Carly’s head was light, and her eyes weren’t focusing properly. She gave a little moan as Mark toyed with her. “Yes,” she whispered, “oh, yes...”
He chuckled as he spread his left hand over her bottom, pushing her into the fiery attendance of his right. “It would be convenient if you had a bed, Scoop.”
“Oooooh,” Carly groaned, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. During those moments, her every emotion and sense seemed to center on the motion of Mark’s fingers.
He left her swaying and dazed in the middle of the room, while he gathered the three large and colorful floor pillows she’d bought in an import shop and arranged them on the floor.
It never occurred to Carly to protest when he came back to her and spread her gently on the pillows, a prize to be examined and savored. He stripped her methodically, kissing her insteps when he’d tossed aside her shoes, nibbling at the undersides of her knees when he’d taken away her cut-off jeans. He removed her T-shirt next, and then, with excruciating slowness, her bra.
Carly cupped her hands beneath her breasts, lifting them to him, offering them. He shed his jacket and shirt and flung them aside before bending, with a low groan of pleasure, to catch one pink gumdrop of a nipple between his teeth.
Carly writhed on the soft pillows, her heels wedged against the hardwood floor, while Mark suckled her. Then he hooked a thumb under the waistband of her panties, her last remaining garment, and drew them down.
She wriggled out of them, kicked them away, and Mark stayed with her breast, as greedy as a thirsty man just then allowed to drink. Desperate, she found his hand and pressed it to the warm, moist delta between her legs.
He chuckled against her nipple and began moving his palm in a slow, titillating circle. Carly’s body followed him obediently, yearning for his attentions.
He left her breast to kiss his way down over her belly, and Carly clutched at the floor in anticipation though, of course, the waxed wood would grant her no purchase.
She felt his lips on her still-flat abdomen. “I’m going to make your mom really happy,” he promised the little person inside.
A great shudder shook Carly; she knew what Mark was going to do to her, that he would make her perform a physical and spiritual opera before he let her up off those pillows, and she couldn’t wait another moment.
“Oh, God, Mark,” she whispered, “now—please, now.”
He parted her with his fingers, gave her a single flick with his tongue.
Carly cried out in lusty delight, not caring who heard, and sank her teeth into her lower lip when she felt Mark position himself between her knees. She covered her breasts with her hands, not because she wanted to hide them, but because she could not lie still. Mark made her show herself again.
“I want to see them,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. Then he went back to the taut little nubbin of flesh that awaited him so eagerly.
He was greedy, and Carly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries of pleasure. Immediately, firmly, he removed it, and the gesture told Carly that he would demand an unrestrained response from her. He would hear every sound, see every inch of her flesh.
She gave a series of choked gasps as he took hold of the undersides of her knees, lifting and parting them so she was totally vulnerable to him. And then, having conquered her completely, he was ruthless.
He brought her to a thunderous crescendo that had her writhing beneath his mouth, and the sounds of her triumphant submission echoed off the walls and the ceiling.
She had known he wouldn’t permit her to reach only one climax, no matter how soul shattering it might be. His own pleasure was in direct proportion to the heights Carly reached. Still, knowing these things, she pleaded with him.
He only chuckled, nibbling at the inside of her thigh while she came down, trembling and moist with exertion, from the top of a geyser. “We haven’t even begun,” he said.
Soon she was bobbing on the crest of an invisible spray of energy again, her back arched, her eyes dazed and sightless, her hair clinging to her cheeks and forehead. And Mark was already arousing her anew long before she’d recovered.
The instinct for power gave her the strength to open his jeans and reach inside, pressing her palm against his magnificence, closing her fingers around it.
He groaned, and his wonderful eyes rolled closed. “Oh, Carly...” he grated out. “Carly.”
She caressed him until he was muttering in delirium, then maneuvered him so that he was lying sprawled on the pillows, as helpless as Carly had been earlier. She finished stripping him, bold as the queen of some primitive tribe, and bent to touch him lightly with her tongue.
He gave a guttural cry, and Carly felt a sweep of loving triumph. She had Mark where she wanted him, and she wasn’t going to let him go until she’d enjoyed him thoroughly, because she had won the battle and he was the spoils.
His submission was glorious, full of honor, and Carly loved him with a sweet and tender violence.
Finally, though, he stopped her, his hands clenched on either side of her head. She watched his powerful chest rise and fall as he struggled for the breath to speak. “Inside you,” he managed after a long time. “I want to be inside you.”
Carly would not give up her position of dominance—this time it would be Mark who lay beneath the pleasure, drowning in its splendor.
She placed a knee on either side of his hips and guided him to her portal with one hand, smiling when he buckled beneath her in a desperate search.
Splaying her hands over his heaving chest, feeling his nipples tighten under her palms, she allowed him only a little solace. He tossed his head from side to side, half-blinded with the need of her, and Carly loved him all the more for his ability to surrender so completely.
“More?” she teased.
“More,” he pleaded.
