By Appointment Only (19 page)

The urgency in her voice finally penetrated his postcoital fog. He grunted and reached to zip up his pants. She kept an eye on the car with the blue light on top. It was only a SeaWorld security vehicle, but still.

He rolled to his knees, his head bent awkwardly. She pointed out the window. “We’ve got about a minute and a half until he’s close enough to see what we’re doing.”

Morgan shook his head and wiped a hand across his face. Then his face registered alarm. “Shit.” With no chivalry at all, he shoved her over the seat. “Get in the front, Hannah. Hurry.”

Unfortunately, on the way over the next seat, her knee hit the horn. She winced and looked back at the rent-a-cop. “He’s getting closer.”

Morgan was not built to coast over seat backs. It took him precious long seconds to maneuver over first the backseat and then the front. His face was red, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. He tried to start the car and then cursed when the gears protested and he realized the engine was already running.

The patrol car was less than a hundred feet away when Morgan put the car in drive and eased out of the parking space. He headed slowly toward the exit. “Is he following us?”

Hannah craned her neck. “Oh God. He is.” Suddenly their situation wasn’t so funny anymore.

Morgan gripped the wheel. “I can’t go any faster. The speed limit is twenty.” It felt like a half hour before they finally reached the main gates and eased into the street. Behind them the SeaWorld vehicle circled the edge of the lot and headed away from them on another slow circuit to check out the stragglers.

Hannah’s head dropped back on the seat and she started to gasp and wheeze and laugh. “Morgan, ohmigosh. I should kill you for this.”

He looked at her, his expression sheepish, and suddenly they were both hysterical. Morgan had to pull off the road. They sat in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven and laughed until they cried. Then they looked at each other and started up again. It was at least fifteen minutes before they could both speak and breathe normally.

She dried her eyes with a napkin from the glove box. The range of emotions the day had provided left her feeling spent and weak. But she realized with some amazement that the knot in her stomach was gone.

Nothing in her life was all that bad as long as Morgan was there to lean on. She considered herself a strong woman, but sometimes a girl needed a rock to steady her. And Morgan Webber was her rock.

She put a hand on his knee and stroked his thigh. “
Now
, can we go home?”

He tugged a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger and pulling. “We’ll pick up your car tomorrow. I have a sudden urge to make love to you in a boring bed.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “Sounds good to me, Mr. Webber. I’m all yours.”

Rachelle glanced down at the baby suckling at her breast. In these precious moments, she was sometimes shocked by the depth of the love she felt for this tiny, fussy infant. And that wave of emotion was invariably followed by guilt. Was she shortchanging her husband? Was she putting the baby’s needs before his?

But that was how it was supposed to be—right? Parents had to deny their desires in order to care for the new life that had been entrusted to them. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the rocker.

It was all so confusing. The hunger she and Timmy shared for each other was what had created the tiny new life in her arms. And then somehow they were supposed to sublimate that hunger with middle-of-the-night diaper changes and walking a colicky infant and trying to make an already tight budget stretch . . . it was a lot to ask.

She eased her sleeping daughter down into the crib and held her breath until the baby’s pudgy fist found her mouth and she settled into sleep. Thank God.

Then Rachelle lifted the bodice of her cotton nursing gown and sniffed it with a moue of disgust. It seemed that all the time now her clothes smelled like sour milk and baby poop.

She tiptoed back toward the bedroom. Timmy slept, dead to the world, sprawled on his back. With a sigh she stripped off her soiled nightclothes and went down the hall to their cramped bathroom. After a quick shower, she felt better. She opened the medicine cabinet and stared at the bottle of inexpensive perfume her husband had bought her for Christmas. She’d barely used any of it. While she was pregnant, the scent had made her nauseous.

She picked up the bottle and closed the mirrored door. Her reflection stared back at her. Tentatively, she lifted one of her breasts. They had always been small. But at least for the moment they curved nicely.

