One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

by Allison Gatta

  “Yes, baby,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

  …

  Avery lay on the bed, panting, her body so hot that even the cool sheets didn’t help.

  She had to control her reaction to him. Every movement of his tongue felt like a caress on her skin, like a love note. She could taste the longing in his every kiss. And it was breaking her in a way she couldn’t understand. It was as if she was being driven to join him in a deeper sort of intimacy, more than they’d ever had, more than she’d ever dreamed was possible. But she couldn’t. She didn’t dare wish for more…and risk losing what she had.

  She’d already betrayed herself once, allowing him to touch her in a way she couldn’t handle. She’d let him watch her with those dark, curious eyes of his as she’d jumped off the precipice. But she couldn’t let that happen again, couldn’t let it continue. She had to take control—and fast.

  “Get on the bed,” she rasped.

  Holden smiled and shook his head, but he stood and pulled his jeans and boxers down in one quick tug. His cock sprang forward and for a moment, she just stared at it, fighting the urge to lick her lips as she took in his impressive length.

  He took a step toward her, and she froze as he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. The contour of his muscles caught her off guard momentarily, but she gritted her teeth, determined to keep the upper hand.

  She knew what would happen. The moment he touched her, what happened between them would be on his terms. Her body would be his to command. So, she stood, then took each of his biceps in her hands and pushed him gently toward the floor.

  He laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked as he sank to the floor. She straddled him.

  “Avery—” he argued, but she rocked herself against his length and took his bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Let me ride you,” she said. Then she gripped his shaft and took him inside her, inch by agonizing inch until he was buried to the hilt.

  He let out a low groan, and she knew she had him—that he was hers, if only for right this moment.

  She rode him with quick, needy thrusts, and he took her breasts in his hands, kneading them as they bounced with every stroke.

  “God, you’re beautiful, baby,” he said, and her heart froze inside her chest.

  Baby? Something fluttered inside her chest, and she rode him harder still, hoping that maybe the intensity would break the spell of intimacy.

  It didn’t. No matter how hard and deep she fucked him, he still stared at her with something that ranged between quiet affection and adoration.

  I need to break the eye contact. That’s it.

  Without warning, she slid away from him and bent herself over the bed. “I need you to fuck me from behind,” she said.

  “Come here.” He gripped her hips with both his hands and led her back against him, until his hard length was pressed against the seam of her ass. Her back was flush with his chest, and then he was caressing her neck, breathing warm breaths against the shell of her ear.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want.” He gripped her a little tighter. “But it’ll be on my terms.”

  He led her against the wall and pressed her body there. Bracing herself, she waited as he entered her again, this time harder and faster than before. He kissed the back of her neck, his teeth catching her delicate skin before he fucked her harder and harder still, until her dresser rattled with the force of their coupling.

  “You’re mine, Avery. Say it.” He thrust hard and deep inside her, and she gasped.

  She reached out, wishing she had something, anything to hold, aside from his bulging biceps. She buried her face in his neck, desperate to keep from looking him in the eye.

  “Say it, baby. Tell me you’re mine.”

  She swallowed hard, not sure if the tightness in her heart was from the overwhelming feel of his cock inside her or if, instead, it was at the idea of making such an admission. He’d never asked for this before—had never even asked for her to call out his name.

  But this time, today, was different.

  She knew it, even if she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why that was.

  “You’re mine.” He cupped her chin and dragged her face toward him, kissing her hard and then pushing so deep inside her, she felt like she couldn’t possibly take another inch. Her gaze searched his, hungry and desperate, and she couldn’t resist him anymore.

  “I’m yours,” she breathed, unable to help herself.

  “You’re goddamned right,” he said. And when he pushed inside her again, she knew there was no chance of regaining her control. She’d fallen under his spell, and she wasn’t so sure she’d ever want to be free again.

  FROM THE DIARY OF AVERY FORRESTER

  Maybe if I fill this out more than once a day, Myla will let me off the hook early.

  Either way, Holden went to the bathroom to wash up before our date, and I’m lying here feeling…

  You know what, I’m not getting into how I’m feeling. I said I’d keep this journal, but I never said I was going to psychoanalyze myself. Instead, I’ll just tell you that the sex was amazing. Red hot, as always, and a vast improvement from my usual one-woman show while Holden is away.

  It was a little weird, though, the way he brought up that first time. It happened so long ago, our senior year of high school, and afterward, it was so awkward. We were there in my bed, side-by-side. Then Holden turned to look at me, and I didn’t know what he expected me to say. I think he was the first one to talk, though. He said something like, “I can’t walk out of here knowing that’s the only time something like this will happen.”

  Then, I really didn’t know what to say. He just looked at me with those damn hazel eyes, and all I could think was “Run, run, run for the hills.” After all, I’d seen more than one stepfather look at my mom that way, and I knew how it always ended up.

  I couldn’t do that with Holden, couldn’t lose him that way. But if I said no? I’d lose him anyway. And I wasn’t willing to do that.

