Stranded (HottieKatie & Fish_Tales)

HottieKatie

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Jun 2, 2011
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For some hours she'd been adrift, half unconscious and being unable to decide which way to swim, as all she could see ahead was the vast ocean. She was cold as she was naked and it was getting darker. She knew she had nearly any possibility of getting out of there alive. She felt seaweed getting stuck on her naked body, but she didn't care. She was only worried about sharks... but she couldn't remember where she was so she couldn't know if it was a shark area. In fact, she couldn't even remember who she was, she had had a terrible concussion.

All that thinking caused her a terrible head-ache and she finally just let go and fell sound asleep, letting the waves take her, hopefully, to the shore.

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Fishing.

He loved fishing. In fact, the only two things he loved at the moment where fishing and drinking. At least you could do them together.

At the same time.

The fish didn’t care.

He watched the waves rolling in. It was just on dusk and the tide was getting higher. The schools should be coming in soon for their nightly feed and then the action would start. It didn’t really matter if they didn’t come. He had beer.

Twelve of them to be exact, though the third one was well on its way to disappearing. He could have as many as he liked. He lived at the beach and he only had five hundred metres to drive home. He wouldn’t have to drive if he didn’t take a full cooler of beer.

But it wouldn’t be the same without the beer.

So he drove.

He took another sip of his beer and sat back on the sand watching his rods. There were small glowsticks on the ends of them. As the night fell, he would need them to see if there were bites.

He wasn’t in a good mood, but the fishing was making it better.

And the beer.

Fucking bastards. If the kid hadn’t stepped into his path, then none of this would have happened. He was on a “sabbatical” as they politely termed it. The whole thing had gone wrong.

Horribly wrong.

What was worse was that he shouldn’t have even been in on the deal to start with. They’d needed someone who was good with a gun. He was good. The best. But his specialty was handguns. A lot of people watch movies and cop shows and think that shooting a handgun accurately isn’t too difficult. In real life, that isn’t the case.

Shooting a handgun accurately from distance is not easy. This job needed a shooter, but there was no room for a rifle or shotgun. It had to be a handgun.

So that meant it had to be James Crawley on the job.

Had to be.

He could remember walking into the Director’s office……

****

“Crawley, sir,” he’d said on his way through the door.

“At ease, sit down.”

The Director was a typical commanding officer. Short hair, stern face, nice suit. His office was bigger than Crawley’s quarters. In fact, it was bigger than the house Crawley grew up in.

“Yes, sir.”

“Crawley, we have a job for you,” he said. “It won’t be for us, it’s for one of the major government law enforcement agencies and their narcotics taskforce. I’m not going to tell you who it is till you need to know.”

He’d thought at the time that it was a strange request. An odd assignment.

But James Crawley wasn’t paid to ask questions. He was paid to do what he was told.

“Yes, sir.”

“They need a shooter, Crawley. There shouldn’t be any physical contact. We’re not expecting any and we’ve advised them that we don’t want any. You’re too valuable to risk going hand to hand in some fucking civilian crap.”

He’d been surprised at the Director’s language, but he’d said nothing. He wasn’t there to talk. He was there to listen. To take orders.

To shoot.

“Yes, sir.”

“The shooter they want needs to have a concealed weapon. One that is not identifiable as being concealed, even to a trained operative.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you think?” asked the Director.

“Sir, it rules out any sort of rifle or long barrelled firearm. You’ll need some sort of pistol or handgun, sir.”

The Director nodded.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we need. Good,” he said. He raised an eyebrow and placed his steepled fingers under his chin. “My understanding, Crawley, is that you’re the best shooter we have.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s no mean feat in our organisation, Crawley.”

“No, it isn’t, sir. I’m good.”

Crawley resisted the urge to smile.

He was good. He was the best.

“Ok then, Crawley, I’m going to assign you to this case….”

And that’s when it had all turned to shit.

The operation he was working for was FBI and they were a bunch of clowns. They didn’t know what they were doing. They should have been called the NFI the way they were conducting things. He had been seconded to them so it was not his place to point out what they were doing wrong. Besides, he was enjoying being out of the organisation for a while. There’d been some heat there. Some heat that was starting to burn.

