Homecoming

         She smiled when he got off the plane, but she would have to wait until after the formation was over to embrace him.  She greeted him with a chaste peck on the lips as befitting the commander in public, but she could feel his familiar tremble.  He said he missed her very much, and he talked about his time in Iraq during the protracted drive home.  She listened, nodding, eyes on the road for breaks in traffic that would get them home faster.  She loved listening to his stories, and he loved telling them.  Or maybe she just loved the sound of his voice--deep, even, firm, but mostly devoid of anger. 

         He acted as if he didn’t notice the effort she made to entice him—the dress he liked, the blend of fragrances that stirred him, hiking her hem up in the car so he could see the lace top of her stockings.  He would look at her briefly without comment and continue his tale of battles, training, and waiting.

         She thought he didn’t notice.  Then again, he’d been gone so long she could have been dressed in a garbage bag and not combed her hair and get the same reaction.  He was not an expressive or passionate man.

         They got home, and he grabbed his large sand-coloured rucksack from the back seat of the car.  The thing was the size of a dorm refrigerator, and he carried everything he needed in the field plus extra stuff for his troops.  He left his two duffel bags, helmet, load-bearing vest, and body armour in the trunk.  He forbade her to help him carry the ruck; she was wearing stilettos and he didn’t want her to twist her ankles.  She went ahead to unlock the front door.  She expected him to come in, drop his heavy-ass ruck, go back outside to get the rest of his stuff, shower, eat, make some phone calls, then catch up on some much-needed sleep.  He was incredibly mission-oriented, and she wondered at times if she was a nuisance to him.  She heard the door close behind her as she walked into the foyer, and figured she’d hear the thwump of the rucksack hitting the floor.  She heard him toss his dusty maroon beret toward the rack by the door as she placed her purse on the console table.

         His sudden embrace startled her at first—his left arm round her chest, his right round her waist, and his lips at the nape of her neck. 

         She settled into a triumphant smile and whispered, “It’s good to have you home again, baby.”  She spent eighteen months organizing family support group meetings, being a shoulder for young wives to cry on, shedding her own tears in solitude, avoiding the news, gardening at strange hours of the night to relieve tension, and fighting for translation projects to fill up empty time.  Eight.  Teen. Months.  All of that waiting paid off in this moment, and if they stayed right where they were she would be content.

         He didn’t verbally respond.  Rather, he removed her hair band to free her tightly coiled black ‘fro and took in the scent of carrot oil and shea butter.  She reached back and up high behind her to run her fingers through his clipped bone-straight black strands.  He turned her round, and she saw the earnestness and intensity on his face. 

         She removed his glasses and placed on the console table beside her purse.  She loved looking into his eyes, could lose herself in those almond-shaped, gold-flecked amber eyes, pupils dilated. 

         He kissed her before she could say anything else, pushing her against the wall, untying her turquoise wrap dress.  He opened it and pinned her shoulders whilst he stood back to take her in fully with his gaze.  She was wearing his favourite bra, panty, and garter belt set—white lace—because he loved the contrast against her brown skin.  She had never seen him so filled with need, and she liked it.  She was filled with the same as her fingers quivered moving down to unbutton his fly, silently cursing the Army for not using a more field-expedient method to secure trousers.  He furtively unhooked the front closures of her bra, and her breasts spilled out into his hands.  He rolled her already stiff nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.  By then she had his cock gripped firmly in her hand.  He caught his breath and gritted his teeth, and she ceased her stroking; both of them had waited so long she didn’t want to make him come in his pants.

         He brought the left, then the right nipple to his mouth, licking each one with the flat of his tongue.  She moaned when he bit them, and wondered what got into her gentle husband—and where he could get more of it.  His hand moved down her belly, over her panties, between her legs.  She had soaked her crotch.  He slid his fingers underneath to enter her, making her gasp when he flicked her clit with his thumb.  His lips curled when he pulled out abruptly and she couldn’t hide her disappointment.  He took his fingers and lined her bottom lip with her juices, plunging them inside her mouth, allowing her to taste her tangyness.  He knew it drove her nuts to taste herself on his lips after he ate her out, and Lord, he was a cunning linguist!  There would be time for that, but not now.  He kissed her like he was quenching a thirst, pulling her lip into his mouth, chasing her taste. 

