He said, just before his mouth closed over her, “This is one hell of a secret weapon.”
He could almost hear her satisfied smile. “I know. You can’t believe how good it feels. Walking around, even, if I start thinking. … bad thoughts. Doing the machines at the gym? Oh, yeah. And I have a feeling that riding a bike could get embarrassing.”
“No,” he said, and gave the silver ring a gentle little tweak. “I mean for me. If you’re bad, all I’ve got to do is hold onto this, and …”
She gasped and tightened, and as soon as she did, he had a finger inside her. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”
“Yes. Yes.” It was a gasp. “Harlan.”
In another second, he was going to be too busy to talk. Right now, though, he messed with her a little bit more and said, “Did you think about me, when you got this? The first time you played with it?”
The tension in her thighs. The quickening of her breath. “Y-yes.”
That barely visible swell of belly. Her white skin, and all the secret pink of her. That little silver ring, and that black bead. He said, “Then come on. Show me it’s mine.” He lowered his mouth to her, and she came apart. Stiffening. Spasming. Her head thrashing. Trying to stifle her cries against her hand.
Holy shit.
She’d been thinking two things since she’d gotten the piercing, which had been about three days after she’d said goodbye to Harlan on the tarmac. To be honest, she’d been thinking about that piercing ever since she’d researched the less extreme ones Dyma wanted.
You could say the idea had captivated her. How would it feel to be that sensitive? That stimulated? She’d wanted so much to know, and she’d known she didn’t dare.
This time, she’d dared. And then she’d thought those two things. First, that she was crazy. It hurt a lot to have it done, and once she did, she realized she’d never be able to show anybody. She’d be too embarrassed. How was she even going to get changed after her shower at the gym? Why would a woman go around being invisible for thirty-four years and then do this?
The second thought was even more dismaying. How much she wanted Harlan to see it. How much she wanted to have him lie over her, to look her over slowly, like she was his, and touch it. To decide that it gave him license to play with her. It had been a fantasy, but it had sure worked.
He said, now, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it, like he was holding back, and he couldn’t stand to, while he kept his hand there, kept her focused right on the spot, “What’s going to feel good with that? What’s going to hurt you, being pregnant? Tell me. I need information.”
“Uh …” She tried to concentrate. It wasn’t easy. “Anything that you do is going to be …” He blew on the piercing, then tongued it, and her legs stiffened.
Oh, my god. She was going to come again. “A … amazing,” she got out. “It makes me, ah … so sensitive. Do what you … want. Tell me, and I’ll do it. Just be gentle with my breasts. Please.”
He sighed. It came from all the way down deep. She felt it, because she had her hands on his shoulders.
“Then,” he said, “let’s go.”
He was gentle. He was also demanding, and inventive, and thrilling as hell.
When he had his hands around her ankles, pulling her back into him, then his hands around her thighs, and her face was pressed into the mattress while he was driving hard. When he was talking to her, giving her orders, telling her everything she wanted to hear, and her hand was underneath her, helping herself out? She came so hard, it almost hurt.
When she was riding him slow and he was pulling her into him, saying, “Show me how you play with that thing,” then watching her while she did it? She threw her head back, tightened around him, and came even harder. She had to bite down on her hand to try to keep quiet, until he got his hand over her mouth to help her, which was when she came again.
And when, at last, he was over her, resting on his elbows, his hands cupping her head, thrusting long and slow and deep, waiting until she couldn’t stand it anymore, until she was asking for more, and then going faster, and finally, driving into her like he never wanted it to end, piercing to the heart of her …
She came so hard, she cried.
He was over her, doing his best to wrap himself around her. She was crying. Why was she crying?
The fear twisted in him. What had he been thinking, using her that hard?
“Hey.” He kissed her eyelids, tasted the salt of her tears. “Hey, baby. What? Too rough? Did I hurt?”
She shook her head, and her hand came up to grasp his shoulder. It was shaking a little, and he smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her temple. “What? Tell me.”
“It just felt …” She tried to laugh, and couldn’t quite do it. “So good. I’ve been trying not to … want you. You’ve been my … secret. My fantasy. I thought … that’s all right. It’s been freeing, the piercing, letting my … mind go, and that’s good, but it isn’t real. But you’re so … so real. And it feels too good, and I …”
He kissed her some more, then rolled with her so they were on their sides. “Hey,” he said gently. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Her eyes searched his. His leg was over hers, his arm around her, holding her close to him, like he could hold her right here with him. “Me, too,” he said again. “I wasn’t going to push it. I mean, obviously, not with the whole pregnancy deal. And everything that’s happened. It’s too much. But when you show up in a guy’s room in the middle of the night and tell him you’ve done something secret and dirty, and invite him to find it for himself … well, there’s only so much self-control a man has.”
“I showed up because I thought you were in pain,” she said, but she was smiling now.
“Well,” he said, “you were right.”
Another smile, another kiss, and he said, “If I give you back your nightgown, will you stay with me?”
It wasn’t forever. It was for now. They both know it. But it felt so good to have her here. She wound her arms around him, and he pulled her in a little closer, looked into those golden eyes, and lost himself a little.
She said, “I’ll stay with you. And I don’t need the nightgown.”
38
Sins of the Fathers
The next morning, he was sitting with all of them—Annabelle, Alison, Vanessa, and Jennifer—on a bench in the courtroom. Around them, others waited. Sometimes a woman alone. Sometimes an entire family. The atmosphere tense, especially when another defendant walked through the door dressed in orange, handcuffed and escorted by deputies whose eyes never stopped moving. And it had lasted for over two hours already.
It was like a movie, except that you were living it. And that it was more boring.
Jennifer had offered to stay with the kids so Steve could come with Alison, and he’d wanted to tell her, No. I want you there. Selfish of him in every way there was. Selfish not to let Alison have that comfort, and selfish to expect Jennifer to provide it, so he’d shut up.