Zak’s side of the bed dented as she heard his massive body slide into the sheets. She felt his hand on her hip, heard his whisper in her ear, and it made her ears buzz.
“I’m really sorry, honey.” He patted her hip. “I don’t want you to see me yet. I sleep with the bandage off. When morning comes, please let me get up first. Promise?”
“I promise,” she said through her tears.
Chapter 20
The early morning hours of each day was turning out to be a time Zak would lie in bed, watch the designs on the ceiling, and think. In the hospital, it was never completely quiet, even during these hours, so he guessed that’s why he was waking up then.
This morning, he was in his old bedroom, lying next to Amy, now his wife, who was soundly sleeping after crying herself to sleep again. It was becoming a routine, and not one he enjoyed. It had kept him up, listening to her attempts to stifle evidence of her pain. There was still something left of his desire to protect her, but he wrote it off. His hand on her hip could have easily turned into something else. That something else was making him hard in spite of all his confusion.
Now, except for the gentle sounds of her slumber, the room was quiet.
His fingers came up to his face, the injured part. He’d tried to roll over on his left, but this morning, just as most other mornings in the hospital, he’d woken up on his back. The ridges of the train track designs of stitches, especially the ones under his eye, itched, but did not pucker as they had before. His body was well on its way to smoothing over the rough edges of this invasion to his flesh. What the final result would be was still uncertain. His new doctors at the clinic would have some opinions on that when he saw them next week for the follow-up.
Aware he was pushing the interaction with Amy forcefully out of his head, he opened the door a bit to explore why that was. He was practicing for his next appointment with the shrink.
The shrink the Navy had assigned asked him about intimacy. His answer at the time was, “Why, do I wear a sign that says ‘doesn’t like to screw anymore’?”
“You think intimacy is screwing?” the doctor questioned.
“Our intimacy always wound up with screwing. I’d say we were overscrewers, if you want to know the truth. Sort of like over-achievers? Is that a term for your little book?” Zak pointed to the doctor’s spiral notebook.
“This isn’t about me or my little book. It’s about you, and examine these things. Maybe you’re not ready. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Ready for sex? I’m always ready for sex, doc.”
The doctor removed his glasses, leaned forward on his desk placing his palms down with his middle fingers touching. “I know you SOF guys are tough. I know you see a lot of things you shouldn’t have to see out there, and do stuff—”
“Doc.” Zak stood up. “Let me save you some time. I’ve been trained as a SEAL. My very first mission was less than a week old and this happened. The only horrible thing I experienced was this.” He pointed to his head. “Don’t they give you guys our files? How can you help someone when you don’t know anything about them?”
The doctor stood slowly. “Well, that was going to be your job, son.”
“Don’t call me son. I’m not your fuckin’ son.”
“No. And I’ll bet your father isn’t very proud of you. I do know you have a father who has been a borderline alcoholic, which seemed to rub off on you as well. If the Navy is your last chance at redemption, you’re doing a shitty job of treating it like the gift it is.” He sat down and wrote notes in his book.
Zak didn’t know how to process it. He turned to go and heard the doctor’s irritated voice shouting behind him, “You will be here next week, same time. Maybe then you can leave your fucked up self in the car and bring the real SEAL, the man who wears his Trident proudly, maybe you can bring that guy here. We’ll talk. Have a nice day, Zak.”
He’d picked a fight with just about everyone that day and felt ashamed.
Why am I doing this to myself? To Amy? It isn’t anyone’s fault, so why am I so angry?
He knew he loved her. He just couldn’t show it, and that puzzled him. It was as if he was under some kind of deep freeze, making him incapable of showing the affection he knew he had deep down inside. He didn’t want to hurt her, but that part of showing affection in return for hers was turned off. He should be making more of an effort. He decided he’d try harder.
What are you afraid of? The doctor had asked him that.
There was something out there, standing in the shadows, but he couldn’t get the figure to step into the circle of light. So many things were lurking just outside his ability to experience them.
She was still asleep when she rolled over and pulled herself close to him, just like she used to do. He allowed the back of his hand to rub up and down her upper arm where she’d tucked herself into a warm cocoon beside him. The touch of her flesh against his automatically aroused him.
At least that part is still working.
He wondered if having sex with her would make her feel better. Never mind what he would feel. Would it help her? Or was it taking advantage of her to do this when his barren insides didn’t allow him to fully engage? He didn’t want to use her for his needs. That wouldn’t be right, or honorable. Just why couldn’t he feel that love he once had for her? Did they remove a part of his brain when they stitched him up? Was that it? He’d have to ask the doctors.
She was waking up, the result of his carelessness in stroking the side of her arm, his little signal he wanted the encounter he was afraid to ask for in the light of day. He felt her body heat rise as she unfolded herself, as she began kissing his chest in the dark, thanks to the merciful blackout curtains.
She was clutching his balls underneath his pajama bottoms, stroking his shaft, allowing a tiny moan to emit from the depths of her need. He anticipated what her lips would feel like on him. Should he let her? Was this for her or for him that he was letting her move on him, slip down the barrier between their bodies, search with her tongue, suck him hard, and pull on his ball sack. She wrapped her legs around his right thigh, pressing her mound against him. Her needy moan vibrated everything.
