“I love you too, beautiful. All I really want in life is to be with you. Someda …”
“Yeah. Someday.” I have my doubts that it will ever happen, but it would be nice if it did. I want it to. I want to go down the hall and curl up with her, but she climbs off the sofa, kneels in front of it, and starts taking my jeans off, then slips my panties off, followed by working on my blouse and my bra. When she gets me completely undressed, she undresses herself as she stares at my crotch, and I feel my skin warm under her gaze. Top up and off over her head, her bra unhooked and dropped, I stare at her. “You’ve got beautiful tits, you do know that, right?”
“You’ve said that before,” she laughs.
“Want me to stop saying it?”
She shakes her head and giggles. “No! Please don’t. Say it over and over.”
“You have beautiful tits, you have beautiful tits, you have―”
“Okay. You can stop now!” she laughs loudly. “Feet on the edge of the sofa, missy. I want to kiss you in the spot that’ll make you sing.”
She buries her face in my slit and I groan out, “Oh, damn, girl! That’s so crazy good.”
“Um-hmmmm.” She’s really working now, and I’m feeling the effects. There’s a pause and she growls, “Play with your nipples, baby.” I grab one in each hand, pinch them with my fingers, roll them between my fingers and thumbs, and enjoy the sensation of her rough, cat-like tongue on my hypersensitive clit. It’s amazing and overwhelming and incredible, and in no time at all, I’m begging for release.
“Megan, oh, angel, please, I need it. Please? Please, let me come.” Her hands are as talented as her tongue, and she worries my G-spot with a curled finger as she tongues me while I work to keep from writhing and breaking her contact with my nub. It’s so intense and so delicious that I can’t stop myself from wiggling and crying out. Her fingering is ramping up everything in my body to the breaking point, and I want to be driven to madness by her kisses, her touch, her tongue, her insistence and urgency and determination. I rise to the top, tip over, and feel my body let go in total ecstasy. It’s that feeling I want again and again with her.
“I love watching you,” she murmurs in my ear. “I love it when you lose control. I love knowing that I made you do that.”
I pant out, “I just love you,” and kiss her again with a ferocity that surprises me. Damn, this woman is everything to me. I think about how my grandmother used to say that if something was important to you, you shouldn’t wait because tomorrow might be too late. But I don’t know how to fix this.
“That was quite some show. I’d say we got our money’s worth,” Samuel laughs. Frankly, I’d completely forgotten they were in the room, but I guess we made enough noise that they couldn’t forget us.
“Oh, go to bed,” I chuckle at him.
“We’re already there. It’s you guys who aren’t.”
“We can fix that.” Megan stands and helps me to standing. “Let’s shower together.” She drags me down the hallway to the bathroom and turns on the water. Once it gets hot, she climbs in and pulls me in with her.
The hot water is amazing, and it slicks our bodies just enough that they can rub together without causing too much friction, but little enough that there’s plenty of drag to perk up nipples and give goosebumps. Her skin is satiny under my fingertips, and I lick water droplets from her neck, nipples, abs, until I make all the way to her pussy and dive in. It’s more than enough to get me going again, and I lick, suck, and tug on her clit to listen to her whine and cry out. She finally comes, her juices slick against my tongue and her hands alternately buried in my hair and digging into my scalp, pulling my locks. Dropping down onto my thighs as I kneel there in the shower, she wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me and caressing my shoulders, neck, and ears, and I can’t remember ever feeling so loved or wanted. I finally whisper into her mouth, “We’re turning into prunes. Let’s go get in the bed.”
We take turns drying each other off, then head down the hallway, hair still wet. “More?” I mouth into her ear.
“I just want to hold you and you hold me and sleep. I want to sleep with you against me, Cheryl. I want to wake up in your arms and you in mine. I don’t want it to end.”
I know that feeling all too well.
12
Gloria
Those friends of the Danvers come in every weekend. They must not have anything else to do except hang out. I’d think if they have jobs they’d be busy, but apparently not. How does anyone have that much free time? I have housework to do, and Russell to take care of, and the neighborhood to watch, and church, and my friends. I’m busy. I couldn’t just go to someone’s house every weekend and hang out, but I guess they can.
I’ve decided I’d try to find out what’s going on over there, so I bake a cake and pour some glaze over it. My lemon cake. Who will ever know it’s from a mix? I just have a couple of extra things I add to it and then everyone raves about it. I think it’s really funny that I have all of them bamboozled.
I get the cake all done―I baked it in a bundt pan so it’s really pretty―and then I walk over to the Danvers’ house. It’s just eleven in the morning and all the cars are there, so they must be there. When I ring the doorbell, I hear voices and then the door pops open just a few inches. “Yes?”
“Reverend Samuel?”
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“It’s Gloria Livingston from down the block! I know you have company every weekend, and I made you a lemon cake to share with your guests. May I come in?”
There’s some noise behind him and then he says, “Yes, please. Come right on in.” He opens the door wider, and I see that he’s got on a pair of pajama bottoms and a tee shirt. That’s no way to dress in front of company! Or in front of me, for that matter. But I did surprise him, so I guess that excuses it. But why is he still in pajamas at eleven in the morning? I don’t understand.