So what’s a guy to do when things get boring? He started to relax.

Too much.

First it was a beer here and a drink there. Pretty soon, the interminable boredom meant that he was drinking like any normal civilian.

Except, he wasn’t any normal civilian. He was trained. Trained to kill.

When the raid had gone down, he’d been high. Not good when you have a Glock in each pocket loaded with thirty three rounds.

Of course, the FBI guys were going to fuck it up. Of course, there were going to be problems.

But he hadn’t expected the kid.

The target had been standing there with whatever it was those fucking government clowns wanted to get. It was a bag. A fucking bag. He still didn’t know what had been in the bag.

He was about to take the target down, when his CO had placed his arm on his shoulder and said no. Told him to stand down.

Then the target went to reach inside the bag. CO or no CO, Crawley wasn’t going to let that happen, especially when he was in the fucker’s line of fire.

Who’d do a deal in a park? A fucking playground for God’s sake?

He’d squeezed the trigger, but it wasn’t the target that had gone down. It was a kid. A nine year old kid. For a second, he’d thought what the fuck was the kid doing there? But it was a playground.

The clowns hadn’t even thought to evacuate it and keep it clear.

At the office, they’d breath tested him. Standard procedure.

“Crawley.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your reading indicates that you’ve been drinking.”

“Yes,sir.”

The tester raised his eyebrow.

“Recently?”

“Yes, sir.”

****

Now he was on the beach.

A sabbatical. He was still drinking, but surely he couldn’t kill anyone fishing?

He watched his rods. One of them started to quiver. He sat up and put his can of beer down.

Good, he thought, take my mind off all this fucking crap.

Now the other rod started to quiver too. Soon they were both bent over and he was debating which to go for first.

“Ennie meenie miney mo,” he said to himself and settled on one of the rods.

He quickly walked over to it and started to reel.

Fuck, it’s heavy.

There didn’t seem to be much fight in it, so he thought it might be some sort of ray or bottom dwelling fish. He could only pull it in a bit at a time. When the waves rode in, he would retrieve some line, then he would have to hold fast as the water receded.

After a few minutes, he could feel that he was getting the fish in. The waves were having more of an effect as he got it closer to shore.

It was now right in the breakers so he stepped into the water up to his shins to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.

In the dim light, he could see some colour. It looked pale, so it was probably a shark. He got it in closer and he ran his hand down along the line to feel for where it might be. He got to it and felt it and then made a grab for a slender part.

It didn’t feel like a shark or a ray…or a fish.

It felt like a….

….person!

He pulled and he found he had an arm in his hand and that he was actually hanging onto a wrist, not a tail.

“Fuck me,” he said out loud.

He quickly grabbed the line, bit through it and then tossed the rod aside. He bent down in the water and picked up the body in his arms.

It was a naked woman.

He started to walk back to shore with the woman in his arms. She wasn’t very heavy.

When he had her on the dry sand, he placed her down carefully and started to check her vital signs. She looked ok, except for the fishing line wrapped around her elbow and the bruise on her head.

But she wasn’t breathing.

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She woke up coughing, salty water being expelled from her mouth. She was laying on but she sat up so she could spit out the water that had been filling her lungs.

She was dizzy and it took her a while to realize where she was.

It was completely dark but it was not quite cold. She immediately felt she was naked, and was shivering from the night wind caressing her skin, but she didn't care as she continued checking the place.

She heard the water flowing and the waves breaking in the shore. Her skin was covered with sand. "So, I'm on a beach", she realized, "how the hell did I get here?", she wondered. She started checking her memories.

It was all so fuzzy. She didn't remember drinking that much, so was quite surprised at her state. Some blurry images about being on a boat filled her mind. She remembered a coctail in her hand and what looked like a Russian man in a suit in front of her. But when she tried to remember anything else, she couldn't. Her head was aching and she instinctively wrapped her hands around it. "God, I feel so bad" she muttered to herself.

And then she realized she was not alone.

She had focused on checking where she was that she hadn't thought about the possibily of not being alone. She listened for a second and heard the breathing by her side. The person was close to her slightly on her back. She imagined he, or she, had been by her side when she was lying on the sand. Remembering her state, she thought the person must have helped her breathe. "So, a friendly person must be", she thought. But why being silent?

