by Tawna Fenske
“That you’re hot for him? The fact that you fucked him in the shower probably gave him a pretty good idea.”
“No, I mean that I’m checking on him. That I want to know what he’s up to and what he’s thinking about what happened last night. If he feels guilty, too.”
“You know, you could try something totally crazy.”
“What’s that?”
“Ask him. Over dinner tonight. After the boys are in bed when you have time alone to talk.”
“Talk,” Sheri repeated. “About our relationship.”
“Try not using that word,” Kelli suggested. “It tends to scare men away. Particularly men you’ve only slept with once who’ve been threatened by your brother for doing it at all.”
“Got it. Good advice. Thank you, Kel.”
“You’re welcome, goof. Now go eat something. You can’t spend every lunch hour just gabbing with me.”
“Yes, Mother,” Sheri said. “Thanks again. When are you coming to dinner?”
“When your manny offers to cook it for us wearing nothing but an apron and a smile. Or when your hot brother comes for a visit. Save me some of those condoms in case that happens.”
She laughed. “I’ll have to check their schedules and get back to you. Thanks again, Kel.”
Sheri hung up the phone and tucked it back in her purse, giving her stick one last twist in the sand. She shoved her feet back in her shoes and trudged through the parking lot where she saw the familiar old guy with a fishing pole over his shoulder.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said, tipping his red-and-white-striped derby hat at her.
“Good afternoon,” she said, smiling.
“You sure picked the prettiest spot on the beach.”
“It’s a good place to think,” she agreed, and hurried back toward her office. She devoured a sandwich and an apple and resisted the urge to call Sam again. She didn’t want to be that transparent.
She finally broke down and called during her coffee break around two. The phone hadn’t even rung yet when she heard a funny click, followed by a muffled baby giggle.
“Sam?” She pressed her ear to the phone, straining to hear what was happening. There was a scratch of fabric and something that sounded oddly like singing.
“From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli…”
“Hello? Sam? Are you there?”
Someone was definitely singing. Sheri turned up the volume on her phone, recognizing Sam’s voice at the same time she realized he’d answered the phone by mistake.
“First to fight for right and freedom, and to keep our honor clean. We are proud to claim the title of United States Marine. Our flag’s unfurled to—”
“Sam? Hello?”
The singing continued, a deep baritone punctuated by giggles and squeals she recognized from her boys.
“Here’s health to you and to our corps, which we are proud to serve. In many a strife we’ve fought for life and never lost our nerve…”
Sheri turned up the volume again, straining to hear Sam’s voice and the sweet giggles of her babies. Everything sounded muffled. Was the phone in his pocket?
“If the Army and the Navy ever look on heaven’s scenes, they will find the streets are guarded by United States Marines.”
The singing ended in a chorus of baby squeals and shrieks of delight. Sheri bit her lip, wondering if she should just hang up the phone. But she was curious—
“Sam? Hello? Can you hear me?”
There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, followed by Sam’s voice.
“Sheri? Is that you?”
“Hi. I just called to see how the boys are doing.”
“Oh. Great, they’re great. Sorry, Jackson must’ve kicked the phone on in my pocket. I was uh—just singing them a lullaby.”
“About the Marines?”
“Marines? Yes—right. That. Yeah, I had an uncle who was a Marine. He used to sing to us when we were little and—wait, how long were you on the phone?”
She stifled a giggle, stupidly charmed by the mental picture of this big, burly man singing to her children. Even if his song choice was a little odd.
“Long enough,” she said. “That was the U.S. Marine Corps hymn, right? My grandpa used to sing it to me.”
“Right. Yes, I think it was.” There was a long pause, then the sound of a baby squealing. “Has Jonathan called to set up a time to see the boys?”
“No. I haven’t heard from him.”
“Which means the whole thing about seeing the boys is bullshit. It’s you he wants.”
Sheri bit her lip. “What I want is for him to go away and leave me alone.”
“As long as I’m around, I won’t let him near you or the boys unless you say it’s okay.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Not a problem. Just doing my job.”
“Your job. Absolutely. Okay, then, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She hung up fast before she could have a change of heart and decide she urgently wanted to knock boots with a man who’d sing so sweetly to her children. It was best this way, if they just pretended the whole thing never happened. They could move on with their lives maintaining a professional, platonic relationship. They may have slipped up last night, but it wouldn’t happen again.
The rest of the workday crawled by, as did the drive home. By the time she pulled up the driveway, she was exhausted. She walked through the front door and set her keys on the little wooden table beside the door.
She looked down at the table, frowning. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“When did you build me an accent table?”
He walked out of the back bedroom covered with sawdust and sweat, wearing a tool belt and a sheepish grin. He wore a threadbare gray T-shirt and shorts that showed off his well-muscled legs, and Sheri’s mouth went dry at the sight of all that spectacular flesh on display.
“This afternoon,” he replied, reminding Sheri she’d asked a question. “I wanted to do a little work around here, and this gave me something to do while I kept an eye on the boys.”
