P.J.’s right side was covered with a large Celtic cross. It reached low into his hip and ended in a Rose of Sharon. The skin underneath the bloom was puckered and concave. One of these beauties is covering up a bullet hole he had told her. As her fingers continued to trace the contours of his form, it occurred to Juliet that P.J.’s body told his story. Hard, unyielding, uncompromising, and colored with loss, faith, strength, and perseverance.
It was the body of a warrior.
As Juliet touched the steel, cold, thunderbolt that pierced the tender skin of P.J.’s nipple, she found her fingers crushed under his fist. In one quick athletic move, P.J. twisted Juliet’s body so that she lay prone beneath him. Juliet gasped with the force and weight of him. P.J. posed his arms on either side of Juliet’s head, taking some of his weight off her body and effectively caging her in.
“I thought you were asleep.” She panted out.
“I’m wide awake, Juliet.” P.J. growled low into her ear. Then he kissed Juliet in a way that made her body tingle, and her toes point and arch. P.J. brushed his thumb across the lower curve of Juliet’s breast. His hands left tender prints all over her body, while P.J. strummed Juliet like she was a priceless, finely tuned instrument. With slow, tender, torture he played her every note. Then, in a commanding and sudden move that made Juliet gasp in surprise, P.J. pulled her legs up around his waist. He entered her with one deep possessing thrust. Once he had claimed her, P.J. spent the rest of the night taking his time.
P.J. made love to Juliet for hours.
And hours.
And hours.
The power in her surrender, the sweet smell of her skin, the welcome of her hips, P.J. couldn’t get enough of Juliet. The more she gave, the more he demanded. P.J. couldn’t love her hard enough or deep enough. Each time he released his fury into Juliet’s hot, quivering body, he felt the world shatter into a million bursts of light, spin in whirls of flame, and turn into a kaleidoscope of color.
While the storm outside continued to release its relenting fury, the battle inside had already been won. With the confidence of a man born to be king, P.J. had waged a tender assault against Juliet’s defenses. With practiced hand, and clear purpose, P.J. had conquered her. He had coaxed, claimed, and bent her to his every will.
And in the end Juliet lay spent, sated, and deliciously defeated in his arms.
The moment that Juliet awoke, her senses were sieged under a tender assault. Her body felt deliciously sore and weak, her eyes blinked as the soft light flowed through the gap in the closed curtains, the smell of coffee wafted through the air. Juliet put her arms over her head and stretched her warm body as the low murmur of wakening sounds came dancing down the hallway…the soft bang of cupboards opening and closing, a chair scraping across the floor, the crackle of logs in a fire, the low sound of music. And finally, there was the dull thud of a door closing shut.
As Juliet sat up in bed, the sheet fell down around her waist; her naked body chilled by the cool air around her. She blushed furiously as memories of the night before came flashing through her mind. She looked across the room to see a man’s large flannel shirt, a pair of heavy woolen socks and a note.
She picked up the piece of paper…
Coffee’s brewing. Went to check out storm damage. Be back soon.
Storm damage.
Juliet glanced up and looked at herself now standing naked in front of the mirror.
Damage might be the right word.
Her hair was tousled from where P.J. had buried his hands in it, her body was red and chafed in places where his light beard had grazed against her soft skin. Juliet’s breasts boasted tiny marks in light lavender hues from where P.J. had held them, squeezed them, loved them. The rosy tips of her nipples flushed to deep pink. Juliet’s eyes were sleepy, her mouth was bruised. When she moved, there was a lovely ache between her thighs.
Juliet emerged from the bedroom to find P.J. coming in from the cold.
“Hey.” She smiled shyly at him.
The sight of Juliet stopped P.J. in his tracks. He knew that he should probably say something, but instead he found himself wanting to do a fist pump in the air. Because the sight of Juliet in the morning after being loved by him all night long?
Wow.
With her tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and the radiant glow from the fire dancing across her skin, Juliet looked like something beautiful and half tamed.
P.J. wasn’t sure when it started; was it the first time she reached for his hand and that damn candy wrapper fell out of her pocket? Or last night when he had kissed the sad scars on her wrists? P.J. only knew that he was falling for Juliet. And he was falling hard. He wanted to sweep her in his arms, take her upstairs and make love to her again and again until the sun set low in the sky. He wanted to whisper in her ear, feel her body rise beneath him, kiss her lips, her breasts… P.J. wanted to hear Juliet scream out his name while he was deep inside of her.
But, because last night had left him with more questions than answers, he pushed all those thoughts aside. Instead P.J. gave Juliet a wry smile and lifted the bag he had in his hand.
