“Are you sure?” she asked.
She looked hopeful to him. God knew he was. “Yes. Very yes.”
“Very yes? How can I resist a declaration like that?”
Still hopeful. She hasn’t said no to just kissing. “I try.”
Giving him a wary look, she stepped over to the wet bar and sat on a stool. “Got any lemonade?”
He laughed and stepped behind the bar. After checking, he looked over his shoulder at her. “No lemonade. Is that a deal breaker?”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Nope. But I’m sure there’s a diet soda in there.”
Triumphantly he lofted a diet soda in the air. “I knew that would be your second choice.”
Putting her chin on her fist, she frowned. “Am I predictable? That’s not good.”
Chagrinned again, he dropped his head to hide a smile. He was delighted to hear her chuckle. He lifted his head.
“I guess I’ll have to do something you’re not expecting.” She slid off the stool and gripped the bottom of her shirt.
He tried to keep a neutral expression but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. But the hell with that. He let his eyes roam over her as she shed the shirt. She had on a lacy white bra which seemed a bit small. Her breasts were trying to pop out the top. But she didn’t stop there. Bending over she slipped her shoes off. Unzipping, she smiled at him. She shrugged the jeans over her hips and down her long, lovely legs then kicked them off.
Her lacy white panties glowed in sunshine coming in the front window.
He was starting to sweat a bit.
To his amazement, she posed like an underwear model. Putting her knees together, she rested her hands on them and blew him a kiss.
His erection jerked.
Still bending over, she unlatched her bra and dropped it covering her breasts with her hands.
“Oh, dear,” she said with a naughty grin. “I’m out of hands. And I still have my panties on.”
He gulped. “I can help there.”
“Okay.” Standing in front of him, covering her breasts, she waited.
He stiff-legged his way over to her and knelt at her feet. It put his face at crotch level. Determined to be unpredictable too, he scratched the crotch of her underwear with a fingernail. He was rewarded with a little shiver.
“Ooh.”
Still staring at the panties, he took a breath. “You like that?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He repeated the motion. And again. Losing patience he slipped his fingers in the sides of her panties and tugged down. Just a little. Then he licked her stomach.
He felt her hands on both sides of his head. He breathed through the silky material and she spread her legs. Restless, he pulled down to reveal all. One thought overwhelmed him and he stood quickly, grabbed her by the waist and set her on top of the bar. He tugged her panties all the way off and pulled her to edge. Looking up at her, he pressed her legs apart. His fingers played in her nest of curls, occasionally slipping into the wet heat. She groaned and lay back.
Setting each of her feet on a stool, he feasted. Her taste and smell filled his world as he searched for every place his tongue fit. She bucked when he reached the spot. He licked and pushed two fingers inside her wet channel. He flicked his tongue faster and faster until she broke and shuddered. He slowed until he was comforting more than arousing. Lifting his head he realized his hands still pressed her open to his view.
“God you are beautiful,” he said staring at her glistening curls. He blew lightly over her and she shivered.
He was still watching her when she sat up, legs spread.
She leaned forward and whispered. “I want to suck you.”
He groaned. She slid forward and climbed down, pressing her body against his. Then she patted the bar.
“Up.”
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Don’t you think, um, I’ll be too high?”
“You’re right.” She looked around. “There,” she said pointing to a low, white barrel chair upholstered in leather.
He carefully unzipped before walking to the chair. She turned him around, stripped him of his pants and boxers and pushed him into the chair. Taking a pillow from the couch, she knelt on it with an air of determination.
“I think you’re scaring me,” he said in awe.
She nodded. “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” But she smiled and took him into her mouth.
He groaned and closed his eyes. Her warm, wet mouth was mesmerizing. She licked, kissed and sucked him into her world. At one point she pulled him deeper into the chair for better access. And he was okay with that.
He took her head between his hands before he came. “I’m gonna come.”
He shuddered as she smiled without taking her mouth off him. “Go ahead,” she said with a mouthful.
Giving in he pumped his hips, moving himself in and out of her mouth. She held on and was with him all the way. When his release came, and he relaxed, he pulled her into the chair next to him.
“I don’t…there’s nothing…”
Grinning, she kissed him with an open mouth. Knowing they shared each other’s scent and taste almost got him excited again. She lifted her head.
“You’re welcome.”
* * *
Their room service—bungalow service?—dinner was just what was needed. Mason ordered the steak saying he needed the protein while she ordered the stuffed flounder. The mashed potatoes and fresh green beans topped off the meal just right.
“Why didn’t we order dessert?” he asked as he finished cleaning his plate.
“Later.” She finished her own dinner a couple of minutes later and sat back. “I am completely satisfied,” she added as she patted her belly.
