Relations

Jack knew it would happen eventually. Women who looked like Gigi didn't sit alone for long. Some over achiever sat next to her at the bar. Interestingly, she didn't even look at the guy. The dapper Lothario was left to talk to her profile. Something about that man must have given Gigi a bad vibe. Jack, himself had been deliberately, politely standoffish with her since she began her twice a week sessions at Rock Island six months ago, but he had never seen her rebuff anyone. She was friendly with all the instructors and recruits, yet managed to stay clear from any hint of impropriety. Grudgingly, he had to admit that her presence wasn't the spectacle he had predicted. Professionally and thoroughly she did her work. Not to say that the men on base didn't notice her comeliness, but she never played up her femininity and beauty, did nothing to encourage more attention than she needed from someone. But that kind of carriage didn't necessarily discourage unwanted advances. Jack settled back with his beer and watched Gigi at the bar with her would be suitor. He wanted to be disinterested, but seeing her away from work touched on his curiosity.

"I live near here, love. We could go to my place...have some champagne, get to know one another." The suggestion came in the form of a velvety, intercontinental accent and a leer.

"No thanks. I'm good right where I am." Gigi spoke the words into her vodka.

"I'm sure you're good everywhere, love. Why not show me," he purred, "we could please one another to no end." A bold hand dropped onto her knee.

Finally Gigi looked at him. Studied him, actually considered him. Three hundred dollar haircut. Four thousand dollar Versace suit. St. Tropez tan; the real thing, not from some sunning lotion. Manicure, capped teeth, waxed brows, and smelling like a million bucks. Nope, still not interested, "take your hand off me." Her alto voice was low, words measured.

"I am Tristan," he just smiled, not even looking into her face. He seemed to have just introduced himself to her breasts, "and you are?" The query came with a squeeze of her knee.

Gigi's nostrils flared. Pretty boy Tristan was pissing her off and his expensive cologne was beginning to make her teeth hurt, "get your hand off my knee."

"Of course, love," the smile became feral, "now let's see...where might you prefer me to lay my hand?" He reached to cup her breasts.

Then, before Jack knew it, before he could move, all hell broke loose at the bar. Holy shit! That stupid fuck tried to grope Gigi and she slapped him. Slapped him so hard that she split the corner of his mouth. And that motherfucker actually raised his hand to hit her back before Jack caught him up in a full nelson.

"You dumb son of a bitch" he hissed between clenched teeth, "you were gonna hit her. I should fuck you up!"

Gigi took a step back in surprise. Tristan looked pathetic flailing helplessly, pulled up on his toes. Even more of a sight, was that Master Chief Jack was the person securing Tristian in an iron-like restraint. She had never seen Jack truly mad. Pissed off and hard-assed when he was busting balls on base, but that was to be expected, if he was any good at his job; and he was. But, something about the scene between she and Tristan ignited his ethical beliefs and set fire to his reflexes. She just stood transfixed like a grateful damsel in distress, her day saved by the kingdom's bravest knight.

"No, please...let...let me go." Tristan begged the unseen human manacle behind him. "I would not strike a woman. I swear! Let me go! I am the only one who is injured."

Jack was oblivious to the small crowd in the usually quiet upscale bar who watched on in stunned silence. He tightened his hold on Tristan, eliciting an agonized moan, "you raised your hand to her," he growled.

"I shall never do it again," Tristan was on the verge of tears, "please let me go!"

Jack let the magnitude of his hostility fill the space around them. He gave Gigi a questioning glance and she nodded.

"I'm okay," she assured softly, "thank you."

Hesitantly, Jack released Tristan and shoved him away. He scurried out the door with a terrified glimpse at the menace who seemingly enjoyed hold him hostage. Thank God that brute hadn't followed through and assaulted him.

Jack's gelid gaze followed Tristan out the door. He inhaled, then exhaled a deep breath, took out his wallet and laid enough money on the bar for his beers, Gigi's drink and a tip. When he looked at her, all anger had evaporated and he actually seemed concerned. "Come on," he commanded gently, still very much in alpha male mode, "I can give you a lift if you need it."

Gigi had been traveling by taxi that evening, choosing to leave her car at home. A ride sounded really good right about now, she just couldn't believe that Master Chief Urgayle was the one offering. "Ummm...yeah, sure. That would be great."

*********************************************

They walked to Jack's SUV in silence. He unlocked the door, opened it and helped her inside. Gigi found herself sitting on something as he rounded the front of the truck, but leaned over to unlock the driver side door before pulling whatever it was from under her butt. In the darkness she squinted at the title of a book. 'The Centenary Corbiere: Selected Poems and Prose'. She frowned at him as he climbed in next to her. Poems and prose? "This yours?"

Jack pursed his lips and took the book away. He shoved it into the glove compartment and started the engine, "where do you live?"

"Hey," she laughed, "I wasn't being an ass, chief. I'm just...you don't come across as...-"

Jack gave her his most stony expression. "Where do you live, Miss Giancarlo?"