         He couldn’t wait any longer.  He spread her legs apart with his knee, pushed her panties aside, and plunged into her with all the force he can muster, slamming her against the wall, and he moaned.  Their height was perfect for having sex standing up when she was in heels, a new discovery for both of them.  She thought her knees were going to buckle, but he grabbed her butt cheeks with both of his hands as he thrust into her with everything he had, filling a primal desire.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her hands on his ruck, holding on for dear life, her mouth gaped open to breathe. 

         He had silently made it clear that he wasn’t going to make love to her.  He wasn’t going to be tender, giving, unselfish, or poignant.  Not just yet.  He needed this release so urgently he was fucking her at combat speed, not even bothering to take off his rucksack.  She loved it—he was displaying a rare shade of kink, and he was so incredibly hot to her in his primacy, banging her against the wall of their foyer in a borderline brutal fashion.  She took every thrust gamely, and she arched her back to press her breasts against his chest.  She half-wished he left the door open so passersby could see and hear the spectacle.  Then again, she bet she could walk by every house in the neighbourhood and hear the thumping, the rattling of doorjambs.  At the moment, she preferred to remain right where she was-- getting banged standing up by her hero. 

         Then it happened.  Her body seized and her Kegels clenched him tightly, heralding an orgasm akin to chain lightning striking in her body.  She threw her head back, shut her eyes, and climaxed aloud.  She quivered. 

         It was more than he could stand.  She heard him make a ‘grr’ sound, and he thrust harder still, and he shot inside her, crying out quite audibly, something that he did not usually do.  He shook too, gasping, pinning her still against the wall.  He lost control, for once.

         They remained pressed together for an immeasurable moment, decompressing wordlessly.  He pulled out of her, and she felt semen run down her leg, staining her stocking.  Sweat, her blended perfume, his scent, sex, and faint gun oil mingled and filled her nostrils.  She was too blissed out to care.

         He lifted his head off of her shoulder and kissed her gently, his demeanour returning as he buttoned his fly.  She caressed his face and silently remarked how even with slight stubble, his skin felt firm, smooth. 

         “I don’t know what came over me,” he said.  “Your letters—they were quite distracting.  And the way you looked when I got off the plane...the way you smell.  I just had to have you.”  He helped her stand straight while she closed her bra and loosely rewrapped her dress.  She slipped out of her shoes.  “Did I hurt you?”

         “Not in a bad way.  I loved it, honey.  You should go away more often,” she joked.  It wasn’t much of a jest, though—her beloved “chased the elephant,” volunteering for every conflict that came down the pipe.  It was part of the package deal—he’d been gung-ho the six years they had been dear friends serving together, and she had accepted that. 

         She helped him remove the rucksack from his now-aching back and let it drop to the floor with finality.  She embraced him, sliding her hands up under his blouse and T-shirt to massage his lower back whilst he drew her body into his.  “It’s so good to be in your arms again,” she said into his chest.

         He rewarded her with a kiss.  “Sometimes I forget the best part of an accomplished mission is coming home to you.”

         She feigned a scowl.  “And you better make damn sure you do that every time, Captain.  That’s an order.”  She was smiling, but fear did germinate within her then.  “Be a war hero later,” she said softly.  “This is the time to be my husband.”

         He cupped her face in his hands, shaking his head slightly, peering at her with those loving Uchinanchu eyes.  “I’m your husband always,” he corrected warmly.  “You know that.  I love you so much.”

         “I love you too.”  She looked down at the ruck, then at the door, then him.  “I guess you’re going to get the rest of your gear now that business is out of the way?” 

         He pressed her close to him, sliding his hand up and down her spine through her dress.  Damn, he always knew exactly where and how to touch her. 

“Oh, you think I’m done?  My gear can wait.  I’m not finished with you yet, missy.”  He gave her a devilish smile.  “I’m just one down.”

         “’One down?’” she parroted.

         “I’m going to give you an orgasm for every month I’ve been away.  I’ve got seventeen to go.”

         She smiled broadly.  She knew he was going to get his gear tomorrow.  He probably would not meet his goal all at once, but he was going to spend the rest of the day and night making love to her, pacing himself.  She couldn’t complain about that.  She raised an eyebrow and said softly, “That’s quite a challenge.  You sure you’re up to that?”

         “Why don’t we go to the bedroom and find out?”