The Charlotte Chronicles (33 page)

“
L
ooking good
, Charlie. Lose that extra weight, did you?” Shelly Tighe gives me the thumbs up as she leaves the therapy room. They’ve worked her hard. The front of her purple “Let’s Do It” T-shirt is drenched. I lean against a crutch and slap her hand.

“Yeah, all five pounds of it.”

“Shit, is that all these things weigh?” She jiggles one of her legs.

“It was just half the leg, and I got to keep the heavy thigh portion.”

“Win!”

Any time I start feeling sorry for myself, I just wheel around the recovery ward and see the amazing attitudes of everyone here. Shelly is a paraplegic who suffered nerve damage in a bad car accident. Like me, she’s here to learn to walk, but Shelly is using arm braces, and I’m going to have a bad ass prosthetic. It’s not a measurement of who is worse off, but being down on yourself is frowned upon by everyone—from the patients to the nurses.

And really, having the leg off that had all the cancer and disease in it is a relief. I still feel like I have a foot. If I concentrate hard, I swear I can rotate my darn ankle. The phantom limb pains are no fun. In fact, I can feel the leg aching right now.

I must’ve grimaced because Shelly clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in sympathy. “Phantom limb pains?”

“I’ve been using the mirror, but my stupid brain isn’t catching on as fast as I’d like.”

She nods her head in understanding. “Saw your sweet new prosthetic in the therapy room.”

“Like that? My parents bought it for me. This company makes custom covers for existing prosthetics. You can change them out, like a case for a phone, depending on what you wear and what types of activities you’re doing.”

“The tattoo must have meaning.”

One of the interchangeable fairings I had made was a tattoo design of a dove with the snout of the dragon just off the edge. It’s a somewhat strange design, but I know what it means and so will Nathan. It’s a surprise.

“It’s a dove. It’s the second part of the story that my husband’s tattoo starts.”

“That’s very cool. When do you think he’ll get back?”

“Soon, I hope, but I don’t know. He’s been gone for a while. Almost eight weeks now.”

“That’s too bad. Is that normal?”

I laugh and tap my left crutch. “I have no idea. This is my first time—our first time. We got married, and he was hauled away during our honeymoon.”

I admit to having a mass of anxiety anticipating Nathan’s return. He left me at my most beautiful, all glamoured up by professionals for my wedding day. When he sees me, it will be with one of my legs gone. And as happy as I try to be, having one leg instead of two isn’t as sexy.

“When he gets back, remind him that moving around is the best medicine for you.” She winks and moves down the hall. At the other end I can see the therapist, Julie—the torturer—-waiting for me. I swing the crutches forward.

“How’s the flesh wound, Jackson?” Maurice Jeffries calls as I pass by his room.

“I’m getting my new prosthesis today, so I feel pretty badass.” Maurice has an AK—above the knee amputation—and according to all the other AKs or hip disarticulations, a BK is akin to getting a sprain.

“Got a surprise in here for you,” Julie says in a singsong voice. It’s the same tone she uses to tell us that one more step after the fifty she’s had us do is good for us. I hate and love her at the same time.

“Can’t wait,” I say with real enthusiasm because getting a well-fitted prosthetic is my first—no pun intended—step toward becoming fully independent.

Inside, though, my new fancy prosthetic is the least interesting thing in the room. My eyes skip over the titanium fittings and the chrome- and flesh-colored covers to the gorgeous man holding them.

“Nathan!” I cry. I curse my lack of mobility. I wait for him to run to me, but he doesn’t. “You’re a sight for these eyes, baby.” He taps my prosthetic against his hand, grinning hugely. “Get over here.”

I plant my two crutches on the floor and motor over to him as fast as I can. The last two steps I fly forward, using my crutches to launch myself into his arms. He catches me and the crutches fall to the floor.

“You’re home. You’re home.” I smash his face between my hands and pepper kisses over every square inch of his precious skin. His hand curls behind my head and stills my frantic movements.

“I’m home,” he says huskily. He greets me with an open-mouthed kiss, devouring me as he promised. His strength is effortless, and it isn't until this moment that I realize how vast the loneliness is when he is not with me. I return his kiss with fervor that has him moaning into my mouth.

The women I’ve met, some of the SEAL wives and girlfriends who have visited, have told me that reunion sex is the best. I can’t wait. Really, not another minute. I’m taking him here in the therapy room, and I don’t care who sees us. I take fistfuls of his cotton T-shirt and try to rip it over his head, but he laughs against my mouth and sets me down, a few inches too many away from him.

He steadies me with his hand and looks me over.