His hand went to her face he could not see, feeling the indentation in her cheeks as she sucked, feeling the soft folds of the underside of her chin. He needed the darkness so she wouldn’t see who he really was.
His hardness was nearly painful as she worked on him. He held her head, palms over her ears, pushing and pulling it up and down on him, each stroke making him longer and harder.
He heard her gasp as she pressed her pubic bone against him with such force it almost hurt his previously injured leg. It was like she could feel his pain somehow. She was in pain, too. She needed him. Scary things were in the hallways of his mind as he walked toward sexual satisfaction. Love was here somewhere, but not now, not in the selfish need of his flesh.
Was this wrong?
“Zak, make love to me. Please make love to me,” she was mewing, begging him.
Could he do this? Am I taking advantage? He couldn’t make up his mind. She was climbing on top of him, and her fingers squeezed his nipple while she bit his other one. She was a woman in need, without shame, on a collision course with desire.
Her fingers covered his lips and then slid under his chin, up his neck, and into his hairline. He stopped her hand before she could reach any of the scaring on his scalp, or what had been replaced as his scalp.
“Zak, please. Make love to me,” she said as she drew one leg over his, as she dragged the lips of her sex over him, grinding and attempting to mate wherever she could find purchase.
He could not let her see him. She’d be horrified, even though right now that was probably not anything she was thinking about. He needed to keep the illusion he was whole.
His cock was demanding action, and this angered him. Surprised, he blamed her for his need. If she hadn’t aroused him, he wouldn’t have that need. But she was telling him—no, s
howing him—he was not a eunuch. His sexual desires had nothing to do with everything else going on inside him. His body wanted to have sex with her, even if he couldn’t grapple with the emotional side of it.
Is this taking advantage?
He should stop her.
“Zak, you’re hurting me,” she said. His hands had taken hold of her wrists, holding them away from his body, even as her lower body arched and caressed into his.
He was going to get up and go fix himself in the shower, do something to take care of the need. The warm water would blank out everything else as he gave himself to oblivion, took care of his bodily needs.
But suddenly, reflex pushed her down onto the bed on her back. Then he flipped her to her side, urgently lifting her nightie from her behind as she writhed, moved against him, and moaned every time he touched her ass. Zak slipped an arm under her chest and pulled her shoulder down so she was slammed tight against him. Amy had gone molten, her movements fluid. Her sweet ass pressed into his groin, spreading her knees, making herself available to him, using her hands to come to a tripod. His wife arched then slipped her leg outside of his. Her sex was right there, wet and pulsing as he pressed a thumb inside her. He heard the delicious inhale, which spurred him on, his cock seeking the root it needed.
Pulling his pillow from behind him, he jammed it under her pelvis, elevating her sex between that tight little package. Her arousal was intoxicating. Hungry for the taste of her, his hands spread her cheeks wide as he plundered her with his tongue, sucking the juices she was pressing into his mouth.
Amy came up on her knees, and he followed her. She pushed down her own pillow beneath, preparing her angle, begging for penetration.
He could barely see in the early dawn breaking. His world was focused on the slippery feel of the crevice between her butt cheeks as his cock traveled up and down, rubbing his crown against her clit and pressing against her folds. Zak found himself snagged on her entrance, and he stopped. Amy groaned, moved toward him, and he held himself back. She moved again, raising her pelvis, finding his cock, and matching it with her channel. One finger rimmed her opening slowly, guiding his way. With his right hand, he reached underneath her and squeezed her clit as he rammed himself deep inside her.
Amy’s moan told him she was ruined. He pushed inside deeper still, grabbing her hips so he could ride her hard. The slapping of their thighs against each other punctuated her little mewling sounds when he slowed, allowing his long, hard thrusts and holds. He angled his hips to the right and then left before beginning the fierce pumping action again. Then he slowed down to hear her breathing, to feel her shuddering beneath him.
Her muscles clamped down on him. She pushed herself up on her arms, arching her back as his hands held her at the hips, moving her against him as he drilled her.
She hissed as he felt the spasms overtake her. He wanted her to explode beneath him. Zak pushed harder, deeper, until he began to feel his release coming. His hands pulled her hips, jamming her body into him as he filled her, let her feel his lurching cock. He held his breath as he pumped into her one last time, allowing her to milk him to the finish line.
Her round ass shone in the early dawn light. The streaks of sweat traveled down her spine. His own torso was wet. Sweat poured off his forehead, dripping down his nose and over his lips. Still deep inside her as her muscles began to relax, he leaned back to see the point of their joining. Slipping his cock out, he replaced it with two fingers, and Amy groaned into the mattress. He rubbed her lips, her little stiff bud as she jumped beneath him, making sure she was fully spent.
She was trying to roll over to face him. He kept his head turned to the right while lifting her up and placing her against him, spooned into the bed on her side. He pressed his forehead against her shoulders as their breathing labored. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Her fingers lightly smoothed over his left thigh.
