The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

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.