4. Peter
Peter
April 7th…
“I take it back,” Bellamy moans. “I love your style. Especially your tongue. Your fingers. Your dick. All of you.”
Does that mean she loves me? “I love your style,” I reciprocate as she flexes her muscles around where we’re connected.
After returning to her lodging, we quickly made our way to the bed. What began as an idea to relax while watching a movie didn’t remain that for long. I’m not even sure we made it past the opening scene.
Not that either of us seemed to care. We had other things in mind.
Things that lasted all through the night only to resume this morning after we’d both gotten a couple hours sleep. I’d never been happier my team is currently off rotation, having returned from an extended deployment a few days prior to meeting Bellamy.
Yes, I still need to report to base, take refresher courses in some training techniques that had been updated, and visit with the on staff psychiatrist that helps military personnel cope with what we see and do.
But that wasn’t until later.
Which allowed me the time to wake Bellamy up with my mouth at her core. Before her eyes had even opened, I’d given her the first climax. The second was a few minutes after that.
We’re currently heading toward the third.
“Peter!” And there’s the trifecta.
Mine hits, causing my voice to crack on her name. “Bel—lamy.”
Thankfully, her cell starts beeping after I’ve spilled into her and we’re recovering from the exertion.
Her breath hitches and I glance over her shoulder, trying to figure out what’s wrong. It’s an email and, just skimming it as I don’t want to completely invade her privacy, my eyes latch onto the first sentence.
Dear Ms. Sutherland,
We regret to inform you that your contract has been terminated effective immediately.
“What the hell?” She continues reading while I hunt for our clothes. “They said I broke the morality clause I agreed to.” With my job, though it’s not implicitly stated, it is heavily implied that we’re expected to hold ourselves accountable to higher standards.
I just never thought a medical program such as hers would have their own. “Can they do that?”
“I’ve had them in previous assignments. Certain places implement them due to their funding, religious beliefs, and so forth.”
“Could this hurt your chances to find another assignment?” Does this mean you won’t leave me? I don’t voice that question, though. Now is not the time. Bellamy is hurting and I hate that. How do I fix this? Can I?
“I don’t know.” She sounds so upset that I pick her up and put her on my lap. Bellamy sits there, unmoving, for so long that her screen times out and goes black. When another beep comes through, I know by how fast she reacts that she’s hoping it’s to say it was all mistake. But it’s not. It’s a current, I guess that’s former, message from a coworker. “That bitch.”
And now I’m pissed at whoever sent the email and the person texting. “What?”
“Stephanie said she overheard Mrs. Green declare that she wanted me terminated because she saw us “making out” at the ice cream stand.”
“What does that have to do with how you do your job?”
“Apparently, because we aren’t married, it makes me a harlot.” Then she starts crying. Or so I thought. She’s laughing. “Who uses the word harlot nowadays?”
“Marry me. We can go get your job back after that.”
“You can’t ask me that because I got fired.”
“I’m not. I’m asking because I love you.”
“Oh. Then I’m accepting because I love you, too.”
Standing, loathe to put her down, I carry her with me to where I left my pants, loving how we match up when I bend down to get them and she wraps her legs around me. “That’s convenient,” I point out as my tip rubs against her.
“Focus,” she hisses.
“I am,” I assure her, making her giggle.
Finding what I was looking for, in more ways than one, I slide the ring on her finger that my dad put in my pocket last night when we left his house.
He’d hugged me, stating that he knew it was meant for Bellamy and that my mom would’ve adored her.
Seeing the same engagement ring on Bellamy that my dad proposed to with my mom has my eyes watering. I’ll choose a wedding band for her on my own, but having this piece of my parents’ history, their love, on my fiancée’s hand has me choking up.
I can’t believe this is real. That she’s real.
I couldn’t have dreamed up a better woman to spend my life with.