“Let me pat you a little lower and I guarantee you’ll be perfectly satisfied.”
She grinned. He got up and was going to hold up one hand to stop him. But he veered off to the entertainment console. He turned on the radio and searched through the dial. He fine-tuned it when he found a slow love song playing. Recognizing it as country music, she laughed. He came over to her and held out a hand. Putting her hand in his, she rose and he pulled her in close and started dancing slowly and sweetly. Closing her eyes, she went with the flow. She kept waiting to feel an erection eager to come out and play. But he didn’t get an erection. Even when he pulled her closer and went cheek to cheek. She sighed in appreciation and affection.
“What are you doing for the rest of your life?” he said softly into her ear.
Stymied, she had to think. She started to lift her head but he pressed her softly into his neck. “I don’t know really. I haven’t decided.”
“Not a job or a career. I’m talking about us.”
Her feet stopped. She pulled back to look him in the face. “Us?”
He blinked and she felt pretty silly. Obviously he had more on his mind than a fling.
“Us. You and me.”
“I thought we were, um, sharing our troubles.”
Her stomach clenched when he dropped his arms. “Let’s take a seat.”
She went willingly toward the couch. He pulled her back to the now-christened chair, sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She gave a little peep of surprise.
“I told you once that I find myself telling you things I don’t speak about. I guess I have more work to do on that.” He shifted his upper body to face her. “I love you. I’m in love with you and I want to be with you.”
Surprised but not shocked, she stared at him. “You love me?”
“I guess I should have mentioned it a little earlier. At least before I asked you to marry me.”
“Marry you?”
He frowned. “That’s what I meant when I said I want to be with you. Forever.”
“Huh. You forgot the forever part.”
“Did I?” he asked with a distracted frown. His face cleared as he looked back at her. “Well, I’m saying it now.”
He tried to hold on to her when she started to stand but she insisted. She sat across from him on the red-gold couch.
“I have to admit, Mase, I am heavily in…like/lust with you.”
His eyebrows went up. “Is that more than friends but…no, I have no idea what you mean.”
She shook one of her hands nervously. “Just go with me here, okay?”
He nodded.
“I could spend a lot of time with you. Close, intimate, personal time. But…”
“I knew there was a but coming.”
“I can’t spend quality time with a man I’m not sure understands or supports me.”
“Wha—”
She held up the universal stop hand.
“You seemed insulted when I suggested you had PTSD.”
“I wasn’t insulted. I was astounded. It never occurred to me that I could have experienced a trauma great enough to make me afraid of everyday things.”
A glimmer of light shone in front of her. “I thought you were implying that only scared female veterans got PTSD.”
He sat forward with his forearms on his knees. “No! I never thought that.” He dropped his head for a moment but looked directly at her before continuing. “I admit I didn’t believe in PTSD at first. Battle fatigue was a brand on soldiers who broke down during battle. But I didn’t think it would continue once they were back in their normal life. But talking to my parents yesterday gave me a whole new insight.”
At this, he stood up and started pacing the living room. “My uncle was fine while he was deployed. The week before he came home he witnessed a suicide car bomb.”
She gasped but swallowed most of it. She didn’t want him to stop.
“The car flew through an intersection straight into a café filled with civilians and a few Iraqi soldiers. The explosion rained debris on his armored vehicle. When the air cleared a bit, they hurried forward to secure the area and to help.” He threw his hands up. “My mom didn’t hear the rest of this from Max. His counselor told her, with Max’s permission, and she read the Captain’s report.” He looked at her with despair in his eyes. “He couldn’t even tell his sister what happened he was so devastated.”
He went back to pacing as her heart squeezed tight in her chest. She knew what it was like to not be able to speak about the horrors she’d witnessed.
“The counselor said they all piled out of their vehicle and secured a perimeter. He thought Max was standing guard at the corner. But Max was staring at the ground. The captain said he had to call three or four times before Max responded but then Max started to work the scene. It was later, after the medics came and troops arrived to take over that the captain ended up on the corner where Max had frozen.”
His voice broke. She got to her feet and brought him a glass of water. He thanked her and downed the whole glass. Pressing her hand against his face, she nodded. “Finish it. What was Max staring at.”
He firmed his chin. “Body parts. Of a little boy. It was a hand still holding a baseball.” He put his hands over his face and she hugged him to her. He spoke with his face buried in her neck and hair. “He told the counselor all he could think was that it was his nephew’s hand. His little buddy’s baseball.” She gripped him as he sobbed. Unable to say anything for a while, he held her as tight as she held him. When the storm abated, he stepped back.
“Sorry. I need to wash my face or something.” He went to the bathroom and closed the door.
“Well,” she said. “That answers that.”
