Damn, they were already behaving like an old married couple. During the entire past week they'd only had sex in her bed or his. They were losing touch with spontaneity and novelty. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. She wouldn't allow that to happen. She stood and crossed the room to where he sat on the floor, still reading. He immediately looked up, smiling the satisfaction of a man who appeared very much at home. He was only lacking the pipe and the Irish Setter.
"What are you up to?” he asked. “Did you tire of your book?"
She nodded tersely. “Something like that."
"You look a little on edge. You okay?"
She managed a smile. Much of the time his concern comforted her, but now it made her cringe. “I'll be all right."
He slid a hand between the folds of her robe and began massaging a leg.
"Better already,” she murmured. She remained standing, straddling his knees, giving him easier access. His hands shifted to the back of her knees. How did he know her knees were an erogenous zone? He'd never paid them much attention before. His dark eyes snapped with the flames of the fire reflecting off them.
He undid the sash at her waist. “Do you need this heavy robe so close to the fire?"
She shook her head. “I'm already boiling.” Quickly, she shucked the robe and tossed it toward the couch, leaving herself clad only in a blue satin pajama top. She doubted she'd ever even taken the bottoms out of the store bag when she bought the outfit a few months earlier. She never could fathom why women wanted to wear pajama bottoms to bed. She held her arms behind her back and watched Doug feasting his eyes on her.
"What a magnificent view, Lacy. Your labia are already separating. I will never tire of this."
She widened her stance. “I'm sure that's what you told your wife, too."
Doug lurched away, glaring at her.
She'd swallow her words if she could. She didn't like the pain she saw on his face.
"Where in the world did that comment come from? Whatever I said to Helen isn't your concern any more than what your former lovers said to you."
"I'm sorry,” she said, lacing her fingers behind his head and cradling him against her belly. “I don't know why that popped out. You're right. Of course."
"Apology accepted. Just for the record, Helen never stood over me in our living room expecting me to eat her pussy in the shadows of the fireplace."
Lacy caught herself giggling. When had she started giggling? “I'm glad. That pleases me.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “So are you going to eat me while I stand here minding my own business?"
"I will if you stop interrupting me."
"Oh. Be my guest. And I'll try to be a proper hostess.” She smacked her lips and parted her thighs wider.
Doug inched closer and shifted so he knelt in front of her. His breath warmed her thighs. And then her vulva. He blew on it and chuckled. She tried not to weave. He enjoyed playing with her. Maybe too much.
Again she placed her hands behind her back. “You said the view was magnificent. Tell me what you see."
He laughed. “I see full puffy lips pouting almost as much as your mouth is."
"You!!” She wanted to box his ears, but just then he slid a finger down the edge of her pussy. She held her breath as the finger made a u-turn and proceeded up the other side.
He lightly tapped at her clit.
"Jesus,” she murmured.
"Ah,” he said, “the guardian of the treasure is home. She's peeking out to see who threatens her purse."
"Wait until she sees who it is. She'll go back into hiding."
"I highly doubt that,” he said, showering her clitoris with warm breath.
"Cripes,” Lacy protested. “I'm going to come before you even touch me."
"And that would be bad?"
She smiled. “I'm not complaining—just teasing."
"I love you when you tease me like that."
She shut her eyes, hoping he hadn't seen the look of horror that must've been so evident in them. He loves me when I tease him? Loves me. Damn. He wasn't here to love anything—her, or anything she did or said. Panic niggled at the edge of her awareness. She steeled herself and opened her eyes. He was still kneeling before her, blowing on her pussy. But that no longer aroused her—his words had doused her desire. She had to get them back onto a more acceptable plane. She gave him a haughty look and slowly lowered her hands to her crotch and parted her pussy lips wide.
He leaned back and gave her a questioning stare.
"Are you going to eat me, or wait until I'm an old lady?” She didn't give him time to speak. She stretched her lips open as far as she could. “Now tell me what you see."