She was generous, giving him another inch of sanction. His skin was moist beneath her hands, and she could feel an underlying quiver in his muscles as he struggled for control.
He arched his neck, his eyes closed, and Carly bent forward to kiss and nibble the underside of his chin. Then she felt him clasp her hips, and she knew the game was almost over.
Sure enough, he pressed her down onto him in a strong stroke that immediately set her afire. She groaned as he raised his fingers to her nipples and rolled them into tight little buttons.
He made another pass into her, and the tiny muscles where the magic lay went into wild spasms, making Carly toss back her head and cry out over and over again in satisfaction. When she finally went limp, Mark shifted her so that she lay beneath him, and took her in earnest.
At peace, she watched in love and wonder as pleasure moved in his eyes. She spread one hand over his muscular buttocks as he strained to give himself up to her, while the other traced the outline of his lips.
His teeth clamped lightly on her finger when he stiffened suddenly, emptying himself into her. And this time the cry that filled the shadowy room was Mark’s, not Carly’s.
He fell onto the pillows beside her when it was over, curving an arm around her waist and holding her close against his chest. They lay in silence for a long time, but even then there was some kind of dynamics going on between them.
It was a mystical mating process, fusing their two spirits together at an invisible place. Carly’s eyes filled with tears as one indefinable emotion after another swept over her.
She was Mark’s, and he was hers, and not just until the next time they disagreed over something, either. By a process she could not begin to understand, an age-old link between them had been reinforced.
Carly kissed Mark’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
* * *
BEYOND THE FENCED boundaries of the little churchyard, Kansas stretched in every direction. Plump matrons in colorful dresses chattered, while men smoked and talked about the
ir crops and “them politicians back in Washington,” whom they held in a healthy and typically American contempt. Children zigzagged throughout, filled with exuberance because the ripe summer was still with them and because there would be cake and punch aplenty at the reception.
Clad in her mother’s gossamer wedding dress, her arm linked with Mark’s, Carly stood a little closer to her husband. The limo he’d hired to drive them from the church to the reception at the Grange Hall glistened like a sleek silver ghost at the curb.
Carly smiled at the stir it caused.
“Came all the way from Topeka,” she heard someone say.
Mark broke off the conversation he’d been having with Carly’s father and his own, and grinned down at her. Something unspoken passed between them, and then they were getting into the plush car, Carly grappling with her rustling voluminous skirts of lace and satin. Her bouquet of pink daisies and white rosebuds lay fragrant in her lap.
She gave a happy sigh.
Mark chuckled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I love you, Mrs. Holbrook,” he said.
She beamed at him, answering with her eyes.
The driver obligingly turned on the stereo, filling the car with soft, romantic music. It was his way of telling the newlyweds, Carly figured, that he wasn’t listening in on their conversation.
They talked with their foreheads touching about their brief upcoming honeymoon in Paris. After that, Carly would be returning to San Francisco and Nathan and the magazine, while Mark jetted to the Far East to gather material for his book on China.
Whether or not he would get into the country remained to be seen. Carly suspected he had contacts who would be willing to smuggle him over the border, but she didn’t allow herself to think about the possible ramifications of that, because she wasn’t about to spoil the happiest day of her life.
When the limo pulled up in front of the ramshackle Grange Hall, which had never been painted, there were already a number of wedding guests waiting, and country-and-western music vibrated in the hot August sunshine.
Mark and Carly went inside, and Mark immediately pulled her into his arms for a dance. This delighted the onlookers, who loved a wedding almost as much as a rousing cattle auction.
Playfully Mark touched his lips to hers, and everyone clapped and cheered with delight.
“Show-off,” Carly said, one hand resting lightly on his nape.
He laughed. “Me? Tell me, Mrs. Holbrook—was I the one who put on a sparkly outfit and twirled flaming batons in front of a whole nation?”
Carly’s cheeks warmed. “You’re still going to be teasing me about that in fifty years, aren’t you?”
Mark pulled her a little closer. “Yup,” he said.
After that, Carly danced with her father, then with Mark’s father, then with Nathan.
“You look real pretty in that dress,” her stepson said.
Carly smiled. “Thanks—you’re looking pretty handsome yourself.” She wanted to touch his hair, but she held back, unwilling to embarrass him. “You don’t mind about my taking your dad away to Paris for a week?” she asked.
Solemnly Nathan shook his head. “And you don’t need to worry when he goes to China, either. I’m pretty tough, and I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
Carly’s heart swelled with love. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t give it a thought.”
Toward the end of the song, Mark tapped his son on the shoulder to cut in. “Judging from the look on your face, I’ve got some pretty strong competition in that kid.”
She smiled, glad to be close to her husband again. “He’s one terrific guy,” she agreed. “He just told me not to be afraid when you go to China, because he’s tough and he can take care of me.”
Mark searched her face. “Are you worried about me going to China, Scoop?”
“Of course I am,” Carly answered. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t consider the dangers? But I’m determined not to stand in your way where your career is concerned, and I expect the same courtesy from you.”
