Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(15)

I close my eye and let the water flow between my legs. It’s too intense, at first. I can only take a few seconds before I twist so the jet caresses my thigh instead, then open myself to it again. I shudder and let out a little squeak.

Of course, I think of Jack.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been touched, really touched. A hug here and there, and that’s it. The last time was before the accident. Jack and I never went very far, just a lot of kissing and explorations under my blouse. His hands would always be cold and I’d squeak and squirm until they warmed up.

Oh, what I’d do with him if he were here. Or rather, what I’d have him do with me. Grab me by the arms and push me down on the bed, for starters. I smile to myself with my eye closed and feel his fingers on my skin as he pops the buttons on my blouse and spreads the fabric apart, exposing my skin. With a sudden jerk he pops the last three or four buttons and tears my shirt open, and there’s nothing underneath.

I lightly twist my nipple in my fingers and pretend it’s Jack's mouth, tasting for the first time as my stomach starts to flutter because his other hand is pulling at the elastic of my skirt, pulling it down. He grunts in frustration and sucks my nipple so hard it edges on pain, then shoves my skirt up, not down, in his impatience. My panties pull away from my skin and his warm hand glides between my legs, cupping his palm against me.

His hand isn’t enough. I want his mouth. He kisses down my stomach, leaving a hot, wet trail as I slip my legs around him. His skin brushes my thighs as he lowers his head between my legs and drags his tongue over my slit, slowly at first, then faster and faster. As I squirm against him he slowly presses his finger inside my *, wetting it with my arousal before pushing it in deeper each time until it sinks in to the knuckle.

I know all the right spots and in my imagination, Jack does, too. His tongue tickles at first while his finger takes long, slow strokes, curling inside me. He gives my clit a light suck and I writhe under him, squeezing him with my legs. His finger moves faster.

“Just like that,” I whimper as he kisses my clit.

His finger pulls back and I feel a second slowly working in alongside the first, opening me wider, filling me up even further.

My eye cracks open a little as I slip deeper into the bath and change the angle of the water jet. I press my eye shut again and now Jack is holding me by the waist as his chest slides up my body. I can feel his cock against my leg, and then there it is, pressing at my entrance. He draws back just a little and I buck until the head of his cock enters me, and he buries himself to the root with an urgent thrust and shoves me down with his weight.

I cry out and clamp down on him with my arms and legs, my whole body moving with his as he thrusts. I grind against him as tension builds in my legs. I can feel my muscles quivering and tightening, squeezing him. He whispers my name in my ear and the tension spreads, growing more intense until it chokes the breath out of my lungs and my body starts to burn. I never want it to stop.

More, more, more. My back arches and then I buck forward, water splashing all around me. My eye shoots open as I writhe in the tub, squeezing my hand between my thighs. I turn on my side as it comes on me hard, slamming through my body in crushing waves before an explosive release, like I’m slipping out of my skin.

I lie panting in the water, the jets bubbling over my body, and close my eye again, but it’s not the same. I reach for someone to lie with me when I need it most and there is no one there, and even the scalding hot water of the tub seems cold.





Jack





I’ve had this dream before.

You know how they say if you know you’re dreaming, you can control it? Fly, bang supermodels, rule the world, build a fantasy world? Sounds fun, right?

I know I’m dreaming and it’s not happening. The world makes no sense. I’m in a restaurant that’s also a bridge. The dining room just opens onto a suspension bridge that stops halfway, the decking arching up where it’s been shattered while loose cables sway overhead, nudged by the wind.

Ellie and her father sit at the table, both safe and whole and unhurt. The remnants of dinner sit on plates in front of us and the knowledge that we have to go sits heavily in my gut. The message hasn’t gotten across.

“Dad,” she says, choking up as she squeezes my hand, “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to go. I don’t want it anymore.”

She squeezes my hand harder, but her father is all warm smiles. In the dream it’s the same as always. I’m looking right at him but it’s like peering through grimy glass, the details of his face smudged over by time, fallen into the past. He looks a little like my father and sounds a little like him, but different.

“I know, honey. We’ll talk to Jessica about it. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Ellie squeezes my hand so hard it hurts. “Thank you for understanding. I just can’t talk to her anymore. She doesn’t listen.”

“I know, hon.”

His voice is thick with…something. Understanding? Resignation?”

“We’d best get home. There’s no putting it off. You are my daughter first. She will not impose this on you.”

I’m the first to stand up, and then we’re getting in the car. My first car my dad bought for me, the BMW coupe. I have to hold the seat up to allow access to the back. Ellie starts to climb in, but her dad stops her.