A Battle Raging (17 page)

"I didn't make dessert since we have chocolate. A nice gentleman bought me a box today."

"Oh, should I be jealous?"

"Well, you certainly showed a little green this afternoon. And that bartender was
only trying to be nice."

"Nice…yeah, that's the word for it. In male parlance, "nice" translates into "I really want to get into those panties."

"Wow, you don't have much trust of your fellow bros."

"And with good reason. Take it from one who knows, men can be doggish when we want."

"Oh, I've been on the opposite side of that wagging tail, so you don't have to tell me."

"
Changing the subject but I thought you'd like to know that I called my sister. I think it was because you got me thinking. I was hiding, shirking my duties as a big brother."

"That's great, Zach. Was she happy you called?"

"I think she was more surprised than anything else. But I plan to call her more often. Not hide away from human contact."

"Well, I guess I've
done some good after all."

"You've really done a lot,
you just don't know the half of it," he said with so much sincerity, she felt herself blushing.

"I don't know that I would say that I've done a lot."

"Trust me, you've done more for me in just weeks what my psychiatrist hasn't been able to do in the two years I've been seeing him."

"Well, I have a feeling that his sessions with you may be slightly different than what we do together."

"I should say so. When he poses for me in the nude, he proudly struts like a peacock. He's not shy like you."

"Oh, really…so you think I'm shy
, huh?"

She wasn't one to let a thrown gauntlet go unchecked.
But what to do? Possibilities ran through her mind.

She rose from her seat, sidled over to his chair.

She plopped down on his lap, noting the amused surprise in his eyes.

"Now what's this all about?" he asked with a laugh.

"Well, when someone insults me, I feel it's my duty to set them straight. Now you say I'm shy, and I'm going to have to prove you wrong."

She honed in on his shirt buttons, began un
fastening them one by one until his shirt sat open, revealing the abs she'd come to admire. And there was that elaborate snake tattoo twisting around his right muscled arm. He shifted to allow her to move the shirt down his shoulder to his waist.

Maya
bent her head to let her tongue slide down the indentation of his neck, further down over a hard-sculptured shoulder then even further until she latched onto his left nipple. He moaned as she let her tongue do the things his did to her that past weekend. She took vengeful pleasure when the slight moan turned into a groan. When she felt him hardening beneath her ass.

She released him, looked at him sultrily.

"I'm a little parched. I need something to drink," she said. Then, with the agility of a gymnast, did a back bend to reach for the pitcher of lemon-strawberry spritzer.

"Hope you don't mind getting a little wet."

The look he gave her was more than encouraging. And she upended half the cold drink onto his naked chest. He shivered. With a similar motion, she set the pitcher back on the table.

"Now, that looks
rather refreshing." She bent again to taste the liquid from his smooth chest, and again took satisfaction at his shivering, this time from her ministrations.

After a few moments, he lifted her chin with a finger.

"Now, it's my turn," he said. "And I'm might thirsty."

Without any flourish, he
yanked up her see-through blouse and unceremoniously tossed it to the floor. He took an appreciative look at the overfilled cups of the white lace trimmed bra she'd chosen. Anticipating tonight, she'd picked one with front hooks.

"Hand me the pitcher," he ordered.

She obliged him.

With one hand, he held the half-filled pitcher while the other hand skillfully unhooked the front of her bra, releasing the round caramel tipped breasts.
Her nipples had already hardened with anticipation.

He smiled as he tipped over the mouth of the pitcher. She'd thought she had steeled herself for the cold
liquid but when it touched her nipples, she shivered just as he had. His tongue licked through the streams of liquid rolling down her flesh, and then his whole mouth attached to one of her breasts, practically swallowing it.

If the pressure of lips and tongue hadn't set her off, the sucking sound of his enjoyment would have made her come by itself. She'd thought she was familiar
with his patterns especially when it came to his appreciation of her tits. But the pressing and pulling, sucking, teething, tongue flicking set her to throbbing. And she could feel him getting harder, making her impatient to welcome him inside her.

She began rocking her ass against his groin,
loved the pressure of his shaft through his jeans, through her slacks.

Before she could reach to pull the slacks off, he was already on the mission, all the while keeping his attention on one breast, then the other. She had to bend with him as he worked the pants down to her ankles. Contortionist moves finally got them all the way off.
She kicked off her shoes.

He'd still been holding the pitcher, and she wondered at his ambidextrousness. She grabbed it from his fingers and bent back to set it on the table. He took the opportunity to run a tongue down her exposed belly, flick at her navel.

She straightened up, and he let his hand take over where his tongue had left off. Fingers slipped beneath the edge of her nylon panties, moved between her thighs and began rubbing against her clitoris with his thumb. The texture of the slightly callused digit sent tremors through her body. Her pre-come was slathering his finger. The crotch of the underwear was damp.

"Let's take this somewhere," he suggested rather huskily.

"Couch. Can you…can we…do the couch?" She barely had the breath to ask the question.

"Yes, I can do you on the couch, on the table, on the floor…wherever. Hold on!"

Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he took off across the floor, moving smoothly over the hardwood. And then, he did a half wheelie, toppling them backward and around.

She nearly screamed thinking she was going to fall.
But then they were at the sofa and he abruptly deposited her onto the overstuffed seat.

She shifted out of the opened bra and was about to do the same with her panties when he shook his head.

