Ethan (10 page)

“Then do it now,” she demanded which only drew a husky, intimate laugh from him.

But he quickened his pace. He lowered his head, his lips tracing the shape of her belly, his tongue plunging into her navel, his teeth tugging on her piercing. Pleasure shot through her body, electric, pulsing, turning her to liquid. His thumb swirled around her clit and then pressed with delicious accuracy into that button. And she tightened, unbearably.

“Now. I’m going to come now.”

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He plunged a finger into her channel and groaned. “So tight. You’re so tight,” he breathed against her skin, moving in a direct line for her sex. His mouth opened over her clit and he plunged a second finger into her channel. He nipped at her bud, suckled it, teased it with his teeth, all the while creating a sultry dance with his fingers. Shae’s body began to splinter. She heard only the roaring of her blood, felt the rasping pull of his lips and tongue on her passion, and arched into his touch. The world blew apart in fragments of bright light and a dizzying fall of pieces that seemed to have no complementary angles. And just when she thought her orgasm was complete, she felt Ethan’s legs push hers open further, felt the tip of his cock as he rubbed it between her lips, bathing himself in her scent. And then he plunged into her and she stretched to receive him.

She’
d never felt so full. So much an extension of someone else.

He thrust and his
balls slapped her ass, his hand slip between them and played with her clit, his mouth suckled her nipple. The rub of his rougher skin, the friction of their sex, and what she’d thought was the start of an amazing orgasm became a spectacular firework of sensation so exquisite she nearly lost consciousness.

She didn’t rise from the throes
for several minutes and not until Ethan began to move.

“I don’t want to crush you sweetheart.”

When he pulled out of her she whimpered at the loss. She felt as though she’d suddenly been set adrift and wanted her anchor—Ethan—back.

He turned her so that he could slip under her and shift
ed her so that she draped over his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly for a moment and that was exactly what she needed. And then he began long, sultry strokes down her back, her bottom, her thighs, and it calmed her further.

When she lifted her head and stared into his eyes, his were liquid with banked heat. She smiled, full of the glory they’d just shared.

“That was something,” she said.

He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back fro
m her face in an act of tenderness.

“Mind-blowing,” he agreed.

She watched reality return to his features in slow increments, including a frown that began to form above his brows.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong.” He sought and captured her gaze. “Just. . .nothing has ever felt this right.”

She
knew what he meant—something so good could be intimidating. It carried with it the desire for more, the fear of losing it all. Feelings that Ethan new too well.

“Don’
t even think about it,” Shae warned. “You’re days of hiding are over.”

“I’m still here,” he said.

But as promises went, Shae knew that was pretty weak.

Chapter Ten

Shae sat at the desk in the sunroom-office, her laptop open as she read an excerpt from a medical journal that detailed the specifics of PTSD in military personnel. She saw some similarity in symptoms between what was described in the article and what she read in Ethan’s screenplay, but not enough, she didn’t think, for it to be an accurate description of Ethan’s mental and emotional state when he was active in the Marines.

Ethan didn’t mention nightmares or flashbacks. There was no evidence of depression and no memory issues. He hadn’t turned to drugs or alcohol for relief.

But he had been emotionally numb. He’d had difficulty returning to “normal” following deployment.

There was something else at play and Shae found it in a blog written by a soldier who had served in Afghanistan. There didn’t seem to be a name for it, but the man wrote about how stress reactions were cumulative. He examined how he had tried, upon every return from battle, to force normal. He recounted homecomings and the mundane daily activities of a family man and infused them with the struggle to
feel
during these times. And Shae recognized Ethan in these situations. The man he’d been when he was married to Tina. And probably for sometime afterwards.

She navigated deeper into the issue, finding other blogs and even a few military sites that spoke about the difficulty of transitioning
back to home life. She bookmarked the most helpful and then sat back to ruminate over all she’d learned.

She’d found one common thread in all the personal accounts she’d read—each man had improved, had moved onto healthy, after sharing their feelings. All with their wives, some also with their fellow servicemen, several with counselors. Ethan’s decision to write about
his experience was wise. He wanted change. He’d probably recognized, on some level, that his inability to connect deeply with a woman had a basis in that numbness he’d experienced while serving his country.

Shae saw
only a little of that distance now with Ethan. Occasionally, as though remembering himself, he tried to push her away with words of warning, but when they came together it was a soul-touching experience. In the two days since they’d become intimate, he’d denied her nothing. They’d shared searing eye contact that revealed emotion—passion for sure, but tenderness, too. More than once she’d fallen asleep while he had stroked her back and limbs—his was the touch of a man who cared and didn’t fear showing it.

