Navy Blues

She must have made some kind of sound because Steve paused and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

Carol was incapable of any verbal response. Frantically she shook her head, and his finger continued its deft movements, quickly bringing her to an exploding release. Wave upon wave of seething spasms, each one stronger, each one more intense, overtook every part of her. Whimpering noises escaped from deep within her throat as she climaxed, and the sound propelled Steve into action.

He wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the bed, laying her on top of the rumpled sheets. Not allowing her time to alter her position or rearrange the sheets, Steve moved over her, parted her thighs and quickly impaled her.

His breathing was ragged, barely under control.

Carol’s wasn’t any more even.

He didn’t move, torturing her with an intense longing she had never experienced. Her body was still tingling in the aftermath of one fulfillment and reaching, striving toward another. Her whole person seemed to be filled with anxious expectancy … waiting for something she couldn’t define.

Taking her hands, Steve lifted them above her head and held them prisoner there. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her head. The action thrust him deeper inside Carol. She moaned and thrashed her head against the mattress, then lifted her hips, jerking them a couple of times, seeking more.

“Not yet, love,” he whispered and placed a hand under her head, lifting her mouth to his. Their kiss was wild and passionate, as though their mouths couldn’t give or take enough to satisfy their throbbing need.

Steve shifted his position and completely withdrew his body from hers.

Carol felt as if she’d suddenly gone blind; the whole world seemed black and lifeless. She started to protest, started to cry out, but before the sound escaped her throat, Steve sank his manhood back inside her. A shaft of pure light filled her senses once more and she sighed audibly, relieved. She was whole again, free.

“Now,” Steve told her. “Now.” He moved eagerly then, in deep, calculated strokes, plunging into her again and again, gifting her with the sun, revealing the heavens, exploring the universe. Soon all Carol knew was this insistent warm friction and the sweet, indescribable pangs of pleasure. Her body trembled as ripple after ripple of deep, pure sensation pulsed over her, driving her crazy as she remembered what had nightly been hers.

Breathless, Steve moved to lie beside her, bringing her into the circle of his arms. An hour passed, it seemed, before he spoke. “Was it always this good?”

The whispered question was so low Carol had to strain to hear him. “Yes,” she answered after a long, timeless moment. “Always.”

He pressed his forehead against the top of her head and moaned. “I was afraid of that.” The next thing Carol was aware of was a muffled curse and the unsettling sound of something heavy crashing to the floor.

“Steve?” she sat up in bed and reached for a sheet to cover her nakedness. The room was dark and still. Dread filled her—it couldn’t be morning. Not yet, not so soon.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You’re leaving?” She sent her hand searching for the lamp on the nightstand. It clicked and a muted light filled the room.

“I’ve got the watch today,” he reminded her.

“What time is it?”

“Carol, listen,” he said gruffly, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” All the while he was speaking, Steve’s fingers were working the buttons of his shirt and having little success in getting it to fasten properly. “Call what happened last night what you will—the holiday spirit, a momentary slip in my better judgment … whatever. I’m sure you feel the same way.” He paused and turned to study her.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her raised knees. Her heart was in her throat, and she felt shaken and miserable. “Yes, of course.”

His mouth thinned and he turned his back to her once more. “I thought as much. The best thing we can do is put the entire episode out of our minds.”

“Right,” she answered, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. It was working out exactly as she’d planned it: they would both wake up in the morning, feel chagrined, make their apologies and go their separate ways once more.

Only it didn’t feel the way she’d anticipated. It felt wrong. Very wrong.

Steve was in the living room before she moved from the bed. Grabbing a thin robe from her closet, she slipped into it as she rushed after him.

He seemed to be waiting for her, pacing the entryway. He combed his fingers through his hair a couple of times before turning to look at her.

“So you want to forget last night?” he asked.

“I … if you do,” she answered.

“I do.”

Carol’s world toppled for a moment, then quickly righted itself. She understood—it was better this way. “Thank you for the poinsettia and candy.” It seemed inappropriate to mention the terrific lovemaking.

“Right.” His answer was clipped, as though he was eager to be on his way. “Thanks for the dinner … and everything else.”

“No problem.” Stepping around him, Carol opened the door. “It was good to see you again, Steve.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

He walked out of the house and down the steps, and watching him go did crazy things to Carol’s equilibrium. Suddenly she had to lean against the doorjamb just to remain upright. Something inside her, something strong and more powerful than her own will demanded that she stop him.

“Steve,” she cried frantically. She stood on tiptoe. “Steve.”

He turned around abruptly.

They stared at each other, each battle scarred and weary, each hurting. Each proud.

“Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

“Merry Christmas.”

* * *

Three days after Christmas, Carol was convinced her plan had worked perfectly. Thursday morning she woke feeling sluggish and sick to her stomach. A book she’d been reading on pregnancy and childbirth stated that the best way to relieve those early bouts of morning sickness was to nibble on soda crackers first thing—even before getting out of bed.

A burning sense of triumph led her into the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror as though her reflection would proudly announce she was about to become a mother.

It had been so easy. Simple really. One tempestuous night of passion and the feat was accomplished. Her hand rested over her abdomen, and she patted it gently, feeling both proud and awed. A new life was being nurtured there.

A baby. Steve’s child.

The wonder of it produced a ready flow of emotion and tears dampened her eyes.

Another symptom!

The book had explained that her emotions could be affected by the pregnancy—that she might be more susceptible to tears.

Wiping the moisture from the corners of her eyes, Carol strolled into the kitchen and searched the cupboard for saltines. She found a stale package and forced herself to eat two, but she didn’t feel any better than she had earlier.

Not bothering to dress, she turned on the television and made herself a bed on the sofa. Boeing workers were given the week between Christmas and New Year’s off as part of their employment package. Carol had planned to spend the free time painting the third bedroom—the one she planned to use for the baby. Unfortunately she didn’t have any energy. In fact, she felt downright sick, as though she were coming down with a case of the flu.

A lazy smile turned up the edges of her mouth. She wasn’t about to complain. Nine months from now, she would be holding a precious bundle in her arms.