Unexpected Oasis (10 page)

He grins as he kicks off his boots and pants. "I'm forty, not twenty. Besides, I have work to do."

"Oh?" I kiss his chin.

"Yeah." His hands slide down my arms and over my hips, sending a flurry of goosebumps to my skin. "Making you come."

Work? Hell, I'm about to come now.

"What makes you think it's going to take work?"

There's a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I'm just hopeful."

He pushes me back on the bed and nestles between my legs, easing them apart with his muscled shoulders. With his fingers, he spreads my flesh apart, and then covers my sex with his lips.

"Oh God," I breathe as his warm, wet tongue flicks over my clit.

He spreads my flesh wider, his tongue dancing around, covering every inch of me. When he slides a finger inside me I about lose it. Pushing my hips into his touch, I counter the stroke of his tongue and finger with the rock of my hips.

He moans against me, increasing his pace and pressure, his finger curling and bumping gloriously against my G-spot. That's it. That's all I can take.

The orgasm rocks though my body as my cries of pleasure rock through the room. He pushes my orgasm as far as it will go, and just as the last waves of ecstasy ripple through me, he lifts up, pushes my knees toward my armpits, and then slides inside me. I'm so wet, he's met with zero resistance, even though his cock is the biggest thing I've ever had inside me.

"Holy fuck," he groans and then covers my mouths with a heady kiss. Faintly, I can taste myself on his lips, his tongue. Moments later his orgasm slams into me, and the moan he lets out is pure sex.

Propped up on his elbows and breathing heavily, he rests his head on the pillow beside me. His weight isn't fully on me, but his massive body is still heavy and incredibly warm. I love the feeling of being covered by him and I lightly run my fingers over his wide back.

Finally, he kisses my neck, then my lips, and then rolls off me, pulling me into little spoon position. "Fucking amazing," he murmurs, nuzzling into my hair.

"I was just thinking the same thing." I feel positively tiny wrapped in his arms. Jim wasn't much taller or heavier than me, and while I always said I loved him for his brain, I can't deny this is better. Way better.

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
e lie there for a few minutes before Trey abruptly rises. A rush of panic hits me as I realize this could quickly turn into one of those awkward moments where two people who have just had ravenous sex realize it was a bad idea after all. I had a few of those in college. They all involved copious amounts of alcohol, but still. Trey might have just been running on dust-fueled adrenaline.

Although maybe he's simply gotten what he wanted and is ready to split. That would probably be worse. No, wait, it would definitely be worse.

I roll onto my back, bringing the sheet with me. If he's going to fuck and run, I want to retain some of my dignity.

He slips his shirt over his head and I get one—possibly—last pe
ek at his perfectly muscled chest before the fabric obscures my vision. As he tugs the bottom of the shirt down, he stoops and gives me a quick peck on the forehead.

Well, this is it.

"I'm starving," he says. "I'm going to skip down to the mess hall and scrounge us up some grub. Any requests?"

It takes a moment for my brain to analyze his words. He did use the word "us", right?

At the comprehension that he's retrieving food and not fucking and running, my stomach grumbles. It has been a few athletic hours since lunch. "Is it safe to go out?" I wonder, pushing the insecurity under the covers where it belongs. I'm so over the "woe is me" mentality that has overtaken my brain lately.

"Safe enough. It
won't
be safe if I don't eat something."

As massive as he is, I can only imagine the daily amount of calories he requires. "Well
, then I'm in as long as it's edible. I'll take a MRE if that's what's available."

Trey makes a face. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Once he's gone, I make my way to the bathroom to ascertain the damage and pee. I have fabulous bedhead. The left side of my hair is sticking up a good two inches and looks like mice have been nesting in it. In spite of that I look…satiated. I think I'm actually glowing.

  The water is still out, so after I pee I'm forced to toss the used toilet paper in the trash and just put the toilet seat down. I could flush, but since there's a decent chance the water still won't be on tomorrow and there may be far worse things in the toilet than a little urine, I decide to leave the water in the tank bowl
in
the tank bowl. I'm reminded of the popular '70s phrase, "If it's yellow let it mellow…" The thought makes me smile.    

I comb out my rat's nest and am in the midst of slipping on some yoga pants and a tank top when I hear the door open. I step out of the bathroom just as Trey walks in. He's wearing his scarf—the traditional black and white one—like a 19th century train robber, high over his nose, and mirrored wrap-around sunglasses that are coated in dust. He produces two MREs. "Not my first choice, but…" he says, his voice muffled by the fabric.

