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She kisses me, then lowers herself to her knees, settling into the gravel. A surge of awareness kicks my gut. My wife is blowing me in the two-thousand-year-old ruins of a Pompeii brothel.
She takes my cock in her hand and angles it to her mouth. I'm always stunned at how little her hands look when she's holding me. She looks up with those beautiful blue eyes and opens her mouth, her cherry red lips just inches from my head.
When her tongue licks the pre-cum off my tip, I nearly blow my load right there. Then she wraps those cherry-red lips of hers around my cock and slowly consumes me, until her nose touches my stomach.
"Oh, fuck, Kate..." My hands work into her hair.
She moves her head up and down my shaft in a slow rhythm. But I can't control myself, not when I see her down there. I hold her head firmly in both hands and thrust my hips, fucking the wet heat of her mouth.
She increases her suction and my stamina plummets. "Take it, Kate. Take it all."
With a groan, I spurt into her mouth. My eyes roll back into my head and I thrust deep into her one last time. She gags a little, so I ease up and let go of her head. She licks me clean and I watch, panting.
With a smile, she stands, and I reach for my pants. When I'm buttoned, I grab her and hold on tight, inhaling her jasmine-scented hair. My heart's racing — maybe because of the orgasm, or because we'd just done something that could have gotten us arrested.
"That was fucking incredible," I whisper in her ear.
"I love you," she says, kissing my neck.
"I love you too, babe."
KATE
I'msilent as we drive to the airport. It's hard to believe our seven days are up.
I'm not ready for it to be over. I'll never get used to saying goodbye to Damien.
I will not cry.
Bullshit. I'm already crying. Frustrated, I ball up the tissue and toss it to the floor of the rental car. No, that's gross. I bend to pick it up and stuff it in my purse.
"Babe," he says softly, taking my hand.
"I'm sorry," I sniffle.
"No apologies."
I look out the window as we pass the sign for Fiumicino Airport. Dammit, we're here already. In less than four hours, I'll be on a flight back to Florida and he'll be on his way back to Syria. I scrub my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes with my fingers so hard that I see yellow lights on the insides of my eyelids.
"The next six months will go by so fast, you won't evenknow it," he says.
"And then? You'll be back for three months and go away again," I say bitterly. "Is this going to work? Are we going to work?"
Damien chews on his lip and takes a sharp right into the long-term parking area.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He's staring forward with a hard, cold glare as he zooms up four ramps and pulls into a parking space in a dark corner. Our rental BMW is parked against a wall and next to an SUV.
"Why are we here? This isn't rental car drop-off," I say in a too-snotty tone.
He kills the ignition, undoes his seat belt, and turns to me. "I'm resigning after this contract ends. I'm not going back overseas. I'm either going to work at the resort with my brother or get a job somewhere."
I blink as relief ebbs from me. "When were you going to tell me this?"
He shrugs. "I decided just now. I can't do this to you. Now that we're married, your happiness is my responsibility. You don't think I see the anguish on your face right now? Jesus, Kate, I can feel the stress coming off of you in waves."
Tears are rolling down my cheeks. I'm a ball of stress, wrapped in fear and tinged with relief at what he just said. "I worry every minute of every day. And it's not like I have a lot of support. I'm not a military wife. I don't have that built-in support system that they have. My friends on Paradise Beach understand, Lauren and Sadie, they get it, but only so much. They can't relate. They go home to their boyfriends every night. They hear from them every day. Sometimes when you're on a mission and don't text or email... "