It was time for more photographs and for the cutting of the giant cake decorated with white sugar doves and scallops of pink frosting.
They posed and exchanged sticky, crumbling bites of cake, and a collective sigh of approval arose from the guests when Mark took Carly into his arms and gave her a sound kiss.
“For better or for worse, Mrs. Holbrook,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, “and for always, I love you.”
Happy tears sprang into her eyes for the hundredth time that day. “Could I say something to you?”
He smiled. “Anything, as long as you never say goodbye.”
“I’m so glad I met you,” Carly told him. “And so glad I’m a survivor.”
He kissed her. “So am I, Scoop. So am I.”
She gazed up at him with loving eyes. “One more dance before we go?”
Mark nodded.
They whirled around the dance floor, unaware now of the guests, and the teetering cake, and the mountains of beautifully wrapped presents. Mr. and Mrs. Mark Holbrook were, for those precious moments, aware only of each other.
San Francisco
One year later...
CARLY WORE JEANS and a blue T-shirt, and the baseball cap Nathan had given her on Mother’s Day sat firmly on her head, the brim covering her nape. Riding on her back, papoose style, was Molly, who watched her father approach with solemn aquamarine eyes.
Out on the diamond, Nathan was speeding between third base and home. The ball came in from left field; the pitcher caught it and hurled it to the catcher.
Nathan dived, sliding into home plate on his belly, his hands outstretched.
“Safe!” yelled the umpire, who was, like everybody else on both teams, a kid from the neighborhood.
Reaching the place where his wife and daughter stood, Carly still unaware of his approach, Mark leaned over to give Molly a light kiss on the forehead.
She rewarded him with a gurgling chortle and a, “Da-da!”
Carly spun around at that, her eyes big in her dusty, gamine’s face. Her baseball cap fell off onto the ground when she flung her arms around Mark’s neck.
He kissed her soundly, even though he knew he’d hear about it from Nathan. In his son’s world, a guy just didn’t kiss a woman in front of everybody in the neighborhood like that.
“How was China?” Carly asked. Her voice was throaty and low, and her eyes were filled with a blue-green come-hither look.
“Same as always,” Mark answered gruffly. He’d made two trips since he and Carly were married. “Big. Isolated. Awesomely beautiful.”
“I think we should go home and discuss this,” Carly crooned.
He bent to pick up her fallen baseball cap and put it back on her head. This time the brim stuck out to the side, giving her a jaunty, Our Gang kind of look. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Holbrook,” he responded, his body tightening at the luscious prospect of being alone with her in the shadowy privacy of their bedroom. “But what about the short person here?”
Carly grinned. “Molly’s due for a nap,” she replied, “and Nathan will be out here playing baseball until you come back and drag him home for supper.”
He lifted his brown-haired daughter out of the back sling and kissed her glossy curls. “You do look tired, kid,” he told the child, his expression serious.
Molly’s lower lip curled outward as though he’d insulted her, then she tossed back her head and wailed.
Twenty minutes later, when her mother had washed her face and hands and given her a bottle, Molly closed her enormous Carly eyes and went immediately to sleep.
Mark led his wife out of the nursery and into their bedroom, taking off her baseball cap and tossing it aside. “As for you, Mrs. Holbrook,” he said, “you’re about to spend some quality time with your husband.”
H
e saw the tremor of pleasure go through her, watched as her cheeks turned a delicious apricot pink. And he knew he loved her as desperately as he ever had.
“Mark,” she began shyly, “I need a shower....”
He nodded. “So do I,” he answered, catching hold of her T-shirt and lifting it off over her head.
Her breasts, full ever since she’d given birth to Molly, seemed to burgeon over the tops of her lace bra, and the sight of them filled Mark with a grinding ache that would take a long time to satisfy. He anticipated the feeling of a nipple tightening in his mouth, the arch of Carly’s body against him, the little purring groans that would escape her throat.
He brought down one side of the bra and bent to taste her.
They undressed each other in a slow, romantic dance they’d learned together, and when they were naked, Carly led Mark into the bathroom. He adjusted the spigots in the double-size shower and drew her underneath the spray of the water with him.
Taking up the soap, Carly turned it beneath her hands, making a lather. Then she began to wash her husband, to prepare him for a sweet sacrifice that would be offered on their bed.
His muscles quivered beneath his flesh as she soaped him all over, gently washing away the loneliness, the grit, the frustration of being parted from her. She was kneeling before him, washing his feet, when she looked up at him through the spray and ran one slippery hand up the inside of his thigh.
He felt his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Carly,” he managed to grind out just as she closed her mouth over him.
He entangled his fingers in her dripping hair and let the crown of his head rest against the shower wall, and he tasted warm water when he opened his mouth to moan in helpless pleasure. She gripped his tensed buttocks then, as though she feared that he would leave her.
His knees weakened as she continued to pleasure him, and he wondered how long he could stand before her. He was on the verge of slipping to the floor of the shower as it was.
“Carly,” he choked out, and he tried to lift her head from him, but she would not be deterred.
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