Allee
As soon as I hear my sister close and lock the front door, I grab a pillow off the bed beside me and scream into it.
I do this a couple more times, and then I lay back on the bed, my chest heaving with emotion and my body fighting exhaustion.
I honestly don’t know how someone can be asleep for three months straight and wake up exhausted, and it’s pissing me off. I hate that I can’t remember jack shit about what happened to me, too, and as I lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling, I do my best to clear my mind.
I need to think. I have to work through all the information I have, but my mind is foggy despite the fact my brain is evidently fine.
I have no memory of the attack. Camilla tells me that I was targeted with a car bomb, but that the person who placed the bomb put it in the wrong jeep. They mistakenly picked my neighbor’s vehicle – guess they had a 50-50 chance of picking the right one since our Jeeps were identical. Apparently, the Cartels don’t give a shit if they kill the wrong person… they’ll just try again. So even though the explosive device was in Enrique’s Jeep – and thank God he wasn’t hurt or killed – somehow it detonated and I was caught in the blast, but I wasn’t close enough to be killed by it.
In other words, I’m extremely lucky.
I sure don’t feel very lucky at the moment.
I don’t remember much of my recent training or missions, either, but I do know that this situation isn’t a total shock. I’m part of the military, and more than that, I’m in a specialized section of that force, which would automatically make me a potential target of the Cartels since we are often targeting them.
But even now I would expect to wake up from something like this and be able to get back to work. I know there’s going to be recovery time, and I likely am going to have to put in a lot of work to make it through that recovery, but since I devoted my career to serving my country in an elite capacity as I have, I always imagined that if I got injured, I’d be able to recover and get back out in the field. I envisioned that I would come back stronger than ever.
I’ve prided myself in my career, especially since I’m one of only two women in the Mexican Special Forces, and now they’re taking that away from me.
I only skimmed the paper, but it details my injuries. While the injuries themselves are healing, I’m never going to be fully back to the person I was before the blast, and as a result, they aren’t going to allow me to continue my work in the field.
In short, my career is over.
My chest heaves harder as a lump forms in my throat. I had so many hopes and dreams about my career, and I feel like they have all been ripped away from me. I’m not going to be able to achieve any of them, and it’s through no fault of my own. Someone else did this to me, and that’s all there is to it.
Sure, there was a bit in the paperwork about how I could go back and work in some office, but I don’t want to be a paper pusher. That’s for those who aren’t cut out for the field, and I’m not that.
Except, I am now.
I get control of my tears and my hand goes to my belly. I wish I knew what to do about this, too. I didn’t want to be pregnant. I can’t believe that I am. Though my brain is foggy and a lot of my memories are shaky, I know that I’m perfect about taking my birth control.
But then, that leads me to the next problem in my world.
Who the fuck is Mac?
Logically, I can answer that question. I have pictures on my phone of him, and I vaguely recall working with him. There are also photos of us together, and I can see in those that I’m clearly happy to be there with him. He’s also a very attractive man; there’s no questioning that, either.
I’m halfway impressed with myself. I clearly was able to snag a hot guy and I laugh to myself.
But, that’s where the clear-cut picture of him ends.
I can’t find him on social media, largely because I don’t have social media myself. I imagine that’s due to the classified nature of my job and the need to conceal our identities as much as possible. Camilla let me use her accounts to try to find him, but my search didn’t reveal anything, so it would make sense that it’s the same for him in his line of work.
He is American, and he is also Special Forces… a SEAL. Clearly, he and I met on the job, and from the dates on the photos, it seemed we were in the habit of spending weekends together. I recognized the background photos to be both in the States and in Rosarita, telling me that we must have been splitting time back and forth.
Camilla wasn’t able to offer much information on our relationship, telling me that I hadn’t shared much about my dating life.She’s as devoted to her line of work as I have been to mine and she stays pretty well wrapped up in her work in the hospital as much as I was wrapped up in my duties. It stands to reason that she would not know too much about what I was doing with my personal life.
As frustrating as it is, I’m going to have to solve my own problems to figure out who I really am.
I lay in bed for another few moments, fighting the urge to go back to sleep. Camilla tells me that it’s for the best that I sleep as much as I can, insisting that it helps me heal faster. But, my argument is that I spent the last three months sleeping. I don’t want to.
I have memories that feel like they happened yesterday, but evidently, they were three months ago. I even remember driving up to Coronado that day for the HALO re-certification before the accident.
But why do I remember that drive but not the proposal? Why don’t I remember much of Mac? It’s as though the really important memories in my life were taken away from me, but those routine, everyday things that I did are still there. And it’s frustrating.
