Furloughed & Fired Up

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the makeshift barracks, a relentless rhythm mirroring the anxiety thrumming beneath Captain Rip Vallen’s skin. November 1944. Eight months since he’d last held Jerri, eight months of mud, blood, and the constant, gnawing fear for his men. The war had stripped him raw, leaving him a shell haunted by the faces of those lost and the taste of gunpowder. Yet, the thought of Jerri, her gentle spirit and captivating beauty, remained a beacon in the darkness, a promise of solace in this inferno. Prayers to Christ, whispered in the dead of night, offered him a temporary reprieve, but dreaming of her was what truly sustained him. Every spare moment, he’d retreat into his mind’s eye, savoring her image, tracing the curve of her cheek, the way her eyes sparkled with laughter. The soldiers around him, hardened veterans all, would sometimes catch him lost in these private fantasies, a faint smile playing on his lips. They’d even teased him, calling him “Dreamer Vallen,” but they understood, perhaps better than he did, the desperate need for a connection to something beautiful, something real.

As the train pulled into the chaotic station, a maelstrom of weary soldiers, anxious families, and bewildered civilians, Rip felt a surge of anticipation mixed with trepidation. Finding Jerri amidst the throng seemed an impossible task, but then, there she was. In the gray coat she’d worn when they said their tearful farewells, pushing her way through the crowd with an almost desperate urgency. Her face, radiant with delight and longing, lit up as she spotted him.

“Rip! Oh, Rip, darling! My darling, darling man!” she cried, her voice choked with emotion.

“Jerri, baby!” he responded, a wave of relief washing over him, momentarily eclipsing the horrors of the past few months. He surged forward, pulling her into his arms, swinging her around in a dizzying embrace. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the rain, as she clung to him, her body trembling with pent-up joy. He set her down, gazing into her eyes, lost in their depths. They’d forgotten the clamor of the depot, the jostling crowd, the sheer exhaustion of the day. It was just him and her, suspended in a bubble of shared memory and unyielding love.

He took her hand, their fingers interlacing, and they began the walk home, a mile long trek that felt like an eternity. Every step was a testament to their longing, their shared desire to reconnect, to recapture the stolen moments of their lives. The rain intensified, plastering their clothes to their bodies, but they barely noticed. Rip’s gaze never left her, tracing the contours of her face, the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts beneath her light gray coat. He’d imagined her a thousand times, but seeing her in reality, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own, was an entirely different experience.

They arrived at their small, unassuming cottage, a haven of peace and tranquility amidst the chaos of war. Rip set down his bag, tossing his rain-soaked uniform onto a worn armchair, before settling at the table already set for two, courtesy of Jerri’s careful rationing. A simple supper of canned peaches and hardtack, but it tasted like ambrosia to Rip’s weary palate. They ate in silence, broken only by the crackling of the small fire in the hearth and the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Jerri’s eyes constantly sought his, a silent question hanging in the air: what now?

As she finished her meal, Jerri rose, a purposeful stride in her step. Rip watched her, his senses heightened, anticipating the unspoken invitation he knew was coming. She moved with a grace and confidence that always captivated him, a stark contrast to the weariness that clung to him. She returned, pausing beside him, her presence radiating warmth and comfort. Without a word, she began clearing the dishes, preparing for the intimacy that was about to unfold. Rip remained stationary, basking in the quiet comfort of her proximity, his heart pounding in his chest.

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. He rose, taking her offered hand, and they made their way to the bedroom, a small, cramped space filled with the scent of lavender and memories. Jerri said, “I’ll just be a minute,” and disappeared into the attached bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Rip waited patiently, his senses on high alert. The silence in the room felt charged with anticipation, broken only by the rhythmic drip of water from the faucet. Then, a gasp, followed by the sound of the door swinging open. There she was, transformed. Gone was the drab coat and sensible skirt; in its place was a negligee of shimmering ivory silk, so sheer it barely covered her body. The bodice was fashioned from black lace, cut low in a sweetheart neckline that showcased her ample cleavage. It was a daring, almost reckless outfit, a clear message of her desire. Her hair, usually neatly braided, was loose and flowing, cascading over her shoulders in a riot of dark curls.

