Surrender (6 page)

“My turn,” I said, getting up and pushing him backward onto the mattress, feeling a rush of feminine power through my veins. “I'm going to take my own
best
orgasm.”

He settled farther onto the mattress and folded his arms behind his head. He said nothing, only watched me as I crawled over him, dragging the tips of my breasts along his skin as I made my way up. When I reached my destination, I sat up and turned around, straddling him backward, my wet heat directly on his cock.

“You should see the view from here,” he said, massaging my ass.

I looked down between my legs, at his engorged testicles and the thick vein that ran along the length of his penis. “The view from here is not too shabby, either,” I said and reached down to take his balls in my hand and give them a firm tug.

He lurched up. “Holy hell!”

“Did that hurt?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

“Yes. No,” he replied, looking conflicted. “More.”

The second time, he let out a hiss, then took hold of my hips and lifted me up. I guided him inside me, taking my time sliding down his shaft, my nerves still raw from my orgasm. I began to rock my hips, taking hold of his sac and allowing my movements to take it with me.

“God, yes,” he whispered in a pained voice. His hand reached around and found my clit, stroking me in a circular motion.

“Right there,” I said when he found the spot. I bounced on his lap, rising till he was almost out, then slammed straight down, my muscles clutching at him. I leaned back, setting my hands on his chest to support myself. His hands bore my weight when I lifted my hips, and he thrust upward, taking the reins once again.

He hammered into me relentlessly, the friction making my nerves sing until the orgasm started to build once again, taking me by surprise. I'd been able to climax readily and without much help during my sexual prime, but I had never experienced back-to-back orgasms.

I threw my head back, rolling side to side, and noticed the large mirror against the wall. I caught our reflection on the bed—me hovering above him, his ass and thighs flexing with each rapid upward thrust—and suddenly, I was climaxing. My legs quaked as the orgasm tore through me, shooting liquid pleasure through my veins.

Neal paused for a few beats, then thrust into me again, igniting another orgasm that had my entire body shaking, the sensation racing through my limbs down to the tips of my fingers and toes. For a few seconds, I felt removed from my body, as if I were nothing more than just one ball of scorching white fire.

“I'm about to come,” he said then let out a loud groan, wrenching me down on top of him as his cock twitched and surged, his body one coiled muscle.

When the aftershocks ebbed away, I lay back on his chest. “Holy shit,” I said, my brain completely devoid of rational thought.

He brushed my hair aside and twisted my head around to kiss me, his heart still thudding a heavy staccato beat against my back.

“Okay, you win,” I said, biting his bottom lip. “That
was
the best orgasm of my life.”

He smiled against my lips. “Now I'll just have to give you an even better one.”

“I don't know how that's possible, but I'm game to try.”

His chuckle was deep and satisfying, rumbling through his chest. “I knew you would be.”

—

Sleep proved elusive when there was a sexy man in bed with me who couldn't control his thoughts or his hands.

“So tell me about your parents,” he said, palming my ass.

I snuggled into the crook of his arm, running my fingernails through the hair on his chest. “They had what you'd call a tumultuous marriage. One minute they couldn't stand each other, the next minute it was like they couldn't breathe without each other. It was a constant ‘I hate you, I love you.' It took me a long time to realize that their relationship was abusive in a way, not physically but emotionally, that they did horrible things to each other in the name of love. And I grew up thinking I'd never be like that. Never be so entrenched in someone else that I'd lose all sense of control over my emotions.”

“And how's that going for you?”

“So far so good.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, how about you?”

“My dad, Patrick, lives in San Diego. He used to be Navy but got out a while ago and now he's running a small business teaching people how to fly. He lives with my stepmom, Karen.”

“And your mom?”

“She died when I was seventeen. Cancer.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. Her name was Lori. She was the best person I knew.” He stared off into space, lost in his thoughts.

“So tell me more about your dad,” I said to steer him away from melancholy thoughts.

