Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) (11 page)

“I'll never sleep,” she remarked.

“You don't have to have any,” he replied. “I'll be okay. Coffee doesn't really bother me like that, but I'm the one driving, so…” He waved nonchalantly then set to work brewing the beverage.

“I'm surprised the wine affected you so strongly,” Marithé said. “I thought soldiers generally drank a lot, so I thought you'd be used to it or something.”

“A lot? Not really, at least I don't. I have a beer now and again, but wine has more alcohol than beer does. And, to be fair, we drained the whole bottle in just over an hour. I feel it for sure.”

Jack looked a bit vulnerable. Marithé felt steadier on her feet now, so she slithered toward him. She hungered for more of his touch, and suddenly she didn't feel shy to ask for it. She crowded right into his personal space, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down for a quick, lush kiss. She closed her eyes as the scent of spicy cologne and sexy musk of the aroused man wafted over her. Jack's scent was new, and not yet familiar, but its very newness wrapped her up in desire, calling to yearnings she thought she'd buried away.

“Mari, I think we need to sit down for a minute,” he sounded breathy and for a moment, she worried something was wrong.

“Okay,” she replied with concern. “Here?”

“No, come on.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the sofa, plunking down with a groan and pulling her to sit beside.

“Does your leg hurt?” she asked, laying a gentle hand on his wounded thigh.

“Always,” he covered her hand with his. “I lost a huge chunk of my thigh, honey. It's going to hurt for a long time, probably for the rest of my life.”

“That's sad,” she replied, but then realized there wasn't much difference between his pain and hers. Both of their lives had been irrevocably changed. Both of them were hurting, and they'd no doubt continue to feel the effects of their injuries for the duration of their lives.

“It is,” he agreed, and his eyes looked so haunted.

She laced her fingers through his and lifted his hand, kissing each finger with tender gentleness. “I'm sorry for all you've suffered, Jack.”

“I'm sorry too, Marithé… so sorry. If I could have taken his place, I would have.”

“Hush,” she insisted, “enough of that.” Tears stung her eyes. “Who knows why these things happen? Why Jorge was chosen over another… a husband and father, instead of someone like Ray.” She smiled sadly and then bit her lip. “I can't fathom God sometimes, but that's when I need the most faith. I keep trying to tell myself He knows what he's doing, and I don't need all the answers. This is one time I'd really like an answer, though. Why, Jack, why did Jorge have to die and so… horribly?”

“I don't know,” his face was tight with anguish. “I wish… I wish I could do something to make it easier.”

“There was another one, right?” She inquired. “Another boy who… died?”

He nodded, his expression pinched with emotion. “We called him Radar. I don't think the poor kid ever knew what hit him.”

She swallowed. “And Jorge?”

He shook his head. “Trust me, honey, it's better if you don't know.”

She closed her eyes against the brimming of tears, but one escaped anyway. “I already know. Ray told me, but he didn't… He didn't tell me if he suffered.” She opened her lids again, meeting Jack's eyes.
He looks even more haunted. I hate to cause him more sorrow, asking him to remember such a terrible thing, but I have to know.

“I don't know,” he replied, and she could see he was being honest. His dark face was carved in lines of grief. “I'd like to think he was too numb from his injuries to feel anything. And… it was only a few minutes… maybe five? I doubt more than that. But…” he trailed off. “No. No more. Don't torture yourself, Mari. Don't think about it. Jorge's in heaven, you know he is and you know he'll never suffer again.”

Marithé tried to speak, but no words emerged. Her throat had been choked shut by the tears she was trying to hold in. Without another word, Jack hauled her into his arms, letting his body convey the things he couldn't say. She snuggled up against his chest, not crying, but breathing raggedly, as though she'd run a mile.

As he held her, a part of her couldn't help running a mental tally of every wrong sensation.
He's too big, too broad… too muscular.
Jack wasn't wiry like her late husband, but… Another part of her appreciated his strength.
Jorge was my love in innocence, when the world was a beautiful place. Jack… he's so big his shoulders can catch all of my tears. These powerful arms can keep all the demons that threaten to claim me at bay, taming the grief and despair tormenting me.
Despite his strength, he held her like a fragile piece of glass, delicate and precious.

