Unraveled (Woodlands)

by Frederick, Jen

  We did it only twice because during second time someone must have interrupted Gray and he’d slammed his laptop shut before I'd gotten myself off. That night had been a pisser. If guys got blue balls, then I’d had a blue clit or something because I felt like I ached for days afterwards. I'd refused to do it again no matter how sweetly Gray pleaded because I didn't like that feeling of unfulfilled emptiness. But the truth was that having Gray watch me use the vibe was better than using it alone. Anytime he was with me, it was better, even if he couldn't touch me, even if he couldn't use his voice to whisper all the filthy things he'd like to do to me. Because there were only rare moments of privacy, I didn't get to hear them, although he emailed me. Oh boy did he email me. I wondered if his superiors read his messages and hoped that they didn't, or I wouldn't be able to look at any of them ever again.

  "Thinking dirty thoughts about Gray," Karen teased, breaking into my mental fog. I realized we were almost at the dock.

  "No, why?" I lied and then blushed.

  She laughed, "Because you're squirming like a recently landed fish."

  "Nice visual."

  "Killed your little fantasies, right? Don't want you popping off before Gray gets off the boat."

  "What about you?" Karen seemed unnaturally calm.

  "I took care of myself a couple times this morning because Rose is going to need a lot of attention."

  My face fell. Maybe I should've done that.

  "No worries," she patted my shoulder. "Gray will be thrilled that you can't wait to jump his bones. Every couple is different and every deployment is different. Don’t worry about it.”

  Gray

  "I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU THIS excited since we went base jumping in Castle Valley two years ago," Hamilton muttered next to me.

  "Base jumping has nothing on Sam." I hadn't had anyone but my parents waiting for me when I came home from a tour. This time I asked that they stay home because I just wanted to be with Sam. That she would be out there with the wives and girlfriends excited me more than I would have imagined. Yeah there had been moments when I envied the guys who were greeted by their girlfriends, wives, and kids, but in the next second I’d always wondered which of the Marines who’d stayed back home were screwing the wives and girlfriends of the deployed. And I congratulated myself on being wise and single.

  Now I was one of those poor sacks whose balls were completely owned by some girl, and I couldn't be happier. "Someday, Hamilton, it'll be you."

  "Nope," Hamilton muttered. "I like my balls attached to my body, thanks. I don't need to give them to some little woman back home in order to be able to function."

  "You only wish you could cut off your balls and leave them on some chick's table." Fact was that Sam didn't just have my balls; she had the best part of me with her. But thoughts of my balls naturally led to a nude Sam. I had to stop thinking about the last email she'd sent back. There had been a picture of just the bottom half of her body with one of my blue physical therapy shirts draped over her thighs, pulled up up in the center to the top of her belly button. Her one hand held up the T-shirt to expose the white lace of her boy shorts and the other hand? I shuddered at the memory. The other hand was inside her boy shorts, and all I could see were the bumps of her knuckles against the cotton fabric. I got up immediately and went to the head and jerked off for about five minutes after that visual.

  I can't wait for your fingers to replace mine.

  I could jack off just thinking about the words that came with the photo.

  “Five minutes, sweethearts, and you’ll finally get off your holiday cruise. We know you have zero choice in the matter, so thank you for fucking floating with us,” First Sergeant Gracias shouted as he walked by.

  Leaving the boat with a hard-on was unacceptable for a Staff Sergeant. I thought of Hamilton's dirty socks, the transmission of a 1970 GTO, the shit ton of paperwork that I'd have to file when I got back to base.

  And then I was walking down the ramp, eyes scanning the dock and then hooking on a red-and-white polka-dotted dress. She had her hair all done up for me, looking like a million dollars. I wanted to fling out my arms and circle around, screaming, "See her? She's mine. She's going home with me." In a rare fit of possessiveness, part of me wanted to take her right there on the dock to mark her as mine so that no one would even look at her without seeing my body covering hers. She'd probably gnaw off my balls with her teeth if I did that, though.