She ran her hand over the table, dumbfounded. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you had time to make this. It’s so much better than that garage sale thing I had sitting here.”
“I still need to stain it, but it’s all sanded.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “My dad is a woodworker. He taught me a lot of his tricks. Come on, I’ll show you the best part. The boys just went down for a nap, so they’re out like a light.”
He towed her toward the bedroom, and Sheri felt a surge of lust lick its way through her body. They rounded the corner and Sam pulled her inside, stopping in front of the bed. He squeezed her hand.
“What do you think?”
She blinked at the bed. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”
“Not that,” he said, dipping a finger under her chin and raised her eyes from the bed to the closet. “That.”
“Oh,” Sheri gasped. She had shelves. And hanging racks. And a complete organization system for her shoes and belts and even a little spot for her warmer sweaters high up in a cubby near the ceiling.
“My God,” she breathed, reaching out to touch the sleeve of a blouse. He’d even hung everything up when he was done building. “Martha Stewart would shit a brick. This is amazing. How did you know—”
“Last night. I noticed you’d been throwing clothes on the chair, and when I was in here making the bed this morning, I saw you had the lousiest closet storage space in history.”
“This is incredible. It must’ve taken forever.”
He shrugged and adjusted his tool belt on his hips. “It’s easier than it looks. Just a few measurements and a couple trips to Home Depot for tools and materials and voilà! New closet space.”
She shook her head, still in a state of disbelief. She turned to Sam, who looked sweaty and disheveled and dusty and so desirable she could barely remain standing upright.
H
ey, there’s an idea—
No! Get a grip, Sheri. It’s just a closet.
But gratitude and surprise and lust were brewing a strong cocktail in her brain, and she was having trouble remembering her pledge not to lay a hand on him.
We already slept together once. Maybe just one more time—
No!
But maybe if we don’t actually have sex—
She licked her lips, hesitating.
To hell with it.
“I feel like I should do something for you now,” she said, smiling at him as she leaned across the bed to grab a pillow. She struggled a little to free it—damn hospital corners—but she pulled it to her and hugged it against her chest.
He eyed her warily. “Er, what did you have in mind?”
Sheri gave him a wicked grin and opened her arms, releasing the pillow. It fell to the ground at his feet, and she smiled wider.
“Ooops! Clumsy me. I’ll just pick that up.”
She sank to her knees on the pillow, running her hands over his thighs on her way down. He was wearing shorts, and she could feel every muscle in his thick thighs. She moved her palms upward until she found the buckle on the edge of the tool belt. With a quick flick of her thumb, she released it, catching the tool-laden leather before it hit the ground. She set it aside and reached for the fly on his shorts, hearing his sharp hiss of breath as he realized what she was up to.
“Sheri, I don’t think we should—”
“We aren’t doing anything. I am. Hush,” she said, and popped open the button. She drew the zipper down quickly before he could pull away, then slid her hands into his boxer briefs.
He was already hard and ready.
“Maybe we should talk about—oh Christ Almighty, what are you—holy fuck.”
Sheri stifled a laugh as she swirled her tongue around the velvety tip, teasing with light, soft strokes. She wrapped her hand around the base of him and used the other hand to shove his shorts and boxers over his hips and down to the floor. She ran her hand back up his leg, digging her nails into one firm butt cheek to hold him in place in case he tried to flee.
“Jesus,” he gasped as she gripped him harder, taking more of him into her mouth. Her fingers circled him, and she angled her head to the side, testing his response, testing her own abilities.
He tasted good and she breathed him in, enjoying the faint whisper of sawdust and the thick heat of him in her mouth.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he said through clenched teeth.
She drew back, running her tongue across the underside of his shaft as she smiled up at him. “That’s sorta the idea.”
She drew him into her mouth again, taking him as deeply as she could. He was dauntingly large, but Sheri had practice. Well, sorta. She had a book Kelli bought her when she’d announced her divorce. Tickle His Pickle was the title, and Kelli had grinned when she’d presented it.
“Your asshole ex didn’t deserve anything more erotic than a kick in the balls with steel-toed boots, but someday you’ll meet a man who’s worthy of a good blow job,” Kelli had informed her. “You should be prepared.”
I’m prepared, Sheri thought now, using suction to pull him against the roof of her mouth before releasing and letting him slide back, almost all the way out.
“Jesus,” Sam hissed. He twined his fingers in her hair, but didn’t put any pressure on her head. He stroked her hair, gently, politely.
Sheri didn’t need polite.
She drew back and smiled up at him. “Pull my hair.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Pull my hair. Move my head. Show me how you like it.”
He blinked, then nodded, uttering a curse under his breath as she drew him into her mouth again, careful to cover her teeth with her lips. A shudder of pleasure coursed through her belly as she felt his hands tighten on her scalp, felt him twining her curls around his fingers.
He guided her cautiously at first, making it clear he wasn’t entirely comfortable forcing himself on her—into her. She sucked harder.
“Sheri,” he gasped, twisting his hands in her hair, driving himself deeper into her mouth.