She was well aware that Mason was going through a bit of what his uncle had gone through. The shock, the despair, the hopelessness. It was cathartic but it was brutal. She dropped onto the couch and laid her head back. It was also brutal for her. It brought back memories she didn’t want to have but could not get rid of. She probably never would. But she was learning to live with them. And hoped Mason could, too.
He walked into the living room and sat in the chair. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t you ever be sorry for feeling the good or the bad. You have to acknowledge them and find a way to deal with them. You can’t ignore them.”
“Uncle Max found a way to deal with his feelings. My mom told me he was on heroin when he came home. The counselor didn’t know—of course Max dropped the therapy after a couple of sessions sayingcured.’ When he moved in with my parents they said he couldn’t live there on heroin. He got an apartment and took up drinking as well.”
“Some people never learn to talk things out or share their feelings.”
“My grandparents were pretty stoic. My mom said they were too busy surviving to share thoughts or feelings.” He chuckled. “My father broke my mother of that pretty quick.”
“Really? Your dad?”
“Yeah. My dad will tell you anything. He’ll tell anyone anything,” he added with a wistful smile.
“Healthy attitude.”
“I guess. Max took after my grandparents and I guess I took after my uncle.” He sighed heavily and lifted his head. “But no more. I’m turning over a new engine,” he said with a did-you-get-it expression. She smiled.
Getting to his feet, he crouched in front of her. “I promise to share all my feelings with you. About you, about life, about problems and, best of all, the good things.”
Her heart lurched, stuttered and steadied. She felt the burn behind her eyes and hoped she didn’t bawl like a baby. But she’s already shed a few tears and, once started, tears were hard to stop. But she managed a smile for him.
He slid forward onto his knees and slid his arms along her thighs to hold her around her waist. His face was only inches away and she still had to tilt her head to hear him.
“I love you, Carol Lee. I want you with all my heart. I want to share everything with you, the good and the bad because we know things have to balance in the end.” He bussed her lips, kissed her face and rested his chin on her shoulder. They stayed that way for a couple of sweet moments. Then he sat back, not touching her.
“Will you marry me, Carol? I know it’s sudden but I promise to wait however long you want. I just want to know you’ll be mine. Eventually.”
Damp eyes overflowed and her own voice deserted her. She nodded with a watery smile.
“You will?” He looked shocked.
“Yes. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
“It is, baby. It is.”
He launched himself at her and they sprawled on the couch laughing and crying.
“I think we’re going to have to have a lot of sex.”
“I can get with that program,” she said in delight.
He caressed her face staring into her eyes. “It’s the only time I don’t end up in tears.”
She laughed. “I’ll bring you to tears of delight!”
“I can’t wait.”
* * *
Mason stood in the garage bay that faced the main road in town. His dad got the story of the falling Mustang from Cliff. His mother and his fiancée chatted about colors for the wedding while Harry stood guard between him and Carol.
The visit to Max’s grave had been shattering. But healing. The headstone his mother had put on his grave was perfect. Max Battersea, Son, Brother, Uncle, Soldier. The Best of all Worlds. Gratified he hadn’t broken down, he’d held Carol’s hand all the way to the garage.
“Hey,” Mason said. “You got your stitches out.”
“Yeah,” Cliff said. “Didn’t you?”
His mom and Carol stopped talking on a dime and turned together to look at him.
“Uh…”
“I completely forgot about the stitches,” Carol said in disbelief.
His mother just glared.
“Me, too. I’ll get them out tomorrow.”
“Why wait?” his mom asked. She went fishing in her purse and brought forth a pair of cuticle scissors.
His stomach dropped and he swore his hands were suddenly sweating. Harry nudged his leg and whined. Mason looked down at the dog. “What? I’m not scared of a pair of scissors.” Harry sat down and tilted his head.
“I think Harry’s calling your bluff,” his dad said laughing.
Cliff chuckled. “It doesn’t hurt. Much.”
“I know that.”
His mom pulled out an alcohol wipe and cleaned the lethally sharp scissors. He had to wipe his hands on his jeans. “Do you have a whole medical kit in there, Mom?”
“No. Just a few necessary items for mothers.”
Giving up, Mason sighed. “Let’s go in the office then. I don’t need to be operated on in sight of the whole town.”
They trooped into the office and Mason sat down. His mother approached from the rear. His shoulders stiffened.
“Don’t be a baby,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m not.”
At the first tug and clip, Harry practically climbed in his lap. Mason took comfort from his presence and buried his fingers in the dog’s silky fur.
With both hands over her mouth, Carol laughed. “I think Harry’s okay with us getting married.”
He looked at Harry then up at Carol. “Good thing we decided to share everything.”
She gave him a watery laugh and a long kiss.
He didn’t even notice his mother’s tsk-tsk or the last stitch come out.
The End