She sighed and faced forward, "Guantanamera Cottages, down by the- "

"I know where that is." Jack had to roll his shoulders to release some of the tension he felt.

"Hacienda Robles Hotel," she finished her sentence defiantly. "And again, thank you. I appreciate your help."

"You probably could have handled him yourself." The statement was full of surety. Gigi didn't do much sparring in class but she moved around enough for Jack to know her potential to tear somebody a new asshole. She was lucky. Her looks disarmed most men instantly.

"Why?" She gave his strong profile a sidelong regard and an amused smirk, "because he was a pussy?"

"Kiss your mother with that mouth?" His teasing was a surprise to both of them.

"Naw, just my dad. He's the one I really hate." That smirk changed into a full-on smile when he raised his brows at her.

"You're not joking," Jack accused, noting the smile didn't reach her usually bright eyes.

Gigi turned away, done with the brief banter. A nervous habit had her scratching the tip of her nose. "So that book of poetry ... it's yours, huh." Nosily she opened the glove compartment only to find more books stashed inside. "'I Am the Darker Brother: An Anthology of Modern Poems by African Americans', by Arnold Adoff," she read aloud in wonder. "'Love Poems by Women: An Anthology of Poetry from Around the World and Through the Ages', by Wendy Mulford."

"Get out of there!" Jack's admonishment came with a swerve of the vehicle and more slamming of the glove compartment. "And stay out! Yes, those are mine! Is that a problem for you Miss Giancarlo?"

"No," she put up her hands in a retreating gesture. "I just didn't know you were so socially conscious. You read a lot of things like that? By and about people who are different from you?"

"There really isn't that much difference between people, Miss Giancarlo. It's all very subtle. All about perception." His quiet musing was almost distracted as he stroked the edge of his mustache.

"The perception of others or our own?"

Jack gave her a such a long thoughtful regard, she almost told him to get his eyes back on the road "I would say both," he finally turned his attentions back to driving. "Did you go to college?" He found himself asking, unable to stifle his mushrooming need to know about this young woman who told him he was 'socially conscious'.

"No. I've worked for my uncle the past few years. My real job is in music. I write and produce, scout for talent...when I'm not working with Lee and the rest of the guys. Why?"

"Curious," he answered simply with a shrug.

Gigi laughed at that. "Curious about how I can afford one of these beach cottages if I didn't have a college degree proping me up in some lucrative career?"

Damn, she was sharp. He hadn't even been thinking along those lines. Jack shook his head ruefully. "No. I wasn't going there. That isn't my business. Which one is yours?" The truck pulled up to the row of quaint little cottages...all with great beachfront property attached.

"At the end." She pointed to the last house, "with the Mustang."

Without a second thought, Jack got out with Gigi once he parked in her driveway. He saw fleeting approval cross her face, but chose to ignore it. He didn't believe in dropping women at the curb. Jack didn't ascend the three steps onto the little porch, but watched to make sure Gigi got the key in the lock and got herself into the house. She gave him a smile and wave over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Miss Giancarlo."

"Wait," she called as Jack turned away.

Something fluttered inside his belly. Something also told him to keep walking, but now it was too late. He wanted to hear whatever Gigi had to say.

"You asked me earlier if I had a problem. Well, I do. With you."

Defensively his arms crossed over his chest and he scowled. "Is that right?"

"You have this awful habit of always calling me Miss Giancarlo...like some unmarried spinster. My name is Gigi or Giavanna. Whichever you prefer. Just not Miss Giancarlo anymore." She was requesting politely because Jack was proving to be more of a gentleman than he seemed.

Clearly, Jack turned the thought over in his head. She could actually see his mind working in those intelligent eyes. Resolutely, he nodded. "Goodnight Giavanna," the slight Texan drawl was very prominent when he pronounced her given name.

*******************************************

Jack had a fitful sleep. Goddamn these dreams that kept at him all night! Everytime he drifted off, another one got him hard and throbbing, needing to come so bad, but he didn't dare touch himself. No way. Not when all he saw behind his eyelids was her.

She reached up to him in welcome and pulled him to her for a kiss. Her mouth was so lovely. Full, soft, always wanting him. But Jack had to taste more of her. That warm throat and sensitive collarbones, the cleft between her tawny, luscious breasts. The dusky nipples stood up for Jack and he suckled one while playing with the other between his fingers. The sounds of enjoyment she made caused his stiff prick to jump and in anticipation. He drew on her harder, hungrier bringing the delicate, yet resilient bud to a swelling of arousal. Then he moved to the other nipple, this time using his sandy mustache to gently scratch before his oral assault. Jack;s hands were kneading and squeezing her generous hips and behind, trying to capture handfuls of her firm flesh in possession, but when his fingers found her slick wet cunt, he couldn't help but turn most of his attention between her splayed thighs. She was so wet for him, his thumb slipped around her silky engorged clit and into the folds of the retreating hood. Unable to hold back, he brought his dripping cock to her pussy and used the head to play with her clit.

