He listened intently for almost two minutes without speaking. I was squirming with curiosity, desperate to know what his CO was telling him, certain it was to do with where he was being sent.
He ended the call with a curt, “Yes, sir,” then he looked at me. “Pick up 05.00.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him.
We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.
Eventually, Sebastian kissed my hair.
“Let’s go get some food,” he said, quietly.
I nodded without speaking.
We stepped out into the evening, and I shivered in the mountain air. Sebastian held my hand and we walked slowly, the mountains behind us silent sentinels of our unspoken misery.
He took me to a small, intimate bistro, where the owner nodded at him familiarly, seemingly surprised to see him with company.
“I come here most days,” he said, shrugging slightly.
I’d noticed that his room didn’t have anywhere to cook. In fact, he didn’t have so much as a kettle. My love lived simply.
I tried to make the mood light, wanting him to remember our last night together for something other than the crushing pain I felt.
“Hmm, seems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian. When you come home – to Long Beach – we’ll have to have some fun with food.”
His eyes glinted with mischief.
“Yeah, that would be great! Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing – and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”
“Don’t use language like that with me, Sebastian. Chocolate is not something I joke about.”
He grinned. “Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”
“Crunchy,” he replied, making the word sound incredibly dirty.
I smiled, happy to see him planning for our future, wishing it could be sooner, wishing things were different.
We didn’t linger in the bistro. Even though it wasn’t busy, we didn’t want to spend our precious hours with anyone else.
Sebastian’s room was barely warmer than outside, when we climbed that narrow staircase for the last time. I shivered.
“Cold, baby?”
“A little. Can we turn the heat on?”
He smiled at me. “No heating.”
I stared at him in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”
He shook his head, amused. “Don’t worry, Caro – I’ll warm you up.”
Who needed space heaters when hot Sebastian Hunter was an option?
I brushed my teeth in the chilly bathroom, and leapt into the narrow bed, still wearing my T-shirt and panties.
Sebastian was far hardier, strolling into the bedroom naked.
I feasted my eyes, trying to fix the image in my mind, and had to restrain myself from whipping out my camera, for a more permanent memento. I reminded myself that I had many photographs to treasure from the last few days: pictures and memories, good memories.
He slipped in next to me, wrapping his body around mine.
“You know, Sebastian, while I really enjoyed the floor show, you’ll have to wear more clothes at home.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, rolling my eyes, “I live in a bungalow – and I have elderly neighbors. We have elderly neighbors, and I don’t want you giving them a heart attack.”
“Okay, boss,” he smirked.
On the other hand, it would be a shame to miss out on that every night. Hell, I could buy thicker drapes.
He pulled me against his body and kissed me slowly, deeply and seriously. And then we made love, again and again, unwilling to waste a single second where our bodies were not intimately connected.
Sebastian moved inside me slowly, filling me inch by inch, rolling his hips, so I could feel him in every part of my core. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. He laid his hands flat on my belly as I arched up over him.
I placed my hands over his.
“Can you feel yourself inside me?”
“Yes,” he said, with a smile, “I can.”