Shelter Ch. 13

Archie looked up at his girlfriend's incredibly desirable face, framed by her equally incredibly desirable breasts, and felt a sheepish blush grow around him. "Uh, Sammi? I ... didn't expect this to happen. So... I, um..."

"Archie, I'm clean; I have to be tested regularly to work with the animals. Same goes for you, too. So, please... Please don't make me wait, not even another minute."

Hearing those words chased away the last vestiges of doubt inside him. He stood, and she started to fumble with his belt. He urgently slapped her hands away, undid the belt, and pushed both pants and boxers down to his ankles in one rapid movement.

*****

"Don't think. Just feel."

Sammi felt a gasp torn from her throat, seeing the evidence of his desire for her. As he knelt between her legs, thoughts raced through her mind.

"It's been so long, and you look so big..."

"Archie, stop teasing me! Stop rubbing yourself up and down my pussy. I'm wet enough, you're hard enough. Get in there!"

"But oh God, that feels good! Stroking my clit with your ..."

"What do I call it? 'Penis' is too clinical, 'dick' too juvenile, 'manhood' too Harlequin. 'Cock' just sounds so naughty, but maybe naughty is just what I neeeeeeee..."

"Oh fuck!" She heard a cry of passion, but the way he was making her feel right now, she couldn't tell if he said it, or if she did. In a way, she kinda hoped it was him, that he was feeling something as powerful as she was.

And oh God, did it feel good for her. With each thrust, he got deeper and deeper inside her. She could feel every vein, every ridge in his hard cock, every muscle clenching inside her pussy, and it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

His steady rhythm became a melody, urged onward by gasps and cries from them both. Each new measure built up in a crescendo of pleasure. It was music she vaguely recognized, like from a dream. But those were echoes. Compared to these sensations, the music she'd heard before had been played on a toy xylophone. This was rapture, with full symphonic accompaniment.

Faster and faster, louder and louder, the music grew and grew. As the timpani rose in the final movement, she looked up into his eyes. In the eyes of her lover, the eyes of her love, she saw a raging fire. The heat of passion, of course, but also the warmth of tenderness. Her own eyes flashed, then rolled back, matching his. Giving themselves over to the moment, they felt the trumpets blare and the cymbals crash; pure joy gushed from every pore.

*****

He slowly regained his breath. Falling to the bed beside his one true love, he rolled her to her side and spooned up against her. As her breathing became more steady, he whispered words of love into her ear. He could feel the smile she wore; he imagined that it matched his own.

Soon, she rolled over to kiss him. Passion temporarily sated, it was sweet and gentle, promising thousands more.

"Archie... Have you ever heard that right after making love is the worst possible time to say something special?"

He couldn't resist teasing her. "No, but my reading list doesn't consist entirely of Harlequin novels and Cosmo!"

When the tickling ended and the laughter died down, she met his eyes. "That may be true for some couples, but the only rules in our relationship are the rules we write. And so for us, I think it's the perfect time. I love you, Archie."

"I didn't think I'd love anyone again. I didn't think I deserved to love or be loved ever again. But you ... You changed that, by helping me change myself. Thank you, Sammi; I love you too."

Matching smiles spread across their faces, matching eyelids started getting heavy. And as they slept in each other's arms, each woke up every so often, just to remember that their new real life was far better than the one in their dreams.

Epilogue

Connor really wasn't looking forward to Thanksgiving this year. Mom's turkey was always the best, and it was nice to get back home, take a break from work, and talk with Dad for a few days. Truth be told, he even missed his kid sister Ginny. But she was the problem this year.

Ginny had e-mailed the family that she was bringing her new boyfriend Ryan home from college this year. He wouldn't normally mind; Ginny was pretty picky when it came to guys, and from what she'd said about this one, Ryan sounded like a keeper. But the "meet the family" dinner was a dynamic he just wasn't eager to sit through this year, now that his most recent relationship had fizzled into nothingness.

