The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline by Jane Harvey-Berrick
He pulled back slightly, nuzzling my throat, and rolling his hips so every part of me felt him inside. I clenched around him and I heard a responding growl deep in his throat.
A quiet moan escaped me and his body recognized the sound, moving one degree faster. I lifted my hips again and I heard the breath hiss through his teeth. I cried out, on the edge of all sensation; then he buried his head in my neck and started thrusting rapidly until he reached his climax, and his body went rigid.
For a moment, his full, crushing weight pinned me to the bed, then, with a soft sigh, he pulled out of me and rolled onto his back, one hand resting across my stomach.
No words had been spoken; there was nothing that needed to be said.
For the rest of that night, we slept, woke briefly, made love and slept again, until dawn turned the sky gold and purple, with flames of orange reflected in the sea. We had spoken quietly, describing our love, and expressing our need for each other with our bodies.
We slept late, and Sebastian insisted on ordering a decadent breakfast of a dozen fresh fruits, a range of olive breads and light pastries, freshly squeezed orange juice with Sorrento lemons, and a large pot of coffee.
We sat on the balcony in our bathrobes to enjoy the feast, but our carefree happiness had slipped away with the night. Today we had to return to Geneva. And this time tomorrow, Sebastian would be headed out to one of the most dangerous countries on earth. I would follow when I could.
I sighed, staring out at the sea, and Sebastian held my hand, lifting it to his lips at intervals.
“As much as I hate to say it, tesoro, but I think we should get going. We’ve got a hell of a long drive ahead of us, or rather you have, and you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He smiled at the memory. “Yeah, but it was worth it. Anyway, don’t worry, Caro, we’re not taking the bike; we’re flying back from Naples. Our flight is at 4 pm; we’ve plenty of time.”
“Flying? But what about your bike?”
“Sold it, baby. I can’t take it with me, and they won’t send me back to Geneva after this tour.”
I was astonished. “When did you organize all this?”
“When we were in Salerno; I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t: it’s your bike, but I wish you’d told me—it would have been one less thing to worry about.”
He smiled at me. “Sorry, baby. I guess I’m just used to doing stuff on my own.”
I frowned. “Yes. Me, too. I suppose we’ll just have to practice the whole sharing and communicating thing. I promise that I’ll write to you every day, tesoro.”
“Really?” he said, looking both pleased and surprised. “That would be cool. I never get mail. Well, Shirley always sends me a birthday card, but that’s about it. Ches is shit at staying in touch. So am I.”
“Well, I will expect an effort from you, Sebastian. Will you be able to email me?”
He pulled a face. “Maybe, I’m not sure. For a few days, but then … I’ll be out of range. Caro, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me regularly.” He paused, watching my expression. “The places they send me, I can be away from the main Base for days, sometimes weeks, in shithole little villages, trying to persuade the locals to work with us. Nonmilitary comms is limited. Your letters will catch up with me—eventually, but emails—probably not that often.”
“I understand,” I said, a chill creeping across my heart. “But in an emergency, what’s the procedure for contacting you?”
I could see he was toying with an answer.
“I’ll give you a number you can call but only in a real, fucking emergency, Caro: I’m not supposed to give it out.”
“Okay,” I said softly, then steeled my nerve to ask my next question. “If … if anything happens that I need to know about, how will anyone know to contact me?”
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Same as you, Caro. We have to do a call-list—the Emergency Contact Form—of who to notify. I’ve been wondering how, I mean, I can’t put you down as ‘Lee Venzi’ or even ‘Caro Venzi’ because they’ll recognize the name, they’ll start in asking questions, and you could be in deep shit.”
“What about Carolina Hunter?” I suggested, looking across at him. “They’ll just assume I’m a cousin or something; in fact, why don’t you do that? Put me down as a relative.”
I could tell by the look on his face that he’d been hoping I’d make that suggestion.
He smiled. “Yeah, that would work.”
I hated having to talk about these things, but it was important, very important.
“Hey, baby, nothing’s going to happen to me: I can take care of myself. I’m more worried about you. Reporters get … hurt all the time.”
“I know, Sebastian, but I’ll be embedded with a Marine unit from Leatherneck; safest place to be. I heard US Marines are tough, and I know for a fact they’re hot. In fact the word ‘embedded’ has me thinking all sorts of interesting things.”
I could tell he didn’t know whether to smile or scowl.
“You stay away from those bootnecks, Caro. They’re a bunch of horny bastards.”
“I’ve noticed! But really, don’t worry about that. I’ve learned to say ‘no’ in even more languages than you.”
He took my hand, fiddling with my ring.
“Well, at least they’ll know you’re taken when they see this.”
I didn’t answer. He’d be hurt if he knew I wasn’t planning on wearing it; I couldn’t tell him that it would draw too much attention. I could either cover it up with a band-aid, or wear it around my neck on a chain—my own, unique dog tag.