"Not a talkative person you are, I guess", she finally said not turning around, grabbing her knees so as to cover her naked body. She was strangely calm, giving the situation.

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She’s lucky I’m military, he thought.

He needed to get her breathing and quick. He didn’t know how long she’d been under for or when she’d taken her last breath. She might be brain damaged already. Her lips and extremities weren’t blue yet, so that was a good sign.

He laid her on the sand flat on her back. He knelt beside her and placed his hands on her chest, at the point where the sternum drops away into ribs. There was no point trying to get her heart pumping, he would try to expel the water from her lungs and get her breathing first. He pushed hard on her chest and then leant over and gently pinched her nose shut. He opened her mouth and then placed his mouth over hers, forming a seal with his lips and then he slowly breathed precious air into her lungs. He had his other hand on her chest and he felt it rise with his air. He knelt back up and then pumped her chest again.

Nothing.

Fuck.

He leant back down over her and repeated the process of driving air into her lungs. This was the part he hated. The part where you didn’t know if they were going to come back, if your efforts were worth it.

He kept working on her. He did it rhythmically and mechanically. There were only minutes in it. If she didn’t come back soon, then he would know she was gone.

Finally, raising his mouth from hers for what felt like the hundredth time, but was more likely the tenth, he thought he saw her eyelids flutter. It was difficult to tell in the fading light, but it gave him renewed hope and his energy grew.

He pushed on her chest again and this time there was definitely some movement of her eyelids and a small dribble of water out of the side of her mouth.

She's coming back.

He leant down and began to pinch her nose when all of a sudden her body started spasming and she coughed water out of her lungs. He pushed off her and lay on his back next to her, the physical effort of reviving her leaving him breathing in short, ragged breaths. There was also the mental effort of not knowing if what you were doing would work.

Lucky for her, it had.

He watched her sit up, coughing the water out of her lungs and getting some breath back into her. Her hands went to her head. "God, I feel so bad," she moaned. She would feel dizzy for a while as the air rushed back into her blood and flooded her brain. That was a good sign, though the bruise on her head probably had something to do with it as well.

She finally seemed to sense his presence there and sat up and hugged her knees to her chest to preserve some modesty. She didn’t turn to look at him.

"Not a talkative person are you, I guess," she said.

He turned over and looked at her side profile.

“I’m trying to get my breath back,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

He stood up and went to his chair. The jacket hanging over it would be warm enough for him to get her home and preserve some of her modesty. He turned and gently threw it to her and stood with his arms folded looking out to the now dark ocean with only a sliver of light on the horizon.

“Put the jacket on,” he said. “Try to get up. You may feel disoriented for a little while since you’ve been missing oxygen. I don’t know how long you’ve been out and I’m no doctor, but you look ok to me. If you need a hand getting up, then let me know.”

He heard her putting the jacket on. He kept looking out to the ocean, a gentle cool breeze coming off it.

“I’ll take you home and then it might be best if I call the police and an ambulance,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

Get her off my hands. I don't want anything else to worry about.

Except my beer.
 
The girl was a bit upset when the man who had helped her stood up and walked away. She thought he was going to abandon her at her will, now he was sure she was breathing. But she was glad to find out that he had gone to get her something to wear. "Put the jacket on" were such nice words. It didn't cover her completely, but it helped her hide her privates.

After a moment, she tried to get up, as he suggested. The world kept moving around her and she felt as she had just jumped off a merry-go-round. But it should eventually stop, so she got on her knees and tried to stabilize herself. But she knew the moment she stood up, she would immediately fall.

"I'd gladly accept your help for getting up", she finally said, "the world is turning too fast for me right now", she joked.

As she stretched her arms and waited for him to turn aroud and help her, she realized she hadn't thanked him.

"I'm sorry I've been quite rude. I haven't thanked you for saving my life, Mr..." she stopped, waiting for him to tell her his name.

Once again, she realized something was missing. She couldn't remember her name. But not only that. Now she realized she didn't know who she was, what she did for a living, whether she had a family or not... She wouldn't remember anything before she woke up lying naked in the beach.

