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Full Story: Hearts of Darkness (w. ShadowOfDesire)

The feel of his cock stretching her inside was glorious. Miranda groaned loudly when he paused, her inner muscles automatically tightening about the invader. Each tiny little movement telegraphed another jolt of electric lust through her sex, causing her swollen clit to throb even harder. He could feel the shiver roll through her as his hands found her breasts and tweaked those hardened nubs to stiffer peaks. Every moment caught in suspension was agony, another of his exquisite teases with which he seemed to have perfected. She was so focused on the quivering anticipation that his words barely registered. Only when he started to thrust inside of her did she realize what he'd said.

"You... can have whatever... parts of me... you like," she panted between his thrusts. Using the counter for leverage, she pushed back each time his body slammed into hers, driving him even deeper.

She moaned loudly for him, because of him, but those low cries rose significantly in volume the moment he began to relentlessly slam his hips against hers. As the pace increased, she felt as though he'd split her in half, but even that felt wonderful as he drove her closer to orgasm. Her heavy breasts bounced in the rhythm, swinging about in opposite circles before crashing into one another. Her hands remained on the counter, but her body began to shift, torso leaning forward over the surface to keep herself balanced. His wild thrusts shook her entire body, lifting her time and again so that her toes slid along the floor, threatening to lose footing.

Just as she'd readjusted, she felt those strong fingers stroking her clit. That tiny bit of sensation was all she needed to push her over the edge. She didn't just climax, she came hard. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, and she screamed a wordless cry of pleasure as her body seemed to condense within to a single tiny point of light that suddenly exploded. He could feel those hard shudders and the way her cunt quickly collapsed, contracting about his cock, muscles tightening to their fullest. Wave upon wave crashed through her, momentarily blinding her senses to everything but the point where they were joined.
 
Jack lost it when Miranda came and her pussy clamped down on his cock like a velvet covered vice; his shaft swelled even more, his balls pulled up towards his body, and he began shooting rope after rope of warm cum from his penis. In that moment the small part of Jack’s mind that was still vaguely functional deeply regretted he was wearing a condom, because he desperately wanted to leave something of himself within Miranda. But that crazy notion evaporated as Jack groaned once and his brain locked up as tightly as his body did.

When he came all of Jack’s muscles, from his jaw to his calves, cramped up as hard as rock. His left hand clenched into a fist, and he was just able to pull his right away from Miranda’s sex before it did the same; he slammed that fist down onto the countertop hard enough to make it bang. The grimace on his face was not a pretty sight; more than one gal who’d seen it had said afterwards they thought he was having a heart attack.

Jack stood like that for several long seconds, as if his whole body was straining against something invisible, and then he went slack all at once. He suddenly felt very weak and nearly collapsed on top of Miranda; he was just barely able to get his arms under himself at the last second, but still ended up leaning against her and pinning her slender frame against the stovetop. Jack rested his forehead against Miranda’s back, but when his lungs started working again he turned his face to the side as he started to cough. After awhile Jack’s breathing began creeping back towards normal and he shifted his face towards Miranda's body; his eyes were closed, because he still couldn’t see, but he had enough air in his lungs to get out a few words.

“Are you okay?”
 
Miranda's answer came in a burbling explosion of emotion that manifested as sobbing laughter. The euphoria made any sort of coherent thought possible just then as her overwhelmed senses struggled to cope with the long denied burst of pleasure chemicals swimming through her bloodstream. She'd dipped even lower beneath his weight, fully prone with her bare breasts flattened against the counter. Her breath came in deep gasps for air that grew slower as the moments passed. He could feel her shuddering beneath him, even then, shivering each time he shifted and inadvertently moved his cock inside of her.

"Holy fuck," she finally moaned, though the words were inadequate to describe what she was feeling. Masturbation, even with toys, paled in comparison to the real thing. She'd forgotten just how wonderful it felt to be fucked that hard.

"Jack... that was... amazing." She definitely didn't want him thinking she hadn't enjoyed herself. While she hadn't been certain exactly how they'd progress their relationship, being fucked in the kitchen hadn't even crossed her mind. Even so, she'd loved every minute of it and hoped there'd be at least one other repeat performance before the night was over. Pushing against the counter and shoving against his weight, she closed her eyes, already dreading the next few moments. No matter how long the sex had lasted, it was always disappointed to be emptied. "But... you gotta shove off. I'm getting a cramp... in my thigh..."
 
Jack’s mind was still foggy and he was having trouble following Miranda’s reply. But when she said ‘Jack that was amazing’ he knew she was alright. That they were alright. And that filled him not just with happiness but an odd sort of feeling that, truth be told, felt even better to him than the monster orgasm he’d just had.

Jack’s job, his function in life, had always basically been to make things happen. By hook or by crook, by strength or by guile, and always, in some part, by sheer force of will. What he did at work was sometimes all too easy and almost always ugly. But what had just happened between him and Miranda, what he’d made happen … He’d taken her where he wanted, how he wanted and then brought her back feeling better and stronger than when they’d started, or so it seemed to him. That hadn’t been easy and also definitely (thank God) hadn’t turned ugly; quite the opposite he thought. So even though it was wildly egotistical of him, that made Jack feel a little like a god himself just then; because while everyone always thought they were capricious and malicious, that wasn’t how the gods worked in Jack’s universe.

“Alright genius” Jack’s little voice said as it finally woke back up. “How about you use your 'godlike' powers to fucking get off her? Didn’t you hear her say her leg was cramping up? And she probably can’t breathe either.” “Oh jeez, sorry” Jack said out loud as he quickly kissed the back of Miranda’s neck and then found the strength to push up from the countertop and away from her; as he shuffled backwards a part of him had to slip from within Miranda’s body and he immediately missed that connection with her.

After that came a few minutes of the inevitable tidying up; he disposed of the condom, pulled up his shorts and trousers, and also quickly washed his hands in the kitchen sink. As he worked Jack tried to give Miranda a little space and privacy, but that was hard in the small room. He also briefly looked for an exhaust fan switch since the whole space now smelled of sex, but couldn’t find one and so left it to Miranda and her female nose to decide if and how to cope with that aroma, which actually didn’t bother him all that much.