Once she got control of her breathing, she lifted her head, staring into his captivating eyes; their depth and vulnerability drawing her in, pleading for forgiveness, and understanding. “Do you hate me, Mari?”

“What?” Still a little fuzzy from the wine, and distracted by his nearness, the question made no sense.

“Do you hate me because I came home and… he didn't?”

She answered from the heart. “I hate that he didn't come home.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “But I would in no way trade one good man for another. The world is too short of men like you, men like Jorge. I'm glad you lived, Jack. I'm so glad you made it home.”

Acting on pure instinct, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. From that first kiss, all sense vanished. Marithé scrambled up onto her knees in order to gain better access to Jack's mouth. He grasped her waist in both hands. She cupped his cheeks in hers as they devoured each other's lips, mouths, tongues. They played and tangled urgently, as though somehow the light of their passion could drive away the shadows. And for a time it did. Pure desire flared bright as fireworks behind her eyelids. She tossed one knee over Jack's legs, straddling him to improve their angle.

“Sweet Mari,” he murmured against her lips.

“Hmmmm,” she hummed in response. His fingers slid up and down her back, then dipped low, grasping her bottom and pressing her firmly against the length of his body. Her sex, barely covered by her tiny panties, came into contact with the zipper of his slacks, and the rampant arousal underneath.
Big,
she thought.

One calloused hand remained splayed on her lower back, but the other crept to the buttons of her blouse, not opening them, but toying with the top one, before gliding down and to the side, to test the fullness of her breast.

Oh, yes, Jack,
she thought.
Oh, touch me.

As though he could read her mind, he did, skimming his fingertips over the plump roundness and thumbing the eager peak. Even through a layer of cotton and one of lace, she could feel every stroke. It lit a fire straight to her core, burning like a fuse.
Like a fuse to an explosion.
Already pressure was building. She liked his touch so much that a little squeak of appreciation escaped her.

“Good?” he asked.

“More,” she demanded. He chuckled and stroked across her to touch her other breast.

Wanting to know more of Jack, she opened the buttons of his shirt, revealing cocoa colored skin, so much darker than her own coppery tone. She slid her hands over firm muscle, smooth skin and coarse hair, and when she dared to look at the place her fingers met his skin, the surge of wetness soaked straight through into the crotch of his pants.

“I want you, Marithé Dominguez,” he growled, opening her buttons at last.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.

He opened the front clasp of her bra, letting her spill free, and gathered up one full globe in each hand, lifting them so he could nuzzle and taste the soft, soft skin.

“Jack,” she whimpered.

He responded by taking one large, brown nipple between his lips and tugging.

She gasped as exquisite pleasure streaked through her, nearly igniting her climax.
I've never come from that alone… is it because it's been so long?
She didn't know, and when Jack sucked her other nipple into his mouth and lashed it with his tongue, her whole body tightened down in shudders of pleasure.
Like a warning shot,
she thought as she gasped through the tiny release.
The main event is yet to come.

She trailed her fingers brazenly down his chest and into the waistband of his pants, opening the button, sliding the zipper down. His manhood grew, bulging above the zipper line, no longer contained.
Oh, my! That's even more than I expected.
She reached the waistband of his underpants, but when she did, her fingers refused to go further.

“Jack?” she met his eyes and begged silently for his help.

“Shy?” He smiled. One hand cupped the base of her skull and drew her back for another kiss while the other grasped her fingers and slid them inside his clothing, so she could touch him. The thick, heavy erection jumped in her hand as she enclosed it, circling the head with her thumb.
Circumcised. Interesting.
The edge of his head felt novel, not being covered by a foreskin, the way she was used to. She explored this unfamiliar landscape, learning new veins, new curve, new girth by touch while her mouth remained fused to his.

“Argh,” he groaned, guiding her hand away. “It's been a long time, Mari. Unless you want me to come in my pants, you'd better stop.”