“I thought I was going to do the boat thing,” I say with a bit of a tremble that’s one part desire and the other part anxiety. I had big plans to show up at the dock with all the other Navy families when the big ship sailed in looking gorgeous with freshly applied lipstick awaiting my man to walk down the gangplank. My stump is hanging down, and I’m standing like a weird flamingo in front of him except half my leg isn’t folded up underneath me. It’s just gone.

“We got a special ride,” he murmurs absently. He sweeps strands of my hair away from my forehead and tucks them behind my ear. His fingers run down the outer curve of my ear and tug on the lobe. “You look so damn beautiful.”

“Not as symmetrical though.” I hop forward and close my arms around his waist. Up close he can’t see my stump.

“Who the hell cares about that?” He rubs his hands down my back, those big hands that have featured large in my fantasies.

“You told me after I shaved my head when I was fifteen that I was beautiful because of my symmetry.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re beautiful because you’re Charlotte. You’re my ideal, you know? When other guys point out some woman that they think is hot, I measure them against you. You’re the standard. One leg, two legs, no legs. Whatever you are is what is beautiful to me.”

I melt into him. “You’re pretty good with your words.”

“It’s the truth. How’s that leg? Hurt much?”

I shrug a little, not caring about the pain now that we’re together. I want to talk about other things like when we’re getting naked. “Not right now. How’d things go for you?”

He tenses in my embrace. “As well as could be expected.” He places a finger under my chin. “I’m leaving the teams. Already handed in my separation notice.”

“No,” I cry. “Why?”

“I missed you. My heart, fuck,” he snorts with chagrin. “My heart literally fucking ached being apart, and it was hard to concentrate on the task at hand. I missed you far more than I’ll ever miss the teams. My life is with you. I’m not going to regret this. At first it was killing me not to be here during the surgery, but then I realized you don’t need me to save you. You just need me to love you. But baby, I want to love you up close and personal all the time, not just a few months out of the year. There’s plenty of stuff I can do out of the service, but I spent nine years away from you and I don’t want to spend another moment without you.”

I search his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. He hides nothing, and in those dark brown depths is his sincerity. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” A lopsided grin appears. “Can we get out of here? I’ve got two months of fantasies that you need to start working on.”

“Oh yes.”

“
I
want to be gentle
, but it's been so long.” His eyes plead for understanding.

“I’m just as needy. Look, my hands are shaking.” I hold out my trembling fingers as evidence.

“Good,” he grunts. He makes short work of my clothes and his. His fingers slip inside me where he finds me wet and ready. It’s been a long time for me too.

His hands palm my buttocks, and he lifts me in one swift movement so that I’m level with his chin. His whole mouth engulfs me.

The shock of heat and wet against my sex wrenches a cry. He tips me back until I'm lying almost solely on my shoulders, my thighs resting near his ears. He makes loud sucking sounds, groaning with audible delight at the taste of me that is coating his tongue. Any self-consciousness I have over my lack of a leg is eaten away by his fierce, real hunger.

My body is so hot and so aroused that every pass of his calloused palm over my skin sets off minor detonations that are all building into something bigger, stronger, and more volatile than my simple self can contain. Pleasure streaks through me like lightning. I fling my arms wide and arch into his touch. I beg mindlessly for more, more, more until he wrenches his mouth away and plunges into me in one rough, sure movement.

“Shit,” he stills and jerks out.

I shout my protest, “No, come back.”

“Condom,” he mumbles reaching over the side of the bed for his discarded jeans.

“IUD,” I say, pulling at his arm.

He looks confused. “IUD,” I repeat. “No need for a condom.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank Christ.” He pushes my thighs apart and palms his shaft. The sight of his big hand surrounding his even bigger penis sends a shiver down my spine. A passage in his letters springs to mind and I suddenly remember that he had no privacy while he was away on his mission.

“You didn’t touch yourself while you were gone?”

“Not once.”

I shake my head at his ruthless control. I throw my arms over my head and stretch, knowing that the arching motion pushes my breasts upward. His gaze roves over me with intense concentration.

“I touched myself regularly. I’d think of you, of us together, and I’d need to touch myself.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you prefer,” is his husky response. “Your touch or mine.” He enters me slowly this time. A hiss leaks from his lips as he watches his shaft spear into my delicate flesh. I push against the mattress, trying to swallow him faster, have him thrust harder.

“Don't move, baby. Please. Give me a sec.” His chest heaves like bellows at a forge. His fingers bite into my hips, so deep that there will be impressions tomorrow which I can’t wait to see. Those marks will be a heady reminder of how drunk on lust he is at this moment.

He reaches between us and pinches the base of his penis, shuts his eyes tight and takes deep measured breaths. My body reacts to the invasion of his thrusts. I don’t do it on purpose, but I clench around him.