He kissed my shoulder. “My parents married young, had me young. Mom was sick for years and my dad took care of her, even quit the Navy to be there for her. He was so wrapped up in my mom and her cancer that he gave up nearly everything else in his life. One night, about two weeks after she was buried, he confessed to me that he was a little relieved that she was gone, and it made me so angry with him. I hated him enough that I left home as soon as I graduated and stopped talking to him. It took me a long time to let go of my anger, to finally think about his words and try to understand where he was coming from.

“On his fortieth birthday, I finally went back home and we talked it all over. He said it was the best birthday gift of his life. And a few months later he met Karen. They fell in love, got married, popped out two more kids.”

With his theory about things happening for a reason in mind, I asked, “Do you think your mom died in order for your dad to meet Karen?”

“No. My mom died because it was her time to go. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Something tells me you won't feel that way if it's your life on the line.”

“I do. We're all going to die sometime. Why waste energy worrying about it?” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Anyway . . . so why birds?”

I took to the change in subject happily. “I'm not sure when it began, but for as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to have the ability to fly. To leave everything behind and soar into the clouds, far removed from my life. Once, I climbed a tree to jump onto a trampoline.”

“And?”

“I broke my arm.”

He lifted my arm straight out above us, skimming along its length with his rough palm. “This one?”

“The other. I was in a cast for eight weeks,” I said. “I guess that's why I was drawn to dance. Leaping onstage, defying gravity, it's how I'm able to fly. For those few seconds, time slows and I'm weightless.”

“Come with me,” he said, getting out of bed. I followed him, enjoying the view of his firm ass as he led me toward the balcony door, noticing for the first time the faded tattoo of wings on his shoulders.

I hesitated by the door, taking note of the glass balcony walls and my distinct lack of clothing.

He sensed my hesitation and held out his hand. “Fly with me.”

I walked out onto the balcony, surprised to feel the concrete warm beneath my feet, and came to a stop before the nearly invisible railing. He came up behind me and lifted my hands to the sides, and it was almost as if he were leading me to the edge of the world, two birds ready to soar.

I closed my eyes to the thousands of sparkling lights around us just as the breeze picked up, feeling it sift through my hair and wrap around me like a promise.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm weighed down here on earth,” I found myself confessing with my eyes still shut. “But being here with you . . . for the first time in a long time I feel . . . light.”

“Why?” he asked so softly I almost didn't hear. “What is it that's dragging you down?”

I took a deep breath and let it out, along with the worries and doubts. Here, thirty-eight floors above the world, it was just Neal and me, without adornments or armor. “Five years ago, I was engaged,” I said, rubbing the phantom ring on my left hand. The day Jason had suggested we get married, I'd put on a silver band in anticipation of a real engagement ring and had worn it through the months he was deployed. “We were going to get married after he came home from deployment.”

Neal nodded, maybe sensing where this story was headed.

“But he died before he could come home. Killed by a sniper in Kabul.” Even after I found out about his death, I'd worn the ring, kept spinning it around and around on my finger while I prayed that the reports were wrong.

Neal's eyebrows drew together, his lips growing tight.

“Life was . . . tough after that. I didn't leave my room, my apartment, for weeks. Eventually my mom came and tried to snap me out of it. It worked for some time. I stayed with her and she tried her best to make me forget. But you can't forget something like that.” I swiped at the tear streaking down my cheek.

“But you're here right now, doing well,” he said in a pained voice.

I didn't know if he meant it as a statement or a question. It didn't matter either way. “I haven't felt the same since his death. Like he took the best of me with him to the grave. And I'll always resent him a little for that.” I opened my eyes and stared down at the streets below. “I probably shouldn't say that about someone who died. It wasn't like it was his choice to go.”

“That's bullshit,” he said so roughly I whipped my head around in surprise. “Why aren't we supposed to speak ill of the dead? Why should we romanticize their lives, as if they were perfect? If his death took away your chance at happiness then no amount of whitewashing will make that go away.”

My chest threatened to cave in on itself, making it difficult to say anything.

