Disarm (26 page)

On the way out of the state, somewhere along I-35, Henry's voice suddenly crackled over the walkie-talkie. “There's a rest stop coming up. Pull over,” he said in an urgent tone.

“Why? Is something wrong with the truck?”

“Quick, just pull over! It's an emergency.”

I followed him into the rest area with a pounding heart and parked my car beside the truck. My heart jumped in my throat when the truck door flew open and he jumped out, rushing toward me. I scrambled with the seat belt and got out, wondering what the hell fate was throwing our way now.

“What's wrong?” I cried a second before he grabbed the sides of my head and kissed me so thoroughly it literally took the breath from my lungs. He pressed me against the car, his hard body trapping me in place as the kiss went on and on.

I didn't know how long that kiss lasted before he finally pulled away. “Nothing” he said, biting his lower lip as he smiled. “I just needed to do that,” he added before striding back to the truck.

That wasn't an isolated kissing emergency.

According to Google Maps, the drive up to Denver was supposed to take nine hours and thirty-five minutes but we stopped at nearly every rest stop to make out, adding an extra two hours to the trip. Still, it was well worth it. It reminded me of the beginning of our relationship, when we couldn't get enough of each other even if our time together had an expiration date.

We arrived at the Holiday Inn hotel in Denver at close to ten o'clock that night. We were so exhausted from the day that we just fell into bed, skipping dinner altogether. I meant to seduce him, to finally make love to him again like I'd been fantasizing the entire day, but the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out.

I awoke the next morning to my cell phone ringing and buzzing on the nightstand. “Hello?” I croaked.

“Miss Sherman?” said a male voice. “It's Ian Lang, the manager at Heritage Creek Apartments. I believe we had an appointment at nine o'clock?”

I sat up with a start, noting that the clock on the nightstand read nine fifteen. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” I cried, rolling out of bed. “We overslept.”

“No problem, Miss Sherman,” he said. “If you can make it here by ten, I can still fit you in.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.” I threw my phone into my purse and slipped into my jeans that had lain crumpled on the floor. I rummaged through my luggage and pulled out the first shirt I found, which was blue and had a faded Captain America shield on it, and pulled it over my head. I finished dressing before I realized that I was forgetting something, or rather, someone.

I looked over my shoulder at Henry who was still softly snoring, and made the decision to leave him be. The poor guy needed the sleep, and besides, what apartment I ultimately chose was not his business. So I left, not bothering to leave a note.

The apartment complex was in Glendale and was modern and bright. Even though it was slightly overpriced, the amenities included a pool, a hot tub, and a fitness center. What sold me though was its close proximity to work and the park across the street with a running path.

So it was with a pounding heart that I signed on that dotted line, taking one step closer to my shiny new life.

When I made it back to the hotel, Henry was already showered and dressed, drinking coffee and watching something on television. “Hey,” he said a little stiffly. “How did it go?”

“It went. I signed.”

He frowned at me. “I thought we were going together.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you,” I said. “Besides, you didn't really need to be there. It wasn't a big deal.”

He nodded, his jaw muscles working, but he said nothing.

It was bothering him, being left out of my decision process, but we both knew he had no say. This was my life we were talking about. “Are you angry that I didn't bring you?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug that was anything but. “I just thought I was going to look at it with you. So I could give you my take on the place, on the neighborhood, the state of the apartment.”

“I'm perfectly capable of doing all of that myself. I have done it before.”

His face was stony as he turned back to the television.

I hugged myself, painfully aware of the chill that had descended upon the room. “I don't know how to explain this without hurting your feelings, so I'll just say it: You weren't needed in the decision process.”

He turned back to me, and instead of icy blue eyes, I was instead faced with a dismal look. “I know,” he said. “It kills me that you don't need me in your life.”

“We've lived years without each other. We can do it again.” And even as I said those words, I recognized them to be completely true.

