She nods, and her hand resumes what it is doing. I can see much more clearly now. She’s rubbing her pussy with the flat of her hand, cupping her mound. She’s not flicking her clit, or sticking fingers inside herself; instead, she’s massaging her pussy, and it makes me crazy.

I start to stroke my dick again, my hand moves from her eyes, which she keeps closed. Her breathing increases, and she widens her legs, her hand pressing down harder. Then she gasps and pushes against her pussy, as she pushes against her hand, one finger slipping inside as she fucks against her hand almost desperately.

My orgasm blindsides me as I lose it. I grunt as cum shoots over her belly and hip.

When we both finish coming, she glances at me, and her cheeks are tinged with red.

Reaching out, I rub my cum into her flesh. “I want to come like this all over your pussy,” I tell her. “I want to mark you all over these pretty lips, and then I want to come on your tits, and then your asshole. I want to fucking drown you in it.”

“You have a very filthy mouth, do you know that?”

I grin at her. “I am a sailor.”

Her laugh is deep and rich. “God, I’m exhausted, but I need to pee.”

She clambers over me and runs to the bathroom.

When she gets back, I pull her against me. She sighs and snuggles close. My eyes drift as I hold her tight.

I wake with a jerk. My heart is pounding, and the sounds of gunfire are still receding even as my eyes open. I know I’m not in the sandbox but safe. Where am I, though?

For a few long seconds I’m suspended in that awful not knowing. I’m not at home in Montana; this room isn’t familiar. Definitely not on duty, even as the smell of gasoline and burning flesh still teases my sense.

Just a dream, I tell myself.

The body next to me stirs. I glance over and see Carolina with her face scrunched up against the pillow, her arms around it, one trailing over me to rest on my stomach.

Oh, yeah, England. I’m in England.

Christ, my heart is still racing. I glance at my phone, it’s only six in the morning, but I won’t be getting anymore sleep. I carefully remove Carolina’s arm and slide out of bed.

I pull on some sweats and a T-shirt and head downstairs.

There’s no gym in Carolina’s house, and I can hardly leave her to go for a run, so I set about doing reps of various moves, with downtime of marching on the spot in between. I vary it with burpees, squats, jacks, and planks. After a punishing forty-five minutes, I walk around the living room ten times to cool down and stretch.