“How long do you think you’ll be in Afghan?” he said, still running his finger over the diamond.
“Assuming my papers arrive,” I said, giving him a look which he wisely ignored, “maybe a month, six weeks. Certainly no more. I’ll have a couple of days in Kabul, maybe in Kandahar, too—meeting some of your top brass. Then I’m hoping I’ll be able to hitch a ride out to Leatherneck. I’ll just have to see how it goes. Maybe I’ll see you out there?”
He frowned. “I want you home, safe, Caro.”
“Likewise, Sebastian.”
We stared at each other, aware we’d reached an impasse.
He shook his head and changed the subject.
“Do you want to take a swim?” he said, suddenly. “I’ll be God knows how many miles from the nearest pool out there, and hundreds of fucking miles from the ocean.”
“Sure,” I said, relieved at the new topic. “And I get to see you in those ridiculously loud board shorts again.”
“And you’ll wear the bikini?”
“Only if you promise not to punch anyone who looks at me.”
“Can’t promise that, baby,” he said, with a smirk.
The time passed too quickly, and it seemed just moments later that we were sitting in the back of a taxi taking us to the airport at Naples, a short drive away.
It felt strange to be traveling in a car again and, much as Sebastian’s driving had scared the living daylights out of me, I missed the mean machine—it had been so darned sexy feeling his hard body through the leather jacket, my thighs clamped around him. I wondered if he’d get his other bike shipped over from Ches’s garage. I hoped so. I wanted him to feel that his home was in Long Beach, not a bunch of boxes in San Diego.
I decided to broach the subject.
“Sebastian, when do you think you’ll tell Ches about us?”
He turned to look at me, a slight frown on his face.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Well, I just thought I could get all your belongings sent over from the west coast, but it’s going to make it tricky to organize if Ches doesn’t know about me.”
He blinked at me in surprise.
“And there are some beautiful places in upstate New York that we could ride out to on your other bike … if you want.”
A happy smile spread over his face. “You’d do that?”
I was confused by his question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You’ll need your things when you come home.”
I couldn’t understand Sebastian’s surprise; he was shaking his head and smiling at me.
“Okay. I’ll email him tonight,” he said with a grin. “He’ll be pretty fucking surprised.”
I laughed darkly. “Yes, that probably about sums it up—to say the least.”
He pulled my face toward his, and kissed me hungrily, ignoring the fact that our driver had a grandstand view in the mirror.
The airport was a small, modern, glass and steel structure with a single runway.
We got separated by security, and I watched anxiously from a distance as Sebastian was questioned and patted down. It wasn’t until he was able to persuade them to look at his US Marine ID card, that they finally let him go.
He smiled as he walked over to me. “Guess I’ve got a criminal face or something.”
“I could have told you that,” I laughed. “I’m just glad they didn’t get one of the female security guards or you’d never have got away.”
He rolled his eyes.
The flight was short, less than two hours and we were back in Geneva, carless, bikeless and sunless.
The city was much cooler than the southern Mediterranean, but I felt colder inside, too. Our time together could now be counted in hours.
We took a taxi to Sebastian’s attic-like room; I hovered by the door as he threw back the shutters, letting the thin, gray, northern light of dusk into the room.
He saw the stricken expression on my face.
“We can check into a hotel, Caro.”
“No, this is fine. It’s not the room…”
“Don’t say it, Caro,” he said, softly. “Please, baby. I can’t bear it when you look at me like that.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. I made an effort to pull myself together, for his sake. “So, single bed, huh? That’s going to be cozy. We’ll have to improvise.”
He smiled at me gratefully.
“I just gotta pack up my shit, baby, then we’ll go find somewhere to eat, okay?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll write up my notes and check my messages.”
Predictably, I had long emails from both Jenna and Alice begging me to tell them if it was true that: a) I’d met a man; b) I’d actually had sex with him; and c) could it possibly be the hottie in the photograph. Nicole’s email was much shorter and so explicit in her demand for information, that I angled my laptop’s screen away from Sebastian, in case he happened to glance over.
There was also an email from my editor saying that my credentials were on their way and I had a flight booked to Kabul 12 hours after Sebastian. I decided not to tell him, knowing it would give him something else to worry about—or possibly try to delay again, no matter what he said to the contrary. Although I did wonder if he’d perhaps put a word in for me after all, to expedite my papers.
It didn’t take Sebastian long to pack, he owned so little. He wouldn’t need his civvy clothes or the majority of his books, which were boxed up to be sent back to the US; everything else went in his duffel bag.
“You can stay here if you like,” he offered, rather apologetically. “It’s paid up till the end of the month. The owner is Madame Dubois. Just leave the key with her when you go: she’s cool.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.”
He smiled, glad to be able to do something for me.
“Any interesting emails?”
“All my girlfriends are drooling over your photograph,” I said, skating over the news that my editor had been in touch. “They can’t quite believe you’re real. Neither can I sometimes.”