  But right now, looking at the glow of excitement, lust and just pure happiness in her face, maybe not.

  We have may said something like hello or I missed you, but all I could remember was lifting her soft body in my arms and the press of her lips against mine and then, finally, God, the lick of her tongue inside my mouth. I kissed her back with all the intensity I'd stored up for six long months. The pent-up desire bruised her lips as I held her with one arm around her waist and the other cradling her head to mine.

  I loved her and I couldn’t wait to get her home. The drive back to the apartment felt like it was longer than the ocean voyage but then we were in the bedroom, ripping off each other’s clothes. My uniform in a heap on top of her red and white polka dotted dress.

  “I’m not going to last for five minutes, but I promise to make it up to you.” I grabbed her hip in one hand and my dick in the other. She was soaked and I slid in, and I finally felt like I was home. I rested my forehead against hers as we both stilled so we could just feel what it was like to be joined again—my cock sheathed by her warm pussy. Ah, so fucking perfect that I could die here a happy man.

  We moved, then, again in unison as if our bodies had taken control and recalled the synchronized rhythm we’d perfected before I left. I slid both hands onto her thighs and pushed her as far open as possible because I wanted to bottom out inside of her. Her hands came to grip mine and with each bite of her fingernails she told me how much she missed me and how much she wanted this too.

  “Talk to me, Gray,” she begged. “Tell me how hard you’ve been. How much you’ve missed me.”

  She just had to get me going. I stroked her hard, feeling our bodies slam together and reveled in the loud, wet sounds we were making. The friction caused when she clamped down on my cock as I was withdrawing made my eyes cross. I wasn’t going to last much longer but if she wanted the words, I’d give them to her. “Baby, you’ve no idea. Every night I went to sleep, I thought about being in your tight little pussy. How it’s always wet for me.” Flipping one leg over my shoulder, I used my now free hand to rub her lower lips and strum her clit.

  “Mmm, yes,” she moaned. “Always wet for you.”

  “And this pussy is all mine.” I spanked her clit lightly and felt her body bow in shocked and eroticized surprise. Leaning forward, I captured one upthrust nipple into my mouth and felt her convulse around me.

  “Yes, and you’re mine too,” she declared fiercely. I was completely and utterly hers. She owned me, every part of me, and that sentiment made me feel stronger than learning how to shoot a gun or fighting insurgents or anything the Corps had taught me. She began to undulate against me, her body moving in jerky movements, caught up in the sensation of her impending orgasm. Her hands gripped my head and pulled me up for a wild and relentless kiss. Inside her mouth I tasted her want, her fevered desire, and her intense love. Her leg slipped off my shoulder and found its way around my waist until I felt the heel of her foot urging me closer to her.

  “I love fucking you. I love feeling your creamy ass against my cock every morning. I love your gorgeous fucking breasts and your amazing nipples. I could suck on them and never get tired of that. I love the smell of your pussy and the taste of your come on my tongue.” Her pussy’s grip on my cock was like a vice.

  “Me too,” Sam gasped in my ear. “I love your cock in my mouth. Love it. Love your taste. I just love you, Gray Phillips.”

  And with that I was done for. I began thrusting into her uncontrollably. Any ability to form sentences was gone and I was left with only one
thought in my head. “I love you, Sam. Love you so damn much.” Slipping a hand between us, I rubbed her until I felt her release overtake her body and then I let go, pumping every ounce of my come into her body, feeling the slickness of her corresponding orgasm until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore and collapsed against her body. In the aftermath, I tried to roll off but she wouldn’t let go.

  Her arms and legs wrapped around me and held me tight against her. “I’m never letting you go,” she whispered. And her words made me shiver, not in lust but in pure fucking happiness. Our love had only grown stronger during our separation, not weaker.

