One E-mail: (BBW Romance) (One Soldier Series) by Christin Lovell Page B
Authors: Christin Lovell
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determined glare.
Brows furrowed, jaw set, he moved inside me; he enveloped me in his arms, offering more than his words of assurance. “Whether they keep me here or send me back, I will always fight to come back to you. You’re it for me, beautiful.”
I hugged him to me. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, clinging to him desperately. “I don’t want to let you go, Tay. I don’t know if I can even get on that plane Monday.”
He picked up his pace, driving deeper, faster, harder into me. He shook my concentration on the issue, on the con cerns of my heart. “Then don’t.” He inhaled swiftly. “Don’t leave me until you have to.”
My pleasure was bittersweet. At some point I would have to let him go. I had to get, at the least , my computer and more clothes from home. And he, at the very least, had to leave me to report for duty. And we both had to pray that life didn’t demand more time apart than that.
But nothing was guaranteed.
I knew from that first e-mail that I was dealing with a soldier, someone who would never be mine entirely so long as he had a contract. I knew the risks from the start.
But love doesn’t care about obst acles and risks. It’s consuming; it’s commanding, demanding. It requires nothing less than all of you without promise of anything in return. It latches on to you and attaches every piece of you securely to the one you love. It throws you over the cliff without a parachute, never considering the potential heartbreak that could ensue.
The adrenaline rush of flying without wings emulates the exhilaration love evokes. It’s an explosive feeling; you never feel more alive than when you’re in love, hyperaware of every second, every joy, every single possibility.
I was aware of every possibility, every potential happy moment in my future with Taylor.
But I was also aware of every possibility, every potential sad moment in my future should I lose Taylor.
He captured my lips, smothering my fears for the moment and realizing them all in the same. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. We knew. It hung between us, but it didn’t stop us.
Love doesn’t care about obstacles and risks. It didn’t care that he was a soldier overseas or that I was a curvy woman who lived hundreds of miles from his home.
Over and over he drove into me; he carried us further and further away from the darkness and deeper and deeper into the pretty passions of loving each other in the moment.
Mid-thrust, he paused. His breath came in quick pants, proof he was as lost in me as I was in him. “I love you, beautiful.” He slammed home, picking up where he left off in an impossibly fast rhythm that elicited wave after wave of exquisite sensations.
Pleasure ripped through me . I cried out as he took us to the heights of ecstasy, as he threw me over the edge, trusting that he would be there to catch me.
Because , somehow, he was always there to catch me, to draw me into his protective arms.
My heart pounded in a confident cadence as warmth swaddled me; his warmth, his love. “I love you, Tay.”
Epilogue
Madelyn
I told him that every day that I woke up beside him. I told him that every day via e-mail when they sent him on one last, final tour. I told him that every night before and after we made love. I cried when I told him on our wedding day, two weeks after I flew to Kentucky for the first time and a week after he’d driven us down to Florida to tell my mom and pack up my belongings.
I cried again when I told him at the hospital , upon getting my first look at him in months.
Love doesn’t care about obstacles or risks.
I didn’t care that I had to spend twelve days in the hospital with him. I didn’t care that I had to take him to physical therapy three times a week an hour away for a year. I didn’t care that he came back from war with shrapnel in his crushed leg, requiring surgery, metal pins and so much more. I didn’t care that he would have scars on his leg forever or
Brows furrowed, jaw set, he moved inside me; he enveloped me in his arms, offering more than his words of assurance. “Whether they keep me here or send me back, I will always fight to come back to you. You’re it for me, beautiful.”
I hugged him to me. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, clinging to him desperately. “I don’t want to let you go, Tay. I don’t know if I can even get on that plane Monday.”
He picked up his pace, driving deeper, faster, harder into me. He shook my concentration on the issue, on the con cerns of my heart. “Then don’t.” He inhaled swiftly. “Don’t leave me until you have to.”
My pleasure was bittersweet. At some point I would have to let him go. I had to get, at the least , my computer and more clothes from home. And he, at the very least, had to leave me to report for duty. And we both had to pray that life didn’t demand more time apart than that.
But nothing was guaranteed.
I knew from that first e-mail that I was dealing with a soldier, someone who would never be mine entirely so long as he had a contract. I knew the risks from the start.
But love doesn’t care about obst acles and risks. It’s consuming; it’s commanding, demanding. It requires nothing less than all of you without promise of anything in return. It latches on to you and attaches every piece of you securely to the one you love. It throws you over the cliff without a parachute, never considering the potential heartbreak that could ensue.
The adrenaline rush of flying without wings emulates the exhilaration love evokes. It’s an explosive feeling; you never feel more alive than when you’re in love, hyperaware of every second, every joy, every single possibility.
I was aware of every possibility, every potential happy moment in my future with Taylor.
But I was also aware of every possibility, every potential sad moment in my future should I lose Taylor.
He captured my lips, smothering my fears for the moment and realizing them all in the same. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. We knew. It hung between us, but it didn’t stop us.
Love doesn’t care about obstacles and risks. It didn’t care that he was a soldier overseas or that I was a curvy woman who lived hundreds of miles from his home.
Over and over he drove into me; he carried us further and further away from the darkness and deeper and deeper into the pretty passions of loving each other in the moment.
Mid-thrust, he paused. His breath came in quick pants, proof he was as lost in me as I was in him. “I love you, beautiful.” He slammed home, picking up where he left off in an impossibly fast rhythm that elicited wave after wave of exquisite sensations.
Pleasure ripped through me . I cried out as he took us to the heights of ecstasy, as he threw me over the edge, trusting that he would be there to catch me.
Because , somehow, he was always there to catch me, to draw me into his protective arms.
My heart pounded in a confident cadence as warmth swaddled me; his warmth, his love. “I love you, Tay.”
Epilogue
Madelyn
I told him that every day that I woke up beside him. I told him that every day via e-mail when they sent him on one last, final tour. I told him that every night before and after we made love. I cried when I told him on our wedding day, two weeks after I flew to Kentucky for the first time and a week after he’d driven us down to Florida to tell my mom and pack up my belongings.
I cried again when I told him at the hospital , upon getting my first look at him in months.
Love doesn’t care about obstacles or risks.
I didn’t care that I had to spend twelve days in the hospital with him. I didn’t care that I had to take him to physical therapy three times a week an hour away for a year. I didn’t care that he came back from war with shrapnel in his crushed leg, requiring surgery, metal pins and so much more. I didn’t care that he would have scars on his leg forever or
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