One Week with the Marine (Love on Location)

“You keep doing that, you’re going to make me come,” he said.

“Good.” She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper, ground herself against him. The heat of his body pressing against her was electric—her nipples, her walls, the sensitive skin of her breasts all quickening to high alert with every movement.

His fingers dug into her hips, and he forced her toward him once, twice, and yes, oh

yes, a third time, and every nerve exploded within her, bursting into a power surge. Her toes curled around the lock button of the car, her legs squeezed him in closer, and she came in waves, each pulse of sensation greater than the last.

“Yes,” she cried, breathless as he joined her in release, working her faster and harder. He closed his eyes as he came in desperate spurts. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, their ragged breathing falling into rhythm with each other.

“Welcome home.” She brushed a piece of bedraggled hair from her face, willing herself to open her eyes. She almost reached up to brush her fingertips against the grain of his buzzed hair, but before her forearm was halfway through the air, she stopped herself and dropped her hand to the floor again.

Too intimate.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, unsheathing himself, and kissed each of her nipples, forcing her sensitive skin to respond with a shiver of recognition.

“I missed the girls.” He shrugged his clothes back on.

“Probably better to get acquainted with them later.” She rushed to correct the edge of panic that tinted her voice. When had sex with Holden ever seemed so…personal? Still, she pressed on. “We should probably leave before we get caught.”

“What do you mean? We’ve had sex in your car a bunch of times. Besides, I don’t think security comes out here too often. Did you lose your sense of adventure while I was away?”

She gestured to the updated upholstery, the new plastic, the well-vacuumed floor.

“Does this look like my car to you? No Mardi Gras beads, no old clothes, no bags lying around for no apparent reason. I like you, but nothing is important enough to clean out all that.”

He chortled, only to be cut off by his dawning realization.

“So, wait. We just had sex in a complete stranger’s car?”

“Well, not complete. You can see pictures of their family on the dashboard. They look nice enough.”

He bolted out of the backseat with his shirt unbuttoned, his pants still unzipped. The only way he would have moved faster was if his ass had literally been on fire.

It was kind of adorable.

“Jeez, re-lax. We’re fine. We’ve done way worse stuff than this.”

“We have not had sex in a stranger’s car before.”

“Only in a stranger’s house.” She started pulling on her bottoms, though judging by his frantic waving, her pace was too leisurely for his liking.

“When?” He reached for her bikini top, tossed it toward her, and she began tying the sides. Then he helped her into her coat.

“The open house where we pretended to be Russian emigrants.”

“Nobody really owned that house. At least, not then.”

Avery scoffed. “Whatever. You worry too much.” She scooted out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

She didn’t bother putting her high heels back on as she traipsed through the parking lot. After a short distance, she stopped in front of her faded blue pickup truck and tossed the shoes into the back.

“What, do you want to christen every car in the parking lot?” he asked.

She noted the hopeful tone in his voice.

“This is my new car.”

“Since when do you have a new car?”