meiringen, we need to know that stat.”
“On it.” Sam leans over the seat and snags my phone out of the holder. Flipping to the voicemail app, he frowns. “Cal, these are all from the family. And there’s…” He begins to count under his breath. “Seventeen of them since last night.”
“What about your phone? Iris’s? Anything?”
Sam whips his phone out of his pocket and begins to curse roundly. “Mine’s been on silent. There’s at least ten.”
Something’s wrong. There has to be. Panic begins to whip through my veins. “We can’t call them back. Not until we reach base,” I snarl. “We’re not safe.”
“Can we listen to the messages?” Sam growls at me.
I calculate the risk. “Are the messages already downloaded from the secure number?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes. Find out what the hell is going on!”
A minute passes. Not a sound from the back seat other than the consistent heaving. “Jesus, Sam. What the fuck is going on?” I scream.
“Just get us to base as fast as you can, Cal. Get us home.” The note of joviality in Sam’s voice that lives there even despite his own wife being ill is suddenly missing.
“I swear to God, I’m going to turn around and punch you. Then you can worry about your wife ending up over the side of this damn cliff,” I threaten. “What the fuck is wrong?”
Ripple Effect Page 13