It was certainly for the best; they were in very different places. She was still an undergrad, and he was working 17-, 18-, 19-hour days trying to get his new architecture firm off the ground. She didn't understand or appreciate his stresses, and ... honestly, he wasn't sure he understood or appreciated hers either. But still... It would have been nice to talk to someone around the table while Dad was grilling the new guy.

Mom's solution to the "5th wheel problem", as he called it, wasn't promising either. She'd said that the new intern at the animal hospital wasn't able to get home for the holiday, and Dad always insisted on inviting the "strays" to dinner. Dad had made it clear that Connor would be responsible for entertaining the intern while Dad gave Ryan the "Are you sure you're good enough for my daughter?" inquisition. Still, Ginny's smile was infectious, so there'd be some laughs.

With Ginny hovering between Dad & Ryan, Connor got drafted into setting the table, which of course meant that Mom was going behind him, correcting his fork placement & charger centering. So when the doorbell rang, she chased Connor to answer it, which suited him just fine. But he had to mutter something just to preserve the image.

"Okay, Mom! Fine. Just send me off to run your ..."

Any coherent thoughts he had vanished as he opened the door. She was lovely. He'd never even considered calling someone "lovely" before, but the word fit. He had no idea what she could possibly be selling on Thanksgiving Day, but whatever it was, he was buying 14 of 'em.

"Is this Dr. Grantham's house?" Connor tried to speak, but seeing the smile light up the stranger's face caused his throat to close. He barely sensed his mother coming up behind him; it's doubtful he would have noticed anything smaller than a tsunami at that instant.

"Cassandra! Hi, I'm so glad you could come by! Please excuse my son... He's not usually this rude. Connor, this is my new intern, Cassandra Morgan. Cassie, this is my son, Connor."

"Ah, the architect! Your parents talk about you all the time. I'm glad to finally get to meet you."

Years of ingrained manners permitted him to echo her thoughts politely enough, invite her in, and offer to take her coat. His mind, though? Nothing but pure gibberish.

"Cassie, dinner's just about ready. Connor, why don't you show her to the dining room?"

He lead her to the table, and found that Mom had set a place for Cassie between Connor and his father. And all of a sudden, Mom's solution to the "5th wheel problem" became a lot more palatable.

After the introductions, Mom brought the turkey out to the requisite but still well-deserved oohs and aahs. When everyone settled down, Dad took Mom's hand. "There's a tradition in our family, where on Thanksgiving, we go around the table and talk about things we're thankful for. And with our kids back home, and the new people they may be finding to play important roles in their lives, we have more to be thankful for this year than we could have ever imagined.

"But I'm the dad, and that means I get to go first. And I want to give thanks for a wonderful woman, who passed away earlier this year. Ginny, Connor, we've never told you the full story of how your mother and I met. It all started with the woman we named you after, Ginny..."

Gratitude ... to people who'll probably never read this

For encouragement, I want to thank the handful of people who read drafts of this along the way and kept after me to finish it. I appreciate their sustaining confidence.

For inspiration, I want to thank Bailey & Gabe MacKenzie, Cassie & Gabe Sanders (that's how it had to work out, right?), Jessica & Ryan Patton, Michael Evans and his ladies, and the people who created them. Standing on the shoulders of giants might have left R.E.M. cold, but it sharpened my writing and enriched my life.

Mark Twain, I think, once said that all fiction is autobiographical, and it's certainly true that different people I've encountered along the way have provided these characters with both depth and shading. If you recognize yourself, know that you touched my life along the way, and for that I am grateful.

More specifically, I want to spare a tender thought to the young lady who inspired Valerie. Counselor, if someday you read this and see parts of yourself in it, please know that I used the ending of our story solely as a literary device, and not as some sort of wish-fulfillment/revenge fantasy. May what happened to Valerie never happen to you. I sincerely hope that the next chapters in your life have been as good for you as they have been for me.