High Octane Heroes (22 page)

“It wouldn’t do for you to get too hot,” he breathed in my ear. “We’d better get this top off you.”

“Is this what they teach you in Mountain Rescue school?”

“Science has proven it’s the best way to keep warm.”

“I see,” I said. “And you take your job seriously?”

“It’s all part of the service, ma’am.”

He pulled the fleece and my T-shirt up over my head in one swift move and tucked them under his head to form a pillow. I was still lying on his chest, and the rough material of his Mountain Rescue tunic grazed my nipples. A fire sprung deep in my loins, and I pushed my hips hard against his.

As his cool hands cupped my breasts, I felt my nipples springing to attention. A whimper escaped me and I caught his bottom lip between my teeth with a nip.

“Your top…” I could barely speak I was so turned on.

“It’s coming off.” His voice was equally husky. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

But moving within the tight confines of the survival blankets wasn’t easy; it was like dancing a slow horizontal waltz. Jake wriggled his arms down to undo his uniform tunic, while I tried to move to one side to give him room. There was the click of a press stud and then the slow grind of a zip—and never have I heard a sexier sound in my life. I pushed up his T-shirt as he struggled out of it, and explored the new territory offered. His chest was warm and firm with smooth skin, and I could feel the rise of his well-developed pecs. I dropped my mouth down and my tongue sought out a nipple, causing Jake to groan and flex his hips.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned.

His hands found their way back to my breasts, and he squeezed and pulled on my nipples, making them burn and setting red-hot currents coursing through my body to its epicenter.

Without thinking, I moved my hands to the top of his pants and slipped them inside. But as I started to slowly explore the top of his shorts, one of my elbows stuck out and tore through the edge where the two blankets were taped together.

“Shit,” I said.

But Jake didn’t care. He ripped the blankets apart so we could have more room for maneuver. After all, neither of us was cold now. As my hands unfastened his pants and slid them down, he did the same with my shorts. We were both breathing heavily and his musky smell hitting my nostrils played havoc with my hormones. I was wet and ready, and as he pulled my panties down, they left a sticky trail right down to my ankles.

His fingers delved deep into the crevice between my legs, and I arched toward him to open the path. At the same time I felt the fingers of his other hand searching out my clit, and he caught it between finger and thumb, sending a jolt of electricity up through me, making me gasp.

“Have you got a condom?” I could hardly form the words.

He nodded, biting my earlobe and sending a tremor down my spine.

“Essential part of the survival kit.”

“Don’t make me wait,” I begged.

A few seconds of rifling through his tunic pockets, a rip of foil and then I was helping him roll the latex down his cock. And, god, what a cock! Soft as velvet on the outside, rock solid within. I could hardly encircle it with my hand. Getting this inside me was going to be a stretch, but I had to have it.

“You’re so wet,” he said, as he rolled me onto my back and pushed my legs apart.

Then I felt the nudge of his magnificent cock against the side of my pussy. As I raised my hips to meet him, he took the plunge. It was tight and it hurt, but in a good way, the best way. I yelped with delight. He didn’t go in too deep and slowly withdrew. Then he plunged again, farther now, as I stretched to accommodate him. And then again, driving deeper each time and harder. Grunting with exertion, he pounded me into the rough stony ground. Each thrust sent a surge of white-hot, molten sensation ripping through me. His mouth dropped down to my right breast, his tongue teasing the nipple, adding another layer of intensity. I wrapped my legs around his waist and raked my hands through his damp hair. One of his hands crept down between my legs, and then two fingers slowly circled my clit. He’d brought me to the brink, and I knew that in a split second I’d be tumbling, out of control, carried by the torrent of pleasure he was unleashing deep within me.

With a roar and a moan, we climaxed together, our bodies arching against each other as the head of his cock nudged against my cervix, the muscles of my pussy convulsing around him to squeeze out every last drop. A final thrust and my orgasm undid
me. I fell back with my arms above my head as my hips thrust harder against him, and then slowly relaxed to release him from my grasp. Our chests were slick with sweat, and when he slumped down on top of me, our lips met in a languorous kiss.