His eyes flick open. “Don’t move,” he says again through clenched teeth.

“Can’t help it,” I say and undulate beneath him. I really can’t. I need him deep inside me. I want to feel the deliciously heavy drag of his swollen flesh against my sensitive nerves. I want him to fuck me blind.

I must have said it out loud.

“Goddamn your filthy mouth will be the death of me,” he groans. He reaches one arm under my back, holding me tight against his hard push. Leaning forward, he captures a hard nipple in his mouth and sucks hard. Those pulls draw from my belly. No, deeper. The tension between my legs meets the coils of want he’s creating with his kisses, his touches, his thick, deep strokes.

This is it. Here in this moment with him so deep inside my body, his love surrounding me, I can’t hold on to reality for one single more instant. The explosions overtake me, leaking out of my eyes, escaping my throat in guttural animalistic pants, vibrating from my center outward as he thrusts fast and hard, retreating and invading time and again until the warm flood of his ejaculate fills me up.

Even then he doesn’t stop moving. Even as I turn into a quivering heap, shaking from the pleasure. Even as I nearly levitate off the bed when he claims my mouth and reaches between us to press his hard thumb against my clit.

“Holy shit.” He laughs when he comes down to earth.

Holy shit indeed.

“I love you,” I whisper into his sweat dampened skin. “So much. There aren’t even words that really explain how much I love you.”

“I will never leave you again. I love you too much.” His lips press against my shoulder and then my neck and then my mouth to seal his promise.

D
ear Son
,

I remember the first time I heard your heartbeat. Your mom was only eight weeks along when we went into the clinic to confirm our positive at-home test. They hooked up the ultrasound at our insistence, and we heard the whump whump whump of your strong heart.

My own heart stopped. Here you were, my first born, swimming around in your mom’s belly no bigger than a peanut. Conception is one of those amazing things that is hard to comprehend. My seed. Her egg. You!

Impossible.

Now you’re fifteen, which seems even more impossible.

Do you know how proud I am to be your old man? Very. You wear the Jackson name well.

You watch out for your younger brother and never complain when little Grace uses you as her personal trampoline. You help your mom without asking and still want to play catch with me.

You’ve already learned that kindness can be a way of life and that loving someone makes you stronger and not weaker. These are important lessons that it takes others a whole life to learn.

That other boys don’t understand the way you are choosing to live your life doesn’t make your choices wrong. It only makes them different.

I wish I’d been more like you. When I woke up and realized your mom was the one for me, I’d already squandered that first time on someone whose face I don’t even remember now. If there’s ever a thing I regretted, and I don’t regret much, it’s that she wasn’t my first.

A boy gives his body away to anyone. It takes a man to abstain. These suckers who are hassling you are envious of your fortitude, your strength.

You’re worth a hell of a lot, and I’m glad you realize it. Waiting because you want to find the right one to share that momentous time in your life is not only admirable but an action that shouts leadership.

Like I said. I’m proud to be your dad. Proud that you’re a Jackson. Don’t let those other shitstains get you down.

Love,

Dad

A rustle at the door catches my attention. Four-year-old Grace is peeking through her hands at me. She spreads her tiny fingers as far as they can go as she runs toward me.

After having our two boys in quick succession, Charlotte and I thought we were done, but Grace came along when the boys were ten and eleven. She’s a ray of sunshine, and I can’t even envision my life before she came along.

I cuddle her on my lap as she shows me her fingers. “I washed my hands after I pottied.”

“Good girl.”

She wipes the droplets of what I hope is water on my shirt.

“Grammy and Grandpa are napping,” she announces. “They were playing with us outside, but after Grandpa tickled Grammy, they were too tired to play. Grandpa said it was time for a nap, and they disappeared.”

Out of my office window I see the two boys playing football with their cousins. My parents are sitting on a swinging bench watching the game, so it must be Bo and AnnMarie who have snuck off for an afternoon quickie.

“Your parents are insatiable.” I don’t need to look up to know Charlotte has walked in. The slightly uneven tread signals her arrival.

“What’s insaysible?” Grace asks.

Of course she does. “Sleepy. Very sleepy,” I lie and kiss her forehead.

“I’m not sleepy.” Worried that we’re going to make her nap, she jumps off my lap, runs to give her mother a hug, and then trots out as fast as her pudgy legs can carry her. She careens into the opposite wall, rights herself, and then clatters down the hall.

“It’s a good thing your parents are just having sex and not trying to nap because your daughter makes more noise than a five piece band.”

Charlotte laughs lightly and limps over to climb onto my lap. Her nose finds its way into my neck, and I shiver. Squeezing her waist, I draw her tighter against me. “I’m suddenly very tired. How about you?”