When all that was taken care of Jack moved over towards the kitchen table. He thought about putting the white wine and éclairs in the fridge, but the door to that was still kind of blocked by Miranda’s sexy little keister jutting off the oven so he let that slide just then. Instead he opened up the red wine and poured them both a glass; hers went on the counter where she could see it, while he took his with him as he sat at the table.

As he sipped the South African pinot noir George had picked out (which was quite good) Jack tried to make a little post-coital chit-chat with Miranda as she got herself back together. “So I probably should have asked about this beforehand. But I did my part, and the condom seemed fine. Still, are you uh … using any birth control?”
 
Feeling Jack's weight lifted from her body was both a relief and a disappointment. It was far easier to breath without him leaning on her, and she could finally stand and shift her legs into a more comfortable position, but with his departure came a feeling of abandonment as his cock slid free and her sex was emptied. She shuddered again at the sensation and stood leaning against the counter for another few moments so that she could compose herself.

Judging by his reaction, he'd clearly enjoyed himself, as well, which pleased her to no end. She'd wanted him to reach satisfaction. She'd wanted him to feel as good as he'd made her feel twice over. Though proud that she'd been able to help him reach that point, she couldn't help but wonder how much recovery time he'd need before doing it again.

While he poured the wine, she excused herself to the bedroom to clean up, returning after a couple of minutes refreshed. She still wore the silken robe which protruded against her hard nipples, but it was no longer hanging wide open. She'd wrapped it tightly about her and tied at the waist. In addition, she'd also put on a pair of matching silk pajama shorts so the chair wouldn't stick to her naked rear. Snagging her class from the counter, she joined him at the table, though sat down very gingerly. When she'd realized that she and Jack were likely going to be spending the evening fucking, she should have done some yoga stretches to keep her from injuring herself. The cramp in her thigh was gone, but she massaged the soreness anyhow.

His question really wasn't all that shocking. Most adults, if they were responsible enough, had that particular discussion when entering a sexual relationship. Gesturing with her free hand, she slid up the short sleeve of her robe to show him a barely perceptible scar upon her inner arm. Her fingertips trailed over the skin slightly behind it. "I've had an implant for about a year now which stops ovulation, so there's no possible way I can get pregnant."

Lifting her wine, she met his gaze from across the table. "In fact, if you have a clean bill of health, you don't have to use a condom if you'd rather not. I can show you my own report if you want to see it. Before we being our assignment, MSF requires that we get tested for many communicable diseases and sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV and hepatitis."
 
Jack had mixed feelings about Miranda’s appearance when she came back into the kitchen. On the one hand she was showing less skin, which made him a bit of a sad panda. On the other hand she was still hotter than hell, in a lingerie model kind of way; the thought of unwrapping her sexy body again later on caused his groin to twitch a little and made him wonder, for all of a nano-second (once he considered how frisky she’d been so far,) how hard that might be to accomplish.

Jack listened to Miranda answer his question and then reached out himself to touch the faint little scar on her inner arm; he’d heard about this option, but really didn’t know much about it. He spoke to her distractedly while his fingertips ran over her smooth skin. “Huh, oh no, I believe you, you don’t have to show me some report. And um, yeah I’m fine too, in that regard … So is this permanent?”

Jack’s distraction wasn’t really over whether the implant’s effects could be reversed; he was pretty sure he’d heard they could be. It was because of what else popped into his head when Miranda answered him and showed where her implant had been inserted; the memory of some gal from back in high school. She’d been a friend of his sister and nothing at all like Miranda; a nutty Goth chick if there ever was one. What the hell had her name been? Monique or something like that. And why had he suddenly thought of her?

Jack had wanted to pull Miranda onto his lap when she came over to the table, but for some reason he now … wanted to put a little space between him and her? Still distracted, he got up from the table as he listened to whatever she had to say about reversing the implant and put the white wine and the éclairs into the fridge. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he thought. Then something else popped into his head. “Hey, can you put some of your music on?” he asked. “I liked your tunes last time and wouldn’t mind hearing some of them again.” Was that it? Did one of Miranda’s songs somehow remind him of the weird stuff Monique (or had it been Mona?) and his sister had listened to back in the day? When he was done at the fridge Jack turned towards the oven as he went on. “Why don’t I check the sauce, see how it’s doing?”

As he started looking around for some potholders, something else popped into Jack’s mind. “Oh, and I meant to ask you. I saw some bruises on your wrist Wednesday night, when I put you to bed. At first I thought I’d done that and got kind of pissed at myself. But then figured out I hadn’t. Looks like they’re all gone now but anyway, how’d that happen?”
 
She didn't mind his touch as the implant didn't hurt, though did regard him curiously at his question. "No, it isn't permanent. They last for around five years before needing to be replaced, but a woman can get pregnant rather quickly if she wishes to remove it earlier. It only takes a month or two for the body to get back to normal. I decided it was the best option because it's long term, and I don't have to remember popping pills every day. And in this place, where outsiders can very easily get abducted, and women raped, it's probably the best precaution a woman can take."

Sipping at her wine she studied as he moved away, wondering what had brought on his sudden change in mood. Had she said something wrong? Had she come on too strong? Was it not as good as he was expecting? He seemed distracted, which wasn't at all like him. She frowned into her wine, suddenly a bit self conscious wearing only a robe while he was still fully clothed.

Even so, she rose to fetch her phone, hitting random to cycle the songs in her playlist. Soon, the soft sounds of the Doobie Brothers singing What a Fool Believes drifted out of the speaker on the counter. Drifting to lean on the other side of the counter, giving him an eyeful of cleave down her robe without actually meaning to, she watched him plink about the kitchen. "Wasn't I supposed to be making you dinner? Why don't you sit down, enjoy your wine, and let me finish up? The sauce is done. All we have to do is put on the noodles."

