Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  "Oh," George gasped. She scurried forward and switched off the TV. She couldn't look at him, not with a crimson face, not after what he had said, not when she was picturing him, naked, over her.

  "Come here and let me take care of the tension. . .in your neck."

  Her head shot up, but his expression seemed perfectly serious.

  George settled herself once again between his legs and closed her eyes. She felt his firm fingers lightly massage her scalp through her hair, unfasten the barrettes and slowly move downward to her neck and shoulders. "George."

  She leaned her head back and opened her eyes to look at him upside down above her. "You don't put cumin in clam sauce." She blinked hazily, unable for the moment to grasp what he was saying. She felt his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, his fingers splayed downward. She arched her back, sending his hands lower. "And the garlic bread.. .it was fresh Parmesan."

  "I—I must have forgotten," she said, all her concentration on his hands.

  He raised his hands and she felt him slowly unfastening the small buttons on her blouse. She heard his sharp intake of breath when he parted the material.

  She wore no bra. Her breasts were creamy white, high and firm, her nipples a velvet dark pink. Very slowly, he stroked his hands downward along her sides.

  "When you were sleeping at the symphony," he said softly, "I could feel you against my arm." He lightly caressed the sides of her breasts. "I wanted to rip your dress off and attack you."

  His hands came around and cupped her breasts. George drew in a shuddering breath at his touch. He released her suddenly, clasped her under the arms and drew her onto his lap. She stared up at him, her back arched against his arm. "If it feels like this," she said hoarsely, "I wouldn't have minded at all."

  He smiled, his eyes wandering slowly from her face to her upthrust breasts. "You are remarkably.. .nice looking," he said. He touched his fingertip to her nipple and she lurched upward to him. He gently pushed her back against his arm and lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted so soft and warm, he thought crazily, deepening his kiss. Elliot had never before been in a hurry to make love, at least not since he was a kid. But with George... He felt himself shudder when her lips parted and her tongue tentatively touched his. He stroked her breasts, letting his fingers memorize the feel of her soft flesh. He felt her hand tugging at his hair to bring him closer, heard her moan softly into his mouth as she arched upward against his hand. He gently pressed her onto her back and lightly ran his tongue over her nipple, nipping at her, caressing her until she squirmed.

  His hand was pulling at the button on her jeans, jerking down the zipper. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties and rested a moment on her soft stomach. He stopped, pulling his hand back.

  "George," he said, his voice raspy and deep, "I don't want to make love to you on a damned couch." His mouth trailed over her breasts to her throat and finally to her face. He gazed down into her eyes.

  "You're awfully big," George managed, her fingers tightening about his shoulders. "There's that, too." He grinned. George shook her head and pulled herself up. She cleared her throat and blinked. "I'll go get into something more comfortable."

  "That's right out of a 1940s movie," he teased her, winding his fingers through her tousled hair. "I'd prefer more of a caveman approach."

  He stood and hauled her into his arms. "What are you going to do?" she managed.

  "I'm going to take your jeans off and love you very thoroughly, every inch of you."

  "Oh. Can't I take my own jeans off?" Wouldn't it be more sexy, more seductive, she thought hazily, if she were to put on her frothy peach negligee and glide slowly into the bedroom where he would be watching and waiting for her?

  "How about mine instead?" He laid her on her back on her bed. "Just treat me, George, like you do the animals at the petting zoo."

  She giggled. "Off with these things, lady," she heard him say as he pulled the jeans over her hips. She felt the cool air on her body and shivered slightly.

  "That is cute, George. Green knee socks and panties that must weigh a good quarter of an ounce."

  She was embarrassed suddenly. He was joking and teasing her and not consuming her in the throes of passion. Lovemaking was supposed to be serious business, with no thought to knee socks, for God's sake. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I always wear knee socks at home."

  "Leave them on. They're sexy. But not the panties," he added with a mock frown. She felt him slip them down over her hips, and she closed her eyes.

