by A. Gorman
* * *
The bed dipped and a moment later there was a warm body next to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and realized that there was nothing but skin there.
“You’re mostly naked,” Nadi said. “Why?”
“I was cold. The clothes were soaked. The bed warmed me up pretty quickly.” Gavin’s words were thick as he tried to stir from the slight sleep he had been in. He opened his eyes to find Nadi smiling sadly at him.
“Gavin I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I called my parents to let them know we’re okay. I told them what the doctor said.”
“Good. You don’t have to apologize. This isn’t an easy thing to deal with.”
“You really want to take this ride with me?”
“I do, I really do. You’re amazing, and I want to know more.”
“I didn’t think that there was anyone out there who did. Most guys hear that I was in a war zone, and I have permanent damage…well, they run. They don’t like to be outmanned by a woman.”
“Oh, you are all woman. Of that, I have no doubt. I have no problem with your being a wounded veteran. You can handle yourself. I like it.”
She slid herself over him. “The power’s out.”
He rolled her so he was on top. “Whatever shall we do?”
Nadi harrumphed. “I wanted to go for a ride.”
Slowly, Gavin shook his head. “You took a spill and your foot is no shape. No, sweetheart, this one is mine. All mine.”
He lowered his head to her lips and kissed her until he thought she would combusted, the lust laced moans telling him everything he needed to know. He trailed his kisses down her neck, and to her breast where he caught a beaded peak in his teeth and nipped gently. Her fingers ran through his hair, and she whispered his name with a certain sadness.
Instead of paying heed to that pang of sadness, he licked and nipped his way down her smooth, soft stomach, all the way down to her mound. She wasn’t quite wet yet, not enough for him to claim her, but he could play and make sure that she would be.
His fingers found the soft folds that hid her clit from him, and he stroked slowly with tender fingers. Nadi instantly started squirming. Gavin laid an arm across her waist to settle her a little better, while his tongue joined his finger to do torturous and delightful things to her. Her gasps and attempts at twisting away from him were futile. She was too tired, to loose from the bath, and he was determined.
It only took him moments before the fingers that stroked her skin found their way to her entrance and pushed in. Her sweet flavor danced on his tongue as he stroked her and teased the bundled nerves.
“Oh, God, Gavin.” She was gasping. “Don’t stop please.”
He had no intentions of that. He nipped at her, sending a flood of her essence out of her. He carefully spread it around her entrance and pulled his mouth away, replacing it with his hand, fingers flicking at her. He quickly grabbed the condom from his pants pocket and slipped it on.
His cock was ready for her, and he was sure she was ready for him. He fisted himself and moved to her entrance. “You want this?”
“Yes, please, please. Gavin.”
He slowly filled her, little by little. She shivered and shuddered around him, let out sighs and breaths that spoke of her want. He leaned down and found her lips as he filled her completely. She took his kiss and responded with one of her own. “God, yes, Gavin. Make me come, please.”
He rocked in and out of her, hoping that with each thrust, he was driving out her doubts and filling her with hope for the future. Soon enough, though, he lost all thought, and his rocking turned to hard, lustful thrusts that wanted only one ending.
Making sure the beautiful, confused woman below him was teetering on the edge of her climax, he pushed them hard, filling her to the very core and pulling almost all the way back out—and then he pushed in and thrust hard with his hips. There was no space between them as he pushed, thrusted and rocked into her deepest part—and exploded in climax. He managed to get in one last pinch and flick on her nerves, and she followed him down into the mindless, consuming passion.
Chapter Nine
Nadi smiled up at him from the bed, but she was trembling from head to toe. Gavin had written the word “NO” on her good foot because she had been so worried they were going to take the wrong foot off.
“I’m nervous.” She had tears in her eyes.
“I know you are, sweetheart. But I’m right here. Your whole damn family is out in the waiting room. You’re going to be fine, and you’re going to come out even stronger on the other side.”
She took a deep breath. “You checked on the prosthetics?”
“Of course I did. And double checked. They’re going to have them waiting for you at the rehab. We’re going to get you walking as soon as possible.”
The doctor walked in. “Well, everything looks excellent, and I think we’re ready to get this show on the road. Right foot amputation, just above the ankle, with prep for a prosthetic and a possible eventual replacement if the technology gets there.” He slapped the chart closed and hung it on the end of her bed. “I’d tell you this is going to be a bit painful, but considering the drugs I see you on, I think this actually going to really help. I’m assisting your orthopedist in there, and we’re going to make this quick. You should be out by noon, and awake by two, maybe three.”
“It’s been a long time getting here,” Gavin said.
“Four months since the call was made.” Nadi swallowed and tried to smile, but she was thoroughly frightened. She looked at Gavin, and he could see she was on the verge of tears again. “This is the right thing to do, right?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Bernadette, you’re doing the right thing.” Gavin squeezed her hand.
“Shit, I’m so scared.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“We’re ready when you are.” The nurse smiled.