His question caught her completely off guard. Automatically glancing down to her wrist, she rubbed the one that had been bruised, stalling to give her time to think of a reasonable excuse. "Ah, yes... that sometimes happens. We get a lot of patients in pain and they sometimes don't know what they're doing. I've been grabbed, groped, slapped, and punched on more than one occasion. I suppose it is just a hazard of the job." One silk-enrobed shoulder rose in a half shrug.

"It definitely wasn't your doing. These were, though." She touched her neck briefly to where he'd left passion marks on her neck, though they were now mostly faded to nothing.

------


🎵 What a Fool Believes 🎵
 
Jack’s stomach felt queasy as Miranda explained some of the reasons why she’d gotten the implant, and then also reminded him how he’d bruised her neck the last time they’d played. He suddenly felt like he was acting very churlish and so pushed aside the thoughts of the girl from high school (“Mona! Her name had been Mona,”) as he mustered a smile and came around the counter to stand close to the woman he’d just made love to.

Jack gently turned Miranda to face him, cupped her pretty face in his hands and just stared into her beautiful brown eyes for several moments, trying to somehow connect with her mind and her heart just like he’d connected with her body. But despite all the willpower he put into it, Jack was no alien on some TV show who could magically meld his mind with someone else’s; what Miranda was thinking and feeling just then was still really a mystery to him, and any guesses he made about her thoughts and feelings would be just that – guesses. So as usual he decided to just show her what he was thinking and feeling. Jack leaned in and planted a long, soft kiss on Miranda’s full lips, putting as much tenderness and affection into it as he could possibly imagine. When he finally did pull away from Miranda, Jack took her hands in his as he spoke to her in a voice full of sincerity.

“I’m really sorry about those bruises.” He tried a small grin. “It’s hard for a guy to think straight sometimes, around a hottie like you.” He gave Miranda’s hands a little squeeze before he went on. “And yeah, you’re right, that was amazing. And I should probably also get out of your way, and give you your kitchen back.” Jack squeezed Miranda’s slender fingers one more time, gave her another quick kiss and then turned to get his glass and go sit back down at the little kitchen table.

As Jack sipped a little more of his pinot noir he tried again at making some small talk. “So how did the rest of your week go? Any interesting patients, like the ones you were just talking about?”
 
Miranda reclaimed her place in the kitchen to continue dinner, his tender kiss alleviating some of her fears and misgivings. After putting the water onto boil for the pasta, she pulled the sauce from the oven and turned the appliance off. The thick, rich spaghetti sauce smelled delectable as she removed the lid to give it a stir. Her eyes stayed on the spoon as she stirred.

"My week? Pretty much the same as it ever was. A lot of patients, a lot of people needing help, a lot of new mothers that don't know how to take care of their children, a lot of vaccines to administer. Sometimes it feels like we're not even making a dent. It's easy to get down about it sometimes, but then I look at the quote you gave me, and I just push on to make more ripples."

"The only thing of note is all the chatter we've been getting about those names I sent you. I don't know what they've done, exactly, but it wasn't anything good." She glanced up as she added the dried noodles to the boiling, salted water. "Jack, I've been meaning to ask you... what are you doing with those names? Because, I've noticed that once I give them to you, those people don't often live more than a few days. I know that's not a coincidence."

While she waited for the pasta to cook, she leaned on the counter again, fingertips dragging over the worn and chipped Formica. "I'm assuming you're doing research on them. Have they all been baddies?"
 
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Jack answered Miranda without any hesitation. “Oh yeah, the info you’ve been sharing has been a big help to our intel guys.” Jack’s eyes flicked over to Miranda’s phone on the counter for just a second. “They’ve liked all of it, straight down the line. As a matter of fact …” Jack paused to grab his go-bag and fish an envelope out of the map pocket. “… here’s another donation for the clinic. A little more than last time.” Jack smiled as he propped the envelope up against the flower basket on the table. “Maybe it’ll help you drop a few more pebbles into that pond of yours.” Jack sipped some wine. “You are making a difference Miranda. You really are.”

“Speaking of which, my boss approved another field trip for you. To Sumbola on Monday morning.” Jack had a little more wine before he continued. “I don’t know if you looked at a map before you gave me the name, but that village is east of town. Towards the border and the Sambisa.” Jack fiddled with his wine glass. “We’re laying on some extra precautions, but I’m not gonna lie to you, going there is going to be a riskier proposition than last time. And you saw how that turned out.” In truth their first trip, to Akanni, should have been a milk run; as far as Jack knew, Valeriy and Danny were still working on figuring out why that op had gone sideways.

“On your end nothing’d be different about going to Sumbola; same terms and conditions. We leave at dawn, one other person, yadda yadda. But if you want to change your mind, back out of going there for some reason or another, well …” Jack drained his wineglass. “… my boss’d be pissed. But he can’t tell you what to do, and I can deal with him.” Jack refilled his glass then looked at Miranda to see if she needed more wine, as he waited to see what she wanted to do about the next trip …
 
Steam erupted from the sink as she drained the pasta into the waiting colander. She leaned back as the moist heat rose toward the ceiling and then gave the strainer a shake to get rid of the water. Smiling over her shoulder at Jack, she transferred the noodles to a serving bowl and brought it to the counter. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the envelope of money, but not for long. With the noodle, sauce, and bread on the counter, she only needed to pull the salad from the fridge before she could start serving.

"That's wonderful. I'm definitely not going to turn down a chance to go out again, no matter how dangerous. I have faith in you and your team. Normally, I'd say that Monday would be too little notice, but after you warned me it might go down, I made sure to have any upcoming surgeries scheduled for later in the week. I don't think Dr. Lee can go that soon, though. I'll have to find out who isn't scheduled elsewhere. Shouldn't be too difficult to find someone to go, however. There are always people itching to get out of the city and jump into disease rampant areas to help out." One might have assumed she was being sarcastic, but her tone and expression were both completely serious. Doctors were an odd breed.

"Plus, I don't want to get you in trouble with your boss. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement for us. I help you out, you help out the clinic, and we both get something we need. I'd rather not upset that balance if I can help it. This is a great opportunity for me and the MSF to get aid into areas that need it most. We couldn't do that without people like you and your crew."