“I could be convinced to take a nap,” she murmurs against my throat.

“Good, let’s go.” I slide my arms under her body and stand up.

“I can walk.” The protest is perfunctory so I ignore it.

“That new leg of yours isn’t the right length?” I ask, jostling her in my arms. Charlotte’s been testing out a new biomechanical limb that is powered by the neurons in her brain. It’s amazingly lifelike. She can wiggle her toes and twist her ankle. Over time, she could even develop a stronger calf muscle—at least that’s the hope. But currently it doesn’t sound like it’s working right.

“We’re still in the testing stage. I ordered a pair of stilettos. I can’t wait to try them out. What do you think?” She pokes me in the chest. “I’ll be wearing fuck me pumps for the first time.”

“As if I need any encouragement,” I grunt. I’m still as randy as I was when I was seventeen. It takes very little to get me hard and even less to get me into bed. “I’m easy.”

“Speaking of easy, did you find out what was bugging your eldest?” She reaches out to open our bedroom door.

“That wasn’t easy,” I protest and throw her on the bed. I watch appreciatively as her breasts bounce. She wastes no time in shedding her clothes, so I sit back and enjoy the show.

“Hunter?” she prompts.

“What about him?” My eyes are glued to the light blue lace concoction she’s got covering her tits. The material is so sheer I can see her rosy nipples clearly. “This is hot. Did you just get this? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

“Yes, it’s new. Don’t rip it,” she cautions.

“I want to see the bottoms. Do they match?” I tug at the waistband of the simple knit skirt she’s wearing.

“Of course they match, but you don’t get to see them until you tell me what happened with Hunter.”

“Who?” I mumble absently, pulling harder on the elastic waist so I can get a better view of her panties. She slaps my hand away. Sighing, I decide to undress myself. “Hunter told a bunch of his friends that he wasn’t interested in losing his virginity until he’d found the right girl, and they decided to hassle him over it.”

She gasps. “Those little fucking punks. I ought to beat them with my leg.”

The vision of Charlotte whipping off her prosthetic and bashing a bunch of horny fifteen year olds strikes me as so funny, I topple over with laughter. “I’d pay a lot to see that,” I gasp.

“This one is pretty heavy. It’d hurt.”

“I bet,” I say wiping my eyes. “But shit, you don’t need to do it on account of Hunter’s hurt feelings because he doesn’t have any. He told me that he didn’t give a fuck—fudge—what his friends thought. I wrote him a letter to tell him I was proud of him. Going to tuck it under his pillow tonight.”

Charlotte grabs my face and gives me a helluva kiss with a lot of tongue.

“What was that for?” I’m short of breath again, but it’s not from laughing. She blows my mind. Sixteen years of marriage and three kids have not dampened my need for her one bit.

“Your dad actions are so damn sexy.” She wiggles out of her skirt to display a pair of sheer lace panties with ribbon ties at the hip. “Come and get your reward.”

I slink down the bed so I have a better view of her pussy. “Want to take this off?” I tap the leg.

“Nah, let’s give her a work out. See if it can make it through one of my most important activities.”

“Fucking?” I smirk.

“Making love to my husband.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” I open my mouth and suck her through the thin material. She spreads her thighs wide for me, opening herself to be devoured. I’ll never tire of hearing her call me her husband. It’s awesome.

And it’s even more awesome to be kissing her pretty pussy. She tastes like a sweet, tart fruit and looks just as juicy. I pull on the ribbon ties and enjoy the spectacle of the wet fabric clinging to her lower lips. I peel them away to see her cunt in all its aroused glory.

“What have you been thinking about, Charlotte?” I stroke a finger up one side of her swollen lips down the other. She trembles under my touch, under my gaze.

“You, of course.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were fucking me.” Her eyes are lit up with happiness.

I shove a finger inside her. She gasps but grinds down. Leaning forward, I take her mouth, sucking on her pouty lips, licking her saucy tongue. She moans—or maybe it’s me—and I feel the vibrations of our sounds of pleasure.

I jack my fingers into her harder and faster while rubbing her clit with my thumb. She rides my hand, clinging to my shoulders and devouring me back. She comes around my hand, coating my fingers with her juice, jerking wildly in my arms. I swallow her cries and fumble with the button and zipper on my jeans so I can shove my aching cock inside her.

She shoves my inept hand away and releases me. Still holding me, she guides me to her hot center. I die a little. I am revived a whole lot.

Fucking, making love, it’s all the same with her.

It’s me inside of her body, coming home where there’s nothing but love. We waited so long, fought so hard, because the prize was so goddamn worth it.