He moved away from me and leaned on the railing. He put his head in his hands and was silent for a long time. When at last he looked up, the gloom was gone and in its place was grim determination. Without warning, he lunged forward and took hold of my face, kissing me hard and deep. There was a different texture to this kiss—a new, more desperate kind of need—but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what had changed.

He kissed me on that balcony for a long time, grasping the back of my head to bring me closer, pinning my body against the railing with his own.

His chest was heaving when he pulled away, his gaze almost frightening in its intensity. “I'm sorry,” he said before stalking off inside.

“Don't go,” I said, holding out my hand, hoping this time he'd take it.

But the man before me in camouflage didn't reach out, didn't even acknowledge me. Instead he set the helmet over his blond head and picked up his rifle, holding it protectively over his chest. He turned away from me and faced the flat horizon.

“Come back,” I called out, drifting away from him. Tears were streaming down my face, and I sobbed, thinking that if I cried hard enough, he'd turn around and change his mind. I knew if he left now, he would not come back alive. “Please don't go. Please. I don't want you to go.”

He looked over his shoulder, flashing me a confident smile. “Don't worry. I'm going to find him,” he said with a young boy's voice. “I'll find him for you. I'll come back with Dad.”

Then he walked off toward the desert, disappearing into the dusty, tan horizon.

—

I woke up, my back covered in sweat, my pillow damp from tears. I'd had the dream before and though the location sometimes changed, the outcome was always the same. If I was lucky, like today, I'd wake up before his body was brought back in a coffin.

With trembling fingers, I lifted Neal's heavy arm off my waist and rolled out of bed. I rummaged around in my purse for my cell phone before heading to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I sat on the toilet lid and took deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves.

I knew it had only been a dream, that Will was not actually going off to war, but my body felt it anyway, as if the absolute horror of watching someone you love die was now part of my muscle memory.

A good five minutes elapsed as I stared at the phone in my hand before finally deciding to hit the call button. I didn't know if seven thirty in the morning was too early, but I needed to hear my son's voice.

John picked up on the third ring. “Good morning,” he said. “How are you enjoying your trip?”

“It's been fun,” I said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that John knew where I was, what I was doing here. “I just wanted to check up on Will.”

“He's doing well. We stayed up late last night watching
The Lion King
, so he's still asleep.” I heard some shuffling in the background, then, “Oh, wait, he's here.”

“Hello?” came the sleepy little voice on the line, easing the tightness in my lungs.

“Hi, honey.”

“Mom! Where are you?”

“I'm still here,” I replied with tears gathering in my eyes.

“When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow morning. Unless you want me to come home earlier?”

“No, it's okay. Grandma and Grandpa are taking me strawberry picking today at a real farm.”

“That's fantastic! What did you do yesterday?” I hugged my knees to my chest and listened as Will gave a blow-by-blow account of his day, sounding so happy it almost hurt to know that it hadn't been with me. It struck me again that he was growing up so fast, and soon he'd be deciding on his future, perhaps even wanting to follow in his father's footsteps. And as much as I appreciate those in the military for their sacrifice, I didn't want my son joining their ranks. The military had already stolen one man from my life; I would fight tooth and nail to make sure it didn't claim another.

“Will, remember to be polite and well mannered, okay? And don't eat too many sugary things. You know how it makes you shaky.”

I was sure his eyes were rolling. “Okay, Mom. You know I'm always good.”

“Yes, you are.” I looked down in time to see a tear drop on my knee. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom. 'Bye!”

“'Bye.”

I looked around the clean bathroom, a strange feeling of detachment settling over me.

What the hell am I doing here? I should be back in Monterey with my son.

I stood up and started the shower, trying to figure out how to tell Neal that I was ready to end our time together.

—

When I opened the bathroom door several minutes later, I found Neal lying in bed, his arms folded behind his head as he glared holes at the ceiling. I watched him quietly for a few moments, riveted by the torment in his face, wondering what the hell had put it there.

