Unspoken

Chapter 18

October 24, 1992

When John woke up, he was confused for the briefest moment. His legs were tangled with Marlena's, and her head rested on his arm, her palm against his bare chest. He closed his eyes again remembering the night before. He'd kissed her in the hallway outside Brady's room. Not once, but several times. Repeatedly. When he'd begged for more she'd been the voice of reason. He slowly took a deep breath, and then opened them again.

Marlena was still asleep. Her blonde hair spilling over his arm, and he found himself fascinated with the contrast against his skin. There were so many colors - cinnamon, honey, copper. Gently, so as not to wake her, he lifted a strand of her hair, watching its silky strands fall through his fingers. Then he remembered, Isabella's gone. His breath caught, and he forced himself to focus on where he was. Marlena.

Kissing her the night before had been an act of desperation. Grief weighed on him, leaving him feeling as if he were stuck in the saddest dream that he would never wake from. Kissing Marlena had given him respite. It had provided him physical contact, and the connection he craved. When Bo had lost Hope the year before, he'd gone and had a one night stand with some woman he'd met at the Cheatin' Heart. John wondered if that was what was happening? Was he using Marlena? Or was it something more?

He felt like he was a mess. Isabella's death was a trigger for something deeper. Something he'd refused to face since Marlena returned on that foggy pier more than a year before. When he'd believed Marlena was dead the first time, he'd had no choice but to focus on Carrie and the twins. The second time, after he'd nearly found her on Orpheus' island, he'd watched helplessly as her plane went down. It had destroyed him all over again, and he'd carried that alone. He hadn't ever told Carrie or the twins about the second time. Isabella was the one who brought Marlena to Italy, because she knew he'd need her. He hadn't expected that having Marlena with him as he watched the cancer slowly kill wife would have him holding onto Marlena even tighter. A dark fear buried so deep he hadn't even recognized it was bubbling to the surface. Isabella's passing had reawakened it.

Staring at Marlena's face relaxed in sleep, he wondered why he couldn't have loved her when she first returned. What had him pushing her away? Images of the house after the explosion, and the moment her plane crashed came to him again. His grief over Isabella was fresh, but the mere suggestion that he might somehow lose Marlena had his hand trembling. He dropped her hair, shifting himself so that he was closer to her. She moaned softly in her sleep, a soft sound of satisfaction as her hand slid over his warm skin. The scent of her hair teased his senses, and his body was reacting before he even considered how she made him feel.

Tears welled in his eyes. Isabella hadn't been wrong. He'd admitted as much to Marlena. He did love her, but when Isabella was alive that was easier to hide, easier to ignore. He couldn't continue to pretend it wasn't true with Marlena laying in his arms. Her thigh slid higher, and her warm center felt like a brand against his skin. Fuck. She'd taken off her sweatpants before bed.

He closed his eyes again, feeling blood rush to his cock. How could he want her so much? He stared at the window. The early morning sun was just starting to fill the room with soft orange and yellow hues. He could hear birds outside. Marlena sighed in her sleep, whispering, "John..." Her hips shifted, sliding her cotton covered sex a few inches along his thigh. She felt so perfect. She fit him. He fit her.

He ran his free hand through his hair as he fought an internal battle with himself. Move away from her? Or stay where he was? His aching body, so desperate for affection, touch... and yes, sex... his body wanted to stay where it was. His mind threw words at him: wrong, disgusting, dishonorable. Even still he didn't stop himself from sliding his hand underneath the blanket, and along Marlena's curved hip. She rocked her hips, rubbing her pussy against him again, and he couldn't stop his moan. Closing his eyes, he felt the soft rumble in his chest as his fingers slid over the warm, rounded flesh of her ass. His cock grew long, throbbing. His senses were all on high-alert, and he felt as if she surrounded him.