That caused them both to shudder. His teeth began to tease the other nipple and she bucked her hips up to meet his motions, wanting him to fill her now. She wanted to come, it was all so good, but he left her to take her with his mouth. Jack loved devouring her. The taste, the faint scent ... he was addicted the first time his mouth french kissed those intimate lower lips. His tongue dove inside her juices and drank from her. This turned him on so much he groaned and rubbed his aching cock on the sheets. As soon as his tongue swirled around her perfect little pearl and drew it into his mouth, she exploded around him. He loved having her out of control this way. Shaking, gasping, feeding herself to him and grinding against his nose and mouth. He only kept the moustache for her.

Before she had a chance to catch her breath, to come down from the heavens, Jack was over her, inside her. And she opened her eyes to watch him. She always did that when they made love. Gave him so many ways to lose himself in her. She accommodated his thick length and wrapped her legs around him. Jack fought not to come too soon, but sinking into her was almost too much to take at times. So intense as she moved with him, their bodies in a sinuous rhythm of lust and ...other things, but fuck! He couldn't think about it now. So close, as his strong thighs propelled him deeply inside her. With just the right tilt of her hips, Jack was in deeper. Oh God! The head of his prick was lodging just behind her cervix, that extra little space just for him. He would always live inside this woman. Her whispered encouragement drove him frantically toward release and he had to have her with him.

Jack slid a hand between their tightly pressed, sweating bodies and massaged her clit on his upstroke, when the pressure of his grinding pelvis drew away. And again she was cumming apart, scratching at his back and shoulders, gripping him with her clenching sex, her beautiful face showing every emotion she ever felt for him. That expression alone could have sent Jack's fevered humping into overdrive. A series of rabbit-like thrusts and one seemingly endless plunge, brought him to a breathtaking halt. He was weakened as the pleasure stole every ounce of energy he had left. His strong arms and legs trembled, his mouth went slack and his eyes may have even crossed. Jack fell against her, his cum shooting into the depths of her. Shot after shot until it seemed as if his orgasm would never cease. He laid his forehead against her shoulder and let her stroke his hair, help him to calm, let him know that everything was all right. But he already knew everything was all right. She was with him. The woman of his dreams.

Once again, Jack was jolted from sleep, but this time his erotic dream brought him to completion. He found himself lying on his stomach in a puddle of cum and groaning, "Gigi...Ohhh, Gigi!"

*******************************************

Jack had no choice but to get out of bed...at four-thirty in the goddamned morning. Shit! And this wasn't even his day to be on base early. Instructors Pyro and Johns were handling all the pre-dawn AM duties. Sheets ruined and too wound up to even try to relax, he went to take a shower, hoping to salvage the rest of the day. He couldn't even look at himself in the bathroom mirror. What the fuck had possesed him last night? She was a child for god's sake. He had only recently found out that she was old enough drink. Hell, she wasn't much older than... Damn! He had to call Tampa today and make some arrangements. Jack was taking a week off soon and had to make sure that his schedule wasn't going to mess up anyone else's. But the free time would be good...for both of them. It had already been much too long.

Groggily, he stepped into the stall and although could have used an ice cold shower, Jack got the water nice and hot as usual. The first blast felt like fire. His bellow echoed off the tiles as he slipped and slid, trying to get out of the spray. What the fuck? His back and shoulders burned like...like he had open wounds. In a panic, he rushed to the bathroom mirror, trying to see what was going on. Twisting, to get a better view, Jack scanned as much as he could contort himself to see. Nothing. Then he squinted and peered closer. Oh, hell no! That isn't possible! Were those scratches? Lynelle knew how he hated for her to do that kind of shit...to mark him, like he was her property. Dammit it stung! In a worse mood than before, Jack returned to his much cooler shower.

He hung his head low and set the nozzle pressure high. The water bombarded him like a heavy punishing storm. Yes, he deserved the punishment. He deserved it for this ongoing charade with Lynelle. He deserved it for his unconscious indulgence in Miss Giancarlo. He deserved it for the long overdue call to Tampa. He deserved it for the scar on his chest that landed him here at Rock Island Station.

Tentatively, Jack fingered the ugly scar that lay in the center of his chest. The only proof that nearly a year ago, he had been written off as a goner. Now way somebody comes back from that kind of gunshot to any part of the torso, especially the chest. Well, he had. And everyone of his teammates knew it. They saw him working like a maniac,pushing himself too hard, too often. At thirty-eight, Jack was in the best shape of his life. When he got the greenlight to resume physical activity, nothing was too extreme. No distance was too far to run. No weight was too heavy to lift.No mountains were too high to climb. No waters were too deep, dark or expansive to swim. No amount of pain was too great to keep him in bed from another day of coming back to himself. The workouts Jack launched himself through had exhausted SEALs in their mid-twenties, but he had to keep going. He had to prove to himself that he was a better man than the one who had been shot in some shitty third world jungle.