“I’m not ever going to be ready. Let’s just do this.”
“We’re going to give you something to put you to sleep here,” the doctor said, nodding the nurse over. “And then the anesthesiologist will take over in the operating room. That way there’s nothing unpleasant. You’ll wake up again back here.”
The nurse pushed the needle into the IV port and pressed the plunger down. “This will take just about twenty seconds to get into your system, and you’ll be out. Mister Schwartz, say good night.”
Gavin leaned down. “I’ve got something even better for you to think about.” He put his lips right against her ear. “Marry me, Bernadette.”
Her eyes grew wide, and as she was about to say something, the drugs took her down.
* * *
Gavin waited at the end of the aisle, trying to be patient. He was too excited to stay still and kept fidgeting with his coat and the buttons and just anything he could get his hands on. His best friends yanked his hands away from his clothes. “Stop it. You’re like a damn child.”
“I’m excited, asshole.” Gavin gave him an angry look that lasted all of five seconds. He was too happy that finally, the day was here.
Eighteen months after the doctors had removed her foot, his gorgeous Nadi was ready to get married. She was ready to walk down the aisle. And walk she would—with the help of a prosthetic and a lot of rehab work. He thought that she was ready far before she thought she was, but that was because he wasn’t the one tottering around on a composite foot.
The first word out of Nadi’s mouth when she’d woken up from the operation had been, “Yes!” Gavin had been relieved to hear it. She put the condition of walking on it later that week when she saw how much work she had in rehab.
There was no more pain in her foot. There was occasionally some phantom limb pain, but nothing that made her scream or cry or limp anymore. That had caused a problem with her therapy because now she was pain free after all those other soldiers had died. Her amazing therapist had helped her walk through all of it, a
nd while her guilt would never really go away, she had been able to put a new spin on it—they had died, but she could keep saving lives in their honor and memory.
Nadi’s first day back at work had sent her home, laughing and exhausted. To see her shedding all the sadness that had been following her around, weighing her down, was like watching a butterfly emerge.
And now, his butterfly, his sweetheart, his hero nurse, was at the other end of the aisle, ready to walk down and be his wife.
More than anything that happened since the flame-haired woman had asked for a stopcock, he decided this was the best thing. It was another amazing beginning for both of them, and he couldn’t wait to start. The storm that had started with a hurricane sky was ending with a gloriously clear day, through which he could see his whole future, and at the eye of this swirling loveliness was his Bernadette.
The doors at the end of the church opened, and Nadi stood there. A vision in white and red tulle and satin. She clutched her flowers, and her parents stood just behind her. She lifted her eyes and found Gavin’s at the other end of the church.
He saw her take a breath, and then…
She walked forward.
The End
About the Author
Armed with a pen name, Katherine Rhodes has gird her loins and set her mind to writing erotic romances which are kinky, dirty, and fun. As a lackadaisical laundry goddess, and an expert in the profundities of bad music and awful literature-thanks to her husband-Katherine strives to find balance in the universe and time to cook dinner. An East Coast dweller, currently located in the Philadelphia Tristate area, she is the proud servants of three cats and would take a vacation in Prague over a day at the beach any time…
http://www.facebook.com/katherinerhodesauthor
http://twitter.com/mistress_kayr @mistress_kayr
http://instagram.com/thekittylover @thekittylover
www.katherinerhodes.com
More by Katherine Rhodes
Club Imperial Series
Consensual
Broken Bonds
Club Imperial Box Set (2 books)
Knots
Lessons
Now. Forever.
Silver Soul Series
Not Quite Juliet
The Club
The Darkest Corners
Anything for Her
Teach Me To Sin (coming in October)
Standalones
Acts of Contrition
Passion Flames
Captain
ONE
What the hell am I doing?
The unanswerable question rolled through my mind on a sadistic repeat as I stared at the old, worn-down church from the cab of my truck. My already erratic heartbeat fell into rhythm with the cold rain as it assaulted the windshield, the rivulets further distorting the multi-colored light from the stained-glass windows of the church as it fell across the seat beside me. Though oddly amplified by the rain, the bright, colorful shapes offered little encouragement to leave the security of my truck.
Progress requires forward motion. At least, that’s what my therapist said. And after seeing Maggie with Deacon, I needed all the forward motion I could get.
Maggie Moore – my salvation, and my undoing. There really wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, even face the demons that had been piling up on my doorstep since infancy.
She’s what led me to this church parking lot.
Despite finally knowing the truth of my involvement in her father’s death, and even after I’d pushed her past her breaking point, she stood by me. Supported me. She genuinely gave a fuck whether I lived or died. Most of all, she didn’t for one second allow me to feel sorry for myself.
Everything she’d said, everything she’d made me feel forced me to realize I was a coward. She didn’t blame me for her father’s death. She wanted to – she admitted as much - but in the very same breath she let go of the irrational need to blame me and pulled everything into perspective, and unraveled my world with two simple questions: Did you plant the bomb? Did you pull the trigger?
