by Kara Liane
Then I waggled my eyebrows, trying to be cute and playful. She giggled and arched her back while an erotic moan escaped from her lips. My patience was about to evaporate completely. She had no idea how alluring she was. I doubt she could comprehend the depths of my feelings or desires. I wanted to finally be with her, to lose myself in her luscious body. My dick was clawing its way out of the opening in my boxers, trying to get to her. The desire to finally make love to her was boiling under my skin. I was so desperate for her.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, to focus and center myself. I needed to dig deep to tell the swimmers to stand down for now and to man their battle stations. I wouldn’t survive this if she climbed on my lap.
As I thought that very thing, she moved to the side of the bed closest to me. I felt her there, and my eyes flew open. I growled. I fucking growled like the goddamn caged animal I was. I grabbed her hips and planted her on top of me. She squealed at the swift movement and gulped when she felt my clothed erection line up with her panty-covered pussy. It felt like perfection, even with the material separating us. I could see the change in color on her panties where the wet spot of her arousal had soaked the front. Fuck me, I even had a spot to match with my pre-cum. What a pair.
She arched her back again and closed her eyes. I took advantage of the moment to inhale her scent. I had to touch her in some way. I licked right between her breasts. Goose pimples raced down her arms, and her pink-tipped nubs puckered up under the cups of her bra. I could see the pulse at her neck beating frantically. Her skin was hot to the touch, incredibly smooth, and tasted like paradise. Then I bit her in that spot I said I would between her neck and shoulder, and she did scream in pleasure.
I grabbed her ass cheeks and flipped her over so she was sprawled on her back. She yelped and stared up at me with wide eyes. I was sure my predatory glare was either dangerous or sexy. Either way, I was coming for her. She had to know there was no escape.
I marked the outside of her lips with the tip of my tongue and then plundered her mouth. I ate up her cries and moans, which matched my own groans of passion and ecstasy. I was saving her pussy for last. I couldn’t go right for the gold, and it was gold—well, golden, that is. I bit each nipple through the fabric and then moved back up to suck on an earlobe. She cried out, and it was music to my ears.
I decided to change direction by heading for the farthest point of her body. I gently picked up her right foot. She was about to question me; she started to sit up on the bed, but I put the kibosh on that by silencing her with a firm look. She immediately settled back down and just gazed at me, breathing heavily. It was glorious, watching her tits rise and fall with her respirations. As I said, I just liked to watch the show. There’d be more time later for that. Right now, I was on a new mission. And being the good airman that I was, I would fulfill my duty to the best of my abilities.
I kissed and lightly sucked the arch of her foot. She squirmed and tried to kick me away. I knew it didn’t tickle—I just suspected it was sensitive and a new feeling for her, one that elicited all kinds of sensations. I examined her big toe and fell in love with her dainty feet. She had long toes, and they were sexy. Her second toe was the longest on her foot. You know what they say about people with a big second toe, right? You’ll have to find out for yourself if it’s true.
She had painted her nails in a red so dark that they looked like black cherries. It was sexy on her—everything she did was the exact opposite of the frilly, girly, predictable women I was used to. That even extended to the fellow NCOs I had occasionally screwed around with. Everly always managed to surprise me and keep me on my toes. Speaking of toes . . .
I took her big toe in my mouth and sucked. She bucked so hard and moaned that I thought something was wrong at first. But it wasn’t wrong. It was oh-so-fucking-right. I bit down slightly, just to draw more vocals from her. She closed her eyes tightly and thrashed from side to side. Oh yeah, I was in the right spot. I thought to myself, Oh Everly, I’m just getting started.
I continued to suck on her toe for another few seconds, and then gently laid her foot back down on the bed. She slowly opened her eyes, and I smiled brightly at her with a cat-got-your-tongue look. She smiled back at me. She was the most stunning woman I had ever encountered. I was so thunderstruck by her beauty, inside and out. If only she’d let me tunnel into her mind the way I wanted to tunnel into her body. She had more tight passages in her—and on her—than I could count.
