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Connie had never been to the places John had sent her.
“Nice.” Who the hell had she been kidding? “Nice” belonged on the same scale as “interesting.” Her mind went to its Stupid setting when trying to describe how John made her feel.
John had rolled them over so that she lay atop him, a good trick on a narrow Navy bunk. As sleep overwhelmed her, she slid to the side, still inside the curve of his arm, one leg thrown over his hips. A closeness necessary due to the narrow bed, mandated by how it felt when their bodies were touching down their whole length.
Once again her head rested against his shoulder. Through narrowing eyes she could follow the slow rise and fall of that miraculous chest of his. Her own personal place of safety.
Together in so many ways, they slid down toward the
