He carried her to her bed and laid her down, placing the covers over her before getting in with her. He drew her close to him and Leslie responded by nuzzling against his chest. Her eyes were already closed and she was feeling her body succumb to sleep.
“What? No pillow talk?”
Leslie opened one eye to find that Robert’s eyes were closed as well. She let out a soft laugh at the comment as Robert’s chest began steadily to rise and fall. He was fast asleep. Leslie wasn’t far behind but the last thought in her mind was how Robert had used sex to avoid talking about what had happened to him in Cuba.
*****
Leslie wasn’t sure how many hours had passed after they had gone to sleep. She didn’t dream, just blackness, but through the darkness an ear-piercing yell broke the barrier of sleep. Leslie shot up from her bed and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and went to the spot beside her where Robert lay thrashing about. A moment went by and another yell vibrated the walls.
Leslie threw the covers from her body and hopped up off the bed to turn on the lights. She went to Robert’s side hoping the lights would wake him, but they didn’t.
Leslie looked at the man who was fighting some sort of invisible opponent. She wasn’t sure how to approach this sort of thing, and painfully, Max’s earlier words rang in her ears. Those types of guys have mental issues. They see a lot of messed up stuff.
Leslie slowly approached the thrashing man. She called out his name, trying to wake him from his nightmare. She found herself slowly getting on the bed trying to stay clear from flailing arms.
“Robert wake up,” Leslie said. She placed her hands firmly on his chest trying to shake him awake. Robert, who was still very deep in his nightmare could only see the black shadow that was coming for his life. He tried his best to fight but was no match for the strong shadowy figure. Robert felt its hands on his chest and he grabbed at it with all his might.
In reality, Robert had grabbed Leslie and threw himself and her onto the floor with a painful thud. Leslie let out a cry as she felt the painful impact with the floor along with Robert’s weight on top of her.
“Robert wake up!”
Leslie struggled under the weight of the sleeping Robert who felt that she was the enemy in his dreams. His hands went to her throat and she immediately began to claw at his bare chest. When that didn’t work, Leslie gathered all the might that she had and threw a fist at him.
Finally, the grip on her throat loosened allowing air to properly enter her lungs. She scooted away from him until she hit a wall as she gasped and coughed. Robert looked around dazed and confused before locking eyes with her.
“Leslie,” he said, as he slowly made his way to her, still getting in touch with reality. “I did this to you?”
Leslie, who was still trying to get a normal breathing pattern in her lungs waved off his concern. She was scared, more than scared but she didn’t want him to see that, as crazy as that felt.
Robert came close to her trying to touch her but stopped inches short. He was scared to touch her now.
“I can’t stay here,” he said as he hung his head, avoiding her eyes.
“You have to tell me,” Leslie said as she placed a hand on her chest feeling the pain in her chest subside. “You have to tell me what happened, you need to tell someone, or things like this will keep happening, to whoever is near you.”
Robert nodded slowly; she was right and he knew it. He hadn’t told anyone. Not even his superiors at headquarters knew. And yet he was about to tell Leslie his deepest darkest secret.
*****
Leslie found herself sitting at her coffee table with Robert at 2 in the morning. He stared into his steamy cup of coffee as he prepared to tell Leslie what broke his mind in the Navy. A secret he was so scared to let out that even his superiors didn’t know.
“I killed my superior officer.”
Leslie’s eyes widened as the words came from his mouth so straightforwardly. Robert took Leslie’s silence as a sign to continue with his story.
Robert told Leslie that during a night watch, he and his superior officer were taken hostage by native thugs.
“We had been drinking so we weren’t on our best game,” Robert admitted. He continued on, telling her that despite his urging, Robert wouldn’t leave his superior side. Later into the night, they had been taken, tied up, and blindfolded. They were taken to the thugs’ hideout. Robert at the time didn’t know the exact outcome but he figured it would go something along the lines of torture and death.
“We got to the hideout and they took off my blindfold but something was weird.”
Leslie saw Robert shift in his seat pausing to recall the painful memory.
“My superior wasn’t there beside me, scared of death like I was but he was in front of me standing next to the thugs who had taken us.”
Leslie’s eyes widened as she immediately took his hand into hers.
“Apparently he was in deep with some sort of drug trade and something big was going down that night. I wasn’t supposed to be there with him. I was supposed to get drunk and pass out or leave so he could sneak off and handle business.” Leslie felt Robert’s hand tighten under hers then.
“Anyway his plan was to kill me off, take care of the deal, then run back to base to tell them I had been taken hostage by some thugs. The ending of that would have been that they would find me dead and mark my superior a hero and send my body home telling my family – telling you – that I had died bravely and honorably.”
Robert took a sip of his coffee and took in a deep breath; he rubbed his eyes momentarily before continuing.
“I chose to fight, even if I was going to die I would take him down with me, and that’s what I did. I broke free of the ropes and I strangled him with them. One of the thugs knocked me out with a rifle butt. They must have thought I was dead, because they dumped both our bodies in some ditch. I crawled out barely conscious.”
Robert looked up at Leslie and flashed her a small smile.
