HE WASTES
Dysea finished lacing up her combat boot and sat back up slowly. She gazed at Martin squatting on the rocks twenty meters away as she and Tarifa finished dressing. He had elected to leave his fatigue top off and wear only the t-shirt and combat vest. His head was tilted at an angle as if he was trying to catch a scent. She let her eyes linger on the superbly defined muscles in his arms and shoulders, as well as the way his tattoos highlighted them. She could still hardly believe that only a short time ago, she was wrapped in those powerful arms and screaming her head off in indescribable pleasure.
Dysea smiled as she felt Tarifa come up behind her and lace her arms around her waist, placing her chin on her shoulder.
"He's beautiful isn't he?" Her soft voice filled her ear.
