Navy Woman (Navy #4)

They ordered a fancy meal, but Royce noted that neither of them seemed to have much of an appetite once the food arrived. So his gutsy Catherine was nervous, too. Royce found that endearing, and he was charmed by her all the more.

What they really needed to get things rolling, Royce decided when he set the food tray outside their door, was the front seat of a car. The thought produced a wide grin, one he suspected would have made the Cheshire cat proud.

"You're smiling," Catherine said when he returned. "What's so amusing?"

"Us. Come here, woman, I'm tired of pussyfooting around this. I want to make love to you, and I'm not waiting any longer." He held his arms open to her, and she walked toward him, slipping tidily into his embrace. They fit together perfectly. Royce believed they had been created for each other. For a cure for all the lonely, barren years he'd spent alone. Years she'd spent alone.

He kissed her once gently and felt her breath, hot and fiery, against his throat. One kiss and Royce was suddenly as weak as a newborn kitten. It didn't help matters any to have her snuggle against him, her skin silky and warm.

Royce's hands were trembling as he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. Catherine straightened and raised her arms so he could lift the silky garment over her head. It slipped right off, and she rewarded him for his efforts by trailing her lips over the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders, her tongue slipping over the hollow of his throat.

Royce closed his eyes to the deluge of feelings. His heart started to pound, but that wasn't his only reaction. His whole body had started throbbing. He couldn't remove his clothes fast enough. Once his shirt was free of his waistband, Catherine took over for him, slowly, too slowly to suit him, unfastening the buttons one by one. She sighed softly and fanned her hands across his chest, her nails innocently tugging against the hairs of his chest like a kitten yearning for attention.

"Oh, Royce... Kiss me, please kiss me."

He caught his breath and then did as she asked, spreading hot kisses across her delicate shoulders, then up the side of her exquisite neck until their mouths met in a burst of spontaneous combustion that was so fierce it threatened to consume them both.

Her tongue shyly met his, and he groaned, the sound rough and masculine to his own ears. Catherine moaned, too, and it was the most sensual, erotic whimper Royce had ever heard. He had to touch her, had to feel for himself her excitement, had to taste it and know she wanted him as desperately as he hungered for her.

His hands massaged her back, and he was gratified to realize she'd removed her bra. She leaned into him, absorbing what little strength he possessed, and looped her arms around his neck. Royce's hands cupped her breasts. They were soft and full, so mar-velously lush and round. The nipples instantly pearled, and the feel of them puckering, hardening, then scraping against his palms as she moved against him sent a wave of molten sensation over him.

Royce raised his head and judged the distance to the bed. Lifting her into his arms, Royce stalked across the carpet like a warrior hauling his conquest into the middle of camp.

He pressed Catherine onto the mattress and then joined her, being sure he didn't suffocate her with his weight.

He kissed her again and again, so many times he lost count, so many times that she melted against him, her eyes pleading with him for the completion they both sought.

Royce couldn't wait another moment, another second. His hands caught the sides of her lace panties and dragged them down her silken legs. He rolled aside long enough to glide open the zipper of his slacks and ease them over his own hips.

Once they were both free of restrictive clothing, he knelt over her. Her eyes were golden, hot with need. Royce nearly groaned just looking at her, just feeling the heat radiating from her smooth ivory skin.

She raised her hand to his face, her fingertips grazing his cheekbone. "Love me," she whispered. "Just love me."

Her words, her touch were all the inducement Royce needed. He positioned himself over her, using his thighs to part hers. She opened to him without reserve, without restraint.

By all that was holy, Royce didn't know where he found the strength to go slowly, to linger, prolonging the moment. Her eyes held his as he pushed forward, gliding the throbbing, aching staff of his manhood into her.

If he were ever going to die from pleasure, it would have been at that moment. Catherine was ready for him, waiting for him, so sweet and hot and moist, Royce knew in a heartbeat that he dare not move.

His eyes returned to hers, which were half-closed as she, too, drank in the exquisite tumult. After giving her a moment to adjust to him, Royce continued easing himself into her until she had taken in all of him.

Breathing hard, Catherine raised her knees and bucked beneath him. Royce groaned aloud as a flash of white-hot pleasure shot through him. Unable to endure much more, he pushed forward and was nearly consumed with the second wave of moist, hot bliss. When his eyes connected with Catherine, he noted that she was biting hard into her lower lip.

"I'm hurting you?" He didn't know if her reaction was one of pleasure or pain.

"No...oh, no," she whispered. "I never knew anything could feel this good."

"This is only the beginning," he promised. He closed his eyes in order to savor every sensation, drink in every fiery aspect of their lovemaking.

He honestly meant to go slow. He had to, he felt, in order to fully appreciate the magic between them. But once he started to rotate his hips, he was lost. Lost in pleasure. Lost in the storm, but he wasn't alone. Catherine clung to him, answering each bold thrust with one of her own.

