Part 21 (1/2)
Only inches away.
Close enough to touch.
She lifted her hand to reach for him.
”Wait,” he said.
”Why?”
”Let's make this last a little longer this time.”
”Why?”
He laughed. ”You prefer instant gratification?”
”Always.”
”Sometimes waiting makes it better.”
”Don't tell me about your sometimes,” she said, sulkily, as though she had the right.
”Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” Lifting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so they mounded softly, he rose in an effortless sit-up and bending his head, took one of her nipples into his mouth, gratified to hear her sharp intake of breath as his lips closed over the taut crest. He sucked gently, first one, then the other, exerting the precise degree of pressure that soon had her squirming and wiggling, seesawing back and forth on his hips.
He took his time, as though he were intent on soothing her sulkiness, as though he knew exact l y how to temper her mood and inflame her senses. When she began to pant, he whispered against her taut nipple, ”Should I stop?”
Yes, she wanted to say. I want more than this; I want you. But the pressure of his mouth was sending waves of flame-hot bliss downward between her legs and caught between the reality of immediate satisfaction and the unknown, she whispered back, ”Don't stop.” As adjunct to her order, she slid her fingers through his dark hair and pulled his head closer.
Even if she had been unsure, he would have known better, her hot little c.u.n.t so wet she was slipping on his hips. ”Do you want to come now or later?” he teased, lifting his mouth just enough to make himself heard.
”Cute,” she said, her grip tightening on his head, her breathing frenzied.
And then as though in answer to his question, she instantly climaxed in a quivering, breathless, remarkably quiet, little o.r.g.a.s.m.
When her eyes opened a few moments later, he was lying back on the pillow, a faint smile on his face. ”You should slow down and smell the roses.”
”Speak for yourself,” she sweetly replied. ”But thank you very much. Again.” Leaning over, she touched the engorged head of his erection. ”I expect you're thinking it's your turn about now.”
”Not really.” He was enjoying himself. She was a rare delight. Cheeky and naive at the same time. Independent as they come and small-town polite. ”I'm having fun. You're so easy to turn on.”
”It's you. It's all you. I'm ravenous, insatiable”-she grinned- ”lost to all reason. And let me tell you, it's a d.a.m.ned good feeling.”
He chuckled. ”So now what?”
Her eyes widened. ”You're asking me? How polite do I have to be?”
”Just so long as there's no animals involved, I'm good.”
She smiled. ”Would we disturb anyone if we sat on the balcony in the moonlight. I don't get to places like this very often.”
”The others are sleeping on the pool side. We won't disturb anyone.”
She leaned way down and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss. ”Thanks. For everything. I mean it. I'm really enjoying myself.”
Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were pressed against his chest, the warmth of her body soft as silk, her sweet good nature overcoming his usual reserve. Sliding his palms down her back, he held her lightly in his arms and whispered, ”I should be thanking you. I've never felt this enchantment.”
She replied with equal grace. ”It must be the moonlight. Come, let's go outside.” She didn't want to think of him saying things like that to other women. Call her foolish, but there it was. She'd fallen under his spell.
Like every other woman.
He slid his hands under her arms, swung her off the bed, and followed her to her feet in an effortless flow of muscled strength. He'd had his moment, too; he might have said too much. He didn't as a rule disclose his feelings so baldly.
They were both more careful after that.
Only playing at love.
Or s.e.x. That was safer yet.
But it was unalloyed pleasure whatever you called it.
And their time together at the villa by the sea was bliss, pure and simple.
Twenty-nine.
Johnny's plane returned to nice in two days as expected, and reality could no longer be ignored. Their time together had been an idyllic interlude beyond either of their imaginations, but it was over now. They understood how mature adults were expected to deal with romantic interludes and were scrupulously polite and practical.
After all, they both had very busy lives.
In fact, they worked during part of the flight home.
After landing in San Francisco, Johnny said to Nicky, ”Joseph took your car to your place, so if it's okay with you, we'll go to my house first, and then I'll drive you home.”
She wasn't about to argue, inclined to play out the dream as long as possible. It wasn't that she was naive enough to have expectations. It was more about savoring every last drop of pleasure. After Jordi and Vernie were settled in with Maria and her mother, after Nicky had said good-bye to all of them, Johnny took her home.
The trip was quiet, neither capable of glib small talk even though they both understood the pertinent rules governing temporary liaisons: Say good-bye politely; don't make any demands; pretend the future doesn't exist; never allude to anything even remotely personal.
One or the other would offer some innocuous comment from time to time in an effort to make conversation-like remarks about the weather, the flight, the weather on the flight... that sort of thing. Fortunately it wasn't a great distance between houses, for the bouts of silence became increasingly lengthy-and awkward.
When Johnny pulled his car up to the curb in front of Nicky's bungalow, they exchanged all the required thank yous and conventional phrases of leave-taking, the promises to see each other again. But no one mentioned anything specific. No actual dates were mentioned.
It reminded Nicky of the ”We have to have lunch sometime” fiction. She finally said, ”I have to go,” because obviously he was too polite to kick her out of his car.
Johnny carried her bag to the curb.
They stood for a moment in another one of those dead silences, then Johnny leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
”You'll be over for the tree house,” he said. ”I'll see you then.”