He nodded fractionally. “Okay. I can do it this way, too.” He gave her a lecherous smile. “I see a very inflamed pussy. Its colors run the panoply of the fire—pink, orange, red. And there's this longish thin projection at its apex. It sort of reminds me of Pinocchio's nose. I'm not sure it will ever stop growing. That's about it. No, wait. Jesus, Lacy you're expanding like a flower in slow motion. I've never watched a pussy get aroused at such close range. Good God, there's your passageway. It looks so small. You're so damn wet for me. Incredible. So delectable. If I dive in, will I ever come back?"
Lacy blinked several times. His soliloquy had momentarily entranced her, but she couldn't afford to go down that path. “So are you going to kill me with words, or are you going to do something about my overwrought pussy?” She didn't have to look at him to know she'd hurt him. His sigh didn't warm her loins at all—it only cast a pall.
"Why don't you tell me what you want me to do, Lacy.” His tone was metallic. “I don't know this game."
"I can do that,” she said, ignoring his jibe. “Run your tongue the full length of my pussy.” She waited for him to comply. “I didn't say curl your tongue. Leave it flat and slide up and down my pussy. Yes, that's better. Rub my clit with your nose. With your nose, damn it, not your forehead. That's right. Now bury it in my pussy.” Her heartbeat raced. She clutched the back of his head and ground against him. “Damn. You'll be breathing my scent for weeks.” His words were muffled but she heard them.
"Not a terrible fate."
She gritted her teeth. She tipped her pelvis forward. “Put your tongue in my pussy. That's right, deeper. Climb into me.” She took a half-step forward. He grabbed her buttocks to help her maintain her balance. She held his head with both hands. She was very close to coming. His tongue never stopped. She bucked harder against him. One of his hands slipped into the crease of her ass.
She laughed triumphantly. “That's where I want you, lover. Drive your finger up my ass.” He stilled. “I thought my ass turned you on. Now!” she demanded. “Do it.” She tried not to clench as he entered her anus. Once he was securely in, she renewed her efforts at rotating against his tongue. “That's it,” she screeched. “I'm fucking your tongue. Fuck my ass.” He didn't respond quickly. “I'm giving you my goddamn ass. Fuck it good!"
His finger tore into her. Would his finger and tongue meet? She wanted to hold her head before it disintegrated, but she clung to his instead. “Son of a bitch!” she bellowed. “I've never ... Drink me, Doug. Don't let a drop fall. I give you me.” Her legs went limp. He clasped her tight against his head and shoulders. Her fingers curled in his hair. She tried to breathe. Would she ever breathe again?
The echoes of her screams still bounced from wall to wall. She replayed that cataclysmic moment. She scowled. What had she said? She wasn't positive. And he probably wasn't even listening to her wails anyway. Almost as an afterthought she felt him inching his finger out of her ass. Why did it always feel so much better going in than coming out?
She sighed and rocked back on her heels. “Whew,” she muttered, “that was something else. One of these times I want your cock filling my ass.” She blinked, acknowledging tiny aftershocks sweeping from her anus to her vagina.
"Sounded like you had plenty to satisfy you this time,” he said, remaining where he was. He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You're right. I'll smell and taste you for weeks—a rather pleasing possibility, actually."
She shrugged, not knowing how else to respond.
He gave her a half-smile. “While I'm kneeling here like this I don't know if you expect me to grovel, or to ask you to marry me."
Lacy knew she must have gawked at him for a full minute. Her brain had fried. Was it the huge orgasm, or his stupidity? Slowly, her circuits came back on board. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. She should scream, but she wouldn't. With more calm than she thought she possessed, she backed away from where he knelt and simply said, “Out.” She pointed toward the door, in case he missed her meaning. He looked like she'd kicked him in the groin. But he said nothing. He slowly rose to his feet. She folded her arms across her chest.
He reached for her robe and handed it to her. “You're going to need this.” Without another word he walked to the entryway and let himself out of her house, out of her life.
