Under His Wings(9)

But when Nicolai said the erotic term, it sounded natural, raw…and tender. His husky plea from last night came to her. Take me in your sweet pussy. As if he couldn’t bear not being inside her a moment longer. As if out of all the women he’d been with—because a man that gorgeous most definitely had many lovers—she was special.

Tamar rolled her eyes at her foolish whimsy. “Get a grip, girlfriend.” Not only had she imagined a fierce warrior lover, but she’d invented a sexual history for him as well. They had a name for that. Bat-shit crazy.

Rationally, she understood her mind had conjured the mythical images as a coping mechanism. That reliving the horrific life-altering event of the crash over and over would have stolen what little sanity she’d retained. So she dreamed of men with huge, beautiful wings, chiseled bodies, epic battles and, in the last six months, a devastating, attentive lover. It sounded logical, reasonable even. But shoot, if they were her fantasies why couldn’t she envision herself as a tall, svelte, scar-free temptress with hair that didn’t resemble a brown Brillo pad?

Shrugging free of her sweat-dampened nightgown, Tamar let the material pool at her feet before stepping out of the silk ring and skating the green shower curtain to the side. She reached in, twisted the knobs, adjusting the water to the right temperature and speed. Wiggling her fingers under the stream, she tested the heat then climbed into the tub and tugged the shower curtain closed behind her. The steady, firm pulsations dragged a half-sigh, half-groan free from her. And as she passed the soapy washcloth over her breasts and inner thighs, a flash of heat and embarrassment bloomed inside.

Nicolai—she shuddered at the mere name of her dream lover—might be a figment of her imagination, but upon wakening her body ached as if it had been truly taken, and not in the realm of Nod. Her breasts were sensitive to the touch, the nipples and surrounding skin reddened as if masculine lips with a faintly cruel curve really had been sucking and pulling on them. Her inner thighs were sore as if she’d squeezed them around slim hips time and time again. She shivered and it echoed deep within where Nicolai’s cock had been buried as he’d fucked her most of the night.

Heat streamed up from her chest and flooded her cheeks. That word was relegated to the night and her erotic fantasies, not daytime where reality came in the form of sunshine, lesson plans and PTO meetings. She wasn’t a prude—could lob the F-bomb herself. But she’d never used it in a sexual context. And she couldn’t describe Nicolai’s…conquering as anything else. None of her previous lovers had made her feel like a foreign land coming under the rule of a new master. But Nicolai did.

With him she felt cherished, wanted, precious and…well…fucked.

A sudden spike of pain in her calves and thighs jerked her attention back to the steam-filled bathroom.

“Not again,” she muttered, dropping the bath cloth on top of the soap dish. She lifted a foot to the edge of the tub and rubbed the muscles harder and with more vigor than she had earlier in the bedroom. Her doctors and physical therapists had warned her she would have cramps and gradations of pain most likely for the rest of her life. So this new emergence of pain wouldn’t have worried her if it appeared only in her left leg.

But in the last few months the sharp stabs had attacked her right limb as well and shot up her spine to throb between her shoulder blades. It more than troubled her—it scared the hell out of her. In the last year, she had worked out religiously to strengthen her body. As a result, her physical therapy sessions had been reduced from three times per week to once and she’d returned to her job as a sixth grade social studies teacher at the local middle school.

Finally her life seemed back on track, or getting there, and now these new symptoms had emerged.

God. She closed her eyes and willed back the tears stinging her lids. Before the plane crash, she’d taken “normal” for granted. Like the weekends and summers filled with rock climbing, hiking, traveling. Then there were the simple things such as rising out of bed, walking from her home to her car, standing in front of a class, fixing a cup of coffee… Now she valued each and every task. When a person’s existence converged down to lying in a hospital bed, unable to move, trapped in an uncooperative body, the small inconsequential actions became treasured gifts.

Despair squeezed her chest in its freezing grip. Just when normal hovered within her grasp, something else jeopardized it.

Life could be such a cruel bitch sometimes. In one hand “life” had saved Tamar from a fate no one else had walked away from. Yet in the other, she taunted Tamar with the possibility of that same blessing being snatched away years later.