  So I came up with a clever solution. I wasn’t going to put my life on hold while he was away—that would have been pathetic, and I had all of college in front of me. I told him as much, and I remember Holden nodding. So I said we could reconnect later. You know, when he was stateside. No strings, no commitments. Just two friends having fun.

  A slow grin spread over his face, and he pulled me to him, capturing my bottom lip between his own. Then he rolled on top of me and—

  Shit, just heard the shower go off. Better get dressed.

  P.S. This journal thing is still dumb, by the way.

  Chapter Five

  Avery made quick work of dressing and getting them out the door, all the while making certain that she never looked Holden directly in the eye. Somehow, she felt like if she met his gaze, he’d understand what she’d been trying to do. Or worse, why she’d tried to do it. And she couldn’t face that.

  So, she did what she did best. Avoidance.

  Before long, they were on the main drag, walking past dingy diners that only came to life in the summer when the tide was high. She swallowed hard, considering her next move, then decided to try for casualness. To not let it show just how much their borderline “lovemaking” had shaken her.

  “So, how have you been? I mean, really?” She looked him up and down.

  “Oh, I’m good. Another tour over.” He shrugged.

  “How many does that make now?” she asked, though she knew the answer already. Four tours of duty. More than either of his brothers, and he wasn’t even thirty yet. With each new tour, she’d had to do something to make her forget. After the first, she’d moved to California. After the second, she’d gotten a tattoo. Once he’d left for the third, she’d decided to try skydiving.

  And when she heard he was leaving on his fourth…

  All she could remember doing was crying.

  “Four,” he said, and she nodded al
ong, careful to keep her face unreadable.

  “Time to give up, you think?”

  He just smiled. “So, where is this mysterious place you’re taking me?”

  “The best restaurant in the city.”

  “And best, by your standards means…juiciest hot dogs?” His eyebrows rose.

  “Hottest wings.” She grinned back, trying to focus. Trying not to wonder why he so conspicuously didn’t answer her question. “Anyway, after that, it’s a surprise. But I can tell you it’s all right here.”

  She halted dead in her tracks, and he nearly barreled into her. Watching from the corner of her eye, she studied the scene as he must have seen it. They were standing in front of a dilapidated old building with a mile-wide marquee. It was the sort of place Jay Gatsby might have frequented. Stranger still, the place had no markings or signs. If she hadn’t stopped, he might never have noticed it at all.

  Just wait until he sees inside.

  She led him up the concrete steps then opened the wide golden door for him, but he only stood there, looking at her.

  “What?” she asked. “Get a move on.”

  He frowned, then set his palm on her waist and led her through the door as he held it open for her.

  “So old-fashioned,” she grumbled, trying to ignore the way her heart backfired in her chest.

  “Where the hell are we?” he asked. The room was like something out of a science fiction movie, stretching on for what looked like eons, with loud, eighties-style carpeting covering every square inch of the floor. Rows upon rows of slot machines crowded the area, and women circled them like bees, all dressed like Betty Paige and carrying drinks on wide, gilded trays.

  Her grin broadened. “If you only come to San Diego once, you should at least see the seedy underbelly of the city. Welcome to the underground casino, my friend.”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I lead a strange and interesting life.” She tossed him a saucy grin. “There’s a bar tucked in the corner on the opposite side of the casino. That is where we’re going to get those wings.” She ushered him through the thicket of whirring machinery, a smile shining on her face as she glanced back at him.

  When they got to the bar, there were no seats left except for some rickety booths near the bathroom. Still, Holden knew Avery wasn’t the sort to complain about ripped cushions or dirty tables. In fact, she was usually the reason things had ended up that way to begin with. They picked one and slid in.

  The waitress strolled over, clad in yoga shorts and a half shirt, her peroxide-bleached hair crimped and styled with bright purple highlights. She had more piercings on her lip than Avery had on her whole body. “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “Could we please have a pitcher of beer and a plate of twenty hot wings?” Holden asked.

  “Fifty,” Avery amended.

  The waitress nodded and strode away.

  “I bet that hurt,” Holden said, nodding toward the waitress and her piercings.

  “She pulls it off,” Avery said. “I can’t say I’d be able to do the same, so more power to her.”

  He nodded. “Oh, you could definitely pull it off. You’d look good in a paper sack.”

  Avery looked around, trying to avoid that soft, thoughtful expression Holden got sometimes. She didn’t know why, but it always left her with a feeling of impending doom. It only happened every now and then, but it was something she had to shut down.

  Fast.

  For some inexplicable reason, she wondered if he looked at his other lady friends the same way. If his full mouth curved into a smile while he examined their figures, or daydreamed about other things her mind wouldn’t allow her to think about.

  Probably not. Not that it mattered.

  “Listen, Avery, I wanted to ask you something—” He stretched his hand out, palm up on the table. But before he was able to say anything else, their pitcher of beer arrived, and the drink sloshed across the table as the woman set it down. Then, without a word of apology, she sauntered away.

  Holden sopped up the liquid with his napkin, and Avery seized her moment.