He shook his head vehemently, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. “Those years without you, that wasn't living. I was barely surviving,” he said. “I just want to experience as much of your new life as I can before I have to go back to Oklahoma and go back to just surviving again.”

I walked over to him and held out my hand. He took it and squeezed. “Well, let's go then,” I said, pulling him to his feet. “Let's go see my new place. You can experience unpacking with me.”

RETURNING HOME

Unloading my stuff was not nearly as tough as I'd feared, since my furniture was lightweight and I had chosen an apartment on the ground floor. Only the large bookcase and bedroom dresser gave us trouble, but with the help of a hand truck we were able to maneuver them inside the apartment with only a few scratches and dings. It was strenuous work but we worked well as a team, knowing instinctively when the other needed a hand. We placed the furniture in their permanent placed, set up the bed, and stacked boxes against the wall.

“And the pièce de résistance,” I said, hammering the nail into the wall and hanging Henry's painting above the mantel. “Is it crooked?”

Henry cocked his head and smiled. “It's perfect.”

I climbed off the ladder and stood beside him, holding his hand as we admired his work. “Don't stop painting. You have something wonderful here.”

He gazed down at me. “I do have something wonderful right here,” he said, bringing my hand up to his chest and holding it against his heart. He yawned. “I'm beat. Let's take a nap,” he said, leading me to the couch and pulling me down.

I lay in front of him, burying my face in his neck, molding myself into the hollow spaces of his muscular frame. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and focused on the thudding of his heart, and soon the steady beat lulled me to sleep.

I woke up a little while later with my legs and feet cold. I tried to wriggle out of Henry's arms, but they tightened around me. “Stay,” he murmured into my hair.

If only he knew how close I was to asking him the very same thing. “I need to take a shower,” I said instead.

“Mmm, good idea,” he said, letting me go and stretching out, his hands and feet hanging over the arms of the couch. “I could use a good soaping down.”

I chuckled as I stood up and found the box labeled
bath stuff
, grabbing everything we'd need for a shower. I was loose-limbed and relaxed from our nap until I entered the bathroom. Finding Henry in there, taking up more than his fair share of the space, gave me a sudden case of the butterflies. It had been over a year since we'd had sex; what if it wasn't as good? Or worse, what if it was mind-changingly fantastic?

Able to read the hesitation on my face, Henry said, “We don't have to do anything.” He took off his shirt, revealing his muscular torso. “I just thought we could shower together to conserve water.”

I had to laugh to hide the fact that my fingers were shaking. I set the towels on the counter and made a big production of putting the toiletries in the bathtub. Henry was beginning to unzip his jeans when I cried out, “Oh, we don't have the shower curtain up!”

He grinned, reached behind the door and produced a rod with the rings and curtains already in place. “Taken care of,” he said, stretching the tension rod to fit above the tub.

I watched him twisting the rod, the muscles in his back jumping with each movement, until I could no longer help myself. I leaned forward and touched my lips to the center of his back.

He froze. I felt a shiver travel across his skin. He went back to the task at hand, twisting the rod with more urgency. I ran my nails down his back to get another reaction. “Oh, you are asking for it,” he growled through his teeth.

My anxiety melted into playfulness; I pulled down his jeans and pinched his ass through his boxer briefs.

“Why is this rod so hard to put in place?” he muttered.

I reached around and ran my hand along the hard length of him. “Yes, the rod certainly
is
hard; as for putting it in place . . .”

He moved faster and faster, then with a final cry of triumph, twisted around to face me. “Get over here, you brat,” he said, catching me around the waist. He bent his head and tickled my neck with his stubble, his fingers dancing along my sensitive sides relentlessly. I threw my head back and laughed, half-heartedly trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

The laughter died in my throat when I felt the wet heat of his tongue on my neck, as it slowly traced a line up to my jaw, to my lips. Then he kissed me and all of the nervous energy dissolved, to be replaced by something else, something so palpable it was almost tinting the air around us.