She fell to her knees and wrapped the robe around her lower body like a blanket. The air was surprisingly cold. Only dying embers remained in the fireplace. She was chilled to the bone. Good grief. What had she done? She'd lost her best friend. She'd sent him away. She'd destroyed him—so completely he never lifted a finger to defend himself, or them.
She'd destroyed them both. Why? Because she was afraid of him, and of them. She shook her head, leaned back and wailed to the spirits of old. But it was too late. Nothing could be done now. She stretched out on the carpet and prayed that at least exhaustion would be kind to her.
* * * *
Unblinking, Doug drove slowly toward his apartment. He'd been blindsided. He certainly hadn't seen it coming. They were finished. What a terrible way to end. He licked his lips and tasted her. She'd panicked. He'd seen it in her distorted features. How could a face so lovely and filled with playfulness turn into such meanness and spite? She despised him for saying he loved her and for even off handedly proposing marriage.
Doug shrugged. There wasn't much he could do about that. He'd been biting back those words since before they ever made love. Tonight they'd just slipped out. And she pulled that pseudo domination trick on him. Maybe it wasn't so pseudo. She'd driven him beyond reasoning. Her ass, if anything, had been hotter than her pussy. She had no idea how close he'd been to dragging her down to her hands and knees and plunging his cock into her ass.
Maybe that's what she'd hoped he would do. He hadn't realized how much she'd wanted him to claim her ass. Maybe it had been a mistake not to. No matter now. They'd probably both made mistakes. But there was no undoing them now. She'd kicked him out. He ground his teeth. Damn if he was going to grovel or beg. For any woman. Even for Lacy Hogan.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
—At two o'clock in the morning, Lacy stirred awake on the living room floor. She wrapped the robe tighter around her torso. Had the chill wakened her? Or had it been pain? Or a guilty conscience? She felt lower than an insect. She hadn't handled Doug well at all. She could've broken up with him more maturely. Groaning, she rubbed her throbbing temples. How could anyone be completely mature when some idiot told her he loved her?
Lacy shook her head and got to her feet. She left the cold living room and climbed the stairs toward her bedroom. She turned on the lamp next to the bed and immediately caught her reflection in the mirror. “You look like shit!” she growled. “Yeah, so looks might not be deceiving.” She squinted at the mocking mirror. Would it open for her? Did she really want to try to find them again? Her two Dougs? Why couldn't she simply leave it be? What was done was done. Within minutes, she had completed all the necessary preparations and was lying on the floor, warm and toasty, letting the drumming tape fill her senses.
The mirror appeared to her behind closed eyes. She pushed against it and it opened easily. Eagerly, she slid down the tunnel. This time it was working. She was going to greet her two Dougs. She stepped into the meadow, shouted with joy and clapped her hands. She twirled about and breathed deeply, then halted in confusion. There was no tent. Where would they be if not in the tent?
"They are not here,” Isabella said, suddenly appearing out of a mist.
Lacy retreated a step or two before reaching out to greet her friend.
Isabella crossed her arms and shook her head. “There is nothing here for you, querida. I know you are suffering greatly, but I cannot do anything for you. This time you must find your own way."
"But can't you hold me?"
"You didn't come seeking my arms, did you?"
"You know I didn't."
"Then I cannot comfort you."
"But—"
"Go. You cannot find what you are seeking here."
Lacy gagged. “Will I ever see you again?"
"I do not know. I cannot foresee the future.” The dark haired woman frowned. “Do you still believe you can separate sex from love?"
Lacy opened her mouth to speak, but Isabella had disappeared. Otter appeared on her right to guide her back. Even Otter looked solemn. She didn't bother asking him any questions.
Lacy sat up with a start. The drumming tape was still going, but it did nothing to assuage her sense of doom. It only haunted her. Was she a complete failure in matters of sex and love? In matters of forming and nurturing human relationships? Hadn't she always been adept at separating sex and love—well, at least since Frederico? How could she answer that question? She couldn't even recall the names of all the partners she'd had. She hadn't even exchanged names with some.