Still playing the hostess, she dished up a pair of plates with noddles and covered them with sauce, depositing them both on the table. With a basket of bread and salad added a moment later, she joined him at the table, offering her dwindling glass for him to refill. "I hope you like it. I couldn't get all of the spices I normally use, so it's not as good as what I typically make. It was next to impossible finding Parmesan, even the crappy powdery stuff, so it's not quite the typical American version."
 
“Alright then” was Jack’s simple response to Miranda’s decision about the trip. There was a part of him that’d hoped she was going to say she wanted to go somewhere safer, but he hadn’t really expected her to take him up on that option; that was one of the reasons why he was starting to … feel a great deal of affection for Miranda. Now all he had to do was get her to Sumbola and back in one piece. Piece of cake, right?

To take his mind off his worries Jack just watched Miranda working in the kitchen and that quickly cheered him up. In part that was simply because it gave him a chance to look at her legs, which were mostly bare thanks to her skimpy silk robe. They looked amazing to him, smooth and toned as she walked back and forth. And his eyes also kept straying to her feet and cute little red toenails; Jack knew it was dopey, but he once again felt incredibly … privileged maybe, to be let in on one of Miranda’s girly secrets. But Jack also realized he just enjoyed the simple … domesticity of what Miranda was doing. For them. For him. Not that Jack believed ‘a woman’s place was in the kitchen’ or anything idiotic like that, but it had been his Mom who’d fed him and his sister while his dad was out on the road, at least until he left and she started drinking constantly. Then it’d become kind of a crap shoot; maybe she’d cook, or maybe he would give it a try, or maybe they’d just get take out or not eat at all. He still remembered the time his Mom had almost set fire to the kitchen and also still remembered her recipe for chicken parm; that’d been pretty easy and April had liked it as much as he did, even though she’d make herself puke it all back up afterwards, when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jack wondered if Miranda had learned to cook from her Mom, and if the recipe she’d used for the sauce was one her Mom had taught her …

When Miranda put the food on the table he thought it all looked and smelled wonderful, and told her so. Then he refilled her glass, offered a bon appétit toast and got himself some bread and salad. Once Miranda had also filled her plate, Jack dug in and thought the pasta tasted great despite Miranda’s misgivings; Army chow nowadays wasn’t as horrible as some folks made it out to be, but it was still mass produced, institutional food, which was why he always had a bottle of hot sauce tucked into his go-bag. What Miranda had cooked on the other hand … he could taste the thought and care that’d gone into making it, which made all the difference. He ate with gusto, forcing himself to slow down a bit so that he wouldn’t seem like a complete piglet. “This tastes great” was all Jack offered in the way of dinner conversation, at least initially.

Once he came up for air Jack took a sip of wine then fiddled with his glass again. There was something he wanted to ask Miranda, but he wasn’t sure if he should ask it. Then he decided that after everything they’d been through together, everything they’d shared, especially that night, to not ask her something that was on his mind would be … just wrong. So Jack looked at Miranda, smiled and started talking.

“That was great, really. Sorry if I was a little focused on, well eating but … well, in the chow hall, if something is good you better eat it fast if you want seconds. So was that sauce recipe a … Blake family tradition?” Jack realized he was dancing around what he really wanted to ask and forced himself to focus. “So, umm … you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but well … The last time we had Italian I think, you talked a little about your umm … half-brother and sister. And you’ve mentioned that your dad was … never around. But you’ve never said anything about your Mom … Is she … are you still in touch with her?”
 
Miranda wasn't too disappointed with her efforts, especially as Jack seemed to enjoy the food so much. While he stuffed his face, she joined in, not at all shy about digging into her plate. She didn't eat quickly, but she also didn't pick around her food or skimp on loading up her fork just because they were on a 'date' of sorts. She wasn't a salad only sort of girl, and did more than her fair of work to burn of extra carbs, so she had no problem enjoying herself. It really was delicious, especially paired with the wine he'd brought.

At his question, her fork paused on her plate as her eyes lifted to peer at him across the table. He was hedging, she could tell, though she didn't know why. For most people, the topic of family was light-hearted dinner conversation or small-talk that most people engaged in from time to time. Miranda's family was radically different than most other people, however, though she wasn't at all shy about discussing them.

Her fork clinked lightly against her plate as she put it down and leaned forward, arms crossed as she propped herself up on the table. "If you want to know more about my past, I don't mind talking about it, though is as far from sunshine and rainbows as a person could get." She sighed. "I spent my life in foster care because my mother was an addict. The state took me out of the home when I was four, and I barely saw her after that. She died when I was nine, which really didn't surprise anyone, least of all me. Even at the age of four, I knew something was wrong with her. She wasn't abusive, but she was neglectful. I'm sure you've heard the term 'crack whore', but it is fairly accurate. She did whatever she could to get her next score, including sleeping with guys for drugs or money. I just wish she would have stopped having kids after she popped me out."

"The most valuable thing she probably taught me was to stay the hell away from drugs. For whatever else I did and how hard I partied during college, I was never tempted because I'd already seen the eventual outcome." She took another bite of pasta but found the memory of her mother an appetite suppressant. She turned to her wine instead, licking her lips after taking a long drink.

And since she was dragging her skeletons out into the open, she plunged ahead. "The sauce is a Blake family recipe, since you asked. My husband introduced me to it when we were first dating. I think it was his grandmother's recipe." It hadn't occurred to her until just then, but she'd not had this particular recipe since he'd last made it for her. Has it really been that long?
 
