by Holley Trent
Around age twenty or so, she had gained an appreciation for the great love her parents shared--the one that had her father, not a wealthy man by any means--making repeated drives down to Houston where her mother lived as a young woman until she finally relented and let him take her out. And it wasn't that Nicola had been protesting so much. They were just so different. She was Salvadoran with German Jewish ancestry. Harold was a Southern black man, raised in the Baptist church, and couldn't understand much of what the woman was saying. Still, from the time he met her at the little kosher grocery store her father owned, they'd clicked. They were each other's one great love, even if a lot of what they said was lost in translation early on.
Marilyn opened the door. She leaned against the little wall between the bathroom and the greater room and cleared her throat.
Carter lay on the bed, twirling the cuffs around one index finger. He stopped twirling when he saw her. "Holy shit, woman." He sat up as she sashayed over to him.
"You like what you see?" she asked, borrowing his own line and tossing it back at him.
"I'd be dead if I didn't." He tossed the cuffs onto the nightstand and drew her between his parted legs. He ran his hands down her back and caressed her lace-clad rear. "Damn, girl. I'm kind of offended you've chosen this method of distraction. Do I look that easy?" He hooked his thumbs around the elastic at the tops of her thighs and worked her panties down.
"Yes."
He chuckled and pressed his nose against the soft curls he exposed one centimeter at a time. "I've wanted this since I was seventeen. Cut me some slack if I seem enthusiastic."
She had to hand it to him. He'd never pushed her. Sure, they'd discussed sex a few times and came damn close to it on several occasions, but he had never gotten angry or impatient when she pulled back. She was the one who'd decided prom night would be it…until it wasn't.
"So, you're going to screw me tonight and hand me over in the morning?"
He pulled back. "Whoa! You started this tango. I just said yes to the dance."
"Charming." She slapped his hands away from her panty elastic and hiked her underwear back up with a growl.
He let out a long sigh and shook his head. When she moved away he put his feet back up on the bed and resumed his former television perusal.
She crawled under the covers at the space to his right and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
"I imagine you'll keep your hands to yourself?"
He didn't even look at her. "I'll be a gentleman."
*
Carter got hot all of a sudden and forced one heavy eyelid open, then the other. He let his eyes adjust to the dark and his brain recalibrate to remind him where he'd fallen asleep. There was a naked leg slung over his, an arm draped across his chest, and a face jammed into the crook of his neck, constantly blowing hot, tickling breath onto him. At some point during the night, Marilyn had bridged the wide gap between them on the king bed and sidled up to him for a cuddle. He was happy to oblige her, but suspected if she woke to find him enjoying her warmth as much as she obviously was his, she'd likely balk.
He wanted to savor the sensation of her soft skin against his once again if only for a moment. But as right, good, as it felt--he worried it was something that wasn't meant to last. If it had been, he would have followed her when she ran off that ill-fated prom evening.
He buried his nose in the lush halo of her hair and inhaled the heady, fruity scent that hadn't changed in all those years. He relaxed into the comfort of it--the sameness that anchored past to present. He wrapped his fingers around the hand she'd draped over his trunk and gave them a squeeze. "Is that all that's stayed the same?" he whispered to himself.
What had happened to his smiling, trusting Marilyn? The one who used to run and jump for him to catch her when they met in their secret, special spots? Again, he wondered if he'd been the one to spur that change in her. And then he scoffed, thinking it was self-centered of him to keep assuming it had to be about him. He didn't know what she had endured in the ten years since they were together, any more than she did him.
He felt almost like it was that first day in the field house before baseball practice when she, lost, had accidentally bumped into him. He'd directed her to the track try-outs she'd been looking for, gave her a corny pick-up line only she could hear, and watched long enough to see the freshman he'd never paid any attention to smoke at least three senior girls in the hundred-yard dash. Her fleeing into the cornfield suddenly seemed like a very appropriate maneuver. With his mass he'd never catch up.
He chuckled and worked his right arm under her waist.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, but didn't pull away. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Her voice was a husky whisper like the one she sometimes fell into during their late-night phone marathons.
He'd thought about that voice often when he was deployed overseas. He'd yearned to hear it, and his heart would break all over again when he remembered she wasn't his girl anymore. Never had been, really.
"I was just thinking about what a stupid kid I was."
She sighed and closed her eyes once more. "That's sort of the job description for being a kid."
"You still mad at me?"
"No. Not mad. When I think back, I remember the hurt, but I guess I can't blame you for siding with your family. Wasn't worth you being put out."
"I think it would have been worth it."
She gave her head a delicate shake.
"Why not?"
"I think…I think kids are capable of being in love. I do, and I loved you." She opened her eyes and looked at him as if to accentuate that point. "But, I also think love is different when kids grow up. Some relationships don't survive the change. Kids need time apart to grow into themselves and sometimes the parties involved don't like each other anymore." She ran gentle fingertips down his shirted chest and stopped just over his navel.
"Yeah. It's kind of like starting from scratch."
"Mm-hmm." She brought her hand back up and laced it through his loose hair. "Why'd you grow it out? Didn't peg you for the type."
