Page 27 of Javier

He gave me a cursory look. “Can’t it wait until we’re out of here?”

“It’s just that I have so many questions.”

“You won’t go to sleep unless we talk,” he guessed. “Am I right?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Sorry?”

“Okay then.” He patted the spot on the ground next to him. “Let’s do it.”

***

Javier

Talk. She wanted to talk. Right after I’d seen what I’d seen, when I needed to put some distance between us and work at cooling down the engines of my treasonous dick.

Moving efficiently, she settled her pack on the ground and eased down next to me with her legs crisscrossed. Her proximity brought back flashes of the wonders I’d witnessed tonight. I wanted to kiss her again. Touch her. Get familiar with her body. Lick her nipples and glide my dick in and out of her wet pussy for the rest of the night.

Shake it off, Marine. I’m sure she doesn’t wanna do the dirty with you.

I unzipped my pocket, slid out a small package of cookies, opened it, and tilted it her way. “Want some?”

“You eat it,” she said. “You need the calories more than I do.”

“You need to eat as well.” I picked out a shortbread wafer, and, holding it up in the air, wiggled my eyebrows. “I noticed you gave most of your food to the nuns. The cookies are good. I promise. I’m a cookie expert.”

She took the wafer from me. “But only because you insist.”

“I insist.” I stuffed the whole wafer in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I’ve got a special compartment in my ruck formy cookies. Never leave home without them.”

A smile twitched on her lips. “So you’re like Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster?”

“I might even be the original Cookie Monster.” I chuckled. “I used to love that show as a kid. You’d be Abby Cadabby, the fairy-in-training.”

“Hmm.” She considered me as she chewed and swallowed. “Should I be offended about being likened to a four-year-old fairy-in-training?”

“Nah.” I waved my cookie packet in the air. “But you do look young.”

“I’m twenty-six.” Her eyes glinted. “Almost twenty-seven.”

“Still young in my book.” I wolfed down another cookie. “In my opinion, you don’t get to be an adult until you get to your thirties.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Youareancient,” she teased. “The question is, are you an adult?”

“I try to avoid being an adult whenever possible,” I teased back.

“You’re a regular Peter Pan, then.”

I don’t know why I wanted to deny something that was true.

Nibbling on my wafer, I changed the topic. “We’re not far from the border now. In a day or two, you’re gonna be gorging on your sister’s homemade cookies. Now, that’s a treat.”

She blinked several times. “Thena baked cookies for you?”

“She bakes cookies for me and the guys on a regular basis if she has time.”

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