I pulled away, holding his eye as I undressed, my confidence fueled by the dark look on his face. When I stood before him completely naked, he ran a finger from my collarbone down to my chest and around one breast before pinching the nipple. He looked at me with a question on his face.

I grasped his wrist, brought his finger up to my lips and sucked it deep into my mouth as I nodded. “It's the right time,” I said.

“You sure?” Even as he asked, he was slipping his boxer shorts down his thighs.

I nodded again as my eyes followed the trail of hair on his stomach down to his crotch, where his cock was standing at attention. Was it possible he had grown larger over the years?

I bent down to take him in my mouth, but he stopped me. “No, I want you to have the first one,” he said and lifted me onto the laminate counter. He pulled my thighs apart, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and was dipping his head down when I grabbed his hair. “Stop,” I said. “I haven't taken a shower since yesterday.”

He actually laughed, the infuriating man. “Okay,” he said and reached behind me for the faucet. He came back with a handful of water and swiped it all over my mound and through my folds. He repeated the process, this time rubbing me a little slower, a little more deliberately. “Are you satisfied?” he asked, his thumb playing with my clit.

“Almost,” I said and leaned back on my hands, opening myself up for him.

He gripped my thighs and, with our eyes locked, slowly made his way down. He touched the tip of his tongue to my clit a few times, and just when I was about to cry out in frustration, he dove in and worked me in earnest. His tongue was at once rough and gentle, thick and thin, swirling and lapping. There was no finesse or tact in his movements; he was like an eager contestant at a pie-eating contest.

I watched him, finding the visual of his tongue dipping into me even more of a turn-on. Then his mouth covered my mound. He looked up at me with a raised eyebrow as he continued the assault.

The pressure built and built until I threw my head back and came with force, my insides quaking around his tongue as he continued to devour me.

A moment later his tongue was gone, replaced by the head of his cock. He crouched over, planting his hands on both sides of my hips as he asked inches from my face, “You want me inside you?”

I flicked my tongue out, tracing the cupid's bow of his upper lip. “What do you think?” I reached around him and dug my fingers into his ass cheeks, pulling him toward me, inside me. To be filled by him after all this time was excruciatingly exquisite, my insides stretching slowly to accommodate all of him.

I remembered his words on the tape, when he'd said being inside me was like coming home. At that moment, I knew exactly what he meant.

He held still, lodged completely inside me, as his eyes locked on to mine. “Els,” he breathed when I squeezed his cock. “Do it again.” I don't know how he held still, but he didn't move a muscle when my vaginal walls squeezed him over and over. Only the expression of euphoric torture on his face revealed his inner struggle.

Then he started to move a bit at a time until he was pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in. His hands grabbed my hips as he continued the assault, our eyes locked the entire time.

Just as I was building another charge, Henry pulled out. I gave him a disgruntled look when it became clear that he wasn't coming right back.

“Time for a shower.” His chest was heaving as he helped me down from the counter.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked as we stepped into the bathtub. He twisted around and turned on the water. The spray hit his back, shielding me from the initial temperature change. “I want to make this last,” he said, running his fingers along my lower lip.

I bit him. “You're just trying to torture me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hey, you've already come once, remember?”

I licked my lower lip. “I want more.” I spun us around so that the water was hitting my back and reached for the body wash. I poured some into my hand and rubbed it onto the wide expanse of his chest, soaping his dark hair. My hands ventured down, rubbing along the deep ridges of his six-pack.

“Mmm.” He held my wrist and guided my hand lower. “You may need to concentrate on this area. I'm really, really dirty down here.”

I held his thick cock in my hand and used the body wash to stroke him from the base to the tip and back down again. He groaned as the water washed away the soap and created more friction.

“My turn,” he said and soaped me up, spending extra time on each of my breasts, massaging them tenderly. He lifted my leg so that my foot rested on the side of the tub and got on his knees to wash between my legs, running his fingers to the crease of my ass, the tip of his finger pausing at my anus, then sliding back to the front. When the soap had all washed off, he dipped his head and licked the inside of my thigh, from the knee all the way to my crotch, where he nipped at the trembling skin.