He laughed. "I wasn't. Just didn't feel like bothering after my contract ended and I got used to it."
"Contract?"
"Yeah. Did my eight years in the Marines, wandered around for a while, and took the bond enforcement gig as a favor to a friend."
"I don't want to go to jail."
"No one wants to go to jail, baby."
"I didn't do it."
"I don't believe you did, but running makes your case look worse. Trust me."
She propped herself up onto her elbows. Her bright eyes had a wary glint. "You really think I'm innocent?"
"Of course." He used the pad of his right thumb to wipe away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. "You think I could fall in love with a girl who had the potential to be an arsonist?"
She scoffed. "I don't know what kind of people you've fallen in love with since high school."
"Not a damn soul, that's what kind."
She nudged his ribs with her right elbow. "Shut up."
"Dead serious, Mar. You left a big-ass impression on my heart. I feel like a punk for even admitting it, but there you go."
"You're full of shit."
He shook his head. "Nope. Started asking around about you when I got back Stateside, and you were always with someone. I figured you wouldn't want to dredge up the past, anyway."
"Why don't you let me decide that?" She leaned in closer so the tips of their noses touched. She grazed her lips against his and pulled back a few inches. "You remember how we used to kiss until our lips chapped?"
He smiled at the memory. "Yeah."
"Let's do that. Call it a last request before I get tossed into the slammer." Her eyes sparkled in the faint light and there was a hint of mischief evident in her lopsided grin.
Nothing wrong with a little mischief, the way he saw it. He laced his fingers through the back of her hair and drew her head closer to his.
> "I've got a fresh tube of lip balm in my truck."
CHAPTER FIVE
Carter's body was amazing. Marilyn had a perfect understanding of such as she undressed him and slowly skimmed her lips down his body, past the hard planes of his chest, down to the rippled washboard that was his belly, and down a muscular thigh toward his bare foot. He'd had been the only man she'd ever been with who'd taken such exquisite care of himself. He was strong without being bulky, and looked just as good in clothes as out.
She made her way up the opposite leg and when she'd finished with that thigh, she laid on top of his chest to access his lips again.
He slid hands up to her spine and unclasped her bra in one deft flick. He cupped her breasts and grazed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples.
She put her head back and moaned as his light touch sent tiny, pleasurable shocks down her spine.
"You used to giggle when I did that," he said, pushing himself up on his elbows to take one pert nipple into his mouth.
"I'm all grown up now."
He'd obviously learned a trick or two himself. His tongue was slow, yet relentless in circling around her nipples--keeping them stiff and peaked in between tantalizing scrapes of his teeth. He sat all the way up so her breasts pressed against his naked chest, her crotch against his erection. He slid her panties down over her hips and pushed her away from him by the waist, back just enough to slide the fabric down to her knees.
He trailed is fingers down from her navel, skipping the delicate mound of flesh at the top of her sex and diving right in to the slick folds, probing at her entrance gently, borrowing its wetness. He teased her, rubbing his fingers up and down the slit, undoing her bit by bit. When his thumb found her clit, she hissed and grabbed his shoulders.
"Doesn't take much for you, does it Mar?" he crooned as he plunged a finger inside. Her nails cut into his back.
"Oh, I could go all night," she lied. Maybe it had been true for her with her ex. She wasn't so sure how many rounds she could go with a man hung like a red stallion. Perhaps half a round. If she lasted beyond the breech, she promised to treat herself to a cookie as a reward. She chuckled at the thought. Were there cookies in jail? Would she have to save up her bread and juice and fashion her own desserts when the guards weren't looking?
"Wanna let me in on the joke, Mar?" He picked her up and laid her on her back, hovering next to her on his knees.
"I'm sorry. It's not you. I'm a little bit hysterical."
"Well, shit, I know the cure for that. It's ages-old. Well-documented."
"What is it?"
She felt the mattress shift and her body roll a bit toward the middle of the bed as he scooted off the edge. She heard the sound of a belt buckle clicking, then the heavy thud of the pants hitting the floor again. A rip, then a groan as he rolled on a condom.
"I think I might have your solution in mind," she said, rubbing her hands up his thighs as he straddled her.
"Mm-hmm." He bent over and crushed her lips, tamed her tongue with his own.
She was so busy fighting him for some scant bit of control, she hardly noticed when his thick head probed at her entrance. When his hand traced down her ribs, over her hipbone, and across her thigh to guide his cock, she cleared the fog from her brain and wrapped her right leg around his thigh, angling her pelvis up to meet him.
He slipped into her slowly, carefully, giving her body time to adjust to his girth, all the while probing her mouth with his tongue, rendering her breathless.
She was definitely feeling less hysterical. In fact, she was feeling downright crazed. He was moving so slow it was damn near torturous. She pulled back from his mouth and sucked in a breath.
"Carter?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not going to break me."
"You really want your memory of us finally coming together to be of me screwing you into the headboard or do you want me to actually make love to you?" He pulled himself out slowly, edged back in at an even more glacial pace.