He smirked and pulled me into a hug. “I could prove it to you now if you like,” he said, pushing himself lightly into my body.
I didn’t answer, but ran my hands across the front of his jeans and squeezed, not very gently. His eyebrows shot up, making me laugh.
“Sex instead of food, Caro?”
“Yes,” I said, kissing his neck, “I don’t know what’s come over me—you must be a bad influence.”
He responded with enthusiasm, and I’d got as far as stripping off his t-shirt when his damn phone rang. I recognized the ringtone—it was one I wasn’t likely to forget—Sebastian’s CO. I’d have to have words with that man.
I raised my hands in defeat, and Sebastian scowled as he answered.
“Hunter. Yes, sir. Just got back to Geneva.”
He listened intently for almost two minutes without speaking. I was squirming with curiosity, desperate to know what his CO was telling him, certain it was to do with where he was being sent.
He ended the call with a curt, “Yes, sir,” then he looked at me. “Pick up 05:00.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him.
We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.
Eventually, Sebastian kissed my hair.
“Let’s go get some food,” he said, quietly.
I nodded without speaking.
We stepped out into the evening, and I shivered in the mountain air. Sebastian held my hand and we walked slowly, the mountains behind us silent sentinels of our unspoken misery.
He took me to a small, intimate bistro, where the owner nodded at him familiarly, seemingly surprised to see him with company.
“I come here most days,” he said, shrugging slightly.
I’d noticed that his room didn’t have anywhere to cook. In fact, he didn’t have so much as a kettle. My love lived simply.
I tried to make the mood light, wanting him to remember our last night together for something other than the crushing pain I felt.
“Hmm, seems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian. When you come home—to Long Beach—we’ll have to have some fun with food.”
His eyes glinted with mischief.
“Yeah, that would be great! Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing—and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”
“Don’t use language like that with me, Sebastian. Chocolate is not something I joke about.”
He grinned. “Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”
“Crunchy,” he replied, making the word sound incredibly dirty.
I smiled, happy to see him planning for our future, wishing it could be sooner, wishing things were different.
We didn’t linger in the bistro. Even though it wasn’t busy, we didn’t want to spend our precious hours with anyone else.
Sebastian’s room was barely warmer than outside, when we climbed that narrow staircase for the last time. I shivered.
“Cold, baby?”
“A little. Can we turn the heat on?”
He smiled at me. “No heating.”
I stared at him in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”
He shook his head, amused. “Don’t worry, Caro—I’ll warm you up.”
Who needed space heaters when hot Sebastian Hunter was an option?
I brushed my teeth in the chilly bathroom, and leapt into the narrow bed, still wearing my t-shirt and panties.
Sebastian was far hardier, strolling into the bedroom naked.
I feasted my eyes, trying to fix the image in my mind, and had to restrain myself from whipping out my camera, for a more permanent memento. I reminded myself that I had many photographs to treasure from the last few days: pictures and memories, good memories.
He slipped in next to me, wrapping his body around mine.
“You know, Sebastian, while I really enjoyed the floor show, you’ll have to wear more clothes at home.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, rolling my eyes, “I live in a bungalow—and I have elderly neighbors. We have elderly neighbors, and I don’t want you giving them a heart attack.”
“Okay, b
On the other hand, it would be a shame to miss out on that every night. Hell, I could buy thicker drapes.
He pulled me against his body and kissed me slowly, deeply and seriously. And then we made love, again and again, unwilling to waste a single second where our bodies were not intimately connected.
Sebastian moved inside me slowly, filling me inch by inch, rolling his hips, so I could feel him in every part of my core. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. He laid his hands flat on my belly as I arched up over him.
I placed my hands over his.
“Can you feel yourself inside me?”
“Yes,” he said, with a smile, “I can.”
We both remembered that I’d said those words to him the very first time we’d made love, when his eyes had been as wide with innocence, as they were now, with experience.
Too soon the night was over.
It was still dark when the alarm summoned him. Sebastian had left it as late as possible, needing every last minute with me, just as I needed him. I insisted on getting up and showering with him, sliding my hands over his body for one last time.
Then I watched him dress, and my lover became the soldier, pulling on his desert khaki utility uniform. It was the first time I’d seen him in the clothing he’d wear in combat. I wanted to scream and cry and cling to him and beg him not to go. I did none of those things. I pulled him to me, kissed him again and again; told him how much I loved him, again and again.
“Tesoro, go with my love, but take this with you. It’s just silly, but I’ve always carried it with me when I leave home—but now I have your ring to wear.”
I handed him a tiny pebble of polished quartz.
“I found it the first time I went to Long Beach.”
He closed his eyes and kissed my hair.
“I’ve never had something to come back to before, Caro. Don’t worry about me—just take care of yourself.”
He kissed the little pebble and slipped it into his pocket.
“I love you, tesoro. Stay safe for me.”
A car horn sounded in the street below us.