It was hard for Jack to listen to Miranda talk about her Mom. He’d been seventeen when his dad left, and his own mother went off the deep end; April had been fifteen. And he’d never really blamed his Mom for how she’d reacted. She’d always seemed a little lost when Jack’s dad was on the road, restless and unhappy. As a kid Jack could always tell when his dad was coming home, because his Mom would start smiling again and go to the hairdresser. She’d really loved his dad and it just destroyed her when he drove away in his rig one day and never came back. Even when she got so drunk she almost burned the house down, all Jack felt was sorry for his Mom. But April … she’d hated their Mom for a long, long time and also went kind of nuts herself. Sort of like how Miranda’s Mom had been; drugs way harder than pot, and sleeping with any guy who’s dick she could grab. Jack had tried to talk to her about all that, be a big brother, right up to the night she punched him in the face, then spit in it as she shrieked “You’re not my fucking father!!!” Jack signed his enlistment papers the next day. But that was all a long time ago. He and April were close now, and she had even sort of forgiven their Mom; they’d do family things together when Jack was home, and Jack’s Mom even tried to be sober when she knew she’d be seeing her grand-daughter. But to have no Mom at all, or dad, or family really? Jack had heard some stories about foster care, and it suddenly clicked in his head as to where Doc Frosty had come from; Miranda had been alone all of her life.

Jack got himself back together and went to take Miranda’s hand after she put her fork aside and chugged some wine. And then she hit him on the other side of the head with an even bigger two by four; hadn’t he already asked her about this?

“Your … husband?” was all Jack could get out, as he felt his throat tightening and his fists clenching …
 
Something in his tone made her look up. Noting the stricken expression and the tightness of his fists, she inwardly cursed. Miranda, you're an idiot. Inhaling deeply, she placed her wine glass on the table, trying to find the words. He's not in the picture any more. He's not in my life. We're separated.

Just fucking say it.

If I say it, it'll be real.

---
So much blood. Her hands were covered with his blood. She couldn't stop the bleeding. The bar towel was already soaked a deep crimson.

He was so pale, so cold, but he was still breathing. Shallow, labored breaths, like he couldn't get enough oxygen. His lung was punctured. He couldn't breathe. Her hands shook as she checked his pulse. Weak, slow. He was dying. She couldn't do anything about it.

"Thomas... stay with me. I can't live without you. Don't die on me!" So cliche. She'd heard those words a hundred times before in the movies and those cheesy television dramas that he was always teasing her about watching. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in her back, but Thomas was all she could think about. She didn't want to live in a world without him in it.

Light blinded her and helpful, professional hands moved in to take over, checking vitals, putting pressure on his wounds. They had to pull her away, hold her, restrain her. She could see his life draining away. They were taking him away from her.

"Lady, what happened? Can you hear me? Can you tell me his name?"

Internally she was screaming, but outwardly all she could do was stare, not understanding the questions.

"Jesus, she's been shot. Someone get another gurney!"
---

It already is real.

She nodded. "When you asked me if I had anyone back home, I wasn't lying. Thomas passed away a few years ago." Reaching for the bottle of wine, she poured her another full measure because she knew she'd need it and drank about half her glass in one swig. Talking about Thomas was never easy.

"He was the long term relationship I told you about before," she continued. "Thomas and I were married for a little over three years, but we lived together for a couple of years before that. We started dating while I was in medical school. He owned a bar not too far off campus. Not really a bad neighborhood or high crime area. Got a bit rowdy with the bar crowd, the occasional scuffle, but that's about it. Then some asshole decided to rob him one night while we were closing up."

"Thomas...," her throat caught as the emotion welled in her chest. She took another breath to push past it. I'm not going to fucking cry tonight. "...he took a round of buckshot to the chest and died en route to the hospital."

She finished off her wine, feeling pleasantly tipsy and warm, with just enough buzz to take the edge off those last few words. They still hurt, but it had grown easier with time. Not much easier, but just enough that she could bear it.
 
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Whatever relief Jack felt at Miranda’s words, and he did feel some at first, was washed away in a tidal wave of sorrow for her; what’d happened to Miranda was a hundred times worse than what had happened to his Mom. “Oh jeez …” was all he could get out initially as he sat there feeling a little stunned.

Then Jack forced himself to stand, move around the corner of the table and kneel at Miranda’s side. He put one hand on her waist and the other on her knee, in some sort of idiotically instinctive effort to … do what? Let her know she wasn’t alone? Try to take some of the pain and sorrow he heard in her voice away? Give her a little of his strength? All of the above?

Jack didn’t waste more time philosophizing and instead steadied his own breath, and began talking to Miranda; kneeling as he was, his face was quite close to hers and he kept his voice as gentle and supportive as he could make it. “Miranda I am … so sorry. For what happened to you. To both of you. And for bringing it all up.” Jack paused for a moment before he went on. “I’m sure Thomas was a great guy. And that … losing him that way was just horrible. Still is horrible, to think about.” Jack paused again, but didn’t look away. “But if you want to talk about it some more, I’ll listen for as long as you want. And if you don’t, well …I’ll certainly understand that too.”

As Jack knelt there waiting, or maybe hoping, for Miranda to say something, anything more, he kept his hands in contact with her, trying to do whatever the hell it was you did to help someone you cared about at a time like this …
 
She shook her head as she turned her head to face him, her pained gaze meeting his. "No, Jack," she said quietly. "It has been years, and though I've been extremely low at times, and still miss him so much it hurts, I've learned to work through it and move on." Her fingers absently stroked one of the scars at her wrist. "Tonight isn't going to be a rehashing of all that. I only told you about him so that you'd know, without a doubt, there's no one I'm interested in except you. I don't have anyone else. I wasn't looking for anyone else. You pushed your way in, though, and I am very thankful for that."

Her hand rose to caress his cheek gently, fingertips dragging up through his graying beard. Some of the tightness about her eyes eased as she studied his strong, handsome face before meeting his gaze once again. On a whim, she leaned forward to kiss him, tilting her head so they could do it properly, wanting more than just a simple peck. The taste of wine lingered on her tongue as she invaded his mouth, lips parting to explore, to tangle and tease. Turning, she placed her other hand upon the opposite cheek to hold his face while they kissed, dragging her fingers back into his hair.

It wasn't a kiss of desperation or overwhelming passion, but of gratitude and appreciation and every ounce of tenderness that she felt for the man. He'd drawn her out, but more than that, he'd convinced her that she was worth something again -- worth something to him. He'd already put up with so much of her craziness, she still wondered why he'd not gone running for the hills. It was difficult for her to understand how anyone could ever want to be with her, not when she'd worked so hard at erecting icy barriers to keep people out. Those had all but melted now, eroding beneath the force his personality alone.
 