“I think I feel properly rescued now,” I whispered in his ear.

“You should survive the night,” he replied, pulling the blankets around us and enveloping me in his arms.

You may not believe it, but I had the best night’s sleep ever, half-naked on the side of mountain with a man I barely knew. But it’s true. I awoke, snuggled against his chest, to hear the
whop-whop-whop
of the returning chopper.

Jake sat bolt upright leaving me sprawling on the ground beside him.

“Quick, get dressed,” he said.

Minutes later, we were in the belly of the bird, being flown back to civilization. Jake gave me a pair of headphones to put on to cut out the noise of the rotors and allow us to talk to each other.

“Morning, Jake,” said the pilot’s voice in my ear. “Glad to have you back on board.”

“Morning, Sam,” said Jake, grinning at me as our eyes met.

“Just one thing,” said Sam. “I was wondering, but I couldn’t work it out; why did you tell me not to come back for you last night?”

“Yes, why was that, Jake?” I asked, smiling widely.

Funny thing, but Jake didn’t have an answer.

 

 

 

 

 

I
’ve picked the wrong day to come to the cemetery. It is raining so hard my hair is wet within moments after the wind catches my umbrella and turns it inside out.

I miss a puddle, but not the next one, the water sloshing over my heels and dampening my toes as I quickly make my way over the sodden turf while fixing my umbrella. I didn’t have time to change out of my office clothes after leaving work early. I’d been keen to get out of London before the rush-hour traffic. But being chilled by the cold, the rain…it doesn’t matter. Nothing does anymore. He’s here, and I want to see him.

Carefully finding my way through the graves, I stoop down to pat the headstone, feeling how smooth it is, so very brand new, not aged like some of the markers deeper in the cemetery. The gold scroll of the words my parents and I had chosen is eloquent and heartfelt; the letters gleam against the sparkling black granite, the rainwater caught in the etching.

“Hello, Dean.”

I remove my cold hand to jam it into a pocket, and tears rise freely as I step back, looking at the patch of earth that now keeps my brother. I live over a hundred miles away; my parents had of course wanted Dean to be buried close to their village, so I am only able to visit him when I come to see them.

Six months. Six long, aching months since we’d received notification that their brave son, my brave brother in the Royal Air Force, had been killed in action. We’d tried to shelter my mother from the extent of his fatal injuries, but she had wanted to know everything, especially questioning why we couldn’t have an open casket.

Nightmares had given me twisted visuals of what had become of him. Awful hours where horrors occurred and showed me a sibling I didn’t recognize. I’d pleaded to the heavens, on my knees on hot desert sand, for him to be…restored.

Days would go by, and all I could think of was him: tall, broad, funny and serious at the same time. The coolest older brother, the utterly skilled pilot who delivered effective force where it was needed but never without great thought and planning for the innocents on the ground. I’d lost my brother, my best friend, but I was proud of him, and his decision to defend. That didn’t curb the ache inside, something I knew would stay with me forever.

I shiver now as the wind blows, creeping under the battered umbrella and the collar of my coat. Sunset is breaking the horizon apart. “I better go Dean, I’ll see you soon.” I lay the small bunch of flowers against the fresh bundle that my mother had left earlier in the week before heading to the car.

That’s when I see him. The stranger standing beside my car. My heart picks up speed as he begins to walk toward me. He’s dressed in dark clothes, perhaps denims and a jumper with an unzipped parka that’s now wet from the rain, like his hair.

The tall, handsome, blue-eyed man stops a few yards from me.

He looks past me, to the spot I’ve just stood on, then back at me, those intense eyes, lit like the brightest sky, sending a rare shot of warmth to cradle the hope that’s almost dead inside of me.

“I’m Calder.”