  After we’d had our celebration in the bedroom, I grabbed a beer, stuck something in my pocket, and picked up Sam’s knitting sack. We headed down to the communal pool to enjoy the late afternoon sun. Sam had gotten accepted to FIDM and would start in the fall. In the meantime, with the help of Mrs. Bend and Dorothy, Sam had conquered intarsia stitching and few other techniques that sounded just as impossible. I happily gave up my new hobby, content to just sip a cold one and watch Sam. The rhythmic clicks of her needles were a comforting sound, and it got to the point that I couldn’t even watch a game without her sitting next to me, the clacking of her needle points against each other forming the solid drumbeat of our lives.

  “You make the sweater?” I asked. The white little shrug that covered her shoulders had a lot of intricate stitching that I had come to associate with her work.

  “I did, like it? The bad thing about San Diego is that there aren’t many times I can wear sweaters.”

  “I like my beanie.” She’d knitted me about a dozen wool caps over the winter, and I’d needed them all because they kept getting filched. The guys in my platoon were totally fucking brazen about it too, wearing them around me and not giving a good goddamn. “And my socks. You knit some damn fine socks.” Those she didn’t whip out by the bushel, and I was careful to lock them up. Sam had made me several pairs of socks, all of them carefully constructed to fit my foot personally, and I swore if any one of those socks went missing, my boot would be up the ass of every man in my platoon until they were returned.

  “Hamilton emailed me about your socks, you know. He wants a pair.”

  “Hamilton can go suck his thumb.”

  Sam didn’t respond; she just continued to knit.

  “What’re you working on?” I asked.

  “I got another order for a layette, so I’m making this little sweater. The booties and hat are done. I’m getting fast enough that I might break even.” She laughed. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to quit waiting tables to pay the rent.”

  I shifted in my chair, wondering if now was the time to bring up a subject that had simmered at the top of my head the entire time I was gone. It was a risky topic, and I didn’t relish putting myself out there, but for once I wanted to beat Sam to the punch. She’d been the one to hit on me first. She came to see me after our rock climbing fiasco. She came out to San Diego. This one time, I wanted to be the one to make the gesture.

  “You could marry me.”

  The sound of the needles stopped abruptly. I was hesitant to look at Sam, a little nervous about what expression she’d be wearing. Would it be astonishment? Or maybe chagrin? I tipped my head slightly so I could glance at her in my periphery. Her mouth was hanging open and her knitting had fallen unnoticed to her lap. That wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for.

  “Gray Phillips, did you just propose to me by the pool in front of all these people?”

  It was like a trick question. I had to make sure I gave the right answer. “Yes?”

  “I should stab you with one of my needles.”

  “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” I got down on one knee, in front of the avid gazes of the sailors and Marines who lived in this apartment complex. Pulling out the ring box, I flipped it open so that the sun shown down on the pink diamond in the platinum setting. It was very different than what she’d worn before and I held my breath waiting for her answer.

  The sound of her wild laugh, the one she let out when we rappelled down the cliff together that very first time, rang out in the courtyard. It was pure, unadultered joy. Goddamn, I loved her. Shoving the ring on her finger, I picked her up and twirled her around and around until we were both dizzy.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She placed a hand on either side of my face and we kissed, hungrily and lovingly and for a very long time but we didn’t leave right away. Too many people came over to look at the ring, congratulate Sam and I, and generally give us the business—in jest. But it felt great. I wanted everyone to know I’d fallen irrevocably in love with this woman whose courage in life blew me away.

  <<<<<< The End >>>>>

  Contact Me

  Bo's story is told in Unspoken, the second in the Woodlands series. Read on for an excerpt. Even better, sign up for my newsletter and receive a weekly webseries episode featuring Bo's daughter Charlotte and Noah's son Nathan titled the Charlotte Chronicles. Sign up here.

  If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review at Goodreads, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or any other reader site or blog you frequent.

  I love hearing from my readers, so drop me a line at jen@jenfrederick.com. You can also find me on Facebook (Facebook.com/AuthorJenFredrick) or Twitter (@jenSfred).