Jack didn’t completely buy Miranda’s answer, but decided to respect it nonetheless; while it was pretty obvious she was still grieving, he knew from experience it could take years and years for that whole process to play out. And now that they’d talked about Thomas a little, he was pretty sure she’d feel like she could vent to him if she needed to down the line, which was about all you could really hope for. So Jack just returned Miranda’s sweet kiss, and gave her waist and knee a little squeeze before he pulled back and said “Okay.”

Scrambling for a way to transition away from some very heavy stuff, Jack stood and then remembered the éclairs in the fridge. And as he went to get them and some plates and forks, he just started chatting away. “Thank you for dinner, it was delicious. Normally I’d dive in for seconds, but I’m uh, kind of full now. Looks like you might be too.” As Jack set an éclair on a plate in front of Miranda, he silently prayed that the chocolate icing would work its magic on her. “These are from a bakery George, the Lebanese restaurant guy found; he said it was pretty good.” Jack poured the rest of the red wine into Miranda’s glass. “Why don’t you give it a try and let me know what you think? Might go good with the red, but I can get you some water if you want.” Jack gathered up the dinner plates and carried them over to the sink. “Go ahead and just take a break, I’ll get the dishes and leftovers.”

While Jack worked at the sink, he kept yakking to Miranda. “So I don’t have anything early tomorrow. Can do a sleepeover if you want. If you’re tired we can just hit the hay when you’re done, tell each other ghost stories until we fall asleep and like that. But if you have some energy, well … there were a couple of things I thought of before I came over.” Jack came back towards Miranda, pulled a DVD out of his go-bag and put it on the table, then got the serving bowls. “It’s an oldish rom-com called ‘Bridesmaids,’ you ever see it? Pretty funny, in a kind of raunchy way. The guy at the market said this was a ‘best quality’ copy, so hopefully the sound and picture are alright.”

As Jack started in on packing up the leftovers he went on. “Or else, well … I thought we might play a sort of … party game that we used to play when I was in school. Though well … we’ve already sort of played it but … you can decide. It’s called ‘Can Can,’ though some kids also called it ‘One Question’ instead of Twenty. You ever hear of it? The idea’s that everyone who’s in can ask another person one question, and the other person has to answer it the best they can. It’s sort of up to everyone else if the person answering has tried hard enough. So say some guy asked a gal he liked, if she would sleep with him if he asked; if she said ‘I don’t want to answer that in front of everyone, but I’ll tell you in private’ most of the gals playing, and some of the guys too, would probably let her off the hook. That kind of thing.”

Jack began tidying up the kitchen and quickly started thinking of other options that might be better than the two he’d thought of ahead of time. “Or if you just want to veg a little, I could always give you another massage. I’ve done your hands and feet, but there’s still your neck and shoulders and back and … the rest of you too.” Jack opened up the white wine and poured some into a fresh glass before he came back over to the table and got himself an éclair; not exactly the greatest pairing, but he didn’t feel like taking the time to look around for some coffee and thought it’d still be better than water with his dessert. “Or, well … if you’d like to fool around a little more, I have a couple of ideas on that subject as well. But it’s really up to you sweetie. After going out of your way to cook for us, then talking to me about …everything, why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do?” After he ended his spiel and waited to see what Miranda might decide on, Jack tried his éclair and thought it was quite good; he made a mental note to ask George where in town the new bakery was …
 
While Jack cleaned and rambled, Miranda sat back to enjoy her pastry. She swiped at the chocolate with her finger, sighing with delight as the heavenly substance melted on her tongue. She pried off pieces of the soft yeasty dough with her fingers, using pieces of it to scoop out the cream from the middle. It was messy, but she didn't seem to care at that point. Stuffing her face with sweets and chocolate was the usual way to deal with the pain, and did help to soothe her raw emotions. She hadn't meant to tell Jack so much about herself, but at some point he'd have to know. More than likely, she would have slipped in some fashion, mentioning Thomas without realizing it, and it'd lead to the exact same conversation they just had. Better that she get that out of the way.

As he dug into his own dessert, she finished hers and then her wine, licking her lips as she leaned back to watch him. Her eyes roved over his body again, admiring his lean figure and solid muscle. They served a purpose and weren't just for show. She liked that. He was no stranger to hard work and discipline. She liked that, too. She'd normally stayed as far away from the jarheads as she could, but Jack wasn't that sort of military man. Something about him was entirely different from any man she'd ever known. It helped that he didn't look or act anything like Thomas. To have been reminded of her husband so frequently would have been too much.

"I don't think I'm really up for more questions," she confessed. She'd bared her soul already and the effort had been somewhat exhausting. She really didn't think she'd be up to more of Jack's probing questions. He never seemed satisfied with what lay at the surface.

"I'm not going to say no to fooling around, either, but I wouldn't mind watching a movie before we jump back into that. I'd very much like you to stay over tonight," she said truthfully. "I have one condition, though." Her eyes fell, and she gestured at his clothing. "You need to climb out of those. Either I'm going to put more clothes on, or you're going to take more off. If you don't want me to change, then I want you in your boxers. I think it's only fair."
 
Jack wasn’t all that surprised that Miranda wanted to pass on the party game, and was actually kind of relieved she’d decided on that; their conversation so far that evening had been pretty intense, and taking a break from that sort of stuff was just fine by him. Though he did have this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there was something else he wanted to ask her about …

After Jack finished his éclair he gathered up their dessert plates and replied to her as he quickly washed everything up. “So kind of a pajama party sleepover huh? Well, I think that might be arranged …” Then, quite suddenly, Jack spun away from the sink and theatrically held one finger high in the air as he continued on in a completely over the top tone; he sounded a bit like some Inspector guy from an old timey British murder mystery combined with a really bad Shakespearean actor. “However, my dear, I do have one … condition as you say, of my own. For you see, I dost think that the arrangement thou hast proposed is not, in truth, fair. You, all wrapped up in that exquisite robe, whilst I lounge about clad only in mine trusty boxers? Nay I say, a thousand times nay! But …” Here Jack paused because he was having a hard time keeping a straight face and then plunged on. “If thou were’st to go into your boudoir, and hang up your silken raiment with care …” Jack spun again to hold up one of his hands in a placating gesture. “Nay good Lady, nay! Do not for a single moment think that I propose you watch this entertainment in a state of undress, au natural as our French cousins say, starkers even. No, perish the thought. However, if you were to rummage about in your underwear drawer, or perhaps your hamper … and find a mostly clean pair of granny panties to cover yourself with as I will be covered … then, and only then, shall we reach a true state of apparel parity!” Jack turned away to face an imaginary judge, flourished his hand about a bit and then turned back to bow towards Miranda. “Your Honor, Lady of the Jury, I rest my case!”