  “Come to think of it, I think I saw that waitress last week when I was here on a date.”

  Holden nodded as he cleaned the table, urging her on. She’d expected more of a reaction from him. She needed time to think, but her brain scrambled for names, only coming up with characters from late-night talk shows and children’s cartoons. Somehow, she didn’t think Bullwinkle would pass unnoticed.

  She had been on one date since his last tour, but it was definitely not one she’d care to remember or relive. Maybe embellishing the truth would be a better alternative…

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah, his name was Fred Fitzgerald. He’s a fire captain.”

  “You guys hit it off?” Holden sipped his beer, leaning back in his seat. Avery swirled her own drink, not daring to distract herself with it.

  Had she and Fred hit it off? They did as much as one could hit it off with a traveling kitchen wares salesman who insisted on discussing his love of origami and the fine art of crocheting.

  Which was to say, not at all.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if his clammy hands and cold sweat hadn’t haunted her dreams for a week after the end of their date.

  Yes, lying was definitely the best option.

  “Well, the real question is what didn’t we hit it off of, if you know what I mean.” She raised her glass to his, clinking them together before she took a small swig. All the while, she was careful to maintain eye contact.

  That would be the only way to convince him, even if her innuendo made literally no sense outside of sex on a putting green.

  “I’m glad California is agreeing with you.” He sipped his beer.

  That was it? That was all he had to say?

  Avery internally groaned and asked the question she hated hearing the answer to. “How are your folks?”

  “They’re doing well. Mom was promoted to head of the D.A.R.”

  She concentrated every muscle in her body toward not rolling her eyes. The Daughters of the American Revolution. What a laugh. Mrs. Morris had wanted to sign her up, willing the universe to make Avery acceptable enough to associate with her son, no matter how many decades she had to go back in order to legitimize her. But as it turned out, Avery’s family were of French descent and had been dissenters against the American Revolution.

  Add the trailer park and the single mother out of wedlock into the mix, and Mrs. Morris was more than a little gung ho to be rid of Avery Forrester. Not that the woman had ever been one to put much effort into hiding that fact.

  Despite all their history, Avery had never been able to bring herself to tell Holden how she felt about his mother. Besides, she was pretty sure he’d already heard enough straight from the old cow’s mouth.

  “Dad retired from the service. He’s thinking of running for congress next term.”

  “Hmm.” Avery hummed into her beer. It was hardly a shock. Political office was the next natural step for Morris men. Holden had come from a long line of senators and attorney generals. And while they might not have been Kennedys, Holden’s parents were making one hell of an effort to fix that fact with their children.

  “And Tom?” The eldest of the Morris boys was the benchmark by which the others were to live their lives. Perfect wife. Honorable Discharge. The works.

  “Tom is doing well. Jennifer is pregnant again.”

  “What’s that make it now?”

  “This will be their sixth.” He took a pull on his beer.

  “Jeez, it feels like we only went to their wedding four years ago.”

  “We did…” Holden trailed off.

  A waitress dropped by with their tower of hot wings and set the steaming plate in the middle of the table. Avery’s mouth watered. She could already taste the spicy, vinegary succulence. And the best part of all? They wouldn’t have to talk about his horrendous family anymore.

  Or the stranglehol
d they had on Holden’s future.

  Win, win.

  She stacked a few wings onto her plate and began demolishing them systematically, picking through them like a finely tuned machine.

  “Don’t you want some bleu cheese or something to cool that down?”

  He only had one partially picked wing in front of him.

  Amateur.

  “Dressing is for the weak. You have to taste the wing in all its glory.” She crunched down onto another piece, initiating an unspoken competition. He set the dressing in the far corner of the table. Game on.

  “If you can do it, so can I,” he said.

  His mouth curved around the wing as he bit down, his tongue peeking out occasionally to lick the sauce from his mouth. It was so damn distracting that she stared a second too long before she remembered that she intended to win this contest.

  They glowered at each other mockingly as they ate, locked in a silent battle for supremacy. She shucked the chicken between her teeth, half tempted to see if she could toss the bones in her mouth and tie them with her tongue like a cherry stem.

  “You eat like a man,” he said, his mouth stuffed with food.

  “You’re crying like a girl,” she argued. It wasn’t true, but she needed something to goad him with. She’d expected the volcanic spice of the wing to elicit a trail of tears, streaming down his cheeks, but he kept going, sucking down wing after wing without pausing to sip his beer.

  “Just give up.” She laughed.

  “Never,” he grunted and chugged his beer before slamming it back down like Thor in a banquet hall.

  No matter how fast he went, her plate was filled with twice as many bones as his. He stood no chance at victory, and she wasn’t one to throw a game.

  They continued for a while before a pile of twenty-six chicken bones sat on Avery’s plate. She leaned back and licked her fingers with a satisfied smile.

  “Count ’em and weep.”

  “You cheated,” he said, running a wet nap over his hands and pushing his uneaten wings aside.

  She chuckled and ripped open another wet nap, reaching across the table to wipe away the sauce that still lined his chin.