Free Southern Spirits by Edie Bingham Page A

pressing against her side. Blindly she reached down between him to touch him.
    She wanted him to know, clearly, that she would be doing more to send him off for two years to an army base in Germany than just kiss him. She knew she could get pregnant, but didn’t rightly care. Everyone would know it was Enrique’s anyway; they had been together since they were nine, half a lifetime ago, and they’d be married once his Selective Service finished.
    Still kissing her, Enrique reached up between them, squeezed and stroked her aching breasts until they felt as if they would pop out of her underwear. Her head spinning, Val reached behind her and fumbled with the buttons to her dress, moaning into his mouth to give her a moment to manage this and not waste any more time. He obliged, never drawing away from her as she slipped her dress off her shoulders and wiggled it to her feet, leaving her in her all-constricting bra, slip, panties, stockings and shoes.
    She felt herself blush seven shades. Though Enrique had seen her in the flesh when they’d been skinny-dipping in the lake behind their houses, this was different. And Daddy wasnearby, sitting in the next carriage, waiting for her to return from her alleged trip to the lavatory. Damn him. Damn him for accompanying Enrique and her to Willoughby to see him off, and not giving them one final moment together alone. If they hadn’t found this empty berth . . .
    â€˜Val,’ he breathed, reaching up to touch her charm, the round brass charm that had been in her mother’s family for generations. She hoped he wasn’t going to waste time asking her to remove it.
    Then his touch dropped, as if drained by the power of the charm, to her bared midriff, for a moment, slowly and delicately. He gasped, his breath quickening as his lips returned to hers, and his hand lingered, then descended between her legs, touching her through her panties.
    Oh sweet God, it was so intense . . . she pushed against his fingers, reminded of those few furtive times when she had guiltily touched herself down there. This was far more immoral.
    And it would get even more immoral in the next few minutes, if she had her way. The Christian discipline her father had imprinted on her warned of damnation for acts like this.
    But she also knew, with equal fervent resolve, that she could live a long regretful life if something happened to him and she didn’t take this chance, here and now. He was the only thing that gave her life meaning, the only thing to make her get up in the morning.
    To want him. So much.
    Val drew down her panties, keeping his eyes on hers so as not to exacerbate her modesty, not needing to prompt Enrique now to be bold and touch her, to go further than they ever dared in the past. He cupped her mound, feeling her hairs press into his palm as his middle finger settled into her groove, feeling how wet she was at her entrance. A moment’s gatheringof more courage, and she pushed herself down on him, letting him pierce her, enter her with his finger.
    She gasped and clung to him, unbelieving of the sensations it produced, and she shamelessly wanted more, grinding against him, arching her head to one side to let him kiss and suckle on her neck, uncaring if he left marks. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, reached inside and grasped him, drew him out and stroked his hard length. Oh Lord, Val wanted to do this for hours, days, take time to explore each other fully, completely.
    But they couldn’t!
    Driven by hunger as well as desperation, Val pulled back from his kisses, gasping, ‘Bed . . . bed . . .’
    Enrique grunted, understanding, then gently released her as they made their way to the bare bed. Val lay back, keeping her eyes on Enrique’s to avoid further bursts of modesty as she spread her legs beneath him.
    Enrique smiled, slipping out of his shoes, his trousers and underwear, and then positioned himself above her and lowered