He wasn’t the man in the screenplay. Not any longer. She wondered how she could help him see that.

“Hey.”

His voice was low but she still startled. She looked up and found him leaning against the door frame, his shoulders stretching the thin material of his dark t-shirt, his legs crossed at the ankles and fee
t bare. He was sexy the way air was light—just a natural state of being.

He smiled and the lines around his eyes fanned out and his mouth curved until a dimple appeared in his cheek. It was such a juxtaposition—the fiercely male features—strong, flared nose, chiseled cheek bones, firm chin and jaw line—and the  softness of his smile, that Shae felt herself respond from somewhere deep. Her heart paused and her breath fluttered in her throat.

Their eyes locked and Shae felt herself leaning toward him. His smile slowly faded as the heat in his eyes simmered.

“What are you thinking about?”

Shae felt her skin flush. “You.”

“It
must be pretty good.” He came further into the room, crouched beside her chair, and stroked her cheek with his index finger. “You’re blushing.”

She caught his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. His hands were so much bigge
r than her own, but capable of heart-stopping gentleness. He woke her this morning with feather-light kisses that began at her temple and meandered over her body, his fingers trailing so lightly they raised goose bumps and held her in a state of semi-arousal, his touch equal parts soothing and sexy. Not even at her urging had he increased the tempo or made bolder forays into parts begging for his attention. And when he finally did, it was torturously slow and gentle.

H
e had watched her the whole time, his gaze commanding hers, and by the time he’d knelt in front of her and lifted her legs over his shoulders, she was trembling with a profound need that was as much emotional as physical.

“Watch me, Shae,” he’d demanded and she had, noticing the flush of arousal on his face but also the softness of emotion.

He’d buried his face in her sex then, stroked her deeply with his tongue, and suckled her clitoris. He’d courted her climax, controlled it, so that when she was ready he lowered her to the bed, planted her feet firmly against his shoulders, and entered her. His eyelids fluttered, but he maintained eye contact. As her body clenched around his shaft, his jaw flexed. He thrust deeply, withdrew with an agonizing slowness only to claim her again with a slow, steady stroke that stole her breath. And she watched how it affected him, as his eyes darkened, his pupils dilated.

Joining like that had been all about emotional sharing and Shae still felt a little exposed.

He released his hand and wrapped it around her nape to pull her close. His kiss was slow and seductive. He stroked her lips with his tongue, then opened his mouth over hers, slipping inside to taste her. Shae followed his lead, tangling her tongue with his.

He pulled back.
“It’s almost quitting time,” he said and Shae glanced at the clock on the computer screen.

“What do you think about skipping the surf tonight and having dinner out instead?” she posed. “You know, somewhere we actually have to wear a shirt and shoes?”

He nodded. “I’d love to.” He smoothed a lock of hair back from her face and sat down in the chair next to the desk. “What are you doing over here?”

She usually curled up with the Tablet on the big cushions next to the windows.

“Research.”

An eyebrow rose in question. “What kind?’

“War. Deployment. Servicemen. That kind.”

“What did you learn?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Give me the gist,” he pressed.

She shrugged and pushed back in her chair, raised her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Stress,” she said simply. “You know, there are different kinds.  I mean, we all know that, right? But military personnel get a whole lot more, and its concentrated, bigger, digs deeper. You’re constantly on, always ready, and know the result if you’re not.”

“Death, usually,” he said.

“Yes, which just adds to the stress. It’s like being in a perpetual state of emergency. No one can live like that.”

“And yet we must.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “And you can’t just shake something like that.”

“Meaning what?”

Nervousness made Shae’s hands flutter. “Is the screenplay your first attempt at working through this?”

He nodded. “Guys aren’t big on talk. Not about the important stuff. I never was, anyway. I guess we decompressed a little by joking about it, finding levity wherever we could. And I have a buddy, Chad.
We served together, we’re partners in Absolute Cinema.”

“But you never really talked about any of it?”

“Not in detail, no.”

“A lot of men and women in the military have a tough time trans
itioning home after deployment,” Shae said.

“It’s hard finding normal after crawling around in the desert, watching for incoming.”

She nodded, caught his gaze and held it. “I’ve bookmarked some pages—” She nodded at her lap top.  “I think you should look at them.”

