Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) (16 page)

“Wait, what's happening?” Elena piped up. “Where are we going and why are y'all crying?”

“Yeah,” Andres looked bewildered. Taking in the crumpled state of her tissue, he stretched to the side, pulled another from the box on the end table, and shoved it at Shonda a little roughly.

“Oh,” Shonda exclaimed, leaning back a little, surprised by the gesture. “Thank you, dear,” she croaked, catching the offered tissue, relieving the little boy from his attempts to wipe away her tears.

Oh, geez. She's crying even harder now,
Jack thought, but the corners of his mouth curved upward anyway. Catching Marithé's attention, he kissed her hand and winked at her. Then Jack approached the little girl and knelt beside her, biting his lip to hide his discomfort, refusing to voice the groan of pain that screamed for release. “Honey, your mama and I are getting married.”

She blinked at him and then her little face scrunched up in conversation. “Does that mean we'll all be a family?”

Jack nodded. “It sure does, Elena.”

“I want to be a family,” Andres announced as he tapped Jack on the shoulder with one hand.

“I'm glad to hear it, little man,” Jack smiled, placing a big hand over the tiny one on his shoulder, but he released it again when Elena called his attention back to her.

“Does this mean I can sleep in the room I picked out at your house?”

He grinned. “Yep, you sure can.”

“And your mama and daddy will be my grandparents?”

Jack glanced at his mother's watery smile. “Uh-huh, that's right, Elena.”

“Yay!” Andres cheered, nearly choking Shonda as he threw his arms around her neck in a tiny bear hug. “I'm going to call you Nana, just like the puppy in
Peter Pan
!”

A few chuckles echoed in the room at the little boy's exuberance. Still, Jack worried what Elena would think, especially since she'd seemed lost in thought, quiet and introspective. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly, decisively. “But that means I can't call you Jack anymore.”

“What?” Jack glanced over at Marithé, who shrugged.
Apparently, she's just as confused as I am.
Turning back to Elena, he asked, “What do you want to call me, if not Jack?”

Elena looked a little perplexed, as a brief moment of anxiety passed. Then the girl scooted back in her chair, readjusting her position, making herself a little taller, and swallowed hard before asking, “Can I… can I call you
Daddy
?”

Tears stung Jack's eyes at the little girl's frank acceptance. “Don't you think?” his voice broke and he cleared his throat as he glanced over his shoulder again, finding Marithé covering her mouth as she tried to contain her own tears. “Don't you think… you'd better save that for… your
real
Daddy?”

She shook her head. “He's not Daddy. He's Papà. And he told me it would be all right to call you that.”

Rather than question the mysterious ways of children, Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “If you're sure it's okay with him… then, yes… I'd like that very much, Elena.”

She beckoned him to move closer and Jack risked his balance to lean forward. When he did, she kissed his cheek, leaving a burning wet mark where her lips had touched his skin. He didn't wipe it away, he couldn't. Instead, he kissed her forehead, his heart bursting with love. She smiled, her little copper-colored face lighting up in the soft glow of dozens of tiny white bulbs.

Jack had to grip the arm of the loveseat to lever himself to his feet, but he managed. Trying not to limp, he maneuvered his way across the warm brown wood and took Marithé's hand in his. His eyes questioned her, asking silently if she was okay with what he'd told Elena. She smiled through her tears, resting a reassuring hand against his cheek before they moved together, taking the last two steps to face Malcom.

The preacher beamed at them, white teeth flashing as he looked at his son with more approval than Jack could ever remember having seen.
I thought my life was over and somehow… it's like it is just beginning. Everything that was… doesn't matter.
He looked at his beautiful bride.
I didn't start living until I found her.

Then Malcom glanced down at the prayer book and began. “Dearly beloved…”

* * *

Jack kissed his bride. It must have been their hundredth kiss since the wedding, and yet neither of them showed any sign of wanting to stop. Especially not now, having retired to his home…
their
home, alone at last. The children were nestled snug in their bed… in his parents' guest room, giving the newlyweds a moment of privacy.

