The End of Blame: Chapter 42 (adult)

"I have to admit, I won't miss Ireland," Blair said, trying to put her carry-on in the correct place on Todd's private jet.  He took it from her and stowed it away.


"I don't miss it either, and never could."


She stopped for a moment and thought about what Ireland had actually meant for him.  On two instances, he had been left for dead there, and came away with his life hanging by a thread.  This third time, he almost lost a dear friend.  She marveled at his strength and when thinking of it, she felt warm and full of desire for him.  His physical prowess and beauty was nothing compared to the power in his soul.  Even when he was at his weakest, and needing her care and her support, he was dynamic and enthralling.  She wanted him so much, and it never weakened.  His sleeve slipping back from his wrist gave her a reminder of the things he had survived, and again, as terrible as they were, she felt herself flush and yearn for his touch, his sounds and his body with hers.


She said, "I love you."


He said, "I love you, too.  That was a little random?"


"I just felt it, among other things."


"What other things?" he said, distracted, putting their bags where they belonged before take off.


"Oh, other things, like your body, close to mine . . ." she traced her finger along his muscular bicep as he lifted the last bag, and he studied the line her finger drew along him.


"Oh, that."


"Todd!"  He always had a way of snarking around her.  She said, "I just wanted to say how I felt."


"You mean you're hot for me."


"Yeah, that is what I mean.  What's wrong with that?"


He looked at her, with a smile that was so relaxed, she felt a pang of happy tears building in her throat.  He said, "Nothing.  That's what I dreamed about, every day, when I was away from you.  That you'd want me, and no one else."


"There's no one else, Todd.  When you are around, there's no one else that can even come close to having a chance."


"Yeah, I know," he said, sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest and putting his legs up on the ottoman.


"Oh you do, do you?"  She said, teasingly, folding her arms over her chest and looking at him, questioningly.


"You can't live without me."


"Oh, I can't?"


He softened, "No, you can't.  And neither can I live without you.  And you love it."


She tilted her head.  "And how do you know this?"  she asked, with his favorite airiness in her voice.


He said, "I lived it."  He turned serious, "And I couldn't do it.  I had to create you, in here."  He pointed to his head.  She was choked up, and within their banter, she was at a standstill.  Unable to think of something to say in retort, she put her arms down and looked at her hands.  He went on, "Every day, I went there, where you were waiting for me."


"That's beautiful, but at the same time . . ." she grimaced a little, thinking of him, dealing with Leona, without her, alone.


"It was necessary.  I'd have died, really.  Just died.  If I could not escape to you, I'd have died facing everything.  Just the way it was,"  he added.


"But it's over," she said looking into his eyes again.  "I'm right here and you're not getting rid of me."


"Who's trying?"  He unfolded his arms, and tucked his hands into his front pants pockets.


"I . . . I'm sorry."  she said, suddenly.


He looked puzzled.  "Sorry?  For what?"


"For not finding you.  For falling for it.  The Zeus thing."


"Forget about it.  It's just bad baggage."


"You're telling me to drop bad baggage?" her spunk was back,  "You need to drop yours.  You have a lot more than I do."


He said, smiling, "Maybe."


"You feel better, don't you?"


"Yep."  But the flashes.  They . . .


She had forgotten.  He was flying.  He adored it, and he appeared to be the most relaxed she had seen him in weeks.  She said, "You love it up here."


"I do.  But I love it more because of another reason."


"What other reason?"


"I love it more because of you.  You're with me.  It was so hard away from you.  Then, I was scared you wouldn't believe me.  Then, you did, and I couldn't stop flashing back, blah, blah, blah.  It goes on."


"I'm glad you're more relaxed then."  She said, folding her arms over her chest.


He looked at her, and did the same again.  "So what exactly were those 'other things' earlier?"


"What did you want me to say, that I want to do it with you?"


"If that's what those other things are."


"Well. . ." she leaned toward him and put her head on his shoulder.  Both of them still had folded arms.  "I was sort of. . . well I was hot for you, yeah."