After setting the MREs on the bed, he lifts up a gallon of water and displays it proudly. "Don't let the dust coating on the jug fool you. It's clean, tepid, and best of all, wet."

"Perfect. Is there a chance we'll need to conserve water?"

"I have a filter if it comes to that." He tosses the jug next to the MREs, and then yanks the scarf down and reaches for me, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me. "Mmm," he murmurs as his lips linger against mine. "I'm a little sad to see you combed your hair. I liked the tousled look."

"You mean the house I was building for rodents."

"Yes. But that's okay, now I can mess it up again."

I like that idea.

He pulls away and picks up the food packets. "Okay, so we have chili mac or chicken fajitas. Any preference?"

Chili sounds like a bad idea, especially chili from a foil package. "Fajitas."

He hands me the plain brown package and then tears off the top of his. I follow his lead, surprised how much stuff is crammed inside. The cardboard box is filled with fajita filling, tortillas, crackers, a spork, instant cappuccino, cookies, a plastic bag with packets of
something
inside that remind me of silica packets, the ones stuffed in shoeboxes and bags of beef jerky.

"That's a lot of food," I note.

"Twelve-hundred calories worth."

"Twelve-hundred? In one meal?"

"Designed for the soldier in the field. Don't worry, I'll spare you from the cookies."

I snatch the bag with deliberate force and tuck it under my arm for protection. "You can take my crackers but not my cookies."

He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. "The cookies are safe."

Feeling a little embarassed by my silliness, I nonchalantly return the cookies to the pile. "So, now what?"

"We cook. Here, I'll show you." He sets the foil pack containing the entrée aside while he tears open the plastic bag housing the strange packets. Holding it carefully open, he pours a little water inside. Steam immediately begins to float out the top. "Water activates the heating elements. Be very careful and don't touch them. Put the entrée inside and seal the plastic bag." He folds down the top. "And then place inside the box for safe keeping." After demonstrating, he sets the concoction aside, leaning it carefully against my pillow. "It'll be hot in a few minutes. In the meantime, you can enjoy one of the fabulous appetizers provided." He picks up the package. "Cheese crackers in this case."

I begin my meal preparation. "If only we had a bottle of wine…"

"I do have a more of the Glenmorangie in my room if you're interested." His thumb jerks toward his room on the opposite end of the container. "I mean, whiskey, wine…"

"Same difference." My entree joins his leaning against the pillow. "Maybe after we eat?"

He leans back on one arm and plops a cracker in his mouth. "An after dinner cocktail it is," he mumbles though cracker chews. He winks at me and then drops another cracker into his mouth. I don't think I've ever met a man who can be so serious and commanding one moment and then joking the next. It's utterly charming. And sexy.

"So, I take it the power is out in the kitchen too?" I say after a minute.

He nods. "The generators are clogged. Maintenance was working on it when I went to the kitchen, but until the dust clears it will be an ongoing battle. So I hope you like MREs. I think we'll be eating them for a while."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Within minutes the MREs are heated through. The boxes become makeshift plates, the meal spread out on the bed like a picnic. Though suspended in a gel-like goo, the fajita filling isn't awful, and Trey's chili mac is actually somewhat tasty. The food reminds me of school lunches from years past. Though the curried dishes I've been consuming lately are far superior in taste, the meal is a welcome change. I'm pretty sure the sentiment will change once I've had to eat them multiple days in a row.

Trey finishes his and half of mine and then we clear the mess. After the last of the MRE trash goes into the bin, he ducks out to grab the scotch.

Alone, I'm suddenly nervous. He's coming back. With liquor. Does that mean he's spending the night? Is that presumptuous of me?

I'm not sure how I feel. This is all happening so fast. Six hours ago I was lusting after him in fantasy. Now I get to lust after him in the flesh.

Never mind. I know how I feel.

I suppress a giggle that starts at my mouth and reverberates through my entire body. The sixteen-year-old girl is back, only now instead of being an insecure twat she's positively giddy. Like, jumping up and down while clapping her hands giddy.

God, I know I look like hell. Should I toss on a little makeup or something? I seriously doubt the water has come back on in the last thirty minutes, so it isn't like I can clean up. And really, after all the dust and the wet wipe bath and everything else, putting makeup on to impress Trey seems a bit inane. It's not like I've been wearing a full-face every other time I've seen him.