  Acknowledgments

  It's hard to know where to start because there are so many people who are so important to this book that it is hard to know where to start. First, though, special thanks must go to my beta readers. These are folks who read my work often more than once during the revision process. Without their help, Unraveled wouldn't be the book that it is today. Thank you to Brie, Elyssa Papa, Kati, and, last but certainly not least, CeCe. CeCe, your insights were amazing. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper.

  I'm blessed with an amazing circle of writerly friends including Daphne who listened to me talk about the plot and helped me discard some really bad ideas and for just being an amazing friend and Jessica Clare and Katy Evans who not only helped me over rough spots in the manuscript but whose hand holding during release week help to keep me sane.

  To AW, I don't know how you do it but your editing pen is magical. I appreciate the numerous times you read through this manuscript because every suggestion made this a better book.

  Meljean Brook, I don't know why you have all the skills in the world. It's unfair. You can create amazing covers and print designs but also write more magically than most of us mortals. Thanks for being a friend.

  Lisa at The Rock Stars of Romance, you've been with me since the beginning. I can't believe the journey we've had together. Thank you for non stop support. And to Michelle at All Romance Reviews, our facebook chats are the highlight of many of my days.

  Thank you to all of the bloggers who participated in the blog tour and/or reviewed Unraveled and to all the reviewers who've left reviews and readers who've read our book, your support is amazing.

  Finally, to the MGL. I hope to be reading a book from every one of you soon.

  Chapter One

  BO

  “TAMPONS SLOWING YOU DOWN THIS morning?” I taunted the young businessman who’d volunteered to spar with me this morning. We’d been dancing around each other for the last five minutes. I wasn’t here to carefully gauge the length of his reach or the power of his jab. I wanted him to hit me, and I wanted to hit him back.

  My smear on his manhood worked better than a fist to his gut. He jerked out of whatever fantasy he was concocting of being the next king of the Octagon and rushed me. I waited, slid slightly to the side, and then kneed him in the ribs. As he was bending over from the impact, I brought up a left uppercut and then a right punch. He crumpled like a tin can at a recycling center.

  As he lay face down at my feet, it occurred to me I’d made a big strategic error. My third of the morning. I was a slow learner. I looked up to see Noah Jackson shaking his head at me. Noah was my best friend, Marine battle buddy, and roommate. He knew me better than
anyone else.

  He knew the lightbulb had just gone off over my head. There would be no more hitting in the Spartan Gym today, which meant my hope for a good match was as sunk as the guy at my feet.

  With a groan, yuppie number three rolled over. I pulled off a glove and offered him a hand up. He looked at it for a couple of heartbeats like I might punch him again. Christ, I wasn’t a jackass. I didn’t mind fighting dirty if the situation called for it, but I wasn’t going to hit someone who was weaker than I was, who couldn’t fight back. You got smacked around here at the Spartan Gym. That was the whole point.

  At least that was why I was here. I woke up every morning with an itch under my skin. I could work out that irritation a couple of ways. My preferred method was fighting. But the downed businessman with the soft hands was my third opponent this morning and not one of them had laid a hand on me outside of a few glancing blows that slid off my protective headgear.

  I pulled back my hand and walked over to the corner, shaking my head in disgust. Pauli Generoli, the owner of the gym, climbed into the ring and glared at me. I wasn’t supposed to damage the merchandise. These rich guys were the way he paid for his gym and when they weren’t given enough opportunity to feel like conquerors, they didn’t want to come back. I ignored his summons to come over and jumped down off the platform. Noah was on the mats to the side, practicing some Brazilian jiu-jitsu moves.

  Noah used to partner with me. Or actually, I sparred with him to ready him for a world of professional fighting. I wasn’t allowed to do this anymore, as Noah had been invited to be part of the UFC, the officially sanctioned group of mixed martial arts fighters.