He laughed, throwing his head back.  When done, he pulled her across him until she was cradled in his arms and lying almost across his lap.  Then he kissed her, and she could tell from the way it progressed, it was from as deep within him as could be, as most of his kisses were.  He took her arms and unfolded them, holding both of her hands with his, while turning her on her back on the jet sofa.  She shook her hands free of his and rushed them through his hair.  His kisses and his working tongue was making the heat in her build up again.   It was as if he could feel it, emanating from her, and he pulled his shirttails out, and said, "It's okay, I'm just as hot for you, Mrs. Manning.  I just want you, Blair," and she pulled his shirt off him the rest of the way.  Running her hands over his shoulders, he put his hand behind her neck, and lifted her to him in one movement.  They searched each others' mouths with both urgency and familiarity.


He was different.  He reminded her of when they first had been together, the first year, when they had declared their love for each other and were moving toward 'the happy ending.'   For a moment, he pulled back from her lips and let out a sigh, looking into her eyes.  She smiled, pulling him back over her, and like the old days, he found his way to pin her to the cushion below them, their interlocked hands against the couch cushions.  She arched toward him, getting one hand loose, undoing his belt and zipper, freeing him.  He allowed most of his weight to rest on top of her, except for giving her breathing room with his elbows.  He kissed down her body, and she closed her eyes, thinking of the stables, the penthouse, the limo, and so many other times like these.  She smiled, and he saw it, asking "What's that about?"  He continued to kiss her neck and down her belly.


"Us.  You.  All of it."


Her words drove him to kiss her more deeply, and fumble with her jeans until they were open and she slid them down, raising her hips to do so.  "Remembering?" he asked.


"Yes," she said, breathless, pulling him to her again.


"Me too," he said, comfort washing over him, peace finding him, and his pain seeping away.


"The stables," she said, running her hand through his hair.  It's almost as long as it was then.


He kissed her more, putting his tongue against hers and twirling it in her mouth, until she needed a break for air.  "The penthouse.  The 4th of July.  Remember?"


"Of course," she said, her eyes tearing up.  "Always.  How would I forget these things?"


He covered her mouth with his again, his hands now both in her hair and on the sides of her face.  He stopped the kiss, and moved to her breasts, saying first, "You feel so good."


"You feel so good, too," she said, smoothing his hair on the back of his head, as he caressed her nipples with his lips and tongue.


He lifted his head from her, and his face was so filled with want, she reached down, and stroking him, guided him to her, then moved her hips to accept him fully.  She watched him close his eyes and slowly move within her, his lips against her neck and ear, and her mouth near his.


Minutes later, she let herself go into the throes of passion and rocked against him, calling his name.  She dropped her head back to the jet sofa, and her hair was slightly matted around her face as he kept his rhythm strong and increasingly intense.  She reached up gently to his ear.  Tucking his hair behind it, she took his earlobe in her mouth, gently rubbing against it with her tongue, and said, "I love us so much."  He moaned, and she felt him push into her one last time.   Then, he was still, but breathing heavily against her.  This is my husband.  He's on his way back, completely, to me.  


He looked into her eyes.  "I love us, too.  So much, Babe," and then, smiling his beautiful smile, he said, "Marry me.  Again."  He reached his hand into his jacket pocket, that was strewn on the floor of the plane, and pulled out a box.  Inside it was her emerald, her ring from before Ireland the first time, reset with diamonds flanking both sides and nestled along the band.


She said, "It's beautiful.  I didn't know you still had it."


"Of course.  You think I'd give it up?  I gave it to you on a flight then, I'm giving it to you on a flight now.  So, marry me, again.  With all that's happened, can you still see your way clear to becoming my wife?"


"Always," she said, "and forever, Todd.  But why didn't you give it to me when we were married in the park?"


"I don't know.  I can't even remember what I was thinking about that.  If I were going to pretend to be the most romantic man on earth, I'd say I knew we weren't really where we are now. . ."


She knew exactly what he meant, without explanation.  She said, "Yes."


He said, "Yes?"


"Yes, I'll marry you again."


He smiled, and pulled his jacket over them, like a blanket.  He pointed to the window, "The sun's going down, over there."


They both looked through the window at the purplish sky; the colors made an orange glow against the pane of glass separating them from the clouds.  He found her hand again, and with the emerald shining where her wedding band was, he interwove his fingers with hers.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Your comments are 'payment' for the work of the authors. Our writers like to hear your feedback. Please leave a comment when you read.