I was about to tell her as much, but suddenly her face fell. I looked at her in utter confusion. I was about to ask her what was wrong, but then she disappeared right before my very eyes. I yelled out her name and reached for her, but I couldn’t grab anything but air. I looked down at my empty hands. They were covered in blood. Nothing but dark, cherry-red blood. I felt sick. I was going to hurl.
When I looked up again at the room around me, I realized I was not in a hotel. I was in the middle of the desert, just on the outskirts of the flight line in Afghanistan. I couldn’t move my leg. I couldn’t really process what was going on because of the fog my mind was in.
Oh, right. I have a concussion. I looked around. The dust was still heavy in the air from the IED explosion.
Pain. Immense pain is what I felt. It lanced my body. But the pain from my injuries paled in comparison to the pain I had felt when Everly disappeared. I closed my eyes and realized this wasn’t a dream I was having—it was a nightmare.
Fuck! Wake up, Brent! I screamed at myself.
But I couldn’t save myself from my nightmare any more than I could have helped myself on the day of the original injury. I was lost in an alternate universe, and I just hoped I’d get out of it soon.
I woke up from my nightmare and abruptly sat up in bed. I was gasping for breath. I was trying to take in mouthfuls of air. I choked and coughed as sweat soaked my shirt. I’m sure my sheets were like a wading pool. Fuck! Thank God my roommate was out. I didn’t like anyone to see me like that. It was embarrassing, and I felt like a failure when people realized I was certifiable. I ran my hand over my hair. It was a little longer than normal because more time kept passing in between cuts; I didn’t have as much opportunity to get groomed as I did back home.
Home. Fuck, I want to go home.
I knew where that was now—and it wasn’t Afghanistan.
I reached for my uniform pants, haphazardly slung over the back of the chair at my computer desk. I had taken them off last night and climbed into bed, forgetting to remove her letter and put it under my pillow. I needed the letter now, though; I needed that small reassurance she was out there, even if she wasn’t mine. I needed the letter pressed against my flesh as if it was her body; I needed it now more than ever to help keep the nightmares at bay. Running my fingers over the letter helped me in the same way stress balls or fidget spinners help other people. I stuck my hand in my pocket and came back with—nothing. I dumped the pants upside down, but nothing fluttered out. I tried every pocket again, even though I knew I always kept it in the same spot.
I was losing my mind—and getting really fucking angry—as each second passed. I started tearing the room apart like a wild man. When I got done and the cyclone had stopped spinning, I couldn’t believe I had trashed the place the way I did. I’d managed to upturn anything and everything not nailed down. But no friggin’ letter appeared.
It had vanished, just like Everly.
Where the hell could it be? That letter brought me fucking comfort. Hell, I liked to think I could have even worked up the courage at some point to actually send it. I suddenly wanted to return to my nightmare. The mess I made of the room seemed symbolic of the mess my life was at the moment. I needed to clean up both. Shit, where to start?
Chapter 11: Is This Girl for Real?
Everly
August 20, 2017
Brent’s words plagued me. They haunted me. They wrapped their greedy fists around my soul and squeezed as if trying to extract truth from me, like the way you would get the
last of the toothpaste out of the tube. They were wringing me out, little by little, each day. I felt out of control of my emotions. How had he slipped through my defenses? I let this happen. Did I want this to happen? Maybe on some subconscious level I did. He had finally worn me down. I was helpless against him, defenseless. I surrendered to the idea of . . . of . . . us.
If my calculations were correct, Brent would be coming back in the next few weeks or so, which gave me time to do some investigative work. I would put my journalistic skills to use, and this time in a personal capacity. I was going to locate his sister and find a way to reconnect with my man. Oh fuck! I just referred to him as “my man,” didn’t I? You know what? I decided to own it. It’s out there; I’ve said it. I vowed to start thinking in serious terms until he gave me a reason to do otherwise.