That certainly was not what she wanted. She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving Jack's and slowly drew her panties down to the floor. Jack stripped off his own garments with considerably less finesse. As she let her blouse slide from her arms, her eyes skimmed over his body. What she had perceived as teddy bear thickness turned out to be heavily corded muscle. Her eyes widened. “Oh wow.”

She scanned him from his broad shoulders, down his bulky biceps to a chiseled six pack, to… she blinked.
Big doesn't even come close.
Then she took in his thighs. One matched the rest of him; muscular and manly. The other… the other was a ravaged chunk of twisted flesh.
No wonder it hurts him
. Dropping her skirt, she approached, falling to her knees, not to perform any lascivious acts, but to rain kiss after kiss on his injury.

“Mari.” His voice sounded harsh and he cupped her head again, this time urging her to her feet. “Come here, sweetness.” He drew her back to her kneeling position on his lap, and this time looked her up and down. Despite the arousal roaring through her veins, she wondered what he would make of the stretch-marked little pouch of her belly, her full hips, her far from slender thighs.

“My God, you're beautiful,” he proclaimed with such awe and appreciation that she couldn't deny his sincerity.

She held herself still as his fingers skimmed over her body, tracing every curve before, at last, they headed where she most wanted to be touched. She spread her thighs wider, arching her hips forward to give him better access.
How does he know just where to touch me?

He slid his fingers into her juicy folds. Mari whimpered, scooting forward to lean her forehead against his shoulder. He dipped one long, thick finger into her weeping well, eliciting a flurry of shudders. Then he moved forward, centering on her most sensitive spot. Marithé shifted her hips, trying to position that clever finger exactly where she wanted it, and he followed her lead, seemingly eager to please her.

“You need to come, honey,” he urged. “You're so small. I need you drenched and relaxed, okay?”

“I'm close, Jack,” she said, her voice thin and high, her breath coming in waves of gasps. “So close.”

“Show me what you need,” he urged, never relenting the constant motion that pushed her ever forward. She covered his hand with hers and guided him back to her opening. “Inside?”

“Please,” she begged. She'd never felt so empty in her life. One finger pressed into her core. She cried out sharply, and then groaned, low and deep as it retreated and two returned. The delicious stretch had her right on the edge of ecstasy, so one sweep of his thumb across her clitoris ignited the explosion he'd coveted.

Shamelessly, Marithé cried out, squirming as he pleasured her. “Now, Jack. Please, take me now. I need you. Oh, God, I
need
you.”

She grasped his sex, feeling his pulse throbbing through it, and positioned it as he slipped his fingers from her. A slow, spreading pressure inched into her as Jack pressed her down onto his erection.

“That's it,” he groaned in pleasure. “Good girl. Take it all.”

Big,
she thought, not sure whether the fullness felt amazing or a bit too much. She shifted her hips, settling herself lower on him, then lifted and lowered again. The pressure was both pleasure and pain, a mix of delightful distress that had her spinning. It heightened her senses to new levels.

Jack wrapped his arms around her and held her still while he plundered her mouth with a punishing kiss. In contrast, the tiny nudges of his sex in her body epitomized gentleness. After a minute or two of these easy thrusts, she relaxed, adjusting to his size. Then they began to move together, drawing apart and returning. Each deep penetration sent a shower of sparks through Marithé's whole being.

A more encompassing fire was building. Deeper into the secret recesses of her body than she'd ever been touched before, a slumberous desire awakened, encouraging her to move faster as she tried to capture what was happening. A slight shift of her knees on the sofa brought Jack's penis in contact with that electric spot. Marithé's thrusts lost rhythm as ecstasy drew near. Jack guided her, hands on her hips, keeping her moving over him so she could continue enjoying their union. Pleasure coiled in her belly. Coiled… SPRANG! She tore her mouth from Jack's and shouted her ecstasy to the ceiling, only vaguely aware of Jack grabbing her tight and thrusting deep with a groan.

For an endless, frozen moment, they shuddered together, holding onto each other as the world shifted around them. At last, as the moment passed, Marithé fell limp against Jack's powerful body. She groaned at the sweetness of the contact. She reveled in the nearness she longed for, languished in the release she craved.

“I love you, Marithé,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”