The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin

by Maureen Child

  There it was. Her chance to call a halt to this insanity that had overtaken them. With the word No she knew Harding would escort her back to her seat, and they could go on as they had been…each pretending that this magic between them didn’t exist. Each trying to forget what had happened in the past few stolen moments.

  “Hurry back, Harding,” she whispered brokenly, making the only decision she could.

  Six

  The twenty-five-minute drive from the stadium to her condo had never seemed so long before. Freeway miles flew past, but once on the side streets, they were caught by every red light.

  Elizabeth shifted in the Mustang’s bucket seat and shot a glance at the man beside her. Immediately, her stomach began to pitch and turn. She wasn’t regretting her decision—but the strained silence arching between them made the whole situation a bit…strange. She’d never known such passionate urgings before she’d met Harding Casey. But then, she’d never known a man like him before, either.

  Spirals of need curled within her, prompting another uncomfortable shift in her seat. Her favorite jeans felt too tight. Too constraining. The seat belt slashing across her front pressed against her breasts, increasing the ache already planted by want. She bit her lip and groaned her frustration when yet another red light stopped them only a few blocks from her condo.

  “Think somebody’s trying to tell us something?” Harding asked tightly.

  She looked at him sharply. Was he regretting their hasty decision to leave the ballpark for her house?

  “Changing your mind, Harding?” Somehow, she squeezed those words past the knot in her throat, then held her breath as she waited for his answer.

  He turned his head to look at her, and she knew immediately that nothing had changed. Even in the darkness his eyes seemed to burn with the same fires streaking through her. His right hand dropped from the steering wheel. He reached across the automatic gearshift, laying his palm on her left leg. Slowly, firmly, he stroked her thigh. She felt the heat of his touch slip through the worn denim fabric and sink down into her bones. She held her breath as his hand moved to her inner thigh.

  “What do you think, Elizabeth?” he asked quietly, shifting his hand until his fingers cupped her aching center.

  Breath rushed from her lungs. She stared into his eyes and saw her own need and hunger reflected back at her. His fingers smoothed up and down over the denim stretched across the joining of her thighs. His gaze held hers, refusing to let her look away. The lake blue of his eyes darkened with every ragged breath she drew, and when she parted her legs farther, she watched his features tighten.

  The driver behind them honked his horn, demanding they notice that the light had turned green. Elizabeth squelched a groan threatening to erupt from her chest. She didn’t want him to stop touching her. She suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of not having his hands on her.

  Harding scowled into his rearview mirror and stepped on the gas. He guided the responsive car with one hand on the wheel. Though he kept his eyes on the road, his right hand continued to torture Elizabeth. As if responding to a need as deep as her own, he didn’t break the contact between them.

  She let her head loll against the seat back, and she closed her eyes to the streetlights whizzing past. In the enclosed shelter of his car, it was as though the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of them.

  As the Mustang slowed down again, she thought she heard him mutter a curse, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything beyond the incredible sensation of his fingers moving on her body.

  The Mustang’s engine hummed as they waited out another red light. Elizabeth turned her head and opened her eyes to look at him. Their gazes locked and held as she felt his nimble fingers undoing the button fly of her jeans.

  “Harding,” she whispered, suddenly all too aware of the cars behind and alongside them. True, it was dark, but what if someone saw them anyway? “You can’t—”

  “I already have,” he countered, and slid his fingertips down over her abdomen and beneath the band of her panties.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped and lifted her hips, unconsciously helping him toward his goal.

  “Oh, Elizabeth,” he said softly. His fingertips slowly caressed her damp heat—without the barrier of her jeans.

  Embarrassed, excited and tortured almost to the breaking point, she looked away from him, directing a blank stare toward the traffic streaming across the intersection in front of them. Dangerous, her mind screamed. Scandalous.

  She was allowing a man to make love to her while they sat at a red light on Beach Boulevard. What was worse, she had no intention of stopping him.

  What was happening to her? Where was the safe, sane woman she had always been? She grabbed the armrest, curling her fingers into the padded black vinyl. The stream of traffic in front of her blurred. Half closing her eyes, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out at his tender, intimate touch.

  “Not much farther,” he said as the light turned green and they were able to go again.

  She nodded, swallowed, then heard herself say, “Hurry, Harding. Hurry.”

  His fingertips found her most sensitive spot. Unable to help herself, she moaned softly and spread her legs wider in response. She lifted her hips off the seat slightly, instinctively trying to draw him in farther. But the strong denim fabric would only give so far.

  Frustration and expectation warred within her. She glanced at him again and noted the taut lines of strain etched into his face. Shifting for a quick look at her surroundings, Elizabeth saw that they were only a block or two from her house now.

  So close.

  And still so far.

  She leaned toward him as far as her seat belt would allow. Harding shot her a look from the corner of his eye as she came nearer.

  “Elizabeth?”

  The deep rumble of his voice filled the car, but she didn’t answer him. Instead, she laid one hand on his powerfully muscled thigh and felt it tighten reflexively. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel. Running her palm lightly up and down the inside of his thigh, she tried to share the incredible sensations he was showering on her. Her fingers brushed across his groin as he made the left turn into her condominium complex.