She stood still although he was already grabbing her hand. She for sure needed a doctor, having such a lack of memory was abviously no good. But should she go to the police? She should try and gather her memories before turning to anybody else. She couldn't even be sure about that man. But he had saved her life, right? He was the only thing she had right then.

Too many thoughts for a single damaged brain.
 
Crawley watched her as she struggled to get up. She only made it to her knees and then stopped. It was understandable. Her brain was getting used to having oxygen. He wasn’t a doctor, but he thought she was alright.

"I'd gladly accept your help for getting up," she said, "the world is turning too fast for me right now."

There was something unusual about this besides the fact that he’d just reeled in this blonde from the ocean. Natural blonde, too. He’d taken a peek.

Be serious.

She seemed very relaxed about the situation. She wasn’t as panicked as someone else would be. A civilian.

Maybe she’s not civilian?

She was certainly confused, cold and a little disoriented, but she was still calm. Too calm. Trained calm.

She put her arms out and he walked over to her to help her up.

"I'm sorry I've been quite rude. I haven't thanked you for saving my life, Mr..." she said.

He nearly hesitated, but there was no point. He was not a spy as such and everyone knew him.

“Crawley,” he said. “James Crawley.”

He took her hand, but then slid his hands along her arms and under her armpits to give himself more to hang on to. Then he slowly raised her up and put his arm around her waist to give her more support. He stood there, letting her get her senses back.

He still had a niggle at the back of his mind. It’s not every day you hook a woman out of the surf, and a blonde beauty at that. Something wasn’t right.

You’re a suspicious bastard, Crawley.

Well, I’m still alive, aren’t I?


“I could take you to the doctor,” he said, “but they’ll want to know your name. They’ll also call the police.”

He paused, thinking. He watched her trying to breathe in a normal manner, assessing whether she was trustworthy or not.

Fuck it, he thought, just go with the gut.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ve revived enough people and you look ok. How about you come to my place and get something to eat and drink. I’ll watch you, even if it’s overnight. If you’re ok, then we can decide what to do tomorrow. It’s up to you.”

He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, but he was intrigued.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But was curiosity as good looking as this blonde?
 
"Thank you, Mr. Crawley", she said at last, as she started walking, feeling better. "I can't think of going anywhere right now, I'm so tired..."

Feeling the sand disappear under every step made her feel better. She was walking, at last, and that was a good sign. She didn't want to bother the man but she really needed to sleep and get her strength back before going anywhere.

"I don't mean to disturb you, Mr. Crawley. You don't need to cook or anything, I'll just have any fruit or whatever. And I'll pay you for everything in the morning."

With what money?, she thought. No way she could get money before going to the police.

Crap. I'm so fucked up.

"And I can sleep on the floor, I'll just need a blanket so as not to be cold. I go camping quite usually."

She hoped after sleeping for a while she would get her memories back.

Her legs were getting tired, but she managed to keep walking thanks to his help. He was a nice man. He didn't have to help her, but he was. She thought it very generous. Unless he had a secret reason. She started thinking.

Had he known her before? That would explain his helping her. But he hadn't called her by her name, so he probably didn't. Would he be looking for a reward? She had nothing to offer. Except...

No, no. That couldn't be the case. However, something inside her started to keep track of his movements, as if she was surveiling him from some part of her mind.

"So, Mr. Crawley. Do you live far? I'm afraid I won't be able to walk for a long time", she said, "and I wouldn't want to be a burden for you."

She was surprised at how calm and reasonable she was, giving that she couldn't remember her identity. Nobody would have said some minutes ago she was naked and unconscious on the sand at an unknown beach not know where she had come from.

That could only mean deep down she knew she was ok. Maybe she was a doctor or a nurse and could tell she wasn't injured. Apart from the amnesia. Or maybe it was all caused by the concussion and she would be in histerics by morning.

There was only one way to know.
 
"Thank you, Mr. Crawley," she said as they started walking. He kept his arm around her waist and let her lean into him for support. "I can't think of going anywhere right now, I'm so tired..."

“It’s James,” he said turning to her as they slowly walked back across the sand towards the car. “Most people call me Jim and some other things,” he said smiling, “but Jim will do for now. Maybe you’ll start calling me other things later.”

