Fog turned on the still water. Hazy early light fingered the low-hanging clouds. Marsh sounds increased as, little by little, the light grew stronger.

On the second-floor balcony of Mavis Bracken’s river house, former Navy SEAL Gavin Savitt couldn’t so much see the stillness as feel it. His last deployment had left him legally blind in one eye. The scars across his face were a testament to his failure to keep the only job he’d ever been good at.

Life stateside had proven to be difficult. But one person was making it easier, little by little. Day by day. 

“Hold still or I cut you,” she warned.

Gavin opened his eyes and saw the hazy, sweet shape of Mavis’s face above his. He’d spent the last few days counting the freckles there, finding all the tattoos she hid under her black wardrobe, learning all the secrets of her body as she learned his. “I love how you talk to me, Freckles.”

“I mean it,” she said. “Stop talking.”

Gavin did his best to obey. Sprawled in a lawn chair, he was perfectly comfortable—probably the most relaxed he’d been in weeks. With Mavis standing between his legs, leaning over him in concentration, he was having a tough time keeping his hands or his comments to himself. The sound of the razor scraping the stubble of his cheek brought the hairs on his arms to attention.

He hated shaving. His disability made the task troublesome. He didn’t necessarily need someone else to do it for him. But he trusted Mavis, maybe more than he trusted anyone else. And she had offered.

He tipped his head back against the chair’s headrest, letting her work. He picked her apart from the shadows of his vision. Once she’d seemed like a shadow herself with her dark makeup, dark clothes, and dark hair.

Now he couldn’t think of a star brighter than she was.

It should be disconcerting, how fast she’d gone from his best friend’s little sister to an unlikely ally and, finally, his lover. He was a military man, a hard-nosed veteran. She hunted ghosts for a living. He struggled with PTSD. She was an avid yogi who vouched for the benefits of stretching and meditation.

He’d never grappled with his feelings like this—not for anyone. Mavis was in every way an exception.

She dipped the razor into the small bowl on the bistro table next to the chair. “That doesn’t look too bad,” she said, taking a towel and rubbing it over his chin and cheeks.

“Am I bleeding anywhere?” he asked, passing his hands over the lower half of his face when she let him.

“Have a little faith.”

He had more faith in her than he had in himself. Didn’t she know that? Before she could step back, he placed his hands on the back of her thighs. “Wait a minute, Frexy. I haven’t said thank you.”

She touched his shoulders. “We haven’t had breakfast.”

“Your point being…” he said, letting the question dangle as he massaged the sensitive place behind both of her knees.

She slid a sideways look at the large heap dozing near the steps. The Rottweiler’s head lay on his paws and he breathed soundly. “He expects breakfast early.”

“Another ten minutes won’t kill him,” Gavin claimed.

She lifted a skeptical brow. “Just ten?”

He beamed at her, unable to help himself. Tracing his hands up her sides, he admired the skin playing peekaboo between her bicycle shorts and crop top. “Fifteen?”

“Twenty,” she insisted, taking his hands and lacing them through hers, “or no deal.”

“A bargain,” he decided. When her mouth swooped down to his, he accepted the onslaught.

She knew how to drag it out, to bring him to the point of begging. Lust shot high and bright through every part of him. Her nails raked across his scalp, drawing the skin at the base of his spine up tight. He had to come up for air, not at all steady. “Damn,” he cursed. “You make me feel like shouting that Folgers song.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, you know the one,” he said. “‘The best part of waking up—’”

She placed her hand over his mouth to hush him. “Don’t you dare finish that, Savitt.”

He waited several moments for the warning to sink in and for her to remove her hand before he continued, unhindered. “—is Mavis in my lap.”

She balled her hand into a fist. He didn’t have to see it. Before she could even think about swinging, he caught the playful punch. She struggled until they were both laughing again.

The lawn chair crumbled under their weight. Gavin felt it start to go and lifted her, coming to his feet fast to avoid either of them hitting the deck.

Prometheus sprang onto all-fours, startled. He gave a low whine.

“It’s okay,” Mavis cooed to him. “Good boy. We’re okay.”

“I got her,” Gavin said. He held Mavis up higher. “See?”

Prometheus settled back into a sitting position. The whining ceased.

“You can put me down now,” Mavis mentioned.

“Not yet,” he replied. When else was she going to let him carry her? Especially damsel-in-distress-style with his arm lifting her shoulders and his other beneath the knees. He lowered his head to play with her mouth, drawing it out slowly in featherings of breath and caresses.

She braced her head against his shoulder. “You don’t fight fair,” she noted.

“This isn’t fighting, sweetheart.” And he nibbled some more.