The pictures do help, but not much.
I feel like the only way I’m going to remember Mac is if I get the chance to sit down and talk to him, but Camilla isn’t helping on that front, either. I know how difficult it can be when working with the government, but I also know she isn’t a huge fan of Americans, especially soldiers, so I really don’t know how much of what she tells me is coming from her personal opinion or how much of it is fact.
The biggest question I have about Mac is why everyone wanted to hide me from him. I had agreed to marry him, which tells me that I was very much in love with him. I’m pregnant with his child, which suggests I must have loved him. Camilla hasn’t said a word about him being abusive or dangerous. She hasn’t given me any reason to believe that he wouldn’t want to see me.
Yet, she deleted his number from my phone, assuring me that Commander Fernandez made it clear to her that the best way for us to stay safe was to cut contact with him.
I wish I had a better memory so I could know whether that was the best thing to do. If my memory was clear, I’d know what to do. But without any solid memories of Mac to go on, I’m not able to say whether I was really committed or whether I accepted his proposal yet had apprehensions. So, for now, I guess I have to go with what my sister is telling me.
I know that as I heal, memories can start coming back to me, so that’s good.
I think.
It’s just so bizarre that I’m nervous about what my own memories are going to reveal about myself and my life before the accident.
My eyes feel so heavy and I’m exhausted from crying. Fatigue wins this round and I succumb to sleep.
I wake up a few hours later and force myself to get out of bed again. I hate how much agony my entire body is in from just doing the most basic of things, but I also am determined to prove everyone wrong. I’ll push through all the physical therapy I need in order to get back in with the FES. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t let this beat me down.
My eyes fall on my backpack.
I remember it. Seems stupid to get pumped about remembering silly things like a backpack, but every memory recall feels like a step forward. I remember how much Camilla hates that thing and wishes I was a purse girl like her, so I’m glad she didn’t get rid of it while I was in the coma.
I need a change of scenery outside the walls of my bedroom, so I pick up the backpack and carry it to the couch, wondering what I might discover about myself. It’s such a strange feeling, wanting to unzip the top and pull out the contents, almost as though I’m searching through a treasure chest of my former self. I’m sure there’s nothing mind-blowing inside, but that’s okay, too.
I pull out my wallet first. Typical wallet stuff inside. Next I pull out a sweatshirt, and I remember it as my favorite. There’s some sunscreen, a bathing suit, keys, chapstick, and some hand lotion as well.
Then, my hand grasps something small and made of glass. I pull it out to reveal a small bottle of men’s cologne.
“Odd,” I say. “Do I wear men’s cologne?”
I spritz a bit on my wrist and sniff, and my mind explodes.
More memories than I can handle come rushing back to me through simple sensory stimulation. Mac, the proposal, the HALO jump itself, the weekends we spent together, the things we wanted to do, our hopes and our dreams, our everything.
I realize my cheeks are wet with tears and I didn’t even realize I was crying again.
There are still many details of our relationship that escape me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m feeling waves of emotion sweep over me. I know scent is an incredible trigger for memories, but I had no idea something as simple as a cologne could trigger so much from my own life.
I realize that I don’t have the cologne in my bag to wear myself. It’s Mac’s signature cologne, and I bought this small bottle to carry with me considering all the time we spend apart.
There were plenty of times when I would pop off the lid and breathe in his scent, loving the warm feelings for him it brought me. I would put a bit on my sweatshirt so I could get a small whiff of him throughout my day, or I’d put a small spray on my pillow to help me sleep at night.
It was a way that the two of us could feel connected to each other when we were apart. He did the same with my perfume, and there were plenty of times when I would laugh at him when I crawled into bed at his place and could smell my favorite scent.
“Mac,” I feigned seriousness, “Has another woman been in your bed?” I teased.
“Shit, you got me. She’s a hottie too,” he laughed. “What can I say? I miss you when we’re apart, and since I can’t have you in my bed every day, this is the next best thing.”
“I guess I don’t have to worry about you having some other girl over,” I teased. “She’s going to lay on your bed and know she’s in another female’s territory.”
“You didn’t have anything to worry about anyway,” he chuckled.
Back in the present, I go back to my room and lie back down on the bed, my mind spinning. I lift my wrist to my nose once more. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as I think about the love of my life, and I ignore the painful feeling that creeps up in the back of my mind as I do.
I make up my mind to talk to Camilla about Mac coming down to see me.
It doesn’t take long for other memories to start coming back to me – the memory of when he and I bought our mini bottles of cologne in particular.
We’d gone to wander around some boutiques after spending the day at the beach when I had the idea. Mac liked it and wanted to do the same.
