It’s a shit response, I know. But I really don’t trust myself to say anything else. Ever since I stepped off that bar stool I’ve had the urge to point my feet out the door.
“Dammit Ry.”
He grabs me by the back of my arms and brings our faces millimeters apart.
I can see all the varying shades of green and gold in his irises, swirling with hurt and maybe anger.
“Don’t shut me out on this. I need to know.”
He punctuates his words with a little shake.
“Did you have a thing for T? Did you love him?”
His words make me see red. I uncross my arms and push with all my might against his chest.
The surprise of my sudden move has him stepping back a few steps. I follow on my own offensive, pointing my finger in his chest.
“You fucking asshole! How can you fucking ask me that question? AT HIS FUCKING FUNERAL?”
It wasn’t technically his funeral, but just the same.
He grabs the wrist of my pointing hand.
I stupidly yank it back towards me- instinct. Broussard takes advantage of my unbalance, aided by the shots I downed earlier and this insane pair of high heels, and grabs the wrist of my other hand, spinning me so my back is against the wall. His body solidly in front of me. The whiskey, my anger, his nearness -it’s all swirling in my gut in a confusing and volatile mix. He pulls my right hand above my head and leans in close.
“Those types of reactions are an answer in and of themselves.”
My heartbeat thunders in my chest. Adrenaline is flowing into my system. I don’t like being cornered. And right now there is only one response. Fight.
“Fuck you.”
I thrust my knee upwards, but he deftly deflects and pins my left hand above my head with my right. His lower body is now pinning my own to the wall.
I look down to where his erection is pressing into my stomach. Battle boner. I feel an answering reaction in my own lower body.
I buck against him and jerk my hands down to try and get him to release me.
No dice. My hands remain trapped above my head. I lift my eyes to his.
Our breaths mingle in the shared space between our lips. His eyes are blazing.
I think we both lean in at the same time - our lips crashing together and tongues swirling.
This kiss is not gentle. He starts to pull back, but I bite his lower lip.
He growls and pushes me back against the wall, thrusting his tongue back against my own, and as my head hits the wall, I hear my own grunt. The pain is what I need. I don’t pull away.
We are fighting for dominance in our kiss. Punishing each other for being alive when a good man is dead. Feeling when we should be numb.
Instinct has me lifting my right leg and wrapping it around his hip. My skirt rides up. I want his dick rubbing the ache between my legs, I want him impossibly closer.
A yellow light falls across my eyelids. It is as effective as the flash of a nuclear bomb going off. Both of us pull apart quickly.
The door to the bathroom shuts and whomever went in there is either oblivious to our make out session or politely ignoring us.
Broussard releases my wrists.
In the intimate darkness, my pain, my anger, and the all too alive lust has me answering Broussard’s question as I step around him to leave.
“T was many things to me, a friend, a confidant, a brother...but I never…” I’m not sure how to go on.
He’s still facing the wall, head down, one palm braced against it.
“I get it Ryan.”
I nod my head once in the affirmative even though he can’t see and keep on walking.
Back in the bar area there’s only a dozen or so people left milling about. Jordan is putting her coat on with the help of about four people. No reason for me to stick around.
I open my clutch, pull out my cell and request a ride.
I will not think about what had just happened with Broussard. Even though my lips are currently tingling, my face hot, and my hands and legs shaky.
I step out of the pub to wait for the car on the curb. A little after midnight, and a few smokers are posted against the wall.
The pub is far enough from the main thoroughfares not to really have any street traffic this time of night.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. God, Broussard smelled heavenly. Even now that I am nowhere near him - his clean scent lingers in my memory making me think about running my nose up the strong column of his neck, breathing his warmth in. My lips are buzzing in pain.
A car turns the corner, it’s my ride.
Just as it pulls to a stop in front of the sidewalk real estate I had been occupying, a body brushes up against my back while a hand reaches past me for the door handle.
I spastically jump to the left.
“Jesus!” I exclaim at the same time I realize it’s Broussard, “You scared the crap out of me.”
He smirks and indicates the car.
“Share one with me?”
Without thought I give a, “Ok.” Damn whiskey. It knows I’m full of anger, nearly vibrating with it, and I could use a target. I climb in.
As Broussard follows me in, I tell the driver, “The Hyatt please.”
I turn towards Broussard, expecting him to shoot off his destination.
He smiles at me.
“Me too.”
I might have guessed. After all, my father had booked the room for me and of course the Navy guys all have one preferred hotel.
It is a ten-minute car ride. I can survive. No mentioning the kiss. People do crazy things when they’re grieving. Right? Not that I am ready to forgive him- but that’s probably what prompted Broussard’s crazy line of questioning - grief. And also, that crazy kiss.
He seems content to ride in silence. I sigh in relief. On the back of my eyelids I replay the last day I had seen him. The memory has my shoulder aching in pain. I reach up and give it a rub.
Obviously, when it comes to Chief Eric Broussard I have some unresolved resentment issues, and some newly identified lust ones.
Our driver pulls up in front of the hotel lobby.
I pull a tip out of my clutch, but Broussard puts his hand on my wrist and pushes his ready cash through the partition.