Jack didn't doubt his mother had planned a ridiculous Christmas morning with which to spoil her newfound grandchildren.
I wonder if she'll wait for us to get over there before they start opening gifts.
He didn't even need to think about the answer, he already knew it.
Probably not, but that's okay. We have a lifetime of Christmases to enjoy with the kids, but…
there was only one wedding night.

He lifted his lips from Marithé's and gazed down the length of her prone body, enjoying every curve.
How I love a full-figured woman in her underwear.
He ran his hand along her luscious body as he thought about the tantalizing features in his mind.
Big breasts, small waist, curvy hips, and soft thighs. I'd like to kiss every inch. Hmmm, maybe I will.

There was no hesitation in him as he bent to satisfy his desire. He started with the slender column of her throat. She tilted her head, allowing him greater access while she traced tickling fingers up and down his chest.

“I love you, Jack,” she murmured.

“You know I love you, Mari,” he replied, not lifting his lips from her skin. His kisses turned to nibbling bites on her shoulder and collarbone.

“Hmmmm,” she sighed with her lips closed. Jack enjoyed the sound.
Pleasing a woman you love must be one of man's highest callings… and deepest pleasures.

“Jack?” she said, and even though she'd only had one small glass of champagne, her slurred voice sounded drunk.

“Yes, honey?”

Instead of answering, she unhooked her bra and slid it from her body. “I need you.”

She trailed her fingers over her chest, drawing his attention lower, to the pebbled brown peaks of her breasts, standing at full attention and inviting his touch. He lowered his mouth to one nipple and grasped the other, teasing both at once. He alternated soft sucks and laps of his tongue with the occasional sharp nip on the sensitive nub as he thumbed the waiting bud on the other side. Then, he leaned across her body to take that one too.

The move hurt, reminding him of the gouge in his thigh. The pain required him to brace himself heavily against one arm, but for this, their first taste of unhurried passion, he ignored it, intent on savoring his lady.
My wife… my beautiful, charming, and intelligent wife.
How wonderful that sounded in his heart.
I would endure anything if it would please her. She deserves no less.

She'd moved the simple gold band, the symbol of her union to Jorge, to her right hand, making way for a new ring on her wedding finger. Ornately carved with diamond inlays, commemorated her bond to Jack. It was this hand that she lifted, stroking his hair as he tugged her straining nipple.
A lifetime of this beautiful lovemaking… What did I do to deserve it?

Marithé tugged the waistband of his gray boxer briefs, the last remaining garment to clad his body, and Jack winced.
How am I going to get out of these things?
Putting on and taking off underwear was hard as hell with his condition, and watching him fumble would kill some of the drugging passion that was quickly turning their wedding night into a dream come true.
How the hell did I get them off last time? Was I numbed by the heat of passion? I must have been. I don't even remember doing it.

“Can you get up, Jack?” she asked sweetly, looking a little coy.

“I think so,” he replied. “Why, what do you have in mind?”

She smiled mischievously. “Wait and see.”
Damn, I like her sexy teasing.

Jack levered himself to his knees, but had to grasp the bedpost to rise the rest of the way. Once he was standing, Marithé slithered off the bed and knelt, her breasts bouncing enticingly as her knees hit the floor. She tugged his underwear again, carefully easing it over his erect, aching penis and letting the garment fall.

“Mari?” he asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“You're my husband,” she said simply. Her hand closed around his heavy weight and she stroked up and down with skillful fingers. A tingling sensation thrilled through him as he closed his eyes, luxuriating in her touch.

“Yes,” he agreed in a husky voice. “Isn't it great?”

“Perfect,” she cooed.

She leaned forward and opened around him, sliding his thick shaft between her lips. Jack groaned in ecstasy as the wet heat of her mouth engulfed him. He clutched the bedpost while his wife pleasured him with long licks, suckling him deep and gentle. Her tongue danced and played around his sensitive head, running along the underside. Her lips slid down his shaft, pulled back, and slid down again. Her soft fingers cupped his testicles and her thumb stroked the wrinkled, velvet sac, quickening his breath.

Jack made himself stay still and enjoy her ministrations as long as he could. But at last, he couldn't stand any more, and eased himself back
. I don't want to come yet. I want to show her how much I love her.