I just have to ask. “So is Reverend Cheryl here?”
He looks down the hallway. “She’s in the bathroom, taking a shower.”
About that time, that nice Mr. Gholson walks across from the kitchen into the living room. “Oh, hello! I think we’ve met, haven’t we?”
“Yes! I sat next to you in church a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, Mrs. Livingston? Is that right?”
“You have a very good memory! Yes, that’s right. And you’re Mr. Gholson, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. Good to see you again.” I watch as he looks at Reverend Samuel and there’s something going on there that I can’t figure out. Then he says, “I’m just going on back to the bedroom to get ready for my shower. Thanks for thinking of us, Mrs. Livingston.”
“Oh, you’re so very welcome!” My, he’s a handsome fellow, all muscular and blond.
“Mrs. Livingston, I’d ask you to have a seat, but as you can see, I’m not dressed yet, and Cheryl’s in the shower, so―”
“Oh, no, that’s fine! You had no idea I was coming. I just wanted to drop this off and …” Right then, the most peculiar thing happens.
The bathroom door opens, but the woman who comes out isn’t Reverend Cheryl. It’s that Gholson woman.
And she’s stark naked.
She walks down the hall and goes into the bedroom where Mr. Gholson went. I mean, I can’t believe it―she was NAKED and Reverend Samuel was RIGHT THERE! She walks around naked in front of men who aren’t her husband? I really don’t know what to say, and then the bathroom door opens again and Reverend Cheryl comes out in a bath towel. And she goes into the SAME BEDROOM! What on earth is going on here? I know I must have a funny look on my face because Reverend Samuel says, “Mrs. Livingston, are you all right?”
“I, uh, I’m, uh, I’m fine, I’m fine, really. I’ll, um, I’ll just let you get back to whoever, I mean, whatever you were doing. I hope you enjoy the cake.”
I turn and hightail it out of the house and I hear him call behind me, “Thanks again, Mrs. Livingston! See you tomorrow in church!�
��
Oh, you absolutely will, Reverend Samuel. You absolutely, positively will.
13
Cheryl
“Close the door―quick!” When I stroll into the bedroom, Daniel has a wild, panicked look in his eyes.
“What’s going―”
He stammers out, “That Livingston woman was just here!”
My eyes pop open wide. “Where?”
Daniel is starting to get animated, and he’s shaking. “Right there! Right in the front door! And she saw you come out of the bathroom naked,” he says as he points to Megan, “and then I’m sure she saw you come out of the bathroom in that towel. So she knows the two of you were in the bathroom together. And she’ll figure out that you were sharing a bedroom because you both went into the same one.” Then he groans, “Oh, god, and I was already in here because I wanted to warn one of you.”
“Oh, no!” Now I’m shaking. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” He shakes his head violently. “Oh, please, no … what did she want?”
“She brought a cake over because we were here. For you to share with your guests.”
About that time, the bedroom door pops open. Samuel stares around at the three of us. God only knows what kinds of expressions we’re wearing. “What the hell―”
“I came out of the bathroom naked and walked into the room here,” Megan confesses.
I’m next. “And I came right out behind her in my towel. And I walked into this bedroom.”
Then Daniel brings up the rear. “I was already in here, trying to figure out how to save the situation. And you were oblivious as you stood there talking to her.”
“Holy shit.” That’s all Samuel gets out. Then he says, “So she saw all three of you come in here?”
Daniel nods. “Yeah.”
“I’m guessing she’s wondering why Megan and I are sharing a bedroom,” I offered.
“And why I’d walk around naked in front of you,” Megan says to Samuel.
“Holy shit,” he mutters again.
Daniel snickers. “Probably thinks we’re in a ménage à quatre.”
I bark back, “Somehow that does not make me feel better. Don’t know why, but it just doesn’t.”
“I know why. Because it’s going to screw us. I just feel it.” Samuel drops onto the bed and then falls backward.
“Maybe it’s time we got screwed. Maybe it’s time we got screwed enough to come out,” Daniel says.
“And we’re going to support ourselves how?” I ask.
It gets really, really quiet in that room.
I try again. “So what the hell are we going to do?”
“We’re going to ride it out.” Samuel rises from the bed, stands, and puts his hands on his hips. “We’re going to ride it out and see what happens. That’s all we can do. There’s nothing else to do. If we approach her, we confirm what she thinks she saw. The best we can hope for is that she doesn’t tell anyone and that, if she does, they don’t believe her.” He strides to the door, opens it, and turns back to the three of us. “I’m going out for ice cream. I don’t know what else to do, and that seems like the most normal thing I can think of. If you want to go, I’ll wait for you to get dressed.” We all nod, and Daniel leaves the room so we can get dressed.
“Well?” Megan asks.
“We just do exactly what Samuel said. Ride it out, see where it goes. And keep our fingers crossed.”
“Do you believe in that praying stuff you preach?” she asks me.
“I certainly do.”
“Well, then,” she murmurs, “you should probably start doing that right now.”
