Twenty-Nine
I couldn’t believe we’d just done that. Just had sex while Stitch was talking to his friend, to his Club President. It was insane, it was depraved… hell, it was really sexy. Why did Stitch keep showing me parts of myself that I never knew existed? How was he unlocking the parts of me that I’d hidden away, that I didn’t even realise I’d hidden?
“Babe?”
“Yeah?”
Stitch was lying beside me on the bed, while we both recovered from that deviance that he affectionately called ‘married fuck number four’.
“You’re gonna add that to your bucket list right?”
“Angry sex? Sex while you’re on the phone to a friend? That was twisted, Stitch.”
He laughed, sounding carefree and exhilarated, and I loved the sound. I loved that I could make him feel that way, even if it didn’t last as long as I wanted it to.
“Anal, babe… I want your ass.”
Yeah, I’d noticed. “Well, duh, it’s only on your list like three or four times, Stitch. You might think I noticed that.”
He laughed again, rolling over to stare down at me, sliding one finger teasingly over the bare breast nearest to him, and circling my nipple.
“Three times, babe. I’m not a complete deviant, and I’m not ass obsessed. Hmm… actually I think I am ass obsessed now, but only yours. I’m your ass obsessed. I’m gonna add it a fourth time. Is four the magic number, or should I go for five?” He reached for his phone and I slapped his stomach.
“Hey! Don’t touch that phone. You might decide to video call your poor president or something.”
Stitch let out a howl of laughter. “Oh my god. I wish we’d done that. He’d have been scandalised, although…” he let out a low growl then, “… he’s not getting to see you naked, Camille. You’re mine. My wife. If he sees you naked, I’ll have to cut out his eyes, and then we’ll have a president who keeps walking into stuff, and that’s gonna get embarrassing.”
“You’re a special kind of twisted, Stitch, you know that?”
He shrugged, snuggling into me, and pulling me against his hard chest.
“I wish we had forever, Camille. I have so much twisted to show you.” For once he sounded like he was joking about our time, rather than falling into a black hole of despair, even adding a light chuckle at the end of his sentence.
“I think I’m getting a feel for your twistedness, Stitch. So… did you have any thoughts on where we’ll go today? Are we staying here, visiting anything nearby, or getting on the road again? Oh… I’d like to veto visiting any more dogging spots, if that’s quite alright with you.”
He chuckled again, kissing the top of my head.
“I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together, babe.”
I rubbed my face against Stitch’s chest, breathing in the scent of my man. My husband.
“What about that place you wanted to visit again, from your childhood?”
Stitch tensed, and I tried to lift my head, but he tightened his arms.
“No. It’s not time yet. I’m not ready for that.”
“How long are you planning on leaving it, Stitch? It obviously means a lot to you.”
“Not. Today. Can we please just do something fun? That place is gonna break me, darlin’. I don’t want that with you.”
As soon as he let me move, I lifted my head to look at him, seeing that damn sorrow back in his eyes.
“You don’t want me there with you?”
Stitch smoothed his fingers over my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“It’s gonna be rough, Camille. I’d rather leave it until I can’t leave it any longer. Let’s just focus on being happy for now, yeah?”
Fine. I wouldn’t push him on that for now, but I didn’t want him to wait until he was so ill that he couldn’t make it there. I wouldn’t let him miss out on the most important item on his list.
“In that case, I want to go to the beach today. I want to see the sea.”
Stitch grinned at me. “That we can do, gorgeous. Are you gonna wear a bikini? I kinda like the idea of you half naked on a beach.” Then he frowned. “As long as I can kill everyone else, so they can’t see you.”
Stitch
I n the end, we compromised like a proper married fucking couple. We had breakfast, and then we got on the road to the nearest beach, where my woman wore a fucking skimpy top and shorts. I would be having words with Reacher’s old lady when we got back, because what the fuck was she thinking, packing these for her?
Don’t get me wrong, I wanted her in the worst fucking way right now, but men kept looking at her, and each time I tensed, she fucking reined me in, proving once and for all that she owned my one remaining fucking ball.
“Babe, if he looks at you again, I’m going to carve out his eyeballs and feed them to his dog.”
Camille grimaced, shaking her head at me.
“Stop saying things like that, Stitch. We both know you’re not going to do that. You’re going to walk with me, enjoying the refreshing salty air, and the warmth from the sun. You’re going to enjoy the beauty of this little hidden gem of a beach, and you’re going to enjoy the fact that we’re hand in hand, married, and on our honeymoon. Got it?”
I dragged her to a stop, more damn sand squeezing between my toes, because she’d insisted on walking barefoot on the fucking beach. I was more worried about stepping on some broken glass or something, than I was about sand squelching. Well, until right now.
“Babe, you’re too good for me, but I’m not letting you go. Hey… wanna go have married fuck number five over those dunes there?” I wriggled my toes in the sand and cursed. “Actually, scratch that, this shit will get everywhere. You don’t want sand in your crevices, babe.”
Camille was giggling as she dragged us along the beach a bit further. I was loving her peaceful relaxed demeanour. She was making me calm, just by being her usual serene self. She couldn’t be more perfect for me, because she kept reminding me that my short time left in this life was worth living. For her.
So when she suddenly tensed, and stopped moving, I knew something was very wrong. I cast my eyes about, looking for a threat, but didn’t see anyone paying her any undue attention, or looking like trouble.
“Babe?”
She was like a fucking statue, barely breathing, like someone had frozen her on the spot.
“Babe?” I tried to turn her, but her feet were planted, and she was… Jesus, she was trembling. I stepped in front of her, to try and catch her eye, but she was looking right through me. It was just like that day at the clubhouse, when she’d zoned out on me and become practically catatonic.
“Camille, you’re scaring me, babe. Talk to me.” She moved suddenly, heading back the way we’d come, moving faster than I’d ever seen her move, without running. She kept glancing behind her, and I looked. I fucking searched the beach and promenade behind us, but I couldn’t see anyone even looking at her. What the fuck was going on? Who had she seen, and what had they done to her, to make her so afraid.
“Babe, slow down, what’s going on?”
When she finally looked at me, her eyes were wide and panicked, and she was breathing really fast. Too fast.
“We have to… I mean, I’m not feeling well. Can we go back?” She looked behind us again, and I was on the verge of losing my shit. Not at her. Never at her. I wanted to go back and beat the fuck out of every man I saw back there, because someone had hurt her, and from her reaction, it was bad. Really bad.
“Who did this to you?”
Camille blinked rapidly, trying to focus on me .
“Please. We have to go.”
“Babe, you know you’re safe with me by your side. Nobody will ever hurt you again. Show me who it was. Was it him?” I pointed at a random guy walking with a child, knowing it probably wasn’t. She was shaking her head vehemently. She wouldn’t tell me. She just kept trying to get away from the beach, so in the end, I gave in, and let her drag me away.
Her safety and peace mattered more to me than finding that person on this beach. I knew I’d find out anyway, and when I did, I’d make sure he disappeared from existence before she ever set eyes on him again. Never again would he ruin her day, or scare her like this. That would be my dying gift to her. To my wife.