Then he stood up, towering over me, and swiveled me around so that my back was to the cool wall. He held my wrists above my head with one hand while the other lifted my thigh. He bent at the knees and thrust his cock into me at the same time his tongue invaded my mouth, pinning me in place with his entire body. His shaft rubbed my clit as it slid in and out, creating the most delicious sensation, then he freed my wrists and hooked both hands under my knees, lifting me up and bearing all of my weight as he rocked into me.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said between his teeth.

My lips traveled all over his face, kissing the cleft on his chin and along the stubble of his square jaw. He was everything and everywhere and I loved him and cradled him like we had no tomorrow.

When I felt his muscles tightening, I squeezed harder and sped up my own impending orgasm. He was breathing hard, continuing to plunge into me even as he started to come. “I love you so damn much, Elsie,” he rasped and I climaxed with his words, my insides trembling as intensely as the emotions roiling through me.

I laid my cheek against the wet skin of his shoulder, overcome with love for the man. He was my beginning, my middle, and my inevitable end.

Henry and I made love on my bed once more before we fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. My body was worn out but it was my heart that bore the most fatigue. I was glad that sleep stole me away because I was sure I'd have stayed awake the entire night, trying to second-guess my decision to move.

That night I dreamt of Jason, but unlike my previous dreams, in it he was still alive. He and I were kids, sitting on our porch in Monterey as we waited for the school bus. I couldn't hear what we were talking about, all I saw were our mouths moving. Then we stopped and turned to watch an adult Henry approaching. He sat beside us on the steps and joined the conversation in his deep, gravelly voice.

The bus came and stopped in front of us with a loud hiss, and both Jason and Henry climbed aboard. I remained sitting on that porch and watched as the bus doors swished shut and pulled away from my lonely step and me.

In the morning I woke to soft kisses traveling across my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I found Henry clamping his mouth around my breast and laving it with his tongue. “Morning,” he said against my skin with a sexy grin, his hair messy from sleep.

“Morning.” I arched my back and stretched as he continued his adoration of my body, moving his attention to the other breast. He slipped his arms under my back, kissing along my neck as he pulled me up to sitting position.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and ran my fingernails on the back of his head, moaning as he nipped his teeth along my jaw.

We didn't talk about the fact that he was leaving today to drive the truck back to Oklahoma. We didn't talk about what the future held for us. We only held each other tight as he slipped into me and we made love for the last time.

I began to move, rising and falling onto him, but it wasn't nearly enough; I needed all of Henry. I bobbed faster, squeezed harder, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I pushed my leg muscles—and in turn, my heart—past the burning point.

Henry's hot palms caressed my back, then slid down to grip my ass. “Slow down, Els,” he whispered. “We've got time.”

“No we don't,” I said, continuing the rapid pace. All too soon, my legs gave out and I collapsed onto him in frustration. I buried my face in his neck and cried, unable to stave off the sadness any longer. My tears rolled off my cheek and onto his back as I clung to him, held him so close I imagined us melding together; maybe then neither of us could ever leave the other.

His eyes were red when he pulled away. He held my neck in his hands and rubbed my cheeks with his thumbs as the grief creased his face. “This isn't over,” he said, his nose flaring. “Nothing will keep me from you.” He kissed me tenderly as he started driving his hips up, carrying me when I was too paralyzed from grief to move.

“I love you, Henry,” I said over and over against his mouth.

I came first, my entire body trembling as I kissed him desperately. Then he too was climaxing, holding me down onto him like he never intended to let go.

The time came to say good-bye too soon. We tried to put it off with an elaborate breakfast (which, of course, necessitated hunting through boxes while I went to the store for groceries), but after our second cups of coffee, we knew we couldn't put it off any longer.

It was raining when we walked out the front door and down the concrete pathway toward the parking lot. I was glued to him, tucked into his side as we huddled under my sad little umbrella, limp and battered from years of use.