14
Gloria
“Russell, you are not going to believe what I just saw!” I’m breathless by the time I get back to the house. Russell’s sitting in the living room with a magazine, reading and ignoring me, as usual. But he finally looks up, and I guess he can see how excited I am. Or upset. That’s it―upset.
“What? What do you think you saw this time?”
I tell him about making the cake, then taking it over to the Danvers’ house. And then I tell him what I saw. “And she was butt naked and running around in front of Reverend Samuel!”
“Gloria, are you sure that’s what you saw? Are you sure it wasn’t Reverend Cheryl?”
I huff, “Well, yes, I’m sure. She came out later wrapped in a towel.”
“From the room where she’d gone in earlier?”
“No! From the bathroom! Haven’t you paid any attention to what I was saying?” I’m so frustrated I feel like my head is going to explode.
“So tell me again what you think you saw,” he says.
“No! It’s not what I think I saw―it’s what I SAW!” Now I’m really mad. “You don’t believe a thing I’ve said!”
“I didn’t say that, Gloria.” Now he’s patronizing me, talking to me like I’m a preschooler. “It’s just that I don’t think you saw what you think you saw.”
“Oh really? Well, let me tell you again what I saw.” I launch into the explanation again, and I watch his face.
He still doesn’t believe me.
What in the world will it take to convince him? I can’t imagine. But I’m wondering how I’m going to be received tomorrow morning at church. That should be an eye-opener.
What kind of women walk around naked in front of men they’re not married to? I can tell you―slutty women. That’s who. Reverend Cheryl is a slut?
Well, that’s just horrible. Welcome to Harper’s Cove, home of the sluttiest preacher in town.
15
Cheryl
I’m dreading this with everything I have in me. I have to stand in that pulpit today, look down on Gloria Livingston, and wonder what’s running through her head. And I really don’t want to do this. I had originally intended to deliver a sermon entitled “And The Truth Shall Set You Free,” but I thought better of it. Probably not a good idea to poke the bear.
So instead, I’m speaking on “The Power of Words.” I’m hoping to impart the idea that once you’ve said something, it’s impossible for others to completely disregard it, even if it’s a lie, and it can hurt people in unimaginable ways. Not that it will matter to her. I know that. It’s just that if I have a chance to get her to keep her trap shut, I’m going to take it.
When we cross through the doorway and up onto the platform, there she is, but this time she’s at least in the back of the room and not right up front. I don’t know why she was up front a couple of weeks ago, but I hated that. I feel like she’s scrutinizing me with every cut of her eye. I expect that from members of the congregation, but there’s just something about her that makes me nervous, always has. And now I’ve got an even greater reason to be leery.
We sing the call to worship, and then I look at the order of worship: Oh dear god, Lance Parker is listed as the one to lead the invocation. Can it get any worse? When he makes his way up to the platform, he looks like he’s been shoved under a shower, he’s so sweat-drenched, and his hands are shaking so hard he’s having trouble holding his notes. But I just smile at him, and he seems to calm a little. His prayer is really quite eloquent, and I’m impressed that he’d have the cojones to do this, but I’m glad he did. He knows now that we’re not going to rat him out.
When he’s finished, the choir sings, and then we have a special song by one of the little girls in the church. I’m struck by her sincerity in the words of the simple but profound verses. It’s refreshing.
Then I bring the sermon. I reiterate the idea that words can hurt as much as bullets. I talk about children who’ve been bullied until they’ve completed suicide, and lives that have been ruined when a false rumor was started about a person. I’m hoping she’s listening, but what I see is a weird, nasty smirk that really, really makes me nervous.
Sermon finished, I take my seat on the platform as the choir sings the benediction, and I glance over at Samuel to see him pucker up and send me a kiss. My heart sings. I know we’re not really “married” marr
ied, but he’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I know that no matter what, he’s got my back and he’s watching out for me. I love him for that, and I’m grateful that I have him in my life. I couldn’t do what I do without him.
We step through the door to go to the dressing area and take off our robes, and who should appear but Lance. “Can I talk to the two of you for just a minute?”
Samuel extends a hand and takes one of his in a reassuring gesture. “Sure. We’ve got to hurry and go out to greet everyone as they’re leaving, but what can we do for you?”
“I was just wondering … I know we were all there the other night, but I hope that doesn’t change our relationships.” He’s really sweating bullets.
And that’s my cue. “You know, Lance, here’s the thing. Samuel and I aren’t going to judge you, and I hope you won’t judge us. But the difference does disturb me. We were both there together. Both of us know what’s going on. Both of us are consenting adults. But you’re a married man, and your wife isn’t consenting to your involvement in that relationship, am I correct?”
He hangs his head. “No, she’s not.”
“So the biggest difference between all of us is that we’re not carrying on an affair because the other person in the relationship both has knowledge of and is in agreement with what’s going on. But in your instance, this is being perpetrated against your wife without her knowledge. Now I’m not going to judge you for that. I’m sure you have your reasons. But do you see the difference?”
“Yes. I do. And I want to tell her, I really do. But I just don’t think I can let her know and ruin the relationship because then everyone will know.” He really does look pitiful, and I feel bad for him in that moment.
Cheryl and Samuel at 323 Harper's Cove Page 5