When we got back to his place that night, I spritzed one of his sweatshirts with my perfume, and he did the same to my sweatshirt with his cologne.
“There, gotta mark what’s mine,” he said as he gave me the shirt.
I inhaled deeply.
“Mmm, I’m okay with this,” I said. “Although, there’s a problem.”
“What?”
“If I take the sweatshirt off, I’m back to smelling like me,” I replied with a sly grin. He smiled, walked over to the bed where I was sitting, and sat down next to me.
Closing my eyes, I tilted my head and leaned forward, sharing a slow, smoldering kiss with him. He moved from kissing my lips to my jawline, and then he worked his way down my neck, kissing and nipping at my skin.
I moaned, then pulled my tank over my head. I’d not been wearing a bra since I’d taken my wet bikini top off earlier, and Mac’s hand went straight to my tits as soon as my shirt was off.
“I can fix that problem,” he said. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to smell like me with nothing on at all.”
“Again, I’m okay with this,” I smiled with my eyes closed.
He tugged at my shorts, which was my signal to get naked. I laid back on the bed and lifted my hips, sliding out of my shorts with my thumbs hooked through my panties, taking them off at the same time.
Mac rose to his feet as I removed the rest of my clothing, and he quickly undressed as well before climbing back onto the bed with me. I grinned at him as he positioned himself next to me on his side and I immediately felt his massive hardness against my leg. I closed my eyes as we kissed slowly and with growing vigor.
Our tongues swirled around each other, and I felt my body respond. I was becoming more aroused by the second, drinking in the rich, warm scent of him as we made out like two teenagers.
He was supporting himself on one forearm and was gently cupping my face in his free hand while he kissed me, demonstrating his gentle nature and love for me. He could be a wild man in the bed, fucking me hard and heavy when it was called for, just as well as he could make tender, passionate love to me when I needed it. He knew how to read the room and the moment.
He was so good in bed. Always attentive to my needs. Never selfish or self-serving. Our sex life was healthy and fulfilling, but also crazy hot at times.
We were like a well-oiled machine. And I was feeling well-oiled in that moment.
His free hand moved down to my breasts begging for his attention and his fingers found my rock-hard nipples, my back arching and a moan escaping my lips the minute he did. He knew my body so well and knew exactly what gave me the most pleasure. As he tweaked my nipples and gently pinched and rolled them, my free hand closest to him dropped down between us to take his cock in my hand. He groaned with approval against my lips, and then hungrily plunged his tongue in between my lips to sweep it across the roof of my mouth and then exploring every inch.
With his engorged cock in my hand, I swept my thumb over its swollen head to spread the warm, thick liquid that had gathered there around the tip and shaft.
“Oh God, Allee,” he growled hoarsely, “You make me so hot.”
“Mmmm,” is all I responded because I couldn’t stop kissing him. Mac had mad kissing skills and I knew from our first kiss that he would be good in the bedroom. How right I was.
He intuitively knew what foreplay did for me and the more the better… or wetter, I should say. We lingered for a time, kissing and my hand working his cock and his hand and mouth working my tits. It was delicious and I wanted more.
I took his hand and gently pulled it down toward my warm wetness that was begging for attention and he chuckled, briefly breaking our kiss to say “You trying to tell me something, baby?”
“Mmm hmm,” was about all I could manage.
“Happy to oblige, baby” and I loved the fact that he never felt offended if I directed him in the bedroom. In fact, he encouraged it, telling me he wanted me to show him what felt good and tell him what I wanted.
And as his fingers dove into my hot folds and I moaned loudly, he whispered against my neck, “You’re so wet, Allee. You make me crazy.”
I couldn’t stop my hips from raising up off the bed and arching toward him as he hungrily sucked at my nipples while his fingers explored me, deliciously teasing me closer and closer to my first of several orgasms that day. He rubbed his fingers in a circular pattern on and around my hard button that he had quickly coaxed out of hiding and was now fully exposed. He then gently plunged two fingers into me to massage me from the inside, sucking on my tongue at the same time. I couldn’t take much before I exploded in waves of pleasure, crying out his name and thrusting my hips upward.
“I love watching you cum, baby. It’s so freakin’ sexy.”
I recovered quickly because I was hungry for him and wanted to watch him do the same and I told him so as I pushed him fully onto his back and then climbed over to kneel between his legs, salivating at the sight of his huge girth almost visibly throbbing with arousal.
“Yummy,” is all I said with a grin as I leaned forward, my long hair tickling his thighs, and taking just the head of his cock into my mouth at first. I swirled my tongue all around the tip, tasting the saltiness of his earlier arousal, gently licking and sucking at him at first and then getting more vigorous as he became hotter.