He gave her a little laugh.

"I don't mean to disturb you, Mr. Crawley. You don't need to cook or anything, I'll just have any fruit or whatever. And I'll pay you for everything in the morning. And I can sleep on the floor, I'll just need a blanket so as not to be cold. I go camping quite usually….”

She was babbling now. It was to be expected. She was disoriented and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d suffered a concussion as the lump on her head was pronounced now that he was close to her.

Pay me?

He didn’t know where she’d have any money as he’d pulled her out of the ocean buck naked. Maybe she meant when it was all sorted out. Maybe she was some rich girl who'd fallen off a yacht. He'd heard of that sort of shit happening. Lifestyles of the rich and famous.

“Don’t worry about anything for the moment,” he said. “You just need a good rest. Then I’m sure you’ll be ok.”

They were nearly off the sand and back to the road that ran along the beach. His pickup was parked about twenty metres in front of them and he could feel that she was labouring.

"So, Mr. Crawley. Do you live far? I'm afraid I won't be able to walk for a long time," she said, "and I wouldn't want to be a burden for you."

He looked across at her face. She was hardly a burden. She was fit and strong, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Well,” he said with a smile, “that’s my car right there. How lucky is that?”

He helped her into the front seat.

“Just wait here for a second,” he said. “I need to get all my gear and throw it in the back.” He took off back down the beach. There was little light now, but he managed to collect everything and put it in the back.

He got into the car and they drove off towards his house. Well, it wasn’t his house, it was his parents’. They’d left it to him. It was a beautiful house with views over the ocean and it was private.

I guess I’m lucky sometimes.

His place was less than a mile away and they were there in a minute. He drove the car up the driveway as close to the front door as he could go and then turned it so that her side was closest to the porch.

“Ok, we’re here,” he said.

He stepped out of the car and walked around to her side and helped her out. They negotiated the three steps of the porch and walked to the front door. It wasn’t locked. A product of his childhood. He knew he should probably start locking his doors, but he’d never done it at home. His work required meticulous security and it felt like a release to be able to forget about that part of his life when he was home.

He walked her into his lounge room and sat her down on the couch.

The kitchen was across from the lounge. He walked over to the fridge and called out, “Would you like something to drink? I’m having a beer, but you’re welcome to whatever you want.”

He opened the fridge door and pulled out a beer and sat his arms on the bench looking towards her, waiting for an answer.

“By the way,” he said. “You never did tell me your name.”
 
She was tempted to lie to him; invent any name and go on with the farce. Maybe she could be a Nancy, or even Lucy. Or maybe she could have a more flamboyant name. She know she was blonde, and quite slim. Maybe she was an escort. That would more or less easily explain why she was naked in the sea...

She realized she hadn't got a full view of herself, she didn't know who she was. and neither knew exactly what she looked like. Maybe she was thinking too highly of herself.

She went back to real life and saw him in front of her, waiting for her reply. No, she thought he deserved to know, after all he was doing to help her.

"Well... the thing is... I don't remember my name", she said and stopped for a second. "In fact, I don't seem to remember anything before waking up in the beach. I guess it is due to the concussion... But I'm sure everything will be ok after I get some sleep", she smiled to him.

She was really tired, and was about to fall asleep directly on the couch. But she didn't want to be rude, so she managed to stay awake for a while.

She was feeling a bit hotter being inside his house with the jacket, so she kindly asked him for another piece of clothes to wear.

"Would you have any t-shirt you could lend me?", she said. "It is a bit hot in here to be wearing a jacket..."

She was also going to ask him for a glass of water, as she was starting to feel thisty. But she didn't want to be annoying, and she could wait. So she didn't ask for anything more.
 
Crawley watched her. She looked tired, but then, that was totally to be expected. She’d probably struggled for a long time in the ocean before going under and her body would be recovering from the oxygen deprivation.

"Well... the thing is... I don't remember my name," she said, pausing. "In fact, I don't seem to remember anything before waking up in the beach. I guess it is due to the concussion... But I'm sure everything will be ok after I get some sleep."

That makes it a bit harder. No name?