It was a storm. One of need. One of fury and frenzy. It came on quickly, with such intensity that Royce was pitched from one world to another until he realized there was no slowing down, no going back. No stopping. Not for heaven, not for hell. For pain or for pleasure.

His climax came as a searing completion, far too quickly to suit Royce. He didn't want it to end, not now. Not so soon.

Catherine's labored breathing matched his own, and the sound of it was the only thing that shattered the silence as they both burned in the wake of the sweetest tempest Royce had ever known.

Royce woke around three to the sounds of Catherine singing. She was taking a shower. In the middle of the night no less.

Grinning, he rolled onto his back and raised his arms, cupped his head beneath his hands. They'd made love twice and then fallen into an exhausted sleep. The last thing Royce remembered was Catherine snuggling close to him, berating the fact she had yet to put on the special lace nightie she'd bought for their wedding night.

She came out of the bathroom and was bent over, briskly rubbing a towel over her wet hair. When she raised her head, she noted that Royce was lying in bed, watching her. Something he was sure she'd enjoy doing for many more years yet to come.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"As a matter of fact, you did." She had on the skimpiest nightie he'd ever seen. Although he was exhausted and physically drained, seeing her in that slip of black lace seriously threatened his composure.

"I apologize. I guess I shouldn't have started singing, but I just couldn't help myself...I don't know when I've been so happy. I don't think I ever want to leave this room."

Royce was thinking much along those same lines himself. He held out his arms. "Come here, woman."

Surprised, she glanced toward the bathroom. "I was going to blow-dry my hair."

"Later. You woke me, and there's a penance to be paid."

"But, Royce, it's the middle of the night. We've already...you know...several times."

"Come here." He grew impatient waiting for her. He rolled off the bed, walked over to where she was standing and removed the towel from her head, letting it fall to the carpet. He threaded her wet hair through his splayed fingers, cherishing the feel of her, so warm and moist. That caused him to think of other places on her delectable body that were warm and moist, too.

"What are you doing?"

"What am I doing now or what do I intend to do later?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively.

"We've already done everything there is to do," she announced primly.

"Is that a fact." He kissed her, sweeping his mouth across hers and giving her a taste of his tongue.

"Well, maybe not everything," she amended. He nibbled his way across her jaw to her earlobe and whispered seductive promises to her. He smiled, loving it when she responded with a sharp gasp.

"Royce... Why that's indecent."

"Oh, really." He kissed her a second time, sliding his tongue across the parted seam of her lips. Once more he captured the lobe of her ear between his teeth and sucked lightly. Then he whispered what he intended to do to her in a very short while.

"Royce!" Her eyes went wide. He loved watching her cheeks turn a fetching shade of pink.

Royce couldn't help it, he laughed. "And not just once, either. I have a lot of time to make up for, and you, my dear, sweet wife, have fallen right into my hands."

"But I...oh, Royce," she moaned as he traced a row of moist kisses across her face until he found her lips. The kiss was wet and wild. Wild and sweet.

His hands were busy trying to figure out how to take off the flimsy black nightie she wore. He eased the satin straps down her shoulders. She worked her arms free for him until he could remove the top completely, liberating her luscious breasts. He slid his palms over their fullness. Up and down, savoring her softness. Her femininity.

Unable to wait a moment longer, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, pressing her into the mattress. His body followed, covering hers. Instinctively she opened to him, and he entered her in one swift movement.

Catherine moaned.

Royce sighed.

Then the storm took over and they moved as one to hold back the torrent, or perhaps to bring it on—

Royce didn't know which. The world went spinning out of control, a hurricane of wild need that consumed them both.

Catherine woke slowly. A serene smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she rolled onto her back and raised her arms high above her head, as content as Sambo stretching after taking a long nap in the sunlight. Instinctively she rolled onto her side, seeking the warmth and comfort of Royce's body.

The space beside her was empty, however. And cold. Her eyes opened, and sadness settled over her, blocking out the early-morning sunlight.

They'd spent less than five nights together. Five nights out of a lifetime, and she continued to search for him. At night she tossed restlessly in her sleep, seeking his warmth, seeking his strength. No one had warned her how dangerously addictive it was to sleep with a husband.

Royce and Kelly were in Norfolk and had been for two weeks. They communicated often. Letters arrived nearly every day, and their phone bill rivaled the defense budget. Yet Catherine found the grating loneliness inescapable.

She didn't know which was worse. Loving Royce and being forced to hide the way she felt behind a deluge of Navy regulations or being married to him and separated by two thousand endless miles.

It wouldn't be any worse if Royce were stationed aboard one of the submarines, at least that was what she told herself. They'd be apart for months on end. Just the way they were now.

Before he and Kelly had left for Norfolk, they'd made plans for Catherine to join them over the Christmas holidays. That wasn't so long to wait.