Part 10 (1/2)
Cory whimpered. ”I can't.”
”You can, baby.” Helen kissed her. ”Just look at me. Watch my eyes.” She began a slow circling with Cory's hand. Cory closed her eyes. Helen commanded her. ”Look at me, baby.” Cory's eyes opened halfway.
Helen watched driftwood take shape, molded from erotic waves. When Cory's hand found a rhythm all its own, Helen let go.
”Is this what you want?” Her hips joined the rhythm.
”Yes, baby.” Helen watched, content in seeing Cory pleasure herself. ”You're lovely. Feel how wonderful your body is to me.” Her eyes returned to Cory's and she reached and pressed the hand harder. ”Let me see you.”
”Kiss me,” Cory breathed.
Helen pushed her tongue deeply into Cory's mouth. Her own body now energized from the heated waters and sweet sounds that emanated from Cory. Helen released Cory's hand and moved hers lower. She pressed her thumb deeply into her.
”Oh,” Cory gasped and trembled through her torment. ”Harder, Helen.” She quickened her private ma.s.sage.
”Yes, baby.” Helen's breathing stole Cory's rhythm. She pushed her thumb deeply, pulled slowly out, and then entered Cory again. Helen stayed to the depth of her, and rocked Cory against the hand.
Cory came with the power of thunder. Her vibrant body stiffened and released. Wisps of steam danced a ballet while crystalline music from Cory's throat echoed within the walls; powerful sounds that traveled the length of Helen's body like heated mercury and choked her with her own desire.
Helen turned the bed lamp off and swung beneath the blankets. She could just make out Cory's moonlit features. She was the Carnegie poster come to life, but Helen couldn't see the color of her eyes. She pushed Cory's bangs away from her forehead.
”Tell me about your family.” She moved onto one elbow and Cory rolled onto her back.
”Mom and Dad live in Dallas. They stayed in Texas after he retired from the service.”
”How many years?”
”Thirty.”
”What are they doing now?”
”Mom hangs with the girls and brags about her kids.” They laughed. ”Dad owns a small farm equipment repair business. I haven't seen them in a year. When I play Dallas we get together.”
”And your brother lives in London?”
”He's a broker for the London Stock Exchange. He likes rain and stress.”
”Any skeletons in the closet?”
”Just me, but we don't talk about it.”
Helen nodded. ”My mother knew, but I could never tell my father, and I was closer to him.”
”He probably would have loved you all the same.”
”I'll never know.”
They listened to the quiet. Helen ran her fingers through Cory's hair. She treasured their quiet moments. There weren't enough of them.
Cory suddenly broke the silence. ”Have you ever smelled the rich farm soil in Texas?”
Where did that come from? ”I've never been, and I don't particularly care for the smell of dirt.”
Cory pushed up on one hand. ”This isn't just dirt. It's so rich and fertile it invades your senses. You know that land will produce. I could be a farmer.”
Helen laughed. ”You? Your job is to slay dragons for me and the Queen, note the order, please.”
”I could change my profession.”
”Change is good. It's a learning experience.”
Cory smiled triumphantly. ”I'm glad you agree. Now think about moving in with me.”
”You little sneak!” Helen collapsed onto the bed.
Cory laughed. ”You're so easy.”
”As you are,” Helen pointed out. ”Like your episode in the Jacuzzi.” She mocked Cory. ”Oh! Mmm! Ah!”
”I faked it.” She snuggled into Helen's arms and gave a soft sigh. ”I've never done that on request,” she said with an embarra.s.sed laugh. ”You have an interesting power over me.”
”Not power. You trusted me and you were fantastic.” Helen kissed her mouth. ”Thank you.”
As they nestled, Helen closed her eyes. She muttered, ”A farmer. Right.”
Chapter Twelve.
Many of Stacey's friends agreed to a private get-together. Helen was nervous about how they would receive her idea, but the good news was Cory was in town. If the night turned into a shamble, she'd be there to lick Helen's wounds.
”Your guests will arrive soon.” Among mosaic mounds of living room pillows that surrounded her, Stacey raised her winegla.s.s toward Helen. ”I admire your courage, Blondie.”
”Courage?” Helen sipped and leaned against the bar.
”s.p.u.n.k. Guts. b.a.l.l.s.” Stacey shrugged. ”Whatever you call it, you have to convince the cream of the entertainment world to show their true colors. Not an easy task.”
”That doesn't bother me.” She waved her off and studied her drink. ”Reporter and celebrities. That's a potentially volatile mixture.” Helen laughed. ”They'll probably take one look at me and head out the door.” She motioned a U-turn with her hand.
”I doubt it, Blondie. Otherwise they wouldn't come.” Stacey pushed herself to her feet and returned to the bar for refills. ”They trust me. The only b.i.t.c.hy one will be Blair and, if I funnel her enough Scotch, she won't care if Rush Limbaugh's here.” She handed Helen the full gla.s.s and made a toast. ”Success.”
Helen nearly choked on the wine when the doorbell rang. She checked the position of her belt and tried to smooth her skirt, but static wreaked havoc and the skirt became more like Saran Wrap. She struggled, powerless against the clinging mess.
”Quite a predicament you're into there. Wet towel, then a gin and tonic,” the guest said and caught the cloth when Stacey flung it from behind the bar. ”Let me help.”
Helen's eyes caught the pitch-black hair of the newly crowned Queen of Broadway, Marty Jamison. Helen had known she would be there, but she hadn't expected to look so d.a.m.ned silly when they first met.