It could wait till the morning. He was sure there couldn’t be someone as good looking as her that could just fall off the side of a boat and not be missed. She looked at him.

"Would you have any t-shirt you could lend me?" she said. "It's a bit hot in here to be wearing a jacket..."

He’d forgotten that she’d only been wearing the jacket. He looked over at her. Even in her dishevelled state, she looked stunning. The mystery girl.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll go find you something.”

Just as he was about to go into his bedroom he realised she’d had nothing to drink. He walked around to the sink in the kitchen and got her a glass of water. He brought it around to her and she took it.

He smiled.

“It’s not a beer,” he said, “but I think water would be best for now.”

He left her in the lounge room sipping her water and went off into the hall and down to his bedroom. She was small compared to him so he figured a t shirt and boxers would do for now. He didn’t have any clothes for a woman.

He rummaged around in his closet and found a white t shirt and some red shorts. They had a draw string around the waist so she would be able to tighten them so they wouldn’t fall off.

Not that it would be a disaster if they did....

Stop that.


He came back into the lounge room and she was still on the couch. She’d finished the water, but was just looking at the empty glass in her hands.

“Um, if you’re going to be here,” he said, “make yourself at home. Feel free to get whatever you want.”

He placed the clothes on the coffee table in front of her and took the glass from her hands so he could refill it.

“If you want to get changed, my bedroom is the second door on the left down the hall. Just go in there. I’ll let you sleep in my room as the bed there is much more comfortable than the one in the spare room. I’ll sleep in there tonight.”

He watched her as he walked around to refill her glass.

“Just yell out once you’re changed and under the covers. I might sit with you for a little while to make sure that you only have a concussion and nothing more than that,” he said. He paused for a moment. “That’s if it’s ok with you. I could just leave you alone if you like.”

Crawley was intrigued with his ocean girl and wanted to make sure she was ok.

“There’s no hurry, so don’t feel obliged to hurry up and get better or anything like that. I’ve sort of got a, er, break from work at the moment. Tomorrow, we’ll go find you some clothes and then try and find out who you are.”

He smiled at that.

She started to get up from the couch and walk towards his bedroom.

You needed something to do, Crawley.
 
He didn't need to be doing all that. But he was. As she was thankful.

She just needed some rest and someone who'd help her get it. And Jim was that someone. She felt she could trust him.

"Thanks, Jim.", she said as she started to get up. "I am feeling so much better."

She went to the bedroom to change. It was not the most beautiful outfit, but giving the circumstance it was quite nice. The draw in the red shorts was quite useful, so she could tighten them. As she was doing so, she found a small cut just righ to her belly. But it was not a new one. It was already healing up.

What on earth did I do to get this?, she wondered. And then looked around for a mirror to look over the rest of her body.

She easily found a bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. First, she took a look at herself and was quite pleased. She was quite athletic and thought she might do some regular sports. And then she looked closer and found so many bruises and cuts. Some of them were new. Of course she had harmed herself in the drawning. But some of them seemed quite old, as the one she had spotted right before.

Do I usually get drowned? Or does somebody hit me frequently?, she was quite disturbed.

After some more minutes she got back to the room and put the t-shirt on. It was a bit, so it slipped to one side, letting her bare shoulder be seen. On her way to the kitchen she stopped once again in bathroom.

For a nearly-drowned gir, I look quite nice, she flattered herself.

When she got to the kitchen she had the impending need to hug her saviour, but she repressed it, not wanting to make him feel awkward.

"Thank you, Jim. You are being so nice to me. I hope I can make up for it later on"; she said smiling.

She reached out for the refilled glass of water, as feeling better made her primary needs arise. She was also feeling a bit hungry, but her stomach was upside-down and she didn't feel like filling it and feel nauseous in the middle of the night.

A drop of water escaped her mouth as she was drinking too quickly.

"Oops,", she said, as she reached for the lower edge of the t-shirt to wipe it, without noticing she was showing more than she realized.

"I think I'll go to bed now. Don't take the trouble of coming, I'll find my way", she said smiling. "You have already done more than enough", she said, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheeck.

"Goodnight, Jim", she finished as she walked to the bedroom.
 
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