She stood, which put his face on level with her breasts. She wasn’t trying to seduce him. She wanted to offer him comfort, infuse him, somehow, with strength, but she sensed that he
didn’t need that right now. So she traced his jaw with her fingertips and slipped her hand into his hair. It was silky, a lighter shade of blond than her own, and tickled the sensitive skin between her fingers. She tugged gently so that he tipped his head back and connected with her gaze.

“Come find me when you’re done.”

Ethan sat in the office chair, tipped back and swiveled around so that he was looking out the windows. He loved this place.
He kept a condo in Los Angeles so he’d have a bed to lay in on those days when production went late into the evening or called for an early start, but he felt the same way Shae did about The City—like it was populated by pretty, well-dressed zombies who would sooner rip your heart out than smile at you.  Santa Barbara reminded him a lot of San Diego, with the Spanish architecture, the gracefully sloping beaches and fish markets. A lot needed to be done with the house, but the grounds were glorious with natural plants and a view of the Pacific from the master bedroom. It was close enough he could count whitecaps and freighters. When the wind stirred it carried the scent of the ocean to him and that alone made it worth the price tag.

Behind him the fan on Shae’s computer kic
ked on. He looked at his watch. He’d spent close to two hours reading through blogs, more than a dozen personal accounts from men and women of the military, many of which had felt close and familiar.

Shae had pegged it right. With each new deployment, he’
d retreated deeper into himself, and coming home had been a difficult transition. It often took days to dig himself out, and even then nothing had felt right.

He hadn’t
known that others were experiencing the same thing. And Tina hadn’t known, either.

They had floundered
, clinging to each other through arguments probably neither of them understood. Then drifting, allowing the currents to pull them apart.

He had loved his wife. He had turned to her for solace until one day he’d simply stopped. And she hadn’t come looking for him. Instead, she’d turned to someone else. And that still burned. But it didn’t draw blood, not anymore. It hadn’t in a long time.

The divorce rate among military personnel was high. And there was reason for it.

He rubbed his hands through his hair and rocked in the chair. Shae was somewhere in the house. She had given him time and space but now he wanted her close.
Shae knew him inside and out. He felt like he knew her better than he’d ever known any other woman, but that was probably due to the unnatural dynamic of their relationship. He wondered if they could move beyond that. Was it possible for them to have more than a few moments together stolen from the normal course of life? Or, when they were finished with the screenplay, and defining Ethan’s past, would they simply fade to black as well?

And there was that word again. Normal. He knew better than most that the term was a standard with as many deviations as there were rays from the sun. That didn’t make any of them wrong. Different was usually a more profound way to live than charging along with the rat race.

Their work wasn’t done. There were more revelations to come inside the screenplay. A secret or two unearthed from Ethan’s past. One in particular that, given Shae’s current state of mind and heart, could have her sprinting away from him.

He couldn’t change the past or how he’d reacted to it. But he was in charge of his present. He could make decisions about his future. And that was saying something. Until today, until he’d sat down and read the blogs, he h
adn’t the confidence to look beyond the moment at hand.

He stood and padded through the house. Shae wasn’t in the kitchen, but there were dishes in the sink that hadn’t been there earlier. She wasn’t in the living room, but she had passed through, straightening throw pillows and tying back the curtains so that the sun filtered through the blinds and warmed the room. He stopped at the door to the guest room, which was ajar, and pushed it open with his fingers.

Shae sat at the bureau, her long hair piled on top of her head with several curls loose around her face. She’d applied lip gloss and maybe some mascara. She didn’t need either. Shae was a natural beauty.  She was wrapped in a thick towel, so her shoulders were bare and the creamy skin called to him. He remembered the taste of her, the scent of her skin, and he strode toward her. She caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled.

“So what do you think?”

He could tell that she was tense—her smile was pulled a little too tightly, her eyes were round, curious but cautious—and knew that his answer was important to her. He’d found himself in the reading and that was a giant leap forward in understanding the man he’d been and the mess that had become of his marriage. And in that knowledge was the peace he’d been searching for. Not complete. Not yet. But close. And she deserved to know that.

He dropped
his hands to her shoulders, his fingers tracing her collarbones. The color in her cheeks deepened.

“I think you could be right.”

“Then you’re willing to consider it?”

“I read those blogs, Shae, and it was like I was reading pieces of my own life. Yes, I’ve already started considering it.”

She stood and stepped back from his touch. “I’m glad.”

“I need to read more about it, understand better what was happening to me during those years,” he explained, “but there was a big shift in my thinking when I was going through those personal accounts.” He paused. “It feels right. I f
eel like I have new direction. And you’re responsible for that. Thank you.”