  Elliot only looked at her. He didn't touch her, not yet. He rose slowly to his feet, his fingers on the buttons of his shirt. "Do you have any idea," he said, his voice so low that it sounded gravelly to his own ears, "how exquisite you are?"

  "It's the knee socks," she said nervously, turning slightly away from him.

  "No, George, don't hide from me." He studied her, knowing that once he lay down beside her, touching her, he'd lose all sense. "You don't dye your hair," he said, visually savoring the dark blond curls that covered her.

  Her eyes flew open, and her hands flew downward to cover herself. "I told you I didn't." Her voice fell into a croak. He'd pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. He walked to her favorite chair and sat down to take off his shoes and socks.

  "Elliot," she said.

  "Yes?" he said, not looking up.

  She pulled the cover over her. "There's something I've got to tell you."

  He pulled off a sock and tossed it toward a discarded shoe.

  "You're a spy and you're sleeping with me to get state secrets for the government."

  "No. Worse."

  The other sock off, Elliot rose and unfastened his belt. "You're going to admit that you didn't make our dinner."

  "I was going to admit that later!" She sucked in her breath as he stepped out of his jeans and underwear and stood marvelously naked, smiling at her. "Remember, just another furry beast from the petting zoo."

  He started toward her, and George shrieked out, "It's the first time!"

  Elliot stopped and tilted his head to one side in question. "You've never been to the zoo? First time for what?"

  "I'm a.. .virgin. It's my first time."

  Elliot simply stared at her. "George, how old are you?"

  "Twenty-three."

  "And you're a bloody virgin? George, only a woman who's lived in a convent or is a sexual neurotic is a damned virgin at twenty-three!"

  "I've been busy," she said defensively. "And it's not that I don't know any thing... I've done lots of kissing and stuff, just never, well, you know, it!"

  Elliot sank back down in the chair. "You're a model, a playgirl," he said.

  "Everyone thinks models are playgirls," George said in some disgust. "I don't want to be a playgirl, Elliot, but I'm awfully tired of being a virgin. That's why I-"

  His head snapped up. "That's why you what?"

  "Well, at the residents' picnic, when I saw you, I decided you'd be perfect."

  Elliot dropped his head into his hands and said in a muffled voice, "A sex object. Christ, I'm nothing but a sex object to you."

  George bounded from the bed, forgetting for the moment that she was naked. She fell to her knees beside him and clutched at his arm. "No, it wasn't like that, I promise! If you were a sex object, I would have seduced you right away, but I wanted to get to know you. Really, Elliot!"

  He raised his head, and George saw that he was laughing, laughing at her. "You.. .jerk! This is serious!" He reached out his hand and lightly stroked her hair. "You are so funny. Why me, George?"

  "You're the most perfect man I've ever met," she said simply. "And you're so beautiful and sexy. I thought that since you were older, and more experienced, you would make everything.. .well, easier and more pleasant."

  ''Well,'' Elliot said thoughtfully, leaning back in the chair, "I certainly didn't expect this when I came to dinner."

  "You—you don't want me?" He sat quickly forward at the forlorn question
, studying her face. "Even a blind man would want you. It's just.. .Are you certain, George?"

  "Yes. Elliot, really, I do know what to do." She gazed at him pointedly. He didn't look quite as.. .enthusiastic as before, but still.. ."You're awfully big. It won't hurt, will it?" His laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. "You're a doctor," she said sharply. "You must know these things!"

  "No, sweetheart, it won't hurt, at least not much. Maidenheads are out, ever since little girls discovered baseball, volleyball and horses. It depends on how small you are."

  "Oh," she murmured, flushing. "I'm twenty-three. I can't be that small anymore."

  He smiled at her naivete. "Likely you're not," he agreed gravely.

  George raised her head. "Can we.. .get it over with now?"

  "You've convinced me." He rose, pulling her to her feet with him. George closed her eyes and stepped against him. It was a pleasurable shock to her to feel his manhood, now thoroughly aroused, pressed against her stomach. "Oh my," she whispered, "you feel so different from me."