  He muttered something unintelligible as he reluctantly pulled his hand free of her jeans and maneuvered the car into a parking slot in front of her condo. Yanking on the emergency brake, he turned off the engine, snatched the keys out of the ignition, then got out of the car. She fumbled with the buttons on her jeans and still had her own door open before he arrived.

  Reaching into the car, he helped her out, kept a tight hold on her hand and marched up the flower-lined walkway to her front door, Elizabeth stepping quickly to keep up with him.

  She tried to get the key into the dead-bolt lock three times before Harding took it from her, slid it home and turned it, opening the door in a rush. They stepped inside, he slammed the door, set the lock again and grabbed for her.

  Elizabeth clutched at his shoulders in the dimly lit foyer. His hands were everywhere. Touching, caressing. He lifted the hem of her shirt and dragged it up and over her head. She shook her hair back from her face and reached for the buttons on his uniform.

  “This is crazy,” she whispered as the last button was freed.

  “Completely nuts,” he agreed, shrugging out of his shirt, then pulling his white undershirt off as well.

  “We’re not thinking,” she muttered, and gasped as his knuckles brushed her skin. He undid the front clasp of her bra, then pushed it off her shoulders so he could admire her breasts unhampered. “We should be thinking.”

  “Probably,” he said, lifting one of her breasts and rubbing his thumb across the distended nipple.

  “Ohh….” She moaned helplessly, took his free hand and placed it on her other breast. Shudders wracked her body as ribbons of pleasure swirled through her. “What if we regret this tomorrow, Harding?”

  He bent his head, drew one nipp
le into his mouth and slowly, lovingly, circled it with his tongue. After too brief a time, he straightened again. “It’d still be worth it,” he whispered.

  Lifting her hands to his broad, naked chest, her fingers entwined themselves in the dark hair sprinkled across his flesh. His shining, silver dog tags tinkled musically as she stroked his skin. Her thumbs dusted over his flat nipples, and he groaned, grabbing her to him tightly.

  Sliding his fingers into her hair, he tipped her head back and held her for his kiss. His mouth came down on hers like a dying man who’d been offered a last drink of water. His tongue plundered her mouth, taking all she had to offer and silently demanding more.

  Everything in her was on fire. She felt the rush of passion building into an inferno and gave herself over to the flames. Clutching at him, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders and hung on as if he was the only steady point in her universe. Whatever it was that lay between them, it was more powerful than anything she had ever known. Though her mind still worried about what she was doing, her body knew it was right.

  She twisted slightly in his arms, rubbing her breasts against his chest, loving the feel of her own soft flesh brushing over his hard muscles. She luxuriated in the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her bare back. Then one of his hands dropped to her behind, pulling her tightly to his hard readiness, and she groaned again, louder this time.

  She needed him now.

  She had to feel him entering her body, becoming one with her.

  “Harding,” she gasped as she broke their kiss.

  “Now,” he muttered, and buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Upstairs. First door.”

  He lifted her easily, and she didn’t even have time to enjoy the sensation of being carried before he set her on her feet beside the queen-size bed. He took a step back and tore at his belt buckle.

  Frantic now, Elizabeth unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them and her panties down her legs, only to be stopped by her running shoes. Hurriedly she toed her shoes off, then kicked off her pants. She turned to face him and stared silently. He was more amazing than she had expected. Tall and muscular, his body was a testament to the rigorous training of the Marine Corps.

  Her gaze dropped to his groin, and she felt a momentary pang of worry when she realized how large and ready he was.

  But then he came to her, sweeping her into the circle of his arms and laying her down onto the mattress. And at once, the inferno between them leaped into life again. She parted her legs as he moved over her and positioned himself between her thighs. She felt the featherlight touch of his hands smoothing up and down the insides of her legs. The tips of his fingers explored her most tender flesh, dipping in and out of the moist heat of her body until Elizabeth was ready to shatter into a million tiny pieces.

  “Harding,” she gasped, looking up into his darkened blue eyes. “Harding, I need…”

  “Just what I need, Elizabeth,” he finished for her, and came up on his knees. Slipping his hands beneath her, he lifted her hips slightly and drove himself home.

  She arched into him, her head digging into the mattress, her arms up, blindly reaching for him. He shifted, moving his hands to the mattress on either side of her head. Bracing himself, he leaned over her, stared down into her wide eyes and moved within her.

  Over and over, he retreated and advanced, hurtling them both ever closer to the mindless explosion of sensation awaiting them. She felt it building, humming along her nerve endings, toying with her. Teasing her with its nearness. Her fingers clenched tightly behind his neck, she rocked her hips in time with his, their dance racing to its conclusion.

  When the first tremor shook her, she held him tighter, closer. Taking a deep breath, she threw herself over the edge of caution and into the whirlpool of release. Each rippling explosion of satisfaction rocked her harder than the one before. She cried out as her pleasure crested, and held him tighter still when he stiffened, moaned her name and emptied himself inside her.