She accepted the next round of kisses, turning her head away only when she was breathless. “You’re dangerous in the mornings.”

“I’m dangerous all day long,” he drawled.

She shook her head when he smirked. “Is that right?”

“Ask my former CO,” he invited, lowering his lips into the line of her throat. He could smell her over the marsh. Her fragrance intoxicated him. He breathed until he felt loopy.  

“Maybe you’d like to prove it instead.”

He straightened. He may be legally blind, but he could sure as hell see the light of challenge on her face. “Mavis Bracken,” he said smugly. “Are you trying to kill us both?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully. She lowered one leg to the ground, coming to stand before him as he relinquished her. “I’m asking you to show me.” And she drew him to her. Her arms linked around his waist and her front buffered the line of his.

Underneath the gym shorts he’d thrown on before sunrise, he hardened. “We should take this indoors.”

“Why?”

He glanced around at the other houses. “You have neighbors.”

“They’re river houses,” she reminded him with a tilt of her head. “The neighbors only come for weekends and holidays. It’s Wednesday.”

He thought about it. “How sturdy is your bed swing?”

She eyed the subject in question with its red striped cushions. “As sturdy as the one upstairs.” Her gasp rang through the morning’s calm as he swept her off her feet again. “Is this going to be habit of yours?” she asked as he crossed to the swing and dropped down to sit on the edge.  

He ignored the question, combing his fingers through her short cap of hair. He parted it down the middle so it no longer splayed across her face and he could see as much of her as possible. Since they’re relationship began, he’d learned that Mavis was like a pineapple—prickly on the outside; sweet on the inside.

The swing rocked as they fought their way out of their clothing. When she straddled his lap, he dropped her back so that she hung parallel to the deck, his arms cradling her from the fall. His lips dabbled across the ridge of her collarbone, the series of moon cycle tattoos that followed it before he nuzzled lower. His sharp stubble was gone so his cheeks grazed smoothly between the curves of her breasts.

Mavis’s nails were rounded. They trailed light up the outer edges of his arms. She grabbed his shoulders, pulling herself up to sitting. “I have an idea,” she whispered when they were eye-to-eye again.

“Okay,” he said readily. Mavis’s ideas normally took him far outside his comfort zone, but they were rewarding.

“Have you ever tried tantra?”

He opened his mouth. It hung for a moment, silent, before he made himself close it. “Tantra,” he repeated.

She nodded, her dark eyes focused. “It’s a system. Like yoga, it uses the breath, movement and focus. It adds sound, too, to increase intimacy, connection, and more intense orgasms. It turns sex into a transcendent experience.”

“Sex with you is already transcendent,” he noted.

She smiled softly. “There’s more—if we reach for it.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Is that a yes?” she asked, brushing her lips from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“You had me at more intense orgasms.”

“I thought I might,” she said. “Scoot back from the edge.”

He did as he was told, bringing her with him. “I hit the lottery with you,” he told her. “You know that?”

“Cross your legs.”

He arranged them crisscross. She settled into his lap again.

“Touch me,” she told him, kissing him again.

“Hm,” he agreed in a heady rush, letting his hands roam. “What’s your dog going to think?”

“He’s chasing squirrels.”

Good, he thought. They wouldn’t have to blindfold him. She twined around him, inviting him into the circle of heat. Her body rose like a wave against his and he responded. “Mavis?”

“Yes?”

“You’re fucking perfect.”

“So’re you.”

He’d never felt perfect. He’d never even come close. He wanted to be worthy of her. 

He stopped thinking when she rocked. “Eyes on me,” she whispered. “Breathe with me.”

It was beyond intimate. His mind quietened. The sensations heightened, expanding then escalating.

It felt sacred. It felt right. He knew the moment she came apart at the seams. He followed close after.

He didn’t crash back to reality. He floated, and his mind stayed quiet. A miracle. He eased her down so they lay akimbo across the cushions.

He didn’t realize he dozed until she asked, “You okay, big guy?”

Her fingers were in his hair, stroking. He fought against the lull of sleep to seize a glimpse of her face. “Yes.” How long had it been since the answer came that readily? He was okay.

“Me, too,” she murmured before he could ask. She tipped her head to his shoulder. “You let me know how long you need before the next round…”

His laugh started low. Then it grew, rumbling through his chest. He planted his hand on her hip, spreading his fingers wide. He pulled her leg over his thigh so they were tangled together. “You are going to kill me,” he confirmed. He turned his face into her throat again, angling for the pulse point there. He rubbed his lips across it, very much at home. “I’m going to enjoy it, Freckles. Every moment.”

© Amber Leigh Williams