She put a spritz of perfume in her cleavage, on each wrist, behind her neck, and as an afterthought, around her knees. Her nipples tightened, and heat flooded her lower abdomen. Her breathing quickened. She felt energized by her shower, and the baby usually slept at least three hours after this feeding.

She replaced the spray bottle and tiptoed down the hall back to the bedroom. Timmy snored softly, his chest rising and falling steadily. He was a restless sleeper, and the covers were tumbled to one side, leaving him uncovered except for his hidden feet.

She sat down on the bed, oh so carefully. His penis, partially erect, rested against his taut abdomen. She wondered if he was dreaming. It had been weeks since they had had made love for real. They’d done it once on the night of her six-week checkup, and then that half-angry quickie two days ago in the doctors’ office. And that was it.

She leaned forward and gently grasped his penis. He murmured in his sleep and stirred. Looking at his dear face made her insides go all soft and gooey. She’d fallen in love with him on their second date.

He was clumsy in bed their first time, and she hadn’t asked if he was a virgin as well. She hadn’t wanted to embarrass him. Things were different for guys. They liked to be macho. So she pretended to climax, and it wasn’t long before Timmy caught on and learned what she liked. What made her come.

They had been so happy together, even though they worked long hours and money was tight. Every night they came home and had sex for hours, drunk on the fact that they could enjoy each other’s bodies as much as they wanted.

The pregnancy was a surprise. But after the first shock, they had both been happy about it. Timmy was so sweet during those nine long months. And after the first trimester, the sex had been amazing. She’d been hungry for him all the time, and he liked to tease her with new and interesting positions. They were young and healthy and infinitely in lust.

But after the birth, she had been overwhelmed, and Timmy had seemed like another obligation she had to meet.

Perhaps her mother had been right to insist on the sexual counseling. If nothing else, it had awakened Rachelle to her husband’s desperate need for her. And now suddenly, her own sexual hunger was back.

She stroked his cock firmly, smiling when it rose and thickened. The head was red and swollen and fluid oozed from the eye. She bent and licked it off. Timmy murmured. She swirled her tongue over and around the cap and then swallowed as much of his length as she could manage. His groan sounded as if he were in pain.

She moved over him and took him with one swift slide deep into her body. She loved the way he stretched her. She bit her lip at the sheer stinging pleasure of feeling his length pulsing inside her.

She rose up on her knees and at that moment, his eyelids opened, his gaze hazy and confused. “Rachelle?” He stared up at her, probably wondering if he was dreaming.

She reached behind her and played with his balls. “I need you, Timmy,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

She saw the moment his brain clicked into gear. His face darkened and his jaw set as he surged upward, gripping her hips and filling her again and again.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, changing the angle, sharpening the stimulation to her aching sex.

She moaned and let him move her as he wanted to, her body rigid with the nearness of her release.

He rolled them both and put a hand over her mouth. “Scream all you want, babe. I won’t let you wake the baby.”

With a muffled cry and fingernails scoring his back, she trembled on the precipice and plunged into the hot, wicked night.

Shaun was at his wit’s end. It was Monday, six days since he and Danita had screwed in the stairwell of the Hursts’ office building. In the aftermath of that incredible, unscripted experience, he’d been so relieved, so encouraged, so satiated and generally happy with the world, that he’d wanted to take out a billboard proclaiming the news. He’d found everything he had been looking for.

But that night . . . in their bedroom, the sexy woman who’d begged him to make her come was nowhere to be found. Danita had been quiet, distant, perhaps even troubled.

He’d assumed they would have sex. It was all he had thought about the rest of the day. Which meant that his return to the office that afternoon had been near useless. He’d been completely unproductive. But smiling . . . a lot.

That evening, Danita had fixed dinner as she did most nights. They ate on the screened-in back porch. The boys called. Shaun and Danita got on both phones so everyone could talk at once. It was nice.

The twins hadn’t come home this summer. They had jobs and girlfriends. They were full of stories. They were looking forward to fall break. Danita promised them their favorite meals when they came home.

