Back and forth, Barbara stroked her fist. On the down stroke she felt her hand pressing into the soft, wrinkled flesh of his scrotum. At the height of the upstroke, she surrounded the shiny head of his penis.
'Oh, yeah,' he grunted. 'That's good, baby. But now I've got something else for us to do.'
Lance pressed Barbara down onto her back and then spread her legs apart. He could tell her vagina was ready by the way it glistened from an excess of lubricant. Holding his penis in his hand, he aimed it toward the entrance of her pussy. He lowered his hips, and slowly he slipped his manhood inside her.
It felt so good to Barbara that she thought she would burst with delight. Lance's penis filled her so full. She abandoned herself to the wonderful feelings coursing through her body, responding to his fevered strokes passionately.
Higher and higher she drifted until a cascade of bright lights and rippling spasms enveloped her. She could feel Lance's semen smoldering in the depths of her vagina, and it felt tremendously satisfying.
Lance made her feel so good that for the rest of the evening she didn't think about the blueprints or foreign agents for a moment.
CHAPTER SIX
Spy! Spy! Spy! The word traveled through the Courier building with the rapidity of a brush fire leaping across the prairie. Everyone whom Barbara encountered that Monday morning was carrying a copy of the early edition. Her own paper was already dog-eared from having been read and reread.
'Soviet Agent Apprehended!' the banner shrieked, and under Lance Shelby's byline the story was dramatically revealed. The city police, acting on a tip from 'your reporter,' had placed Alexei Litvinov under arrest. An alerted FBI had already taken over custody of the suspected spy, and it was intimated that charges of espionage would be leveled against him. Definite proof of Litvinov's illicit activities, Lance wrote, had been placed in the hands of the federal authorities.
Although the nature of the proof was not described, Barbara guessed that this must pertain to the compromising photograph in Lance's possession.
He certainly left no doubt in anyone's mind as to who should be credited with the arrest, she thought with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
References to 'your reporter' were sprinkled liberally throughout the article. Even though it was Barbara who had been instrumental in the agent's identification, no mention was made of her participation. Actually, she felt rather relieved that her name had not appeared in the newspaper account. Melinda regarded Lance as her own special property-and Whit might not have understood, either.
In any event, the date had supplied the answer to a point which Barbara had found perplexing. Greg's theory that the blueprints were at one time secreted aboard the Albatross explained why the houseboat was being searched. But Lance Shelby's apartment had also been ransacked. Now she realized that while Alexei Litvinov would have given a great deal to gain possession of the blue prints, his primary concern undoubtedly was to unearth the telltale photograph. No wonder 'Mr. Smith' had gone to such desperate lengths in his attempts to buy the Albatross!
Melinda's pointed comment about the unopened mail brought her sharply back to earth. What a relief, Barbara thought, reaching for the letter opener, to have all the riddles solved. Well-all but one. There was still no clue as to the person who had purloined the vital documents. But that was a matter for the FBI. Now maybe Whit could redecorate his houseboat in peace-and she could concentrate on her job!
A few days later, the preparations for the wedding began in earnest. Lengthy consultations with florists, caterers, and photographers went on from morning till night, and strains of the 'Wedding March' and 'O Promise Me' echoed continuously from behind the door of the sun room, where Regina's Aunt Louise had taken over temporary possession of the piano.
'Do you realize,' Regina gasped, bursting into Barbara's bedroom on Thursday evening, 'that we haven't even selected the bridesmaids' gowns yet? I put it off because Fran Harris left on vacation just before you arrived, and it went completely out of my mind!'
'That's not much of a problem,' Barbara said. 'Tobin's is having a sale. Now that the June brides are all married off, we can get the dresses for half price. You're right, though,' she admitted with a laugh when Regina- groaned despairingly, 'we really ought to see about them. Since the wedding is only two weeks away, I suppose we'd better not wait for the quarter price sale.'
Regina plopped down on the bed. 'Barbara, how can you joke at a time like this?'
'It's easy-I'm not the bride-to-be!' Barbara had been sewing buttons onto a sweater. Now she set aside her needle and looked questioningly at her friend.
'You've been awfully nervous lately, Regina,' she said. 'Is it just those famous pre-matrimonial jitters, or is something else the matter? I'd like to help if I can.'
Regina laughed shakily. 'You're imagining things,' she insisted. Then her composure crumbled. 'Or maybe I am. It's Greg. He-he's seemed so withdrawn and preoccupied these past few days. He can be sitting right in the same room with me, and his mind is a million miles away.'
'Oh, I see.' Barbara stared reflectively out of her bedroom window. The inlet was masked by close-growing trees, and the twilight effectively camouflaged any lights which might have twinkled aboard the Albatross.
'You mustn't worry,' she said gently. 'I think Greg is troubled about something that happened in Port Dixon shortly before his discharge. I heard him discussing it with Whit.'
Regina looked enormously relieved. 'I'm glad to hear that. I was afraid he was trying to think of a diplomatic way to call off the wedding!' Curiously, she added, 'What did happen in Port Dixon?'
'The blueprints for a new atomic submarine were stolen. There is a possibility that the man who was arrested the other night might have had something to do with the theft.'
'Spies!' Regina shuddered distastefully. 'Thank goodness the FBI knows how to deal with people like that. Now,' she reverted to her original concern, 'what are we going to do about those dresses?'
'The stores are open tomorrow night. Why don't you and Fran meet me downtown after work?' Barbara suggested.
The next afternoon at five o'clock the three girls met outside the Courier building. Strolling along arm in arm, Barbara swapped news with Fran Harris, the pert redhead who was to be Regina's other bridal attendant. They had all gone through school together, and since Barbara and Fran had not seen each other in two years, they found a great deal to talk about.
Luckily, Tobin's had a wide selection of bridesmaids' gowns left in stock. The girls had some difficulty in deciding which style and color they preferred, but finally they narrowed down the choice to a jacketed gown of mist-green taffeta and a lovely flaring chiffon in a heavenly shade of peacock blue.
'I believe the blue number suits both of you better.' The saleswoman voiced her experienced opinion. 'And aren't you fortunate to need no alterations? I wish I were a perfect size twelve.'
After another quarter hour of twisting and turning before the full-length mirror, Barbara and Fran agreed that the saleswoman's advice was sound. They had the blue dresses carefully wrapped in layers of tissue paper and then, to complete the ensembles, they chose simple satin pumps and wide picture hats in a matching shade.
I wonder how Whit will like me in it, Barbara thought, juggling her parcels. A flush warmed her cheeks as she realized how very much she was looking forward to walking down the aisle as his partner after the marriage ceremony.
The past week had been so crowded that she had seen very little of the good-looking ex-sailor. Social affairs seemed to be at a peak despite the fact that July was the height of the vacation season, and she and Melinda were often pressed for time to cover all the events to which they were invited. During her lunch hour, Barbara never failed to comb the want ads in the hope that a suitable apartment for rent would appear. She had even inserted an ad of her own in the Courier, but so far she had not received a single reply.
Something had better turn up soon, she thought. With the ceaseless comings and goings of caterers and photographers, it was beginning to seem as if she would never find another moment of solitude.
Whit, she knew, had been busy, too. A huge mound of paint and cleaning supplies now crowded the Albatross's center cabin, and Greg reported that considerable progress had already been made in the houseboat's