  Elliot was on the point of scooping her in his arms when he froze. "George, what are you using for birth control?"

  She leaned back against his arms to look up into his face. "Well, nothing really. I-I didn't think about it."

  He moaned. "I don't happen to carry contraceptives around with me." He had known that he would be making love with her tonight, but it hadn't occurred to him that a sophisticated woman like George... Well, it was time to revise all that nonsensical thinking. Damn and blast!

  "We can't take the chance, George," he said in the saddest voice she'd ever heard. "The last thing you need is an unwanted pregnancy. You're a model, remember?"

  "But it's only one time," she wailed.

  Not likely, Elliot thought wryly. "Sweetheart, when was your last period?"

  He saw that she was embarrassed and quickly explained, "You can't get pregnant unless the timing is right."

  "Last week," she said in a muffled voice against his chest.

  He rubbed his jaw against the top of her head. "Wanna make love?"

  George gave him a dazzling smile. "Oh yes, Elliot, thank you."

  He laughed, lifted her off the floor and carried her back to bed.

  "Tonight will be all right," he said, gathering her against the length of him on the bed.

  "How about tomorrow?"

  He would have said no, but George pressed her stomach hard against him. "Maybe, but George, you've got to go to the doctor and get some protection. Or I can use something."

  "No, I think those things men use are crass. Can't you do it? You're a doctor."

  "You want a gynecologist. No pills. I'll make you an appointment with Margaret Smith for Monday."

  "Okay," she said, and kissed his chin.

  I don't believe this, Elliot thought, shaking his head. He wanted to give her pleasure, but it was a tall order, considering his own state. Slowly, he pressed her onto her back. "Lie still," he said softly. "And don't be afraid."

  "With you?" she said softly, raising her hand to stroke his jaw. "I could never be afraid with anyone who plays volleyball as well as you do."

  He smiled distractedly. Go slowly, very slowly, he repeated to himself. He kissed her, teasing her by resting his hand on her ribs, no, higher and no lower. He felt the response in her, tentative at first, then natural and giving. He stroked his tongue over her soft mouth, and thrust it into her, a symbolic act that made her quiver.

  "You are so soft," he whispered into her mouth. "Unbelievable for such a jock." His hand cupped her breast and he felt her heartbeat quicken.

  "Can I touch you, Elliot?" she gasped when his mouth nibbled at her throat.

  "Be my guest," he said aloud, wondering if he could control himself if she did.

  Her hands roved down his back. "No," he said abruptly, "don't touch me, at least not yet."

  "You don't like it?"

  "I like it too much. Now hush." He leaned over her and gently took her nipple into his mouth. His hand inched down to her stomach and rested there a moment. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, but he was concerned that she would freeze up on him in embarrassment. Very slowly, his fingers tangled in the soft curls between her thighs. She grew very still.

  He pulled himself back up on his elbow and gazed down into her face. "It's me, remember?" His fingers found her and slowly he began to caress her.

  George stared up at him, a question in her eyes. "Move your hips against my fingers," he said, his voice thick.

  She started to say she didn't know how, but her hips were moving. Suddenly, she felt a tremor that spread through her belly down to the tips of her toes. She gasped aloud.

  "That's not so bad, is it?" he said, and kissed her. He felt her thighs go slack. Slowly, he explored her, gently easing his finger into her. He swallowed convulsively. She was moist, ready for him, and very small. He began to caress her rhythmically again, using all his wiles to bring her pleasure. She was moaning softly, her slender body pressed up against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

  Suddenly, George cried out, lurching up. She stared at him in astonished surprise. She felt her body tensing, tight as a bowstring.

  "Elliot!" she cried out almost frantically.

  His fingers stopped, and she jerked upward. He pulled her hard against him and began caressing her again with his fingers. She was trembling, writhing against him. She threw back her head and cried out. He watched her eyes flicker in mute astonishment as her body exploded with pleasure.

  "That's it," he said softly.