She shuddered. "Can't you do both? They're not mutually exclusive."
"I thought you had more pride than that, baby. Figured you'd want to walk into the police station tomorrow on your own two feet and not be carried in over my shoulder." He thrust into her a bit more, hitting her very limit and making her toes curl. She whimpered.
"If we're not going to do this again, I'd like the headboard pound, please."
"Who said we're not doing it again?" He pulled out to the head, even more slowly than before.
"I'm probably going to get convicted, Carter. I could spend a year in jail. Maybe more if the judge doesn't like my attitude."
"You're not going to jail. I keep telling you. Let the system do its job." Another hard thrust that made her gasp. "'Sides, even if you end up serving some time, we can just pick up where we left off when you get out."
She didn't know how to feel about that. She didn't spend much time thinking about it, because there he was again, pulling out of her.
"Carter!" she snapped.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to jail, so do me a favor and screw me hard until I tell you to stop."
He chuckled and the action made his cock move faster in her than it had during their entire comingling.
She grabbed his ass and pulled him into her.
"All right, baby," he said, wrapping her other leg around his back and still chuckling. "Have it your way."
*
Carter thought Marilyn was the most responsive woman he'd ever made love to, which was really saying something. Every little moan she made, every pant, every time she clawed at his back or tipped her chin back, he felt a little hotter…a little harder. God, she wanted it bad, and he was willing to give it. But even through all that pleasure, his mind was racing. Some small part of his brain kept making little comparisons. This Marilyn, this grown-up one growling his name was a far different creature than the sweet one in the pink party dress and strappy sandals he'd let run away years ago. Although teenaged Carter had liked teenaged Marilyn a whole lot, grown-up Carter thought this wicked little woman beneath him was something special, too. Different, but still Marilyn. His Marilyn. He hoped.
From the looks of her, he didn't think she was going to last much longer, but she was trying hard to hang in there even as her breathing became ragged, and her body shuddered with each thrust he piled into her. It was as if the sensation was novel to her and she was desperately clinging to the last vestiges of pleasure for fear she'd never experience it again. If he had his way, she'd experience it again soon and then often thereafter.
He wasn't going to last much longer himself, especially not with the way she was squeezing his cock inside her, so he slipped an arm under her waist and angled her up just a bit more, allowing himself more depth.
Her thighs clamped his waist as her body began to shake beneath his. He increased his pace, his rhythm falling apart more and more as she clenched his cock tighter. Finally, she came, and as she sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her scream, he had his release.
He fell onto the bed beside her, adding his panting to hers to form a hoarse, breathy chorus. Neither moved for a long while, and neither talked. Usually, the women talked. He reached an arm across the bed and draped it over her belly. He pulled her closer. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself."
"You okay? I break anything?"
She laughed. "I don't know. Ask me when the adrenaline's worn off. If the light were on right now, you'd see the big ol' grin on my face."
"Mine's pretty big right now, too." He got up and walked to the bathroom to discard his condom. He turned on the light, cleaned up, and poked his head out the bathroom to ask her if she needed anything.
She was lying on her belly, arms spread to her sides, lips slightly parted, asleep.
He shook his head. "Nice. Thought that was my role."
CHAPTER SIX
Marilyn loved the way Carter's body felt spooning the back of hers. They were like two puzzle pieces cut
from the same block. She hated to move. She hated it, but still, she carefully picked up the heavy arm draped over her waist and slipped from beneath it. She laid him arm carefully on the bed and pulled the sheet up over him. He didn't stir. She picked through the commingled pile of clothes on the floor to find her own and slipped into them slowly, quietly, being very careful not to make any movements that were too fast that could potentially rouse her lover's slumber.
She patted his jeans pockets, found her keys, and tiptoed out of the hotel room. Downstairs, she exited through the back door and made a beeline for her car, blowing out a deep breath of relief in the early morning light.
She felt conflicted. Part of her was moved by Carter's trust that the system would do its job. He was a Marine: he believed in order, structure--turning chaos into something sensible. But she knew that sometimes the universe shit on people, and at the moment she was the dumpee. All she was doing was getting out of the way to avoid the brunt of the impact.
She held up her clicker to unlock her car door, then stopped when she got a good look at the vehicle. Her tires seemed a bit deflated. She walked around the car. All four. She kicked the front left wheel. "Damn it!"
"Baby, you may have got me twice, but I was just getting warmed up yesterday. I'm all better now," Carter said as he came through the back door shirtless, barefooted, wearing only his jeans. He unlocked his truck and opened the passenger door, then walked over to Marilyn, slapped one end of the handcuffs closed around her right wrist, and escorted her to the open truck door. There, he slapped the other end of the cuffs closed around the inside door handle. He bent down, gently framing her face with his hands, and gave her a tender kiss on the lips. "Good mornin'." With a wink, he retreated into the hotel.
Twenty minutes later, he returned, dressed, carrying the backpack she had abandoned, and bearing an envelope in one hand. He tossed the backpack into the crew cab and handed her the envelope. "There's your deposit. Don't spend it all in once place."