He leaned over me, taking his weight on his arms, and kissed me, softly. I think he just had a simple goodnight kiss in mind; I certainly didn’t.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and locked our faces together. Needing more, I pushed my tongue between his lips, and explored his mouth hungrily. He tasted of salt and mint gum. Desire bloomed inside me and I ran my hands down his back, resting them on his fine ass, feeling the rough material beneath my fingers, and squeezed hard.
“Are you sure, Caro?” he breathed.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “Here and now.”
He groaned softly, and I felt the weight of his body press down onto my chest.
“But you’re going to have to get naked,” I added.
He sighed and pushed back from me.
“It’s going to take some explaining if the Taliban attack and I run out of your room with my ass hanging out,” he replied.
It was a fair point, and he was only trying to protect my honor and act professionally, just as I’d asked. And yet… I weighed up the pros and cons, realized he was right, and decided to strip him anyway.
We’d come under enemy fire today, and faced it together. I realized how lucky I was: surviving had made me damned horny, and I craved a bout of rough, life-affirming sex with my gorgeous fiancé. I felt, quite literally, that life was too short not to grasp something so good with both hands.
This man, lying in my arms, had told me over and over again that he loved me – that he’d always loved me. And, despite everything that fate had thrown in our path – time, distance, and age difference – we were in love. The why and how didn’t seem to matter anymore: finally, finally I’d accepted that this was real and that it wasn’t going to go away – that Sebastian wasn’t going to go away. I’d accepted that he was beautiful and sexy and younger than me; and that women with far better bodies and far fewer years would want him, too. And I’d accepted that he wasn’t perfect, and had a string of conquests on at least three continents; and I’d accepted that life was going to continue to throw new hurdles in our path – and I didn’t damn well care.
It wasn’t perfect: so what? Life isn’t perfect: life is what happens while you’re waiting for your moment in the sun and if you miss it, waiting instead for the perfect illusion that Hollywood sells, then more fool you. I’d spent half my life waiting for the right moment: I was done with waiting.
“Time to get naked, Chief,” I ordered.
“Make me,” he shot back.
Oh, willingly.
“Okay, what can I trade you to get you to take your shirt off?”
His eyebrows shot up.
“Trade?”
“Yes. I want you to take your shirt off, but it seems like I’ll have to give you something in return. If I agree to your terms, you lose the shirt. If I don’t agree, you get to keep it on.”
“For real?”
“Yes, Sebastian,” I said, pleased with my invention, but also intrigued to see what he’d come up with.
“A shirt for a shirt, Caro.”
Okay, so he was starting out easy. But I was wearing a lot less than he was.
I undid my shirt and watched his eyes widen as he took a deep breath, his gaze drawn to my breasts. His jacket and T-shirt hit the floor and we were both naked from the waist up.
“So far so good: I want you to take off your boots and socks.”
He thought for a moment.
“Okay, but I want you to touch your breasts, Caro; touch yourself until your nipples are hard.”
I ran my hands lightly over myself, toying with my nipples while I stared into his eyes.
“Fuck!” he said, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“Boots,” I said, my voice sharp with need.
It took a minute for him to unlace his boots and tug his feet out of them, then peel off his socks. His coordination wasn’t helped by the fact that I continued to massage my breasts, turning myself on with my hands and his dark gaze.
“I want you to take off your pants, Sebastian.”
“And you have to lose those pajama bottoms, Caro,”