From the Past When in the Navy one brown eye one blue each Chapter 5

From the Past When in the Navy one brown eye one blue each Chapter 5

They both had another draft of the slightly warming up beer, and then she said, thoughtfully.

"Don't imagine you are getting in the way of a cosmic marriage, Brett. I spoke to Eric the other night as well as Daddy. Do you know what he wanted to know? What bloody aquarium fish food we use because he needed to replace it. That was it. He made a few noises like 'Oh, I'm glad you are all right' and then launched into asking questions about the damn household. That is my husband. Daddy was more concerned about my health than my husband was. He never even asked if I was injured. He wanted to know where the insurance information for the boat was."

She stopped talking for a moment, breathing heavily, clearly angry. She calmed down a bit and continued.

"We are miles from anywhere, and whatever happens here, stays here. I have been on a boat for months, alone, and I thought I was going to die. I am sure that what we did today was a reaction to that, and it is not like I am here for the next great love affair, Okay? Relax your mind. It is all good clean sweaty fun. No wronged husband is going to come looking for you, with a loaded blunderbuss. I am certainly not going to worry about it, and neither should you. I am a big girl, and I am not about to fall in love with you, and you are not going to fall in love with me, either," she said, patting his hand.
Famous last words.

And then she kissed him. She did not hesitate, just grabbed his head in both hands and kissed him, hard. And despite all his internal decisions, Brett kissed her right back.

And then they were suddenly naked again, and this time, they both took their time. This time, Brett explored her, delighting in making her quiver, moan, or breath harder. She took him on a guided tour of her body, and he was extremely happy to explore.

This time, she looked into his eyes as he drove her to the edge, several times. This time was for her, but in a decidedly different fashion than from before. This time, she kissed him repeatedly as he looked in her eyes as drove his steel rod cock into her willing wet hole. This time, she held herself off, barely, so she could coincide her last orgasm with his, and when done, covered him with kisses, before dissolving gently into tears. He held her as the pressures of the past weeks came due, smothering her head with his hands, caressing her, and telling her repeatedly, it was going to be all right.

This time, they made love.

And when they were done, they fell asleep, still entangled, sweaty bodies stuck together, breathing hard, and for once, Fiona did believe it was going to be all right.

They slept through the night together, and Brett woke early, gently disentangling himself, smiling as a sleeping Fiona muttered to herself, blearily looking around in a sleep-deprived fashion, and instantly falling back to sleep again. He dressed and wandered off to the galley to gather breakfast, ignoring the jibes from his shipmates. They could not know that their good-natured pokes at him, asking if his charge slept heavy or not, were squarely on the money, and he was not about to enlighten them.

Balancing two plates of bacon, eggs, toast, and two coffees, he made his way back to his cabin, and gently slipped inside, making sure no one was around when he did so.

"For me?" said a bleary-eyed Fiona, sniffing the air and raising herself up on one arm.

"For the lady, indeed," replied Brett, putting them down on his little cabin table. "A breakfast of champions! Fit for a queen!"

"Yeah, well, I've seen what the queen has for breakfast, dearie," replied Fiona dryly. "And it generally features a lot more yogurt and granola and a lot less artery hardening bacon swimming in fat."

Brett looked down at his carefully carried breakfast, dubiously, the back at Fiona.

"That said, though, god that smells good." She bounded out of bed, naked and like a gorgeous nymph from heaven. "Yes, please, serve it up."

She shrugged on one of his shirts and sat opposite Brett and dived into her breakfast with gusto, talking nonstop about her upbringing and schooling, and the breakfasts they had had their in-between bites.

Brett just marveled at how effortlessly sexy she was, the shirt half-open, one breast present, chalky skin, with a red ruby nipple. Fiona was utterly unselfconscious, and just nattered as she ate, small bites, and always using a knife and fork, even for the toast.

"And then, they brought out this small birthday cake, honestly the most miserable thing I've ever seen, so incredibly sad, and we all had to sing 'Happy Birthday', in our nightgowns and..."

Eventually, she realized he was not eating and just trailed off, staring at him enquiringly.

"What?"

"Just..." he stumbled, realizing he had been caught, and, breaking eye contact, he dove into his own breakfast ferociously.

"No, what? What were you looking at?" Fiona insisted. "You don't get to stare like that, and not tell me."

Brett just mumbled with a mouthful of egg and continued eating, doing his best to just avoid the subject.

"What? You have never seen a naked woman before? Over breakfast? Come on, boy, spit it out," she pushed, leaning over the table to stare at him, intently. "What is my big brave sailor falling in love?" she teased, putting special emphasis on the word "Love", and pronouncing it more like "LuuuuUUUUVVVVvvvve"

Brett could feel himself blushing and glanced up at Fiona, with pleading eyes.

"Oh my god, you are!" she gushed. "Brett is in luuuuVVVvvv."

Brett put down his utensils, and, steeling himself, met her slightly mocking gaze.

"Brett, this is the equivalent of a week-long one-night stand. Do not be getting all mushy on me," she said, sitting back, hard-faced.

"Look, obviously it's easier for you to separate feelings from...well, sex, than it is for me. The fact is, I am a seaman at sea, alone, no women, and then you show up. I mean, for god's sake, you are British Royalty. And then here you are, and we did...well, what we did. Twice in one day, in fact. And I have no clue because of me, and you are gorgeous and well... I am just a little... I dunno... I don't really know what I feel."

Fiona's face softened immediately. "Oh, aren't you just the sweetest thing?" she cooed.

She reached forward and grabbed his hand, "Look, that's part of the reason for all this. Do you think you have had a dry spell? I have been on that boat for months now. And before that, well, it was not up to much. You have made me cum more than at any point since I was last with Hugh, which was not self-induced, you know. And I am married. That should tell you something."

This was all delivered conversationally, as though it was no big thing, and Brett was still getting used to

Fiona's more than a forthright way of delivering heavy subjects.

"I barely know you though?" he mumbled, looking for the right thing to say, and trying not to sound whiny. "What if this is all a big mistake? I am having a hard enough time as it is, with you being married. I have no idea if this is right or not anymore."

"Let it be what it is. If you need to know more about me, just ask," she responded, picking up her coffee, and putting both elbows on the table, holding the cup up to her face. "Ask away. I am an open book. Mostly."

Shrugging, Brett decided this was the best thing he could do, so he did.

They spent the rest of the morning in the cabin, just talking. He told him about life in the royal household, and what her life entailed, and he told her about his life, his upbringing, his mistakes, and what led him to be on the ship, doing what he did.

They laughed, they giggled, they told sad stories, and she regaled him with stories of her boat, her initial sailing, the pomp, and ceremony -- how she learned to sail as a child, first on the river Orwell and then graduating to seafaring boats, from Harwich and Felix Stowe. How she found the only peace she could when sailing by herself. It was not a hobby her husband desired to join, and so she sailed alone, with trips to Kent, and then further afield, like Ostend in Belgium and Dunkirk in France, and then Rotterdam and Amsterdam.

To be continued