When he noticed me, his entire demeanor changed: the lines between his eyebrows eased and his lips curled up into a smile. “Morning,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice. “You're up early.”

I dropped the towel and slid under the covers beside him. “So are you.”

His warm palm found my breast under the sheets. “In more ways than one.”

“What were you thinking about just now?” I thought I had finally figured him out, but after the conversation on the balcony the night before, he was once again a mystery to me.

He dipped his head and nipped at the underside of my jaw, tickling my neck with his stubble. “I was thinking about you,” he murmured. “Of all the things I still want to do with you.”

Even though I remained unconvinced, I laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. His hand slid down my stomach and found my heat, his fingers quickly slipping through my folds, further distracting me.

By the time he slid into me, I'd already forgotten about his worries and my determination to leave, my brain emptied of all thoughts save for one: that I wasn't ready to say good-bye.

—

After eating brunch at the hotel buffet, we went out into the bright Nevada sunshine.

“Where are we going?” I asked, looking down at my gray tank top and white maxi skirt, which billowed in the wind. “Why did you have me dress like this?”

“Secret,” he said with a wink as he led me toward a waiting taxi.

I settled into the seat. “You should know that I hate surprises.”

He slid in beside me until our shoulders and thighs touched. “It's a good surprise,” he said, squeezing my leg.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asked, casting me a long look in the rearview mirror.

“To the Bunny Ranch,” Neal said. He burst out laughing at my shocked expression and quickly said, “I'm kidding. To the MGM Grand, please.”

“Isn't that right down the road?” I asked.

He grinned. “Yes.”

“You baller,” I teased.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I made my lady walk in this heat?” he said. “You're going to need your energy for where we're going.”

It didn't take long before we were exiting the taxi and he was leading me through the hotel, past the golden lion, under the golden dome, by the live lion habitat, and finally coming to a stop in front of the Hollywood Theatre sign.

“Are we going to see a show?”

“No, we're not,” he said, approaching a lean, good-looking man in a blue button-down shirt, vest, and black slacks. “Hey, man. Good to see you again,” Neal said, shaking his hand. “Carlos, this is Julie.”

I shook his hand, still bewildered.

“Nice to meet you.” He turned to the main theater entrance and unlocked the set of doors on the right. “You have an hour before the crew starts setting up for the show,” he said to Neal as he led the way inside.

We walked down the aisle through the overwhelmingly red theater, past the empty seats toward the stage.

“Thank you,” Neal said, shaking Carlos's hand again.

“No problem. Happy to return the favor,” Carlos replied, heading back toward the entrance. “I'll lock the doors behind me. Just call me on my cell phone if you need out.”

When he was gone, Neal turned to me with a pleased smile on his face. “A few years ago he needed to fly to Idaho for a family emergency, so I helped him out,” he said.

“Very generous of you.”

“He's a friend and I was in town.” He shrugged, as if dropping everything and flying someone hundreds of miles was no big thing. “Since I was here, I thought I'd call in a solid.”

I looked around. “So . . . what are we doing exactly?”

He motioned to the stage. “This stage—this entire auditorium—is yours for an entire hour.”

I stared at the stage, trying to remember the last time I'd danced on one. It was so long ago.

“So what would you like to do?” he asked.

Dance, of course.

I walked up to the raised platform and touched the edge of the polished surface before me, suddenly short of breath at the prospect of performing onstage again.

“What's wrong?” he asked, coming up behind me.

“I don't know,” I said, suddenly fighting back tears. “I'm scared, I think.”

“It's just you and me here, Julie,” he said, his gentle words like a caress on my skin. “You don't even have to dance. You can just stand there and twirl around in your skirt.”

I chuckled, blinking away the doubt. “Okay.”

Then I felt his hands encircling my waist, lifting me up onto the stage. I chewed on my lip, surveying the land before me. It wasn't a very big area—about three or four leaps across in length—but for someone who hadn't danced in anything bigger than her living room in several years, it appeared to me the size of a football field.