I snap my clutch closed, and open the door on my left. No way am I sliding across the seat after him, even if it means I have to step out into the street. This late at night there aren’t any cars anyway.
The evening lights are blurred in the evening mists, the spring air chill. My fire seems to seep out just like that, my inner burn banked. Replaced by engulfing sadness.
I speed walk to the front door so Broussard can’t pull the gentleman routine on me.
I’m through and at the elevator bank before he clears the door behind me. I press the button.
I am not in a rush. I just don’t want to remain in the lingering awkwardness and I want to be alone, just in case I…well I can’t even admit it to myself. I’m not going to cry. Stone heart and all that.
I press the up button again.
“You know, Ryan. It seems you are trying to escape me.”
The elevator doors ding open.
I step in and press the button for floor three. I look back at Broussard who is now on the elevator leaning against its back wall.
“Same floor as you, I have to see a lady to her door.”
I scoff as the door closes.
“This is not a date, and you fucking know I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and you sure as fuck don’t have to see me to my ‘door’.”
I finger quote when I say door. Just like that my anger is back.
He’s not laughing. In fact he’s loosening his tie and looking up at the numbers above the door with a tense face- jaw locked.
“I know Ryan. It’s just ingrained in me.”
I sigh. There’s probably no dissuading him now.
The door opens to my floor. I step out and head down the car
peted hallway towards my room, pulling my key card out as I walk.
“Well, it’s been swell, Chief.”
I stick my key card in the slot on the door.
His hand comes down on my wrist again, stopping me from pulling the card back out.
I stare a minute at his square nails, his square fingers, placed on my wrist accentuating the more feminine line of mine.
This is my wrist. Caressed by his warm fingers. It even looks delicate beneath his fingers.
I lift my eyes to his over my shoulder. I can’t read his look.
He curls his fingers all the way around my wrist and gives it a squeeze. Steps into my space and breathes down my neck a warm breath. The mint and whiskey smell has me curling my toes.
This. This is chasing away my numbness. Reminding me I’m alive. I turn around.
Before thinking, before analyzing, I tilt my head up and meet his lips with my own. I close my eyes and sink into the sensations. His tongue tangling with mine. His hand -hot- starting at my shoulder and trailing down my back, down, down to caress the curve above my ass, down to cup my cheek, and lift, so in repeat of earlier, my leg is persuaded to come up and hitch around his hip. My groin perfectly cups his erection. He rolls his hips and I moan in frustration. We are so close, yet so far away.
I slip my fingers in the collar of his jacket, the warmth of his neck delicious at my fingertips.
The door lock clicks behind me. zthe pressure at my back is gone as the door swing opens.
I pull back from Broussard and slowly disentangle my arms and legs from his frame.
I press my tingling lips together and hum and sigh at the same time.
His face looks lusty and focused, his breathing uneven. His right arm is up against the door jam, bent at the elbow so he leans into the doorway, his feet firmly planted on the outside of the room.
I take a deep breath and grab his jacket and pull him all the way towards me, across the threshold, into the security of the dark room and closer to my body.
One step, two, backwards while I unbutton his jacket with singular focus, not meeting his eyes, not really knowing where I am going with this.
His movements are hesitant, only following where I lead. His arms lax by his side.
I push his jacket off and slip his tie all the way through his collar.
“Ryan…” he starts, as I push the first button on his shirt through the hole.
“Yes?” I question, starting on the next hole.
He clears his throat, “Nothing.”
And with that word he’s all in.
He grabs my upper arms, and kicks the door closed. Eyes blazing into mine.
“You better be sure, Ryan. You better be fuckin’ sure.”
A dose of reality hits me like cold ice water. I turn and break away from him.
I was what? Going to use Broussard for one night of I’m alive sex? Sure, if I admit it to myself (which I never do) I have been attracted to this man since the moment our eyes collided the first day we met. I turn my back on him and sit on the edge of the bed, sliding my sling backs off, first one heel then the other - ignoring the looming male presence leaning against the wall and watching me.
I rub the arch of my foot and look up at Broussard. His jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on me and my gut clenches at being the single object of his gaze.
The longing pulls down to my loins and I know I want this man. He’s no longer my commander, or anything to me. I can take advantage, get him out of my system, and move on. He’s a man I want, and I can make this happen.
I stand up and walk into his space. Run my hand up his deliciously defined peck. Feel the warm steel of his muscles. Wrapping my hand around the back of his neck I pull him down to meet my lips. The first press is tentative, but when I swipe my tongue along his, restraint is broken. Our tongues are now mingling in a ferocious unleashing of passion.
I’m not holding back any longer. I spring to wrap both my legs around him. He anticipates the move and catches my butt, his strength supporting my weight.
Our tongues tangle, and before I know it, he places me on the little desk next to the TV. Standing between my thighs - the slit in my skirt rips as it rides higher on my thighs.
I growl at the inferiority of it, of not being able to get closer. Placing my hands behind me I launch at him tumbling backwards to the bed.
I quickly unbuckle his belt, but before I can reach the button on his fly he has me rolled to my back in a smooth maneuver. He nips at the column of my throat.