"Let me." And he leaned forward, grabbed the itty bitty material, pulled it down roughly, discarding it on the floor.

She let out a sigh as he
hiked up her waist and ass, and set his mouth to her mound, licking as though his life depended on it.

She stroked her own nipples as he worked her and within minutes, she was climaxing, the sound of her pants
and rushing blood filling her ears. She'd barely recovered when he shifted from the chair to an empty space on the sofa.

"Unfortunately – or fortunately –
dear you're going to have to be on top."

He began to unzip his jeans, but she moved her hands to stop him.

"Allow me," she said, only now regaining some of her breath.

She first took off his shoes and socks, before unzipping
him and worked his jeans and briefs down, eager to get at him. All the while, he laid there with his head resting on his arm, enjoying the attention much as a royal being waited on. She would get rid of that smirk.

She smashed her lips against his, tasting herself
on his mouth. Felt his free hand move behind her nape, pulling her mouth further down, setting off a tongue play like dueling swords.

He pulled away, panting. "Get on me, now!"

She moved to slide herself down his erection, taking each inch in gradually until she was filled to the hilt.

"Oh I feel you…so good," he moaned.

She shifted up and down, moving against his rigid staff as it rubbed her walls. His hand reached for a breast, squeezed the swollen flesh as his other hand flicked fingers between the crevice of her ass, then softly grabbed and kneaded its roundness.

"Feel me inside you?" he said hoarsely.

"Oh yes!" she huffed between her groans, her ass maintaining a steady up-and-down motion as he manipulated other erogenous zones, causing her pussy to squeeze in spasms.

She was almost there. Just a small ripple, a twinge starting deep inside her, then spreading out farther.

"Come for me," he encouraged. And forever the compliant one, she did just that as she slammed down on his rod several times until her whole body began trembling. Until she called out for every deity she could name.

Until he pulled her body down and muted her with his mouth, shutting off her prayers.

Zach's nerves were taut. He couldn't stop thinking of Mike back in Anar Dara. They'd gone on that excursion with formal word that the area had already been swept for bombs. And they'd parked their vehicle near the roadside. Like every damn place they'd traversed through, the entire area was nothing but desert with rural homes that were simple and stark. This was to have been an ordinary search, no bombs, no Taliban among the Pashtun populace.

Mike had led the contingent, first out of the vehicle, first to step onto a path that would have led farther into the village of simple huts, some of them bombed out.

He took the direct hit when the IED blew.

Zach had never seen a man pulverized, his intestines blasting upward, his head separated from his body. Two guys behind him took some shrapnel, one in the neck, the other in the guts. Zach had heard that the second one had to be put on a colostomy bag.

All of that played out in Zach's head as he had stepped toward the cluster of homes Lex had ordered them to search. One step on the wrong patch of ground. Body torn to pieces.

There were so many ways to die here.

And that thought seared his brain as he heard that sound within the depths of the bombed out house and signaled both Joseph and Marty to keep quiet and follow. The men's faces immediately mirrored their understanding. They were well-trained in going up against insurgents and avoiding possible deathtraps.

He'd stepped toward the darkened hall. Despite the blazing sun outside, and one wall totally collapsed, the rear of the house was dim and shadowy with barely any light penetrating. A perfect hiding place for anyone wishing to ambush the Marines.

The next thing he remembered were s
houts ringing out, punctuated by rapid gunfire. Marty standing above him, Joseph missing in action. Zach did not feel the pain of the bullet that had torn through his back. He laid there in a pool of blood that was widening around him.

Where was Joseph? What had happened to Joseph?

Then her turned…and saw…

Joseph without a face, on the floor near him.

He could hear Lex and the other men storming around. In the end, they'd gotten five of the insurgents who had been housed in that back room.

The
ambushers had been dropped in a blaze of bullets.

And there had only been two casualties, one of them mortally wounded.

Joseph, with a wife and an eight-month old baby boy.

Strangely, shreds of dark skin hung to the vacuum that was now the front of Joseph's face.

Just as in his other dreams – his other nightmares – he saw Joseph's body re-animate, a corpse with no face who laid adjacent to Zach. Within arm's length. And an arm reached out for Zach. As it had before, in every nightmare.

A silent scream rang in Zach's head as he tried to move his body,
to reach for the gun…yet the M27 was still in his hand…and it had been fired. How?

Joseph touched him
at last, his lower skeletal face and yawning teeth smiling at Zach…and then the body fell on top of Zach. He could feel the weight of the dead man on top of him. It was pressing his chest. He had to keep out from beneath the zombie.

So
Zach struck out at the corpse, the heinous vision. And felt the contact as he struck skin. Skin? But…

###

"Owww! What the hell?!"

The woman's voice penetrated his senses, but
it was garbled as though floating to him through a wave of water. He struggled to pull away from Joseph's phantom, to pull himself out of the depths of his nightmare. Finally awake, he found a naked Maya straddled on top of him. She was rubbing at her left eye.

It took him a moment to become oriented
to where he was, to realize why Maya was lying on him. In a rush, everything came flooding back to him as he watched her nursing her eye. They'd made love for about an hour; exhausted, both of them must have drifted off to sleep.

He'd only meant to rest a bit before
heading home. He hadn't expected to go so deep into his dreams, to strike out at her. Again.