She glanced at the mirror. Her features had softened since journeying. She tried to think back to as many partners as she could remember. She frowned. Her nipples pebbled. Was Isabella right? Certainly, she shared a kind of love with Isabella. She didn't doubt that a bit. Could you love without commitment? She'd wanted to share her body with the young woman in the Yucatan when they'd first met. She loved sharing her body. Was that different than just having sex?
She'd befriended the bus driver in Vegas because he had befriended her. She imagined he'd seldom had women give him a second look, particularly white women. The English librarian had been so kind and seemed so lonely. Was she merely an easy mark for lonely men? No, of course not. She'd had her share of outgoing guys. There had been the actor she'd jerked off under the horse blanket as they road in the carriage down New York streets. That had been pure fun, hadn't it? Unwittingly, she'd helped a young woman discover and own her sexuality. She hadn't realized it was the woman's first time with another woman. They'd shared their bodies freely and compassionately.
She sighed softly. She didn't have a clear answer to Isabella's question, but the lines between sex and love had been much more blurry than she'd realized. Maybe that was the case because she'd never had sex with anyone without wanting to. She'd turned down her share of guys and women. She shivered. She'd turned down one guy over and over. Goodness, had she known Doug for two years? She'd seldom been in a relationship with anyone, other than family members, for that length of time. She smiled. She had to give him credit. He had been persistent. But no more. She might as well have cut his balls off. The pain etched on his face when she'd said out suggested she had done just that.
Lacy shook her head and rose to her feet. She had to move on. Did she want to exorcise him—wasn't that what Isabella had asked once? Want to or not, she'd done it. God, she felt awful. She entered the bathroom and the glare of the light blinded her. She grimaced and reached for her toothbrush. “Shit!” There was Doug's toothbrush, hanging beside hers. He wasn't coming back for it, or for her. What had she done? She gripped the sink to keep from falling. This wasn't right. Her world was out of balance. Since when had balance become essential to her world?
She shook her head at the reflection of her own self-awareness in the bathroom mirror. She couldn't deny the truth. Staring back at her out of the mirror was a woman in love. Doug Forsyth was part of her life. He had to be. She needed him to be.
&nb
sp; Lacy stumbled back into the bedroom and looked frantically about. Should she dash over to his place? She checked the clock. It was still only four A.M. She'd wait. This was going to be hard enough to do if he was awake—not groggy from sleep or drunk. Cripes, he wouldn't go out and get drunk because of her, would he?
Maybe she should call first. No, that was gutless. And it would be far too easy for him to hang up on her. She'd confront him face to face. She couldn't do less than that. And she would understand if he slammed the door in her face. She chewed on her lower lip and double checked the clock. She lay down upon the bed, stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about anything.
* * * *
At eight o'clock sharp, Lacy took a deep breath and knocked soundly on Doug's apartment door. When he opened the door halfway, she pushed it open, not at all put off by his puzzlement. She strolled into the middle of the living room and whirled about. “Don't say a word. I'm not sure how I can make up for last night, Doug. But I want to. I must."
Her fingers flew down her blouse. Buttons skittered across the floor.
Doug's eyes widened with emotion. “But—"
"No. Not a sound from you.” She tossed her blouse aside and preened at his appreciation for her tightening nipples. Would she ever grow tired of his wordless praise? She sure hoped not. “I've come to tell you how much I love you, Doug. You know me well enough to know that I speak best,” she smiled softly, “if not loudest, with my body."
He took a step backward when she kicked off her boots and unsnapped her skirt. The erection pushing at his jeans gave her confidence. She leaned over and slid her panties off and then patted her pussy. “I'm sure you can still smell and taste her from last night."
"I ... I'm..."
"Ssh,” she said, falling to her knees before him while yanking on his zipper. “Ah, he must be feeling neglected.” She reached in and pulled out his handsome cock. “Poor fellow.
She blew on its growing length before planting wet kisses around its crown. And then she took him in her mouth.
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