Charity's Passion (19 page)

When he couldn't take it any longer, Justin grabbed me by my face and guided me back to my feet. He turned me then, pressing the front of me against the wall as my warrior showed her willingness with throngs of anticipation, clenching and convulsing, waiting to swallow him herself.

His wide, engorged head pressed against her, taking on her wetness and pushing inside. Both of us growled then, not afraid of being heard or caught; we are too far gone to care.

My orgasm began its beating pulses deep inside me as Justin impaled me over and over, driving me into the wall. He covered me with his upper body and sucked my earlobe through his teeth to his waiting tongue.

Suddenly he grabbed my arms and lifted them over my head, clapping them to the wall and making me wonderfully helpless.

My orgasm swelled.

He held my hands in place with one of his hands and slid the other slowly down my body, along the sensitive skin on my side.

My orgasm stretched itself to capacity.

His hand moved around my waist through a small gap between me and the wall and his fingers found my clit.

I exploded, the relentless thrusts of his manhood driving me further and further. I felt the gushing of my fluids flooding out of me in a wonderful release.

My orgasm started Justin's climax as well, the thrill of it too much for him. The warm wetness on his member, my shouts of ecstasy echoing off the wall to his ears. His hips sped without control as he fell over his edge, finishing my orgasm in a thrilling rush of emotion and contentedness.

It took a few moments, but we did regain ourselves and pull our clothes, minus my panties, back together. Justin kissed me one last time and we turned to leave—

And we found the door of the room swinging wide open.

There was no one there now, but no way to know if someone had found the door as we had, and after opening it and catching us—did they stay and watch?

Maybe it shouldn't have, but it thrilled me. No one had said a thing to us through the end of the short cruise, but it never left my mind, or Justin's.

We slept content until this morning when we packed our bags and left the room even though it has one more night paid in advance on it. I'm learning to just trust Justin's plans There's a method to his design, a way to keep us save and show me things I never knew or thought about.

Without a word, Justin took us back to the airport. The tickets he handed me at the terminal said PGIA as the destination, and that meant absolutely nothing to me. I tried to hide my curiosity, but that was a waste of time.

Times like that, I really miss my smart phone!

Justin made me wait until I heard the captain announce we were descending into the Philip S.W. Goldson International Airport in Belize City, Central America.

Okay, I was totally excited, not gonna lie.

We took a taxi from the airport and I was soaking in everything the back windows would allow.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but the city is not it. Ramshackle urban I think describes it best. If it weren't for Justin I wouldn't have felt safe even in the taxi, but with him there with me I allowed myself to enjoy the culture, the busy shops, and colonial houses.

The taxi stopped and let us out at a rental car place where we took a car under yet a different name. There was another three hours of driving after that with Justin at the wheel not even using a map.

Once we left the city it was wild and beautiful. Twice we drove through forest reserves until we found the coastline again, passing resorts and beautiful scenery.

That's how we got where we are right now, turning onto a palm tree-lined road into a resort. There's a large vase used as sign that reads "Turtle Inn" that we passed by before parking in a gravel lot.

"This," Justin says, "is how you get lost."

He makes me smile. "Where are we?"

"Placencia, Belize," he says, letting it roll off his tongue as if he can taste how wonderful it is. "This is Turtle Inn, owned by Francis Ford Coppola and his wife."

I wait for the punch line, he's teased me many times before.

He laughs deeply. "I'm actually
not
screwing with you this time. Coppola really does own this."

What?

"The Francis Ford Coppola owns a resort?" I ask, testing. "This resort?"

"Yes," Justin laughs. "There are five Coppola resorts. Two are in Belize, one in Guatemala, Argentina, and of course in Italy. This one is remote and small, perfect for a couple hiding from the world. They have only twenty-five rooms, all thatched-roofed cottages—we would see Marker coming for miles if he could even find the place, which he can't."

I still haven't gotten past the Coppola thing. "
The
Francis Coppola, of the Godfather movies—that one?"

He laughs again, but doesn't bother to answer until he gets out of the car. "You can read it for yourself in the fucking guest book."

Holy shit! He's serious!

We walk up a few wide, brick steps into a huge thatch-topped building that holds the front desk. The design under the counter is stunning, the soft lighting bouncing off the dark hardwood floors looks elegant, and I can't wait to see the rest of the place.

Justin confirms the reservations. I don't know when he made them, and I don't give a damn right now. He's always thinking several steps ahead of everyone and having this room is no exception or surprise.

I notice that no identification is asked for or given. I'm sure there is a cost for that, something they might do often here to protect the wealthy, or famous, that need their privacy. What it means for us is another dead end for Marker.

We’re given the keys and guided along a brick path in the sand by a bellhop carrying our simple bags to a very private Seafront Cottage. He opens the door for us, places our bags inside the door, and leaves us on the wooden stairs at the front after Justin slips him a tip.

My excitement bubbles over to see the inside. Justin leads me in by my hand and its gorgeous, more dark wood flooring and a high bamboo ceiling. The doors are hand carved and the sound of the ocean fills the space.

"I'm in heaven, but I want a bath, a drink, and then dinner, preferably in that order," I blurt out.

"Done," Justin says. "Take your bath; I'll have drinks here before you get out, and dinner is arranged. By the way, check the closet," he says, heading out the same door we just came in. "We're going to be here a few days, so there's something in there you're going to need."

