Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 26

Max didn't usually dream. Nightmares, yes. For months after the crash, he'd relived Bug's death like the coverage of a tragic event on a twenty-four-hour news channel with nothing else to report. In living color, the vivid blue of the ocean burning his retinas, physical with the icy chill of the water freezing his skin, and heartbreakingly with Bug's piercing scream echoing in his ears, the last sound she ever made. Over and over night after night, the memories pulled him into the deep end of depression. In the wee hours of the morning, when he'd woke full of negative thoughts and emotions, he'd had no counterbalance to pull him to the surface.

Not until he met Sophie. First at Finn's wedding, after which he'd only had the memory of a brief dance with her to cling to. A year he survived on those few minutes, spinning them into fantasies of what could have happened had he stayed. At the fourth of July party, those fancies had failed to live up to the real thing, and finally Max had something more substantial to hold on to in the dark. But he never dreamed of her.

Yet tonight, his heart accelerated with the imagined touch of Sophie. Her nails scraping across his stomach, the sweet vanilla scent that hung in the air when she was near, the warmth of her.

Maybe the dream was happening because, instead of scraps of Sophie, over the last two weeks, he had more of her than he could have imagined. Since the day of Sophie's driving lesson, the lunch where he'd heard the glorious words that she wanted him, the moment he'd spoken his true desire aloud, asking for what he needed, his nightmares had no hold on him.

Perhaps he dreamt of her because every waking hour seemed consumed with her and still it wasn't enough.

The bed creaked and Max's stomach muscles contracted. This wasn't a dream. His eyes flew open and in the grey gloom of the pre-dawn light, he could make out the blunt bob of Sophie's hair. Even if the room had been doused in pitch black, he'd know her, his heart jack-rabbiting when they were in the same room, never mind being close enough to caress. His body knew her. His mind pushed through the confusion.

"Soph—"

A finger landed on his lips, followed by a warm mouth. Her tongue asked for entrance and he gladly opened up. Soft skin brushed against his as she covered his naked form with hers, pressing into him like the best blanket in the world. His skin flamed with embarrassment at how quickly his body came to life with her touch. Yet she didn't seem deterred. More like it spurred her forward.

Her lips pressed against his ear. "Is this okay?"

With a hand on her cheek, he nodded, then rolled over and sandwiched her between him and the bed. "Always." He tattooed the word against her neck before diving for the area he knew turned her on.

Not that Sophie wasn't already turned on. The sensation of her alert nipple in between his thumb and forefinger enthralled him until he sank a digit into the warm folds between her legs, wet with want.

For him.

This he could never tire of, never mind grasp, she felt this way. He'd expected their interlude in the kitchen to be a onetime affair, Sophie passing it off as a momentary lapse in judgement. Never in his life had he been so happy to be wrong. That very afternoon, after refueling, they'd used the couch in the back room to explore each other at a much more leisurely, yet just as enjoyable pace. His lips taking their time stamping and sucking inch upon inch of Sophie, mapping out pleasure zones, for him and for her.

Since then, there had been multiple times she'd let him worship her. Stolen moments in her office, the door locked after Simon left for his daily visits to monitor the wine in the production barn. Their now favorite hidden laneway on the route home where he parked the Jeep behind a row of pine trees and they engaged in extended make out sessions in the back seat, or in the front seat if they couldn't wait. Satisfaction achieved any time they were alone outside of the lake house.

Sophie drew the line at the door of the lake house. Her one request was to keep their carrying ons out of Emily and Finn's home, keep the couple oblivious to what was happening. At first Max had been hurt, assuming Sophie was ashamed to be with him. He wasn't, after all, up to her standards of men. Like she could read his mind, she'd explained that she wanted to be sure there was something here before they went public. The notion that Sophie even contemplated that there was a remote possibility of there being something between them made Max's heart soar. He'd wait as long as it took for Sophie to feel comfortable.

Not coming clean to his friend and former commander didn't sit well with Max. The denial of the simple pleasure of holding her hand as they sat side by side on the couch in the media room weighed on his chest like an anvil. He reminded himself, if he was patient, bore the pain, he'd earn the reward.

Sophie sneaking into his bed, even if it was the dead of night, was a giant leap forward.

Maybe tonight was simply a need to scratch an itch. But she'd come to him for the scratch. As long as she'd have him, he'd be the bringer of pleasure, day and night.

"Please Max, please." His name from her lips caused his pulse to gallop. He tried to slow the pace, focus on doing exactly as she requested, pleasing her. Because watching her arousal, sensing her desire for him, taking her to the edge and beyond might be the best part of their intimate encounters. Perhaps if he proved worthy tonight, she'd come to him every night. For sex, yes, but even just to sleep. To hold her, be close, wake up with her in his arms was a dream he needed to make a reality.

With muted moans and gentle gasps, they moved together, tasting and touching, rising and falling. Legs squeezed around his waist, he swallowed her cry as she orgasmed. Moments later, his rush followed as she rippled around him. Buried deep, he lingered as long as possible, in no hurry to separate from Sophie, letting his thumb draw slow circles against her hip. Unlike previous encounters, where they had to spring apart before Simon caught them, Sophie clung to him, stroking his cheek with her fingertips.

"How did I get so lucky?" Sophie asked, her whisper strangled.

"I'm the lucky one, Sunshine."

Her smile lit up his existence with a burning need to kiss her. And because they were in his bed, with nowhere to be for hours, he took her lips and poured every ounce of what he was feeling into the embrace. Breathless and content, he wrapped his arms around her, tucked her into his chest as their pulses returned to normal. Despite every effort to stay awake, simply watch Sophie, he drifted off, satiated and hopeful for the future for the first time in years.

Until Max opened his eyes the next morning. He was again alone in his bed, Sophie gone. A knife sliced through his heart at the lack of her the return to the status quo.

Again, he considered the nocturnal delight had been a figment of his imagination. A hint of vanilla remained on the extra pillow, and Max knew his night with Sophie had been real. He almost didn't want to wash her off, but after a quick shower, he bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen.

As beautiful as a meadow on a sunny summer day, Sophie stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug. She greeted him like any other day, with a 'Morning' and a smile.

The urge to go to her, show her what a good morning it was after a night with her, overwhelmed him and his feet moved of their own accord. Sophie's dark eyes widened and swiveled to something in the corner. At the sight of Finn sitting at the kitchen table, Max's feet froze. "Morning Sir."

Patience. He simply had to have patience. Sophie was worth the wait.

Hi there. DL here. I'm back! The book conference was amazing and I have so many ideas for fun new stories. 

Max and Sophie's romance is getting to the good part so I'm contemplating my next couple.

Any requests?