With his head held high Jack got a fresh glass for Miranda, collected up the new bottle of wine, his glass and the DVD off the table, and then headed into the living area. Once he’d set everything down and checked to make sure the vertical blinds over the patio door were closed, Jack quickly and efficiently stripped down to his boxers and then made himself comfortable on the couch; his right arm was high up on the backrest, obviously positioned to slip around Miranda’s smooth shoulders once she joined him. As he sat there waiting, Jack held up the DVD case in his left hand and called out to Miranda in a faux serious voice. “Chop chop my dear, this movie isn’t going to watch itself!”
 
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"You're a nut job," Miranda responded to his antics, though she was laughing. "I don't think I own a pair of 'granny panties', but I'll see what I can find that will hopefully meet your standards."

While he made his preparations, she returned to the bedroom and slipped out of her robe, tossing it over the foot board. It wasn't exactly hung with care, but she knew she'd probably want to wear it again later. Nude, she opened the top drawer of her dresser to find suitable underwear that would sate his need for undergarment equality. Along with a simplistic and reasonably sized vibrator (she didn't need all the bells and whistles), she had a variety of choices of panties and bras. Most of them were plain cotton, good for those long, hot sweaty days at the clinic because natural fibers breathed much better than man-made polyester blends.

She toyed with the idea of pulling on one of her lacy sets meant to impress, but she wanted comfort rather than rigid underwire. After a moment, she picked a pair of pastel pink cotton bikini briefs and a matching bra, slipping them both on before returning to the living room. She was no underwear model, and her body was hardly the picture of perfection, but as Jack had noticed, Miranda tried to keep a lean, toned figure and that showed even more when she was so scantily clad.

Comfortable enough with her body, she wasn't the least bit shy when she joined him. After plucking the DVD from his hand, she cracked open the case and moved to the player to insert the disc. He had a marvelous view of her pert rear as she bent over (though he'd already had an eyeful of that particular asset). Now, without her robe covering her back, he could also now see a small discolored scar on her caramel skin a few inches above her panty line. After years of combat training and active duty, of seeing soldiers' wounds and comparing scars with other veterans, there very little chance he'd mistake that particular mark for anything other than an entry wound.

Before joining him on the couch, she gathered a blanket from the nearby chair and then sank onto the sofa, tucking herself beneath his arm. Unfolding the blanket, she pulled it over them both, and snuggled against him. The movie began automatically, showing previews once the disc slid into the machine.
 
Jack sat back and enjoyed the show as Miranda reentered the living area in her lingerie. Some of his reaction was simply because he thought she had a great body; toned and curvy in just the right proportions. And he also thought the pink color of her bra and panties looked just perfect up against her lovely, light brown skin. But the best part for Jack was definitely the attitude she had when she came back in; not strutting exactly, but confident and kind of sassy too, especially when she just plucked the DVD from his hand without a word. Absolutely perfect in every way.

Jack’s eyes couldn’t help stray to Miranda’s fabulous tush as she put the DVD into the player. But as they did he also couldn’t help noticing the scar on her lower back, where it looked like she’d been hit; how had he missed that earlier? (“Because she wasn’t wearing any panties at the time genius” said Jack’s little voice. “Geez, do I have to tell you everything?”) It hit Jack in that moment how banged up Miranda’s body was; more than his really. The scar on her back, which he assumed was from when Thomas had been shot, the more recent bruises on her wrist and throat, those old scars on her wrists too. Those two old scars …

Jack felt like he was about to remember something important when Miranda sat down next to him and snuggled against his side. The blanket was a really nice touch and as his arm settled over her smooth, bare shoulders it all felt supremely comfy and cozy to him, even if the evening had been going kind of bass ackwards; typically the sex came after dinner and the movie. But nothing about being in Maiduguri was typical, and maybe there would be sex afterwards as well; hope springs eternal after all …

---

Surprising himself a little Jack was a complete gentleman (or as much of a gentleman as he could ever pretend to be) during the show; his hands didn’t stray all over the place and instead simply rested on Miranda’s shoulder, or reached for his wine glass, or refilled hers as the movie unfolded. It was really kind of nice to just sit with Miranda and relax for a bit, like a normal couple. “So we’re a couple now? I’m in a relationship?” Jack knew the answer to both of his unspoken questions was yes, but he tried not to think about that just then. He was enjoying himself and didn’t want to spoil things by thinking about taking his … girlfriend? Significant other? Whatever the currently preferred term might be … to Sumbola on Monday morning. Then the movie helped him out by getting to the famous (or was it infamous?) “dress shop” scene, and Jack started to laugh out loud just like he always did …

---

Once the movie had wrapped up and the credits were rolling, Jack kind of twisted away from Miranda just a little so that he could look over at her; it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if she’d fallen asleep after all the rigmarole in the kitchen earlier. “Hey, you still awake? So what’d you think? You never told me if you’ve seen this movie before …”

------Bonus Video Footage------

For those that haven’t seen it, the famous (or perhaps infamous) ‘dress shop’ scene from Bridesmaids that Jack liked so much; it’s fairly typical of the rest of the movie, which was actually written by one of the gals who star in it and another woman. The scene contains two minor examples of verbal profanity (the word shit) and quite a bit of … “unique” (especially for a rom-com at the time) physical humor, which might be NSFW if you happen to work around small kids, in a nunnery or someplace similar.