She smiled around him and flicked her tongue in the soft groove on the underside of his shaft. She reached for the front of her blouse and undid one button, then another and another until her shirt fluttered in the breeze from the ceiling fan above. Her nipples puckered beneath her blue lace bra.
She shrugged the shirt over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor behind her. She tossed it away and rearranged herself to give him the best view.
Sam groaned and leaned down to cup her breasts in his massive palms. The movement made him sway, and he braced himself against the wall, his hands still cupping her breasts.
“Beautiful. So beautiful.”
“Mmmm.” Sheri could feel every contour of him as she enveloped him with her mouth. She shifted her legs, aware of her own arousal. She drew her hand down her abdomen and moved lower, feeling the seam of her panties through the thin cotton of her skirt. She pressed the heel of her hand against her pubic bone.
“Slip your hand up your skirt,” Sam murmured. “Are you wearing panties?”
Sheri nodded, felt him glide against the roof of her mouth with the gesture.
“Take off your panties and touch yourself.”
She pulled back and grinned. “Never say I can’t take orders,” she whispered, and reached up her skirt to tug off the flimsy lace thong. She tossed it into the corner. “You should take off your shirt, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and pulled the gray T-shirt over his shoulders at lightning speed. She smiled at the gorgeous expanse of bare flesh, wishing she could devour every inch of him.
She’d settle for these inches, though.
She lowered her head to run her tongue over him again. She licked him like a cherry Popsicle, moving up, down, around—
“Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Please.”
Sheri complied, tentatively at first. She dropped her hand between her legs, parting her thighs as much as possible in a snug skirt. Her knees pressed hard into the pillow as she moved her palm up the inside of her thighs. She hesitated again, then slowly drew one finger between her slick folds.
“Oh,” she gasped as Sam slid against her tongue. He gripped her hair, guiding himself toward the back of her throat. Sheri dipped her head back, letting him go deeper as she circled her own silky warmth with her fingertip.
God, she was wet.
“That feels so good,” he murmured, and Sheri moaned, wondering how the vibration felt against him. “Think of me touching you,” he whispered. “Think of my hand between your legs, my fingers moving inside you.”
His hands were still in her hair, while her own fingers fluttered between her legs, making her brain buzz. Sam thrust against her tongue and she felt herself inching closer to the edge.
“Sheri, I’m going to— You should stop.”
She drew him deeper, plunging her fingers into herself as her thumb swirled over her swollen clit and the pressure built higher.
“Oh Christ!” Sam gasped, and she felt the first shudder of his climax in her hand, in her mouth, at the back of her throat. She swallowed, taking him in, craving more of him. He clutched her scalp as he pulsed again, and Sheri felt her whole world tilt as the heat between her legs sent her spiraling through a cloud of heat and pleasure.
She circled the pad of her thumb over her sensitive spot, her mouth tingling with the taste of him as she swallowed and writhed and cried out, plunging her fingers deep inside herself to feel the tight clench of her muscle and the endless waves of pleasure.
Her hand clutched him still, staying with him until she felt his legs start to buckle and his hands go slack in her hair. Slowly, she felt herself drift down from the clouds.
She sat back on her heels and smiled up at him, licking her lips.
“Holy God,” Sam gasped, releasing her hair and stooping down to lift her up by the arms. He cradled her
against his body, looking her in the eyes with a dazed expression. “That was unbelievable.”
She grinned, feeling a little dazed herself. “I really liked the table. And my new closet.”
He laughed, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. He used his knee to nudge the covers back, then tucked her inside. He crawled in behind her, curling his body around hers. His right forearm rested under her head, his left forearm cradled her breasts, and everything else just fit into place as their bodies melded beneath the covers. Sam drew the sheet up over them and breathed into her hair.
“For the record, that’s not why I built the table,” he said. “Or the closet.”
“I know. But thank you. For all of it, I mean.”
He laughed and shifted his arm around her, rolling her onto her other side. They faced each other now, his blue eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her gut clench. For a moment, they just looked at each other. The silence stretched out, and Sheri felt a prickle of anxiety.
“You have a nice singing voice,” she blurted. “‘The Marines’ Corps Hymn’—I hadn’t heard that for years. It reminded me of my grandfather. I didn’t realize you had an uncle in the Marines.”
He nodded once, his expression guarded. “I don’t like to talk about it much.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—did he—was he killed in the line of duty?”
Sam seemed to hesitate, then nodded again. “Suicide bomber.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been terrible. It explains a lot, though. About you, I mean.”
“How’s that?”
“‘The Marines’ Corps Hymn,’ the hospital corners on the beds—you and your uncle must have been close?”
“Yes,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Were you and your grandfather close?”
“Very. He used to sing that song to me all the time, and then he’d take out his medals and let me look through them. He was such a sweet man. So gentle and kind.” She swallowed, undone by this new level of intimacy between them. “I know I sound like an anti-military bitch sometimes, and it’s hard not to think that way after Jonathan and my control-freak brothers and my over-the-top military parents, but—”