No. I hadn’t.
Understandably, she’d wanted some distance after everything had unfolded. I’d respected her wishes, even though every fiber of my being longed to be permanently affixed to her side. Since that wasn’t an option, I did the only I thing I could think of to do. I found professional help.
Innumerable therapy sessions later, inside the worn-down church in front of me, lay my moment of truth, in the form of a PTSD support group for veterans. Though truthfully, it felt more like a firing squad.
Get out of the fucking truck and quit being a coward.
I threw open the truck door and launched myself into the rain, running for the church before I could change my mind.
Just inside the door, an overly cheery PTSD Support Group sign directed me toward the basement; its party-like decorations nearly spun me around and back into the rain. Steeling my resolve with a deep breath, I descended the stairs into a stereotypical church multi-purpose room, complete with an old musty smell and folding tables haphazardly stacked along the wall. A single table positioned in the center of the room held the predictable coffee urn and selection of donuts, serving as both refreshment table and the point of no return. Passing beyond that table meant no longer hiding from my demons. I hesitated, questioning my resolve as I looked beyond the coffee-donut-gateway to the ring of metal chairs, most of which were already occupied by veterans and family members quietly talking amongst themselves. According to my therapist, this was an important step, and though he’d been right about everything else, I skeptically stepped passed the table and into a world I was sure I had no right being a part of.
A soothing voice carried over the crowd, momentarily quelling the panic rising inside me, “Welcome everyone. If you would find a seat and settle in, we’ll get started.”
Everyone hustled into their respective spots, leaving me to claim the only empty chair left next to the counselor. I lowered myself into the chair unable to rip my gaze from the floor. I couldn’t face them. Their judgments, their accusations – I deserved them all, but I was too much of a damned coward to face them.
My gut knotted as I felt the counselor shift toward me as she began, “We’ll start with you, sir. Please introduce yourself to the group.” I could practically feel the weight of eyes boring into me.
“Hello, my name is John Cormick.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth and my eyes involuntarily shifted from the floor to the wall-mounted clock across the room, my brain calculating the minutes until I could rinse the bitterness away.
What the fuck was I thinking? This was an idea of the very worst sort. Screw my therapist, there was no way this was going to help.
“Welcome, John,” a chorus of voices responded.
“What brings you to our group this evening, John?”
What was I doing here? I had no right to be in the middle of a support group for veterans.
I wasn’t a veteran. Hell, I was the reason several brave soldiers’ lives had been cut short. Yet here I sat, alive and, by all visible accounts, well.
“Mr. Cormick?” The counselor’s soothing voice prodded. If I didn’t say anything, it would probably just get worse.
“I’m working on facing my past so I can move forward,” the words of my therapist flowed from my mouth unbidden, though the truth of them were severely inhibited by my complete lack of faith in the process, essentially negating the possibility of getting any sort of solace from the meeting.
“Those words sound rather clinical,” she chastised patiently. “So perhaps the better question is why now?”
A bitter laugh escaped before I could repress it. “I’m tired of the nightmares and worrying I will hurt someone I care about when I sleep; I want to breathe without feeling the ghosts of my mistakes, or the weight of my guilt, with every inhalation,” My hand shot through my hair of its own accord, a habit Maggie found amusing.
Memories flooded my vision in waves, my ears
ringing from the onslaught as the room spun out of focus. All my efforts to leave everything – Maggie, her father, my shitty upbringing – in the past crumbled under the weight as the pain crashed into me, threatening to drown me in its undertow.
“John? Are you ok?” My gaze locked on the counselor’s concerned expression as I felt a bead of sweat run down my back – the first indication of a full-blown panic attack. I blinked, trying to pull her into focus and ground myself as I struggled to remember the tools my therapist tried to teach me to pull myself back.
Talking about myself wasn’t something I’d ever been comfortable doing, and it was even less appealing after everything I went through. I lived my entire adult life alongside the very worst humanity had to offer. I stared down death more times than I could count while imbedded on the frontline of whatever world conflict was unfolding. I couldn’t afford to get close to anyone; remaining disengaged was the only way to document the horrors the way I had. The only time I ever let my guard down was with Maggie’s father, and look how well that worked out for me.
He saved my ass when I was a wet-behind-the-ears arrogant rookie photographer, ready to change the world with my photographs and convinced I was the only one who could. He took one look at me when I arrived in theater and promptly dragged me into his musty, dust-encrusted tent of an office, wasting no time setting me straight in a way I’ll never forget, “You need to get your head out of your ass before you get yourself killed, son. There’s getting the story, and there’s being reckless. You don’t have to be one to get the other.”
Countless conversations followed over the years, as he became the one constant in my life, and each one helped shape me into the photojournalist I was today. He taught me how to get a story worth telling while being smart on the battlefield, but more than anything he treated me like an equal. We stayed in touch, and when that fateful day rolled around, my relationship with him cost him his life.