Mac is so large that I can’t take his full length, but he’s always reassuring me that it doesn’t matter. He told me that just having my mouth on him feels so good, and he loves watching me take him that way, no matter how much of him I can handle. We laughed about it, but he meant it, and I appreciated his encouragement because I loved tasting him.
I worked him with my hand and my mouth at the same time, his moans growing in intensity and my pace matching his. I had every intention of taking him all the way, but he gently stopped me saying “Baby, that feels so good, and you look so sexy, but I really need to be inside you.” And who was I to argue with that?
“You got it, lover,” I said with a smile and moved from between his legs up to straddle him, knowing he loves to watch me ride him, and I love the position just as much.
I lined up my now soaking slit over his rock-hard tip and rub myself against him for a moment, teasing both of us, before sinking down onto his full length, me stretching to accommodate his girth and taking him to the hilt, which causes us to both gasp in pleasure. I ride him slowly at first, enjoying the feeling of him filling me completely with each deep plunge as he reaches up to pinch and twist my erect nipples, this time with a little more pressure, which feels incredible.
I feel myself flushed with heat and ecstasy and naturally pick up the pace, arching my back as he grabs me by the hips, helping guide me as I lean back, putting my hands behind me on his thighs and continuing to move on top of him. The position forces my pelvis forward causing even more delicious friction, and with one hand, he reaches out to massage my hot button with his fingers, which immediately triggers another orgasm so powerful that my legs collapse and I’m not sure I can support myself upright any longer.
Always observant, my man lifts me off of him and rolls us over as one unit so that he is on top and my legs can fall open and release the muscle tension. Immediately, he’s plunging to the hilt into me with wild abandon, both of us entirely caught up in our bliss. My muscles recover and he places one of my legs over his shoulder and pumps into me over and over again the sound of our sweaty bodies colliding filling the room.
Mac often liked to bring himself to the brink of climax and then back off to regain control. He said it helped him last long enough to give me maximum pleasure as well as intensified his orgasm. I’m not one to question his actions if it makes him happy because he always made sure I was well taken care of. And this time was no different.
I felt him slow the pace and experiment with different depths and techniques, pulling out to tease my nub with his tip for a bit, which drove me wild, and then plunging deep and holding it there but at the same time, thrusting his pelvis into me which also stimulated by sweet spot. God, he was so good in bed.
We played like that for a while, moving so naturally together, that it was as though we had practiced the choreography and performed it perfectly.
“You’re so tight, baby,” he growled into my ear, and I smiled to myself.
“I don’t know if I’m really that tight, or if you’re just hung like a –”I gasped before finishing the sentence as he drew himself out and then pushed back into me suddenly.
“Like a what?” he asked.
I smiled and opened my mouth to answer, but he repeated the motion once again, preventing me from being able to finish what I was saying. Moans took over the words, his rock-hard, gorgeously tatted body pumping into me over and over and I sensed we were both getting close… me for the third time.
His hands grip my hips tightly and I feel him intensifying his pumping again, both the depth and the pace and I’m drunk on passion.
“Harder baby, fuck me harder,” I tell him.
It makes him crazy when I talk dirty and he pounds into me with wild abandon. He knows exactly what he’s doing and I arch my back, pressing my hips into him and wrapping my legs around him as the orgasm tears through me, sending wave after wave of pleasure to my core.
At the same time, his own explosion is happening as he slams into me the last few times and I feel him pulsing strongly inside me which takes my orgasm to the next level – what I call an orgasm on steroids – and I cry out loudly as he does the same.
“Fuck yes, fuck yes, baby.” He grunts as he unloads all of himself that has built up throughout our amazing pleasure marathon.
The euphoria and dopamine hit felt incredible. He collapsed onto me and said, “God, I love it when we come together. I love you, Allee.”
“I love you, too, Mac. That was incredible,” I said as we lay together, holding each other tightly. He stays inside me for a while, both of us loving the feeling of being joined as one.
It was like that with everything about us, really. We were just on the same page. The love we made in the bedroom was just another reflection of the passion we shared in our everyday lives. We were made for each other.
Now, as I lie here recalling almost everything about our life together, the tears fall down my cheeks. I relish the memory of that perfect day together, and I’m more thankful than I can say that we both did that with our respective colognes, because it brought Mac back to me… at least in my mind.
Yet, it’s also added another layer of confusion to what I’m dealing with now since Mac isn’t here and Camilla seems to think it should remain that way. But it has reawakened something in me that I can’t ignore. I now know there was something very deep between Mac and me that I can feel in my soul.
So where is he now?