Hell, I’d been faithful the whole time he’d been away anyway, like a dutiful girlfriend—so I might as well become one! I don’t need the label, though; whatever we decided to be would be just fine. I’d just realized that I wanted to try to give “us” a chance and see where it goes.
I would set my plan in motion the next day, as soon as I got to work. For all Steve knew, I would be working on an article—and not on personal queries. I had a few tricks up my sleeve. I wanted to give Brent a homecoming he would never forget. I could be downright, positively devious when I wanted to be. Oh, Tech Sergeant Peters . . . you’d better be ready for me. I’m coming—and I mean that figuratively and literally!
It wasn’t hard to track down Caylan Bree Graham. First, I started with social media. I found a Facebook account for Brent, but he had the highest privacy settings turned on; I assumed because of the military. No luck there. I got sneaky and called an old friend who worked in the journalism industry and who happened to have access to records that, let’s just say, the everyday person didn’t. He pulled Caylan’s school file, which was listed by her maiden name; that led me to finding her married name. From there, he obtained her address and phone number from alumni records. I knew everything was sure to be current since she had only graduated eight months prior. I thanked my contact profusely, which wasn’t in my nature, and hung up.
I drummed my fingers on my desk. It’s not that I was a pussy, too afraid to make the call. I cold-called people all the time in my line of work. It was just that, once I went down that path, there would be no turning back. Well, I had already put my feet on the track, so I might as well sprint to the end! I went for it. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Caylan’s number. It rang three times before she picked up. I hardly ever get nervous, but this time I swallowed audibly.
“Hello?” a sweet voice answered.
“Um, hi. Is this Caylan Peters, I-I mean Caylan Graham?” I stuttered. I hated that I sounded so ill-prepared.
“Yes, it is. Who’s calling please?” she questioned.
“You don’t know me. Forgive me for calling like this out of the blue, but I know your brother,” I rushed to say.
I heard a gasp on her end. “Oh God! Is he okay? Please tell me he’s not . . . I mean he isn’t . . . I mean . . . Please just tell me what’s wrong,” Caylan begged.
Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t think she’d panic and assume something was wrong just because someone mentioned him. I had to fix this—fast.
“Caylan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Nothing’s wrong. At least I don’t think anything is. I haven’t talked to your brother since the night before he left.” I was sorry to hear myself admit that.
I heard her crying on the other end. Aww, crap! I didn’t know what to do about that. Sometimes I’m not good at the whole girl thing—or tears. I should have a set of nuts instead of a slit between my legs, because I didn’t do the emotional thing the way women expected me to. I mean, Christ, I have feelings. It’s just that I can’t cry over things I imagine most women do. I waited her out and let her tears fall. Finally, she seemed to rein herself in. I heard the sobs subside.
“I’m so sorry about that. I haven’t talked to Brent since before he left either. He won’t talk to me. I finally got an email from him at the beginning of last month, but that is all. He mostly emails my mom when we finally threaten bodily harm. I’ve been so lost, not talking to him. I worry about him constantly. I love him so much, and it hurts that he’s shut me out,” she sniffled. “Goodness gracious. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
She loved her brother, that much was obvious. I felt bad for her and recognized her distress. This seemed to be very hard for her to handle. I was beginning to realize that deployments affect everyone linked to the military member who is sent overseas. I had to figure out if I wanted to be a part of that equation, because it seemed like a big burden to sign up for. If Brent was worth it, though, I’d certainly do it. Considering all signs pointed to the fact he was worth it, well, I guess my mind was already made up. I realized I had yet to respond to her, so I snapped myself out of my own thoughts.
“You’re not babbling. To be honest, I listen to all sorts of stories for a living, rambling or otherwise, and then I write about them. I’m not writing about this, although I am a journalist. I met your brother the day of your graduation,” I explained.
“Oh wow, that’s amazing! I don’t know any journalists. That’s really cool. I’m a writer myself, well, mainly of poetry. But come to think of it, did you use your skills to get my information? And what prompted your phone call today anyway?” she switched tactics and asked quickly.
I knew there was a protective side to her—here it was, coming out full force. I could hear the skepticism in her voice, so I knew I needed to un-muddy the situation quickly.