“If it wasn’t for some family taking me in I wouldn’t have survived the night. I had to go back to my base and lie. For the sake of his family I lied and told them he died a hero, he died protecting me.”
Leslie stood up and went to him cradling his head in her chest.
“It sounds horrific,” Leslie said as she sniffled trying to stop the tears from coming. She lifted his face to look at hers as her tears trickled down her face.
“Shit, I made you cry again,” Robert said with a chuckle, as he stood up and hugged her close. “This time I know what to do to make you feel better.”
Robert leaned down grabbing her face and pressing his lips against hers. She smiled against his lips after a moment at the same time wiping the tears from her eyes.
She leaned back and looked into his eyes, they looked sad and that was understandable considering what he went through.
“I’m happy you told me but, this is messing you up Robert, you need to see someone, get professional help about this.”
Robert looked at Leslie and shook his head.
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” he said as he picked her up and walked her over to the bed.
“Fine, I guess letting the cat out of the bag was enough for tonight,” Leslie said as Robert placed her on the bed gently.
She got up and pulled him down on the bed before mounting him.
“You have to tell me when it’s bothering you okay? You may not want to talk to a shrink but holding it up inside will kill you.”
Robert looked up at her, a look that Leslie couldn’t decipher just then. His hand went up and stroked her cheek, a smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re amazing,” Robert said as he pulled her down to plant a kiss on her. “I didn’t think you would understand but—”
Leslie placed a finger to his lips and shook her head.
“I want you to know that I’m always here for you, no matter what.”
Leslie leaned down and kissed Robert deeply,
a kiss that had a certain appendage poking at her in seconds. She pulled away with a smile as she began to trace kisses down his jaw, then to his neck, and his collar bone.
She tugged his shirt over his head throwing it to the side. She began to trace kisses down his smooth chest while she worked at removing his boxer shorts. Leslie stopped what she was doing to sit back and admire the magnificent body that lay under her. Leslie smirked and continued trailing kisses down her body until she reached his hard-on.
She wrapped her fingers around it sending visible shivers up and down his body. She moved her hand up and down slow at a steady pace. His breath increased as her hand movements did. Robert’s hand snaked to her curly hair and his fingers entangled in it as her mouth soon replaced her hand. A deep groan escaped his lips as the warmness of her mouth engulfed his throbbing dick.
She continued this until she felt his hips thrusting upwards into her mouth. She moaned against the hard member adding her hand into the mix of things causing the moans from his lips to grow louder.
Robert swallowed hard as he felt himself close to coming. He tugged at her hair then, urging her to stop. Reluctantly, Leslie eased off his dick and looked up at him, licking her lips. The look on her face was utterly erotic and would have been enough to make him lose it.
He leaned down and grabbed her, pulling her up and onto his still-hard member. She slid onto it with a low moan before moving her hips back and forth. After some time their hips moved in sync. Leslie’s arms wrapped around his neck as his nails dug into her butt bouncing her up and down on him. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder causing her to cry out as both their orgasms crashed through their bodies like a wave.
The two fell onto the bed in each other’s arms, exhausted and satisfied. Leslie smiled at Robert as he pulled the covers over their damp bodies.
“I could get used to this,” Leslie panted before placing a kiss on his chest.
“Yeah, me too,” Robert responded with a laugh as he returned the kiss.
*****
“I’m going to have to face Max soon,” Leslie said the next morning as she watched Robert, in nothing but a robe, cook breakfast. She definitely was not complaining about the sight.
“Yeah you’re right,” he said as he placed the French toast neatly on Leslie’s plate.
“I mean he was a prick, and now I need to talk about what happened with Bri.” The thought alone was making knots out of Leslie’s stomach.
Robert went over and placed his large hands on her shoulders massaging them a bit.
“Haven’t you had enough drama for one week?”
Leslie laughed and shook her head.
“Apparently not.”
One other thing that was bothering Leslie was that Robert would be leaving soon. She would be alone again waiting for him to come back and that put more knots in her stomach than the Max situation.
“Do you really have to go?”
Robert stopped flipping the French toast and turned around to look at her with a serious look on his face.
“You want me to stay?”
“You sound surprised,” Leslie said with her eyebrow raised, genuinely wondering why he’d be so shocked.
“Well with everything, I just thought…” Robert didn’t finish his sentence but instead smiled and walked back over to Leslie seating himself beside her.
“I’ll stay,” Robert said simply before placing a kiss on her hand.
“That easy?”
Leslie was dumbfounded; as far as she knew he had to go back to duty the following week.
“Well you could say I’m retiring. I did my time and I’m grateful for it, even before all that bad stuff happened, I was ready to be leave.”
Leslie playfully hit his chest.
“Should have told me earlier,” she said before leaning in to give him a kiss. That was a huge load of her mind. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him until he was here. Even with the craziness she missed him like mad.
“Think you can handle even just one more week of me?”
Leslie tilted her head in the air pretending to think before facing him once again with a grin.
“Only if you teach me how to throw a punch like the one you planted on Max.”
Robert let out a hearty laugh and nodded his head.
“Anything for you.”