Way too curious not to run right to the closet, I fling the doors open carelessly and hanging inside are a couple stunning, light dresses and a beautiful bathing suit. On the floor there's a pair of sandals that will go with everything.

I pick one of the dresses to wear to dinner tonight and bring it with me to the bathroom. It's an elegant Japanese style room with beautiful tiles and plenty of light. Next to the tub I find a small hook and hang the dress on it so I can stop the drain and begin filling the tub with water.

By the time I climb in and put some soap on a washcloth, I hear Justin return.

"You in the tub?" He calls out.

"Of course."

His graceful body rounds the doorway into the room with me, a drink in each hand. "Wow! Now that is beautiful," he compliments me, eyes blazing with fire. He hands me one of the drinks. "Miami Vices, the drink of the day according to the bar menu."

I take it eagerly from him as he lowers himself to the floor in front of me so we can talk, something we do a lot, even at home.

"You said we're going to be here a little while?" I ask, praying that I heard that right. The tiny bit of the place that I've seen so far is just amazing and I want to enjoy it if we can. I suck a huge gulp of the Pina Colada portion of the drink through the fat straw in my glass.

"We should be," he answers. "As long as we stick to the plan." There's a heaviness to his voice now. He's tired. He wants to stay as much as I do.

I get it. We're only good until we're not, until there's a breach.

"I want to thank you, Justin, for everything that you do for me, for keeping me as safe as you do. My life is so different now; I'm so happy and I have you to thank for it. The way you love me is amazing."

He smiles at me and it's something way past satisfaction and happiness.

"I should be thanking you for staying with me—most people wouldn't, not after the shit I brought into your life. I'm thankful for you, Warrior, for every bit of you."

We smile at each other silently for a few. His bright green eyes float over my nakedness freely as our drinks disappear slowly.

"Are you going to get cleaned up for dinner?" I ask as he chugs down some of his daiquiri.

"There's a private shower outside that I was thinking about jumping into while you're getting ready."

"Fuck that," I say. "Get in here with me."

AFTER THREE DAYS OF
absolutely wonderful bliss, I'm still not ready to leave. Tonight will probably be our last night though; it's not smart to stay in any place very long, no matter how nice and secluded it is.

Right now I'm watching Justin's silhouette shimmering across a triangle-shaped pool as he kicks off from the wall and glides under water like a fish. There's an umbrella over me keeping the hot sun at bay so that I can enjoy my drink, rum and coconut milk in an actual coconut that the bartender had shaved and cut open with a huge machete on his cutting board at the bar.

We had yet another perfect morning watching the sun come up through the windows from our bed while listening to the waves lap at the shore just feet away from the front of our cottage. Maybe I knew then it might be the last morning like that here, but I'm hoping I'm wrong.

Justin surfaces at the edge of the pool closest to me, water running from his dark blonde hair. His wet face smiles at me before he places his muscular arms on the edge of the pool and pulls himself up and out. The bathing suit that he's using is tighter than he prefers. I can see the perfect outline of his bulge, so I prefer it just fine.

He grabs his towel off the chair next to me and dries himself off. "How are the coconuts today?" He asks.

"Don't they look okay?" I reply, squeezing my breasts together and making him laugh.

He leans down to me and gives me a quick kiss on my lips. "Always."

When he stands up I have to ask, "We're leaving aren't we? It feels like we are."

"I don't want to," he says, "but it's time. I'm checking in with Garrett tonight and if things are happening the way I think they are, we have no choice."

"What things?" I ask, not surprised that there's something else I don't know. Right now the only person in the entire world that knows what's going on, what's
really
happening, is Justin himself.

Justin fires a look at me that says I know better than to ask.

"Are you ready for another coconut?" He's asks without even trying to hide the change of subject.

I want to give him a bitch answer right now, a stab for not telling me what I want to know, but that wouldn't be fair. I'm alive because of him and his arrogant ways.

"Sure," I reply through a deep breath.

I watch his sexy ass walk to the garbage to throw out my empty coconut and then up to the bar for a new one, reveling in how uncomfortable the manual labor must be for him. Usually someone would have been paid to take care of us, but we can't afford that kind of attention right now.

Yeah, I feel better now that I've made him run for me like one of the people he usually tips.

We enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon and eat dinner in the bigger of the restaurants onsite. The walk back to our room is beautiful; there are lanterns on the porches and along the path and strings of lights above. The soft yellow glow nestled between the palms and washing out over the sand is beyond romantic.

There's a heavy seriousness settled on Justin now. We're holding hands as we walk, so I try to swing them for fun but he stops it.

His nerves are completely shot right now, anticipating something important when he calls Garrett. Nothing I do will ease his mind; we can only wait until it's time.

Back in the room I begin to pack. I'm not being a bitch, it's the right thing to do for us. He understands that I'm helping the only way I can. When I'm done, I find Justin sitting on the beach just outside our cottage in one of the long chairs enjoying the reflection of the night sky on the ocean's surface.

I can feel his heart from here.

"Hey," I say softly as I walk over to him.

He takes my hand and I climb up on him, straddling his lap and laying my head on his chest. "I'm sorry," he says, "I know you love it here."

"Shut up," I whisper. "Don't say you're sorry—you have nothing to be sorry for. It's not important how much I like this place, or the next; what's important it's that we live to see a next place, and that our people back home are alive when we get there."

His arms slowly wrap around me, content that I understand.