Bridesmaids (5/10) Movie CLIP - Food Poisoning (2011) HD
 
Miranda was tipsy and warm, when the movie finally concluded, but not sleepy. She'd forgotten how relaxing it was to simply sit with someone, zoning out to watch a movie. She wasn't in the 'Netflix and Chill' generation, but her date with Jack definitely had that feel. Though she was interested in the movie, always a fan of comedy, she did find herself distracted by Jack's solid presence on more than one occasion. His chest was warm as she rested her cheek against, and she could smell the slightly musky scent of whatever cologne or deodorant he was wearing. It was as comforting as it was painfully nostalgic, for Thomas was fresh in her mind, and she couldn't help but remember those lazy afternoons they spent together, vegging on the couch.

Grief was like a big ball of emotion trapped in a box along with a tiny switch that, when struck, stabbed her soul. When it was fresh and new, it bounced about relentlessly, triggering loss and sorrow on a constant basis. As the years passed, the ball grew smaller and didn't strike that switch quite so often. After a few years of grieving, Miranda found she could go days without thinking of her deceased husband until that tiny ball struck when she least expected it, leaving her to drag herself out of her depression. Jack had dredged up a lot of those painful memories, and not only with his conversation.

When that particular movie had been released, she was already living with Thomas (though not married to the man), and they'd gone to the movies together to watch it. She laughed as hard at it now as she had back then, though viewing it again was bittersweet. Even so, she concluded that it was good therapy. After all, she couldn't avoid every movie that she and Thomas had watched together, else she'd never get to watch the classics again.

"It's pretty funny," she admitted. "I've seen it a couple of times before. Believe it or not, I like crude humor." She smirked as she powered off the television.

Reaching across his body, she dropped it on the side table, though didn't immediately straighten. Laying on her side across his lap, her fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxers as her eyes lifted to seek his. "So, what would you like to do now?" she asked teasingly, one eyebrow lifting in quiet speculation.
 
Jack perked up considerably as he listened to Miranda’s mini-review of Bridesmaids. “You like comedies? Really? That’s great. I’ve been kind of into some of the real old school comics lately, like the Marx brothers. Not for everybody for sure, since all their movies are in black and white and like that. But the stuff they do … it’s completely nuts, in a way you just don’t see nowadays. Maybe we can check out one of their flicks sometime?”

Jack’s further thoughts on classic comedy were cut short as he felt Miranda’s sexy body press against his, and her fingers begin toying with his boxers. “Well now” he thought happily, “it seems as if she still has some … energy left in her after all.”

Jack didn’t do the least little thing to shift himself away from Miranda or stop her fingers from wandering about; he could feel her firm breasts pressing into the side of his chest and he rather liked that feeling. But Jack was still able to collect his thoughts and respond to Miranda’s question.

“Well … I did sort of come up with a … plan for after the movie before I came over. And that could still work just fine, so let’s call it Plan A. But I also came up with a … Plan B I guess during the movie. That one’s pretty easy. We go into your boudoir, get naked and make sweet, slow, sappily romantical, kind of vanilla-ish love to each other. I think that’d be a lot of fun for both of us, and also help us sleep great afterwards too.”

Jack paused for a sec before he went on. “Plan A on the other hand … Well that one also starts with us going into your bedroom, but it’s only you who gets nekkid at first.” Jack quickly held up his free hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, my boxers will also be coming off quickly enough in this one too. But not until after I gently bind your hands behind your back, put a soft blindfold on those beautiful eyes of yours and then lay you down on your bed. After that, well … to say much more would be kind of a spoiler, but uh … things will start happening. Things which, at this point, I think you’ll like a lot.” In his head Jack added the word “eventually” to the end of his last sentence, but didn’t spoil the surprise for Miranda by saying that out loud. “And which I’ll like a lot too.”

Jack paused again as he brushed a few stray locks of Miranda’s hair from her face and back behind an ear. “So look, I’m fine with either plan at this point and can pick one if you really want me to. But it’s already been kind of a … long evening for you, so what I’d like to do now is whatever you’d like to do. ‘Cause that way I’ll know it’s what you really want …”

Jack said nothing more as he looked into Miranda’s eyes and stroked her hair; he really didn’t want to influence her decision one way or the other if he could at all help it. But instead of thinking about which Marx brothers flick they could watch first, he spent his time wondering which option Miranda would end up preferring …
 
She slowly rose to sit up, considering his options beneath lofted brow. "You, sir, are seriously kinky... and I think I like it." Full lips curved into a slow smile. "I've never dabbled in bondage, handcuffs and blindfolds and the like, but... I trust you enough to explore that option if it truly interests you. I admit I've always been a bit curious, but that's likely the product of certain terrible movies, which shall remain nameless."

"However, I think we should enact Plan D before going straight to Plan A," she murmured playfully.

Leaning against his torso once again, she nuzzled his neck and nibbled lightly to his ear. Capturing the sensitive bit of flesh, she pulled it into her warm mouth to suckle as her hand crept beneath his waistband. Softly, she curled her fingers around his heavy sack, teasing them lightly with her fingertips before rolling them in her palm. As the tactic had the desired effect and his manhood began to twitch and rise, her fingers shifted to stroke him to full hardness.

"You were such a gentleman during that movie," she purred. "Never once tried to slip your hand down my bra, which was only mildly disappointing. I couldn't help but wonder if you've ever had a girl suck you off while watching a film. I bet you have. I certainly was thinking about it."

As she spoke, her hand continued to stroke, gliding featherlight up and down his shaft. Her palm brushed over the head, teasingly rather than to cause any true friction. He needed the proper lubrication first. Her eyes followed her hand as she flipped the elastic of his boxers down to draw out his cock. Without prompting, she bent down over his lap to wrap her soft lips around his erection, soft moans rolling through his member as she took more of them into her heated wetness. Her tongue curled around his length, stroking as she slid further down, coating him in her saliva. She could taste herself on his length, which made her clit began to throb and that slick moistness grow beneath her thighs once again.
 
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