“Love you, Zak.”
It took everything he had, but he returned with, “Love you, Amy. Thank you for—”
What? Thank you for letting me use you?
Through his guilt and remorse, the shame of his need, he found the honest words at last. “Thank you for loving me. I’ll give you what I can. I’m not sure it will be enough.”
Like Cinderella, his midnight was coming. The light in the room would make his face fully visible to her soon, which meant he had to go back to the protection of his bandage, hide behind the white cotton device that kept the rest of the world out.
“Don’t turn around. Stay here,” he whispered in her ear.
On the bathroom counter, he lifted the white form toward his face. He stopped to examine himself. He could see a tiny portion of his eye underneath the dark swelling of his upper lid. It was red and nasty looking with a yellowish discharge coming from his tear duct. Most of the redness was gone underneath the stitching, as well as some of the lumps and bumps. He touched his cheek, letting his fingers travel over the surface, his eyes closed. No, it was not smooth. It might never be smooth. At his scalp, little dark tufts of hair had started growing like weeds in a crack in the sidewalk.
He placed the cotton form over his face and re-applied tape to hold it in place.
Let her imagine what’s underneath. Whatever she could imagine, it will be even worse to her.
And then he wondered if he could keep it private forever.
Chapter 21
Amy planned to go with Zak to his string of appointments stretching over the next several days. The thaw that had started his first night back stalled, like an icebreaker ship caught between shelves of ice in the artic sea. She remembered seeing it on an adventure channel. The crew had to wait until a bright day with full sunlight to give the ice a little help so the ship could crash its way through.
That’s how she felt about Zak right now. He was a big, complicated iceberg. Quiet—and there wasn’t anything unusual about that—but without the little things he used to do, like slip her hair behind her ear, whisper how sexy she looked, slide behind her in bed, touch her in places that made her thighs tremble. She was on pins and needles.
Instead, they were like two strangers passing in a crowded room, trying to avoid touching one another. She stopped reaching out for him, trying to hug him or take his hand. Every time she did, he flinched in reaction. She wasn’t sure anymore whether she stopped because she didn’t think he liked it or because she felt so bad he reacted so negatively. Was he suddenly repulsed by her now that they’d had sex? Did she make some mistake showing him how much she missed him? Her heart told her it wasn’t a mistake. That she should continue to try.
Kyle and the others on Team 3 arrived the following week. Zak insisted on waiting out front for the boys to pick him up one evening. When they returned him home, he’d been drinking, which was the first time since his accident, since before they got married.
He wasn’t gentle with her that night as he groped her in his drunken state, flipped her over on her stomach, and pumped her from behind. Without the foreplay and the long languid kisses afterwards, the whole sex act was over in less than five minutes. She got up immediately afterwards and took a shower, washing the beer breath and dirty sex sweat from her body, her sobs hidden by the sound of the water.
When she came back to bed, he was asleep. He’d pulled his pillow over his head, but the snoring was barely muffled. The white bandage lay on the carpet beside the bed. She wanted to take it and burn it as if it was responsible for the monster her husband had become.
In the morning, he apologized and, with his bandage in place, drew her near, holding her but not moving them into another encounter. Amy told herself at least he’d apologized and tabled the discussion on this horrible behavior for another day.
But every time she thought about it, tears brimmed over onto her cheeks. There was the comparison always rolling around her brain between the beautiful long attentive sex her husband gave her so passionately before he left, to this man who came home to her. S
he did not know this man, and he scared her.
He smelled the same. His breathing sounded the same as she laid her ear against his chest. The magic of his touch was still there, whether or not it was actually his or something she was creating because of their now distant connection. Everything was the same, and yet it was all different. He was only half present, like some weaker version of himself was all he would show. It was hard not to miss the man he had been and to accept this one in his place. But she began to fear this might be what the rest of her life would look like.
Amy was seated behind the curtained screen in the eye examining room. She heard the doctor speak to him after he’d made his first examination. “Your eye is angry right now, Zak. I’m glad the swelling is down, and it appears the pressure is, too. I can’t get an accurate reading without anesthetizing you, though. That eyelid is nasty.”
“I’m seeing little flashes of light, I think. Maybe its just memory, though,” Zak mumbled.
Amy sat up straight, taking hope. She wanted to say something encouraging, but bit her lip.
Why didn’t he tell me this?
“That’s good, but I don’t think it’s a real image. It could be your nerve regenerating a bit, like an engine sputtering to life. Not enough to carry the whole train, but enough to belch and bellow. We’ll have to monitor that.”
She could see light through the curtain, the angle of Zak’s head tilted back, held in place by a chin rest. The beam moved back and forth quickly.
“You see anything?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Close your other eye tight.” After more manipulation, he asked again, “Anything now?”
“No, sir, but it hurts when you flash it in there.”
“Hmmm. You might be having some sensation then. I’ll take that as a good sign.”
True Blue SEALs: Zak (True Navy Blue #1) Page 21