“You’re a sexy man in that uniform, Rip Vallen,” she murmured, her voice husky with anticipation, scanning every inch of his body. He was indeed a different man than the one she’d left behind, hardened and weary, but beneath the exterior lay the same passionate heart. He, in turn, gazed at her with an intensity that mirrored her own, lost in the intoxicating beauty of her transformation.

As she continued her admiring appraisal, she reached out, unbuttoning his shirt with swift, decisive movements. The cool air raised goosebumps on his skin, a thrilling sensation he hadn’t experienced in months. She slipped her hands beneath his undershirt, and he took a sharp, involuntary breath as her fingers brushed against his aroused shaft. It had been so long, the longing so intense, that the simple touch sent a jolt of pure pleasure through him.

"Jerri..." he moaned, his voice thick with emotion, as he turned to face her, his eyes pleading for release. She read the unspoken desire in his gaze and answered with a knowing smile. "I love you. I've wanted you back so bad," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. "Everything’s ready for you at home."

“Home!” he breathed, the word tasting like salvation. “I’m ready for home.” He paused, a shy glance escaping him, before responding. “I’m ready for you.” The rose-colored blush that crept up her cheeks and the tender fire in her eyes transformed the simple words into something undeniably erotic.

They continued their walk, hand in hand, her fingers intertwined with his, his eyes constantly drawn to her face, her hair, her body. The rain continued to fall, washing away the grime of the war and leaving behind a sense of renewed hope. As they entered their cottage, Rip discarded his uniform and cap, tossing them onto a nearby chair before settling down at the table. Jerri followed suit, removing her dress and shoes, revealing a pale, slender form beneath.

The scent of peaches hung in the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of her perfume. Rip’s gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail of her beauty, every curve and contour. He felt a primal urge, a desperate need to connect with her, to lose himself in the warmth of her embrace. He rose, taking her offered hand, and they moved towards the bedroom, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring the anticipation.

Jerri announced, “I’ll just be a minute,” and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Rip alone with his thoughts and the growing heat in his veins. He waited patiently, listening to the sounds of her preparations, his senses heightened, his body tensing with anticipation. The door swung open, and there she was, even more breathtaking than he could have imagined.

She’d discarded her negligee, revealing a body sculpted by hardship and grace. Her skin was pale, marked by the scars of war, but her eyes shone with an inner strength and a deep, unwavering love for him. She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, her gaze unwavering, her presence both alluring and intimidating.

“You’re a sexy man in that uniform, Rip Vallen,” she murmured, her voice laced with a playful challenge. He returned her stare, unable to resist the pull of her gaze, the temptation to succumb to his desires. He reached out, stripping off his shirt, exposing his naked body to her scrutiny.

As she continued her admiring appraisal, she reached out, unbuttoning his trousers with swift, decisive movements. The cool air raised goosebumps on his skin, a thrilling sensation he hadn’t experienced in months. She slipped her hands beneath his undershirt, and he took a sharp, involuntary breath as her fingers brushed against his aroused shaft. It had been so long, the longing so intense, that the simple touch sent a jolt of pure pleasure through him.

Rip rose, taking her offered hand, and they made their way to the bed, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring the anticipation. Jerri said, “I’ll just be a minute,” and disappeared into the attached bathroom, leaving Rip alone with his thoughts and the growing heat in his veins. He waited patiently, listening to the sounds of her preparations, his senses heightened, his body tensing with anticipation. The door swung open, and there she was, even more breathtaking than he could have imagined.

She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, her gaze unwavering, her presence both alluring and intimidating. As she slid her hand beneath his shirt, Rip felt a jolt of pure adrenaline shoot through his veins. The scent of her skin, mingled with the lingering aroma of her perfume, filled his senses. He knew, without a doubt, that tonight would be different. Tonight, he would lose himself in her embrace, forgetting the horrors of war, the faces of the fallen, and everything but the intoxicating pleasure of being with the woman he loved. It was the ultimate release, a perfect blend of passion and devotion. And as he felt her hand find its mark, he knew, with absolute certainty, that he had finally come home.

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