“I’ll be honest. Yes, I did have to go to some lengths to track you down, but please give me a chance to explain. As I said, I met your brother at your graduation. Then we ran into each other again right before he left. I really liked, I mean, I really like him. He sent me a letter. Well, he didn’t really send it; his roommate did. I want to see him again when he gets home,” I admitted.
Jesus, now I was the one who was babbling. Why did I explain all that? I had this feeling Caylan was very easy to talk to. She seemed so sweet. I don’t know why, but I felt at ease with her even though we had only been talking for a few minutes. I also realized that as much as I don’t do the girly thing, I could so see Caylan’s appeal. I instantly liked her. She was adorable, and not in an annoying way.
“OMG! Gah! He has a girlfriend? Okay, well, maybe not yet, but you want to be, right? Oh my God, this is amazing. I’ve always wanted my brother to settle down and find someone. I knew there was someone out there for him. He is the best—the absolute best. I know he has his issues, but who doesn’t? Anyhoo, he is just the best. Yay! I can’t wait to see the two of you together. And he sent you a letter? How romantic is that? This is just the sweetest thing ever,” she squealed.
Holy shit! Even though I had no clue what she looked like, I could practically see her jumping up and down and clapping her hands together on the other side of the phone. I needed her to put on the brakes, though, because this wasn’t a done deal. I guess in her eyes, it was. Fuck me!
“Whoa, Caylan. I love your enthusiasm about the situation, but pump the brakes, girl! He doesn’t even know I got the letter, and therefore, he doesn’t know I’m still interested in him.” I sighed and then continued, “It’s a long story. I’ll be happy to tell you the whole thing some other time. The reason for me calling, though, is that I need your help. I need to know when Brent is coming home so I can meet up with him.”
“Okay. That I actually do know. He is set to come home the morning of September fourteenth, at the Baltimore airport—unless something changes, of course. If you aren’t familiar with the military, well, let me just tell you that stuff changes all the time. My parents are going down to pick him up. Then the next day, we’re having a cookout here, at my house. Of course Brent doesn’t know we’re going to ambush him with a small homecoming party, but he’s pee-wee’d me off long enough. He’s g
oing to have to show up and darn well enjoy it! I’m dying for him to see Em—that’s my daughter, you see. She’s six months old, and he’s missed so much of her life already. I don’t even know if he’s gotten the pictures I’ve sent, and it makes me so sad,” she said, whispering the last part.
Crap, I wanted to hug her. For the record, I am not a hugger. But again, this girl made me want to form some kind of a sisterhood—pants traveling, whatever-the-shit that thing is—or bond with her. I wanted so badly to make her feel better.
“He told me he loves and adores the both of you. I can see why. So, are you in? Can you help me surprise him?” I was asking for help, which was also something I never did.
“Guuurl, I can do you one better. I will help you prepare and execute. This will be so much fun! I can’t wait to see the look on his face, and I can’t wait to meet you. We’ll have to get together for lunch before he comes home so we can plan. Yay, this is going to be amazing! I am so excited, I might pee. Well, that would suck since that means I’d be leaking from both ends. Oh my God, I’m sorry. That is probably TMI! But I already went there, didn’t I? Well, anyway, I’m still breastfeeding, and I forget not everyone probably wants to hear about all that baby stuff. I’m sorry. My husband is a doctor, so he lets me talk away about all the bodily stuff too,” she giggled.
It was TMI, but for her, I suppose it was normal. I was okay with it, though, because, well, she was his sister, I guess. It’s odd how this woman had already charmed me into being her friend.
“No problem, Caylan. You’re fine. You can share whatever. Hell, I may share stuff that’s TMI too. It’s nice to talk to another female, and it’s refreshing to talk about something that’s not job-related. I could get used to this. And yes, we should plan lunch. Just let me know when and where. You have my number now, so feel free to call or text me, and we’ll get together. I’ll work around your schedule—you’re the one with the baby,” I stated.