I nod with understanding. The man who had only appeared as short sharp descriptions in even shorter emails, had become like family to Dean. He had said that Calder was the best comrade from another country’s army anyone could have.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His American accent is a rich vibration of power.

I nod again, my voice hidden in the depths of my surprise.

“I got home from my tour last week. Bought a ticket and here I am.”

I try for a smile. “I’m Estella.”

“I know who you are, ma’am.”

My eyes fill with tears; I brush them away quickly. “Um, I’m sure my parents would like to meet you. Do you have time to visit them?”

“Your mom and dad are on my list,” Calder says. “So are you.”

And that’s when I lose it. “I really wish I wasn’t…” I whisper, “then Dean would still be here.”

Calder looks at the grave again, his shoulders squaring. “Even if he was…I know that I’d want to meet you, the way your brother talked about you, the way he cared for you even though he was thousands of miles away.”

The offer to drive him to my parents’ home is declined for the moment. Instead, I take him to his hotel in the center of the village.

“I’ll be in touch,” Calder says before leaving the car with my phone number.

I don’t sleep well that night. I’ve been given my old room, and even though it has been cleared of all my childhood paraphernalia there are moments when I expect Dean to pop his head around the door frame, tease me about my latest experimental hairstyle or ask me a question (or ask me to do the sums) for his math homework.

Rising early, I find the house dim, quiet and warm. I stop at Dean’s room. He had his own place, a small apartment in a nearby town, but he’d left lots of his personal items here before shipping out.

I reach for a photo frame. Dean in his pristinely pressed uniform, smiling, giving me a comforting hug as we’d said good-bye for his first deployment. That had been nearly eight years ago.

He’d come home a different man after his first tour of duty. Quieter, but with an intensity that had created a force field around him I couldn’t quite break through. We might not have been kids anymore, but still we joked around, reverting to our silly teenage selves when we were with each other. But he’d been
gone
in certain respects; in his place was a razor-sharp
soldier
.

My cell trills in my room, so I head back. It’s Calder, checking whether tomorrow morning would be okay to visit my parents. I reply quickly, confirming the visit as I’ve already spoken to them the previous evening, and then curl up in bed thinking of the American.

Lieutenant Peter Calder, United States Air Force,
Dean had written once,
the man can cut paper just by looking at it.

It’s after eleven A.M. when I finally wake the following day, and I can hear Calder’s striking voice drifting upstairs. “Damn it.” I’m edgy and clammy as I’d been taken in by a nightmare
that had held on so tight I’d been unable to fight it. I’d walked through a battlefield filled with bodies to where normally Dean would have stood.

But now it was Calder who was there, his hand open and waiting. Behind him in the distance, his F-16 billowed smoke from where its tail should have been. I extended my hand but everything had disappeared into a booming cloud of pure white light and heat as something long and pointed arrived with a screech to crash and explode between our feet, throwing us apart. In pieces.

Washing quickly, I change and head downstairs. Calder rises out of his seat with a welcoming smile. “Good morning, Estella.” The good manners make me blush a little as I enter the room.

My terrible night’s sleep is forgotten.

The group is sitting with teacups and an assortment of baked goods my mother can’t quite stop making. Something about idle hands comes to mind and the ache returns again.

I try not to smile as Calder’s big fingers attempt to lift the delicate china cup. I heat inwardly as I imagine those fingers exploring
other
places.

My parents talk with Calder quietly as I go to refill the teapot. In the act of searching for a mug for him, I
feel
him walk into the room.

Furtively he says, eyes sparkling, “I’m looking for something larger than this thimble to drink the tea out of… Ah, great minds…”

I hold up the mug, offering it. Calder takes it, our fingers brushing. I’m electrified by the crush in my heart.

He smiles, and I know he doesn’t do it often because his handsome face is free of laughter lines. Something inside sharpens, and I have to blink back the despair, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Wrapping up warm against the chilly morning, Calder and I set off on foot for the village, beside us nothing but fields covered in waist-high mist.

“Dean said you met at a U.K. versus U.S. football match on the base?”