Danita was animated on the phone, but afterwards she seemed to fade inward. It made him crazy. He didn’t know how to reach her. And when they went upstairs, she pleaded exhaustion and went to sleep. Leaving him to lie in the dark with his throat tight and a lump of dread in his stomach. Were they going to make it? Or was long-term marriage just not possible anymore?

The subsequent five nights had followed the same pattern. Apparently, his wife did not find him sexually attractive. Without the naughty stimulation of the counseling session, she would rather sleep than screw.

It saddened him. And made him angry. So much so that he came within an inch of blowing off their Monday-afternoon appointment. Why put himself through this? Danita couldn’t climax during vanilla sex with her husband. She had to have directions from a pair of shrinks to get turned on.

He was pissed when he met her downtown. He was pissed when they walked into their assigned room. He was pissed when he saw his wife’s expression. She looked apprehensive. Scared. Goddammit. He was her husband. What did she expect? That he would yell at her if she didn’t have a satisfactory orgasm?

He undressed in the thick silence, the tendons in his neck tight enough to pop. Danita read their instructions aloud in a hesitant voice, and now she undressed as well. It was actually the first time he had seen her fully nude in almost a week.

Her face was flushed, and again he was shocked by the absence of hair on her pussy.

He put his hands on his hips, every ounce of testosterone in his body driving him in a dangerous direction. The room was outfitted to look like a cave. There were animal pelts on the floor and fake torches for lighting. Shaun couldn’t have cared less if they were in the Hilton on Waikiki.

Danita’s nude body had a predictable effect on his cock. He was hard and ready.

Her arms hung loosely by her sides, and he’d bet his last dollar she wanted to cover her breasts or her bare mound but didn’t dare. She still held those damn directions in front of her like a paper shield.

He crossed the room, unable to erase the scowl on his face. “Give me those.”

Her eyes widened, but she held out her hand.

He grabbed the sheet of paper and tore it into several small pieces. “I don’t give a shit about what we’re
supposed
to do,” he said bluntly. “We haven’t had sex in a week, and I plan to make up for lost time.”

“Six days,” she muttered. “But the last time we were in here you said we should follow the directions . . . that we’ve paid for it.”

“Screw the directions. And if the only way I can screw my
wife
is to pay for it, so be it.”

She backed up a step. He didn’t blame her. He was angry. So angry he was breathing hard. It took a lot to make him lose his cool, but he was there.

He stared at her, wondering if he was about to put the final nail in the coffin of their sex life and maybe their marriage. “Get on the floor, Danita. I’m going to fuck you as many times as I can without passing out. And don’t worry . . .” His throat clogged suddenly with furious emotion. “I won’t try to make you come. In fact, I’m not even going to pay attention to your needs. It’s all going to be about me today.”

She had gone so white, the little freckles on her cheeks stood out in relief.

He snarled. The sound was animalistic and shocked even him. He narrowed his eyes. “Any problem with that?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. She was mute. And that suited him just fine.

Since she seemed frozen where she stood, he bit off a curse, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her down to the pile of soft furry hides. He reached for a conveniently placed tube of lubricating jelly and slathered it on his cock. And then he got on top of her, plunged between her legs, and rode her hard.

He came in less than a minute. And he was still erect. He flipped her to her knees and took her from behind. This time his orgasm finished him off. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. Afterward, they dozed in silence. Or at least he did. He wasn’t sure about Danita.

He had avoided looking at her face. He didn’t want to see pity, or revulsion, or even worse . . . long-suffering. He’d always enjoyed playing with her body, bringing her to climax. But for some reason, he didn’t excite her anymore. And it was only frustrating them both when he tried so hard.

He rolled to his back and slung an arm over his face. Danita was turned on her side, facing away from him. Now that he had time to process his surroundings, he realized that the makeshift bed was surprisingly comfortable, even if the fur did tickle his ass.