I took my sandals off and set them at the edge of the stage, then performed a quick warm-up before testing the area with a few grand jetés. I came to a dead stop in the center of the stage, finding myself at a loss. I looked down at Neal, who was standing in the same place, and shook my head. “My mind's gone blank.”

He smiled and pulled out his phone, playing with it for a few seconds before setting it onto the stage. A few seconds later, piano notes floated through the air as “Gravity” by Sara Bareilles began to play. The song immediately dragged me back to college, to the first time I performed a contemporary dance in front of the class.

I smiled ruefully. “This was the song I used on the first dance I ever choreographed and performed. I was so scared beforehand that I was actually shaking.”

“I bet it went well.”

“It was a disaster. I kept forgetting moves that I could have done in my sleep, kept falling out of rhythm. Nobody was impressed. I think people only clapped out of pity,” I said with a chuckle. “But the next time, the class agreed that I was most improved.”

I'd taken an important lesson with me that day that I'd tried to carry with me through life: that each performance was an opportunity to grow. It didn't escape my notice that I hadn't performed in a while.

Neal put his hands in his pockets and smiled up at me, my pensive mood reflected in his face. He reached out and restarted the song. “So dance like you did back then.”

I curled into my knees on the ground, a cloud of white gauzy material surrounding me, then slowly rose. I let the melody wind around me like the breeze, guiding me, whirling around me as I spun. My skirt flowed around, billowing gracefully as I moved. My body was nowhere near as limber as it used to be but it felt good to extend my limbs as far as they could reach, to leap across the stage without worry weighing me down.

I was heaving by the time I dropped to my knees, ending the performance in the same position as before. I got to my feet, exhilarated and anxious, unsure of what I'd see in Neal's face.

He jumped onto the stage and crossed the divide in three long steps, sweeping me up in his arms. He grabbed my face and kissed me like he was drowning and I was a pocket of air and he had no choice but to breathe me in. “I'm sorry,” he said after some time. “I couldn't help myself.”

“You don't hear me complaining,” I said, still fighting to catch my breath.

He kissed the tip of my nose. “Will you teach me a few moves?”

“Sure.”

He kicked off his shoes, keeping his socks on, and put his heels together with his toes out to the sides.

“You know first position?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

“My stepsister used to do ballet,” he said with a confident grin. He then brought his hands to the front and lifted them over his head.

“What else do you know?”

He lifted one leg to the knee. “This is called passe?”

I chuckled. “Looks like you're ready for a pirouette,” I said, demonstrating the turn.

He spun around but his socks were too slippery and he stumbled out of the spin, regaining his balance before he fell.

“You need to spot,” I said. “Give it another try.”

He spun again, his head whipping around after the turn, this time executing a fairly decent spin. “How's that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let's try a grand pirouette.” I held my arms out to the sides and spun around with one leg extended, bobbing up and down on my heel.

Neal laughed then gamely got into position. “Okay, let's give this a shot.” He spun around and kicked his leg out, falling immediately off balance and catching himself on one knee. As he stood up, his deep, self-effacing laughter echoed throughout the auditorium, settling over me like a warm blanket. “That's a lot harder than you make it look.”

“You are so sexy, you know that?” I asked, wondering how someone could be so goofy and still exude masculinity.

He bit his bottom lip and wagged his eyebrows. “You should see my other moves,” he said, stalking toward me.

“Oh, I've seen them,” I said, pressing my palm against his hard stomach.

He held me against him, tipping my chin up and touching his lips to mine. “Julie,” he whispered, our breaths mingling. “What is it about you that has me dizzy?”

“You mean apart from the spin?” I asked. “Is it my winning smile?”

“That's a big part of it,” he said, tracing the outline of my mouth with his finger. “I love the way you light up sometimes when you smile at me, when you look at me like I'm someone amazing.”

“You are.”

He bowed his forehead to mine. “Hold on to that thought. Don't forget you once felt that way about me.”

My throat seized up and it seemed there was not enough oxygen in the room. I pulled away. “Um, what?”