  She felt waves of pleasure, almost painful in intensity. Suddenly his fingers were gone from her, leaving her still awash with their sensation.

  Elliot's body was throbbing, and he forced himself to take deep breaths. She looked so delicate, so exquisitely female. "George," he croaked. "Lie still." Slowly, he eased inside her. He felt her stretching, her muscles convulsing around him. She stiffened at the sudden discomfort. She grasped his arms, wanting him to stop.

  "Relax," he said, forcing a smile. He wanted her so much, he felt as if his body was about to explode. "Just a bit more, George."

  She gasped, but didn't move.

  He knew he was hurting her. Better to get it over with, quickly. He drew back, then thrust deep within her. She sobbed softly.

  "No more, sweetheart," he said, easing down over her. "You all right?"

  "Yes." She looked at him thoughtfully. "I can feel you throbbing inside me."

  "Jesus," he moaned. "George, damn it!" He pulled back and thrust again, unable to control himself. He felt as if he were shattering, and thrust until he was drained, his mind thankfully blurred. He fell forward, his head beside hers on the pillow.

  George encircled him with her arms, lightly stroking his back. He was heavy on top of her, but she was far too happy to worry about it.

  Elliot was able finally to ease himself up on his elbows. He lightly kissed the tip of her nose. "That wasn't bad, was it?"

  "Oh no," she said, but she was frowning. "What's the matter, George?" She looked up into the depths of his incredible green eyes, struggling for words to express her feelings. "You're inside of me. You're part of me. I just never imagined anything like that. It's like we're one person."

  He wanted to laugh, to retort with a teasing comment, but he couldn't. He kissed her instead, demandingly this time, forcing her lips to part to him. He felt her arms tighten about him, and drew back, breathing heavily.

  "Next time," he said roughly, "I won't hurt you."

  He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. "That," he said, "was better than dinner."

  "That was dessert."

  "No cherries jubilee?"

  "They're from my friendly baker." She sighed against his chest. "I doubt I could have convinced you that I made them."

  "Next time, George," he said, smiling against her cheek, "we'll make clam sauce together." "No cumin?"

  "No cumin," he repeated, laughing.

  "Good grief
," George suddenly exclaimed, rearing up on her elbows. "It's nearly midnight!"

  "I trust you had fun while time was flying."

  "For the most part," she said primly, though her eyes were twinkling. "Elliot, I've never slept with a man before. I mean.. .slept. Would you stay with me tonight?"

  "If you promise not to snore like you did at the symphony."

  "Just don't start humming Mahler."

  Elliot kissed her again and leaned over to snap off the lamp.

  "This is nice," George said, sighing contentment as she snuggled against him.

  "Very nice," Elliot agreed.

  Chapter 6

  George awoke slowly, not wanting to be pulled from the unbelievable dream. It was a soft moan from deep in her throat that made her blink in the darkness.

  "Elliot," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

  "I hope I'll be just as pleasant as that dream, George," Elliot said, shifting his body over her.

  "You were the dream, but this is better." She pressed his head down and felt his mouth caress her temple, her nose and finally capture her mouth. She felt him hard against her and incredibly hot against her belly, and moaned with the pleasure of it.

  She tried to shift beneath him, to open herself to him, but he raised himself on his elbows, holding her still.

  "Not yet," he said softly.

  She could make out the planes and shadows of his face now in the sliver of moonlight from the window,and the dark thick lashes that veiled his eyes. "Why not yet?" she gasped, her hips pressing upward with no instruction from him.

  "You just woke up."

  "You, Dr. Mallory, don't know what I was dreaming!"

  "I have a good idea, since I was providing the action."

  ' 'You mean.. .your fingers really were.. .that is, you were..." She blushed and buried her face against his chest. Elliot smiled and nuzzled her throat. "You are so delightful, George."

  His light teasing tone brought her head up. "How can you make fun of me when I want you to...''

  "You aren't finishing your sentences, George."

  "I want you to love me!"

  "That's what I want, too. May I?"

  "I don't think I know any other word except yes where you're concerned."