  Harding had never known anything like it. His groin ached with satisfaction, and already, a new, stronger need was rising up within him. The blood rushed through his veins and his own heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  She moved beneath him, and he immediately levered himself up onto his elbows.

  “Don’t,” she said quickly.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t pull away yet.”

  His body hardened and thickened inside her. Her damp, tight warmth surrounded him, and he felt as though he would never leave the sanctuary he had found. Instinctively he rocked his hips against her, showing her without words that he had no intention of pulling away from her.

  Her hands slid up and down his back, and everywhere she touched came alive. Her palms dusted his flesh and he groaned quietly. “I want you again,” he whispered, and bent to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

  She arched against him, and he grazed the distended bud with the edges of his teeth. His tongue worked her nipple, circling, flicking at the tender flesh with short strokes.

  “This can’t be happening again,” she said on a half sigh. “So soon…”

  “Again,” he whispered as he lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “And again and again. I can’t get enough of you, Elizabeth. The taste of you, the feel of you.” He pushed his body deeper inside her, enjoying the sparkle of pleasure he saw flickering in her eyes. She wanted him as badly as he did her. That knowledge fed the flames of his own passion.

  Harding wrapped his arms around her, and when he eased himself up onto his haunches, he kept her with him, his body buried within her. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his thighs. Wiggling her hips slightly, she took him even deeper inside as his hands dropped to her hips.

  Her head fell back, and Harding looked his fill of her. In the moonlight streaming through the second-story window, her brown hair glimmered and shone. Curls fell in a tangled mass around her head, and her gold hoops swung in abandon, making her look like some ancient, pagan goddess—naked but for the gold at her ears.

  His hands encompassed her narrow waist briefly before he allowed one of his hands to slide down her abdomen to the nest of pale brown curls at the juncture of her thighs. She tensed, waiting. He smiled to himself and stroked her most sensitive spot.

  She straightened up on his lap, shifting her hips from side to side, cradling his body with hers. Her hands at his shoulders, she bent to claim his mouth, and this time he let her be the aggressor. She branded him with strokes of her tongue, stealing his breath and giving him hers.

  Unable to wait another moment, Harding placed both hands on her hips. Then, guiding her, he helped her move on him. Each time she took him inside her, he felt his world shift. When completion roared toward them, he clamped his mouth to hers, devouring her sighs and muffling his own shout of satisfaction.

  She didn’t remember moving, but when she opened her eyes again, she was lying on fresh, cool sheets, the quilt pulled neatly over her.

  And Harding.

  She glanced down at her waist and laid one hand on the arm he had wrapped around her. Her body still humming with the lingering effects of their lovemaking, she was embarrassed to admit—even to herself—that she wanted more. Needed more.

  “Awake?” he asked quietly.

  “Uh-huh,” she said on a sigh. “What time is it?”

  “Around midnight.”

  Nodding, she turned in his arms until she could see him.

  Bracing himself on one elbow, Harding looked down at her steadily. Somberly.

  A warning sounded somewhere deep inside her. Whatever afterglow she was experiencing, Harding apparently wasn’t.

  “What is it?” she managed to ask.

  He frowned slightly, released her long enough to rub one hand across his face, then said, “We have to talk.”

  Something cold slithered along her spine. She pulled the sheet up higher over her breasts, scooted a coupl
e of inches away from him. “If you’re thinking about apologizing to me, don’t.”

  “Elizabeth…”

  “I mean it, Harding.” Strange how quickly a glow could disappear. Stranger still how much colder she felt now that it was gone. “We’re both grown-ups. We knew what we were doing.”

  “Not entirely.”

  She pulled a bit farther away from him, pushed her hair out of her eyes and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We didn’t take any precautions,” he said flatly.

  “Precau—” Good heavens. Her stomach dropped, and she thought she even felt her heartbeat skitter a bit as the implications of what he was saying sunk in.

  Sitting up, she crossed her legs Indian style and clutched the quilt to her like a frightened virgin. Despite the situation, she almost laughed. A bit late for trying to protect her virtue.

  “I don’t see a damn thing funny in this,” he pointed out.

  “Not funny,” she corrected. “Ridiculous. Embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing?”

  “Of course. These days, any teenager knows better than to do what we just did!”

  He pushed himself off the mattress and began to pace. “I don’t suppose you take the Pill?” he asked on one of his trips around the room.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “There didn’t seem to be any point.” Flopping back against the headboard, she frowned and admitted wryly, “I don’t exactly have what you would call a busy love life.”

  He stopped dead and looked at her, one eyebrow lifted into a high arch.

  “Sure, tonight,” she shot at him. “But before you there was only—” She broke off and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Is that what your concern is for? Trying to find out if I’ve got anything contagious?”

  “Dammit, Elizabeth.”

  “Rest easy, Harding.” She clumsily got out of bed, still dragging that quilt with her. Wrapping it around her, she tossed the tail end of the blanket over one shoulder, lifted her chin and said, “I’m completely safe. I’ve only been with one other man and—”