THE END
Bonus Story 7 of 40
Secret Heat
They had acquired their target, and it was him. Passenger Robert Whitman had thought the Cypriots might put eyes on him after he cleared customs, but they were on him the second he got off the plane at Larnaca Airport. A baggage handler on the jetway followed him up to the non-EU line, where a uniformed agent milled about aimlessly, but always in his vicinity. The agent at the counter scanned and stamped his passport with a gulp and pushed the document back through the gap in the Plexiglas booth with trembling fingers. At the baggage claim, Whitman’s luggage appeared on the conveyor only after every other bag had been snatched by its owner, or made several laps around the baggage area. They’d taken a good look inside the suitcase, no doubt, but there was nothing to see.
No one tailed him from baggage claim, but he picked up on a couple of possibles as he made his way to the car rental desk. He wasn’t actively seeking them, but he’d developed some pretty good intuition over the years. He reminded himself that he wasn’t even supposed to look for surveillance on this operation. Well-trained habits die hard, though.
He saw them as he left the parking garage. There were at least three vehicles following him as he headed north and west along Larnaca Bay on the B3. They were matching his speed and attempting to keep an incidental vehicle or two between them and his rearview mirror. The result was a sort of vehicular body language that gave them away to the trained eye. When he made his turn into the parking lot of the Misty Beach Hotel, one of the suspect vehicles continued past him and the other two turned off into parking lots on either side of the road.
It really was a game this time – a rigged game, and he was on the inside – but the Intelligence Division of the Cyprus Police didn’t know that. They also didn’t know that Robert Whitman wasn’t his real name, or that he didn’t really work for the State Department, or that their surveillance team was itself under surveillance. All they knew was that the CIA wanted them to keep an eye on him, if they could handle it, and to report on anything he did while on the island. They were not supposed to apprehend or engage, just observe and report. That made Whitman’s job easy; he was just a rabbit leading the dogs around the track.
***
The inland side of the Misty Beach Hotel could have been mistaken for a municipal administration building but for the hotel logo painted onto the clean white cinderblock and the green awning that covered the last few feet of walkway before the entrance. Not quite like the brochure, Whitman thought. The tinted glass doors slid open to admit him onto a marble floor that reflected light streaming in from the bay side of the lobby through three story glass walls framed in antique bronze. Beyond the glass, a swimming pool meandered toward the bay, and beyond that, a beach dotted with umbrellas and sunbathers.
Whitman walked to where the lobby began stepping down to pool level, then turned back toward the plain little reception desk, and the plain blonde woman behind it.
“Hello. Welcome. Checking in?” The blonde’s accent was part British, part Scandinavian. It was interesting, and she was suddenly not so plain. Kind of cute, actually; he put her in her mid-twenties, so probably about 15 years younger than him.
“Are you sure you’re not a tourist pretending to work here?” He handed her his passport. “You don’t look or sound too Mediterranean to me.”
“Well, you sound very American to me, Mr. Whitman.” She smiled and handed back the passport. “But that’s a good thing.”
“Really? I thought everyone just groaned and slapped their heads when we came around. But back to my original question: Are you sure you’re not some lost Norwegian
tourist? ” He gestured toward her lapel. “You don’t even have a name tag.”
Robert Whitman was supposed to be quite the womanizer, and the man playing him was beginning to enjoy the flirtation. It had been a while, and the blonde’s smile and the tilt of her head gave him a feeling he couldn’t quite identify.
“Swedish, not Norwegian,” she said, “and my name is Pia. I came here as a tourist a few years ago, and I loved it so much that I decided to make it permanent.”
“Fell in love with the sun and the sand?”
“And with a man.” Now she was practically glowing. How had he ever thought of her as plain?
“I take it he hasn’t broken your heart yet.”
“Oh, I don’t think he ever will.” The best part of her smile was in her blue eyes.
“How about you, Mr. Whitman? How many hearts have you broken?”
“Me? I don’t break hearts. I take broken-hearted women home and hand them a glass of wine and rub their feet.” And then I go on missions, and can’t call or email, and they’re gone when I get home.
“If you just walk around and say that in your sexy American accent, I think you’ll find plenty of feet to rub.”
“Sexy American accent? Is that really a thing…? I might have to move here, too.”
She slipped two key cards into an envelope marked “319” and handed it to him. “You should probably move into your room first, Mr. Whitman.”
“Please call me ‘Robert,’ Pia; and I have one more question: Where can I get a cheap meal and a beer around here?”
“You might try pub across the street. The fish and chips are excellent, and there will be lots of drunken British girls in uncomfortable shoes.”
Beautiful and funny. “Why, thank you. That sounds like a fine evening out for a gentleman.”
He turned toward the elevator and his peripheral vision caught movement in the same direction from the lower lobby. He had to hand it to the Cyprus PD, they were taking their job seriously.
His new shadow arrived at the elevator door in a whiff of coconut sunscreen and an emerald green bikini, the top of which should have been handed down to her little sister long ago, with a sheer white wrap tied around her waist. She seemed a bit young too be working for the local service; at least twenty. Probably older though; he tended to underestimate. Whatever her age, she was clearly there to appeal to the womanizing American who was getting so much attention from the intelligence division.
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