I am momentarily distracted by the pleasure/pain his kiss-nips engulf me in. I’m mindlessly grinding against his groin while holding onto the strong column of his neck.
He lavishes attention on top of my breasts, now exposed. When had I lost my shirt?
He pulls my right breast out of it’s silky cup and sucks the nipple gently. I hum with satisfaction. His warm palm against my flesh, it’s beyond fantastic. I’ve got his pants completely unbuttoned now, and as I slide my hands just inside the waistband of his boxers, grabbing his dick a little enthusiastically, he gives the skin next to my nipple a bite in admonishment.
At my breast, he breathes, “Careful sweetheart, it’s liable to explode if you pull the pin.”
I give it another, gentler squeeze. A stroke.
It’s scorching steel in my hand, big. Bigger than David.
No. Don’t think of David now. He’s dead.
I pull my hands out of his pants, sliding them up the cut “V” ropes at his hips, his abs, and up to his chest where I push his shoulders in silent communication for him to roll to his back.
He does and I scoot down between his splayed legs, pulling his shoes off, then his socks. Trailing my hands up the inside of his thighs to the top of his pants, I tug at the waist and again he understands what I want.
He lifts his hips and in one backward glide his pants and boxers are gone.
A sigh escapes me at the beautiful man laid out before me in the low light. His muscles so well-defined. His dick, thick and jutting. I curl my hands into fists at my sides. I want to touch all of him. Run my tongue along all his muscles, and ride him till I die from orgasm. My pussy clenches and creams in anticipation.
His eyes meet mine. His are hooded, and maybe a bit weary.
I smirk at him. He’s the vulnerable one now.
I straddle him as he sits up. It brings my silk panties in direct contact with him. Rigid flesh directly against my center. A low moan rolls from the bottom of my throat. His hands glide up the outside of my arms, to the top of my shoulders where he brings my bra straps down in one sweep of his hands. He pulls me closer. His arms steel bands holding me close to his hot embrace. He tilts his head up, offering a kiss. I have the power now. To take the kiss he is offering me. And to take everything else he is offering me. I don’t immediately give him the kiss he is asking for, in his impatience, he growls and dips his head to bite at the base of my throat. My bra disappears. The heat and warmth of my breasts pressing against his chest, it’s heaven. His hands glide around my rib cage, cupping my breasts.
I sway forward hoping he’ll bring his mouth to them again. He doesn’t disappoint.
My jaw, my neck, and my breasts all receive his attention. His hands are roaming my body, warming it, bringing it alive.
I reach for his dick again. Before I can get my hands lowered from his neck and chest- where I was doing my own roaming- he grabs my wrists and flips me back on the bed, pinning my wrists above my head. I feel a pinch in my right shoulder. I ignore the pain.
He’s breathing heavily and pulls my bunched-up skirt from my hips with one hand. My panties are gone next. He then uses his hand to place his dick, just the head, within the folds of my pussy. It’s wet enough that when he thrusts his hips in a tiny movement it glides up through my folds up, up, to hit my clit. He retreats and does it again.
The thickness of his dick spans the spread of my pussy. I’m watching it and him, the view enthralling and exhilarating. The ple
asure and pressure building deep within my womb.
I pull my hands up against his hold, and curl my tail bone so that on his next thrust he’s poised to enter me.
He abruptly lets go of my hands, and drops his head to my hip, sucking in air quickly.
I whimper at the loss of that magnificent phallus at my entrance.
“Shit, Ryan. Two seconds. I need a…”
I bring my hands awkwardly to loosely cover my chest.
Why did he stop? A disappointment I can’t control is rolling through my head.
He pulls all the way away from me and stands at the end of the bed, scanning the floor. He grabs his pants in triumph, and pulls his wallet from the back pocket.
He uses his teeth to rip the packet open and without pause, rolls the condom down his substantial length.
He looks up, meets my eyes and gives me a lopsided grin.
I’m dumbstruck by how the smile transforms his face.
Leaning down, he places one palm at my hip on the mattress, then climbs up my body, coming to a stop once we are chest to chest, groin to groin.
His right hand cups my left breast, his thumb brushing the the tattoo underneath it.
He breathes at my lips, ‘Semper fi?”
The reminder is all too real. I suck in a breath. I grab his hand cupping my breast and hold it there, while bumping his pelvis with my own. Bringing my lips, my tongue to meet his own, I want this to forget. To forget David. Forget T. Forget the pain.
His dick is poised at my entrance, and I take that last bit of control and thrust my hips at an angle, taking another half inch into my entrance.
He takes the hint and thrusts all the way home.
I groan. I can’t hold back. The ecstasy of being filled- almost painful. It steals my breath away.
“Shit, Ryan. You’re so tight.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at his words. Tilt my hips in a short rocking movement.
Again he understands my cues, and rocks against me hitting my clit -oh so good. Five rocks, ten, I lose count.
He grabs my chin.
“Open your eyes, Ryan.”
I do. He’s rocking, rocking, rocking against my clit.
“Tell me who’s fucking you so good.”
I do, “You are, god you arrrrrghhhh.”
He growls and pinches my nipple.
The Distance Between Dreams Page 11