“That was wonderful, honey,” he told her. “I loved it, but now it's your turn.” He took her hand and lifted her to her feet, guiding her towards the bed and urging her to lie down.

Jack eased Marithé's panties over her smooth thighs and let them drop to the floor. Then he positioned her feet on the edge of bed, far apart, baring her moist slit invitingly. Trying to ignore his protesting thigh, he knelt, both knees on the floor.
Oh, I can't wait to taste her!

“Jack,” she protested, her knees drawing together.

“Hush, honey, it's okay,” he tried to sooth her worries as he applied gentle pressure to open her legs again. “You're my wife. Let me see all this sweetness. I hardly got a peek last time.”

Marithé covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow as Jack examined the neatly trimmed brown curls guarding her most intimate secrets. He kissed the closed lips and then cupped her with one hand, pressing inward to stimulate the tissues. Moisture coated his palm, and Jack grinned.
Mari might be shy to let me see her, but she wants me to take her.
The thought of the tiny opening he'd soon be possessing made his sex throb sharply. Wasting no further time, he spread her lips with both thumbs, admiring the wet, lacy folds.

His leg refused to take so much strain, and Jack was forced to brace his weight, gripping the edge of the bed with one hand while he used his free hand to stroke along the honeyed flesh. Her clitoris invited him, peeking shyly from beneath its hood, and he ran his thumb over it. Her body clenched.
So she likes that, does she?
He admired the view as he touched her, his dark hand against her paler skin, his thumb working her most sensitive place. Marithé whimpered and then whimpered again, as he pressed his index finger into her, preparing her body to receive him.

“Jack,” she sobbed, no longer shy, her head tossing and her fists clutching the sheets. “Jack, please. I need you
now
.” While he would have liked to stay and play with her a bit longer, Jack's leg was beginning to ignite in protest of the position.
Besides, I shouldn't keep a lady waiting
, he thought, easing his frustrations.

“Scoot up,” he urged as he made his painful way to his feet.

Marithé squirmed upwards, creating a space on the bed, and Jack leaned forward, resting his weight on his arms as he covered her body.

“Do you want this?” he asked, thrusting forward and nudging her with his penis.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, lifting her hips, seeking his contact.

“Then put me in you,” he urged. Though he wanted so badly to make love to his lady, in this unbalanced position, he needed both arms free to hold his weight, and the searing pain radiated down his injured leg.

Marithé grasped Jack without reservation and positioned him at the entrance of her body, arching upwards to receive him. Slowly he pushed into her, relishing her sheath as it swallowed him in its depths. She cried out sharply as his thickness speared deep into her core, but it was not a sound of discomfort. Instead, a squeak of wild pleasure had escaped her. They separated and returned, the action drawing a hum from her.

“Oh, yes, Jack. Ahhhh.”

Already she had begun to clamp down on him, rising to meet his thrusts as her orgasm neared, but Jack's had retreated, conquered by the power of his injury, succumbing to its painful insistence.

“Damn it.” Biting his lip, he pulled from her and flopped onto his side with a growling hiss, rubbing his scorching leg in anger.
I hate this fucking thing!

“Jack?” Marithé sat up and he wanted to curse again. If there was anything he'd hoped to avoid, it was the sight of his bride, bewildered and not quite satisfied.

She sighed. “That position doesn't work, does it?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“Sorry.” Regret burned almost as badly as his leg.
Why couldn't I hold on a little longer? She was almost there!

“You should be,” she shot back, and then, in a softer voice, continued. “Querido, promise me you'll never do that again. Don't hurt yourself to love me. I don't want that.”

“Baby, I don't care if I don't reach climax…” he tried to explain, but she rested her finger against his lips, stifling his complaint.

“I care!” She announced firmly and then ordered, “Stand up.”

He obeyed, watching in amazement as she flipped herself over. Backing to the edge of the mattress, she presented her round, voluptuous bottom towards him, and separated her legs. Her sex, opened and exposed, beckoned to him.

“This better?” she asked, one eyebrow risen in question as she peeked back at him, her hair spilling around her face.