But going makeup free was never my personality
before
. Unless I was working out or camping, I always wore makeup. Always. I just felt better with it on. And I'm suddenly feeling more like myself.

Even if slapping on some foundation would be ridiculous, I know I should definitely brush my teeth. Grabbing the bottle of water and a couple wet wipes from the container lying on the floor—I don't remember doing so, but we must have knocked it off the bed—I head for the bathroom. 

A fine layer of dirt still coats my skin. Until I get a shower, it's not going away. I remove as much as I can until both wipes are a lovely shade of yuck, and then move to my teeth. I'm busily scrubbing my mouth when I hear the door creak open.

"Aw'll be wight out!" I call, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Take your time."

There's no
taking your time
when sex-on-a-stick is waiting. I make two more swipes with the toothbrush, swish some water around, and kinda, sorta dab the corners of my mouth before
casually
moving into the other room. Front door wide open, Trey leans on the jamb, a cigarette held loosely in one hand and the bottle of scotch in the other. He pulls a long, languid draw off his cigarette and then drawls, "I got the goods. Ready to get this party started?"

For a moment I'm fixated on the sexual way he mouths his cigarette, heat pouring between my thighs. A shiver of anticipated pleasure runs through me and I squeeze my legs together to subdue it.

He stubs out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot, twists out any remaining ash onto the ground, and then tucks the butt into his pocket. Oh God, he's environmentally conscious enough to not throw his used cigarette butt on the ground. Even in Afghanistan. I think I just orgasmed.

His eyebrows bob. "Shot first, or sex first?"

I'm about to chew off my own lip. "Is both an option?"

He pulls the door closed. "I like the way you think, Andrea Ellis." The bottle is dropped heavily on the desk and I'm immediately wrapped in his muscled arms with his lips all over me. Faintly, I can taste tobacco but it's sweet, like his kiss.

It doesn't take long for the sweet kiss to turn into something much more. My tank-top is yanked off, and his hands are all over my arms, back, and then finally, ass, which he gives a good squeeze.

"Never mind," he says, his mouth still all over me. "Sex first, then shots."

"I thought…you said…you couldn't go twice." It's hard to talk with his tongue twisted around mine. "Something about…forty…"

His thumbs hook into my yoga pants and he yanks them down, and then pushes me onto the mattress. It's not particularly forceful, but it isn't gentle either. And makes me ten times wetter.

"I guess you bring out the twenty-year-old in me." The yoga pants exit stage right.

His shirt joins them, and then he comes in for some eager exploration of my breasts, before picking me up and flipping me over so I'm bent over the bed. The ease with which he tosses me around only heightens my arousal. So when he unzips his pants and enters me from behind, I'm drenched.

Our moans match. "Fuck me. Andrea…damn."

Noah and his Ark couldn't escape the downpour between my legs.

I'm not usually one for G-spot orgasms, but once again, Trey is hitting mine with perfect precision. Enough that I'm quickly whimpering in ecstasy. His thrusts intensify and without warning, he wraps one arm around my chest and pulls me up from where I've been bracing against the sheets. With his other hand, he turns my head and kisses me. Between interlacing his tongue with mine, he dips a finger into his mouth and then plants it on my clit, where it circles with the right amount of pressure and wetness.

We come together, a feat I've never been that impressed with until now. Knowing that his orgasm is pumping into me as mine rips through my body somehow intensifies the experience.

When it's over, I collapse forward and Trey follows. His body warm and heavy on mine, his breath just as labored. The sex may have only lasted a few minutes, but I'm spent.

"Ready for that shot now?" he pants, his cheek pressed against mine.

A mere, satiated, "Mmm" exits my mouth.

"You'll take a double? Okay."

I try to laugh, but my goo-like body can't seem to make the appropriate noise. Another, "mmm" variation slips from my throat instead.

"Double it is!" He plants a kiss on my neck that ends with a nip of teeth to my flesh, before pushing off my body and easing out of me with his own grunt.

Jelly arms push me off the mattress. "I should probably, um…" Knees clamped together, I shuffle into the bathroom to clean up. I swear Trey's chuckle is pretty damn self-satisfying. Men and their damn
mess.

Oh, who am I kidding. That
mess
, while inconvenient at times, still represents everything that it virile, and consequently sexy, about the opposite sex. I can only hope they (meaning Trey) feel the same about the feminine (meaning me).

When I step out of the bathroom, he is standing buck-naked and holding the whiskey bottle and two plastic cups filled with amber liquid. "I'm not putting clothes back on," he tells me.