Sins of Omission (9 page)

His hands spanned her waist, tightening their grip to lift her above him. His mouth tortured her with teasing flicks of his tongue, making her shudder with unreleased passion. She curled her fingers into his night-dark hair, pushing him backward, away, pleading that he end the torment, only to follow his greedy mouth with her body, straining her flesh against his.

A throbbing ache spread through her, demanding to be satisfied, making her seek relief by the involuntary roll of her hips against the length of his thigh. He held her there, forcing her bottom forward, driving her pelvis against him.

Suddenly he shifted, throwing her backward and settling on top of her, looming over her. For a thousand times, it seemed, his lips and hands traveled her body, starting at the pulse point near her throat and seeming to end at her toes.

He whispered French words of love, words she'd taught him, praising her beauty, celebrating her sensuality. Her body seemed to have a life of its own, and she succumbed to it, turning, opening like the petals of a flower. His searching fingers adored her, his hungry mouth worshiped her. Lower and lower his kisses trailed, covering the tautness of her belly and slipping down to the softness between her thighs.

She felt him move upon her, demanding her response, tantalizing her with his mouth, bringing her ever closer to that which had always eluded her and kept itself nameless for her. Her body flamed beneath his touch, offering itself to him, arching and writhing, reveling in the sensation that was within her grasp, reveling in her own femininity. She felt as though she were separated from herself, that the world was comprised only of her aching need and his lips. Exotically sweet, thunderously compelling, her need urged him on, the same need that lifted her upward, upward, soaring and victorious, defeating her barriers, conquering her reserves, bringing her beyond the threshold of a delicious rapture never dreamed of or suspected, even in her fantasies.

And when his mouth closed over hers once again, he had proved her a woman and had not cursed her for it. He had allowed her to rise victorious in her passions, leaving her breathless and with the knowledge that there was more, much more. She was satisfied yet discontent; fed and yet famished. She wanted to share the ecstasy he had given her, participate in the sharing, and only with him.

Grasping her hips, he lifted her as though she were weightless. He brought her parted thighs around him, and when he drove downward, she felt as if she were being consumed by a totally different fire—one that burned still but left the sensibilities intact. Yet there was that same driving need deep within her, deeper and more elusive than she had experienced the first time. She struggled to bring herself closer, needing to be part of him this time, needing him to be part of herself. These fires burned deeper, brighter, fueled by his need for her, his hunger to be satisfied.

Tears glistened on her cheeks. She was triumphant, powerful, a woman. In this man's arms she knew she had been born for this moment, that all her life had been leading up to what she was experiencing with this magnificent American. Together they had found the secrets of the universe.

Reuben lay back among the pillows, Mickey cradled against his chest. He knew that there would never be a moment to equal what he'd just experienced. There would be other women, he was sure of it, perhaps even a wife someday, but they would never do for him what this woman had just done. He closed his eyes and listened to his heart pound.

His last conscious thought before drifting off into a contented sleep was, George, you son of a bitch, you didn't tell me the half of it.

The purple dawn was wrapping its arms around the château when Mickey crept from Reuben's bed and made her way down the hall to her own room.

How cold and forlorn her bed felt. She wanted to be back in Reuben's bed with her head on his shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She'd known it would be like this…and now there was nothing she could do. She'd tasted her fill of the American, and she wanted more. Would always want more.

But how long would she be able to keep him? Six months, a year? At forty-three, she was old enough to be his mother. Hardly the basis for an enduring romance. In the end, would he be the one to ask to leave, or would she send him on his way? Where in the world would she get that kind of strength? Oh, why hadn't she listened to herself, to that little voice that had warned her?

Sitting at the breakfast table the next morning, Daniel knew immediately that something had changed. There was a different look about Reuben, a softer, more mellow expression around the lines of his mouth. There was a glint in his friend's eyes and a ready smile about to break across his face. Mickey positively bloomed. Daniel was quick to notice that she had allowed the natural brightness of her eyes to replace even the smallest traces of makeup. She appeared younger, even more vital than before, and the smile that played about her lips was almost coquettish, like that of a young girl keeping a secret. Even Mickey's usual lively chatter was no distraction from the way her eyes glowed each time she allowed herself a glance at Reuben.

Thus Daniel arrived at the obvious conclusion: Reuben and Mickey had finally tumbled into bed together. The thought provoked a certain ambivalence in him. On the one hand he was glad for his friend because they both deserved the best life had to offer; but there was a certain sadness in him because he was going to be left at the gate when the three of them became two. He sighed, recognizing that the idyllic perfection of his time at the château might soon be ending. Perhaps not, he thought, remembering Bebe Rosen's visit after Thanksgiving.

“Ah,
chéri,
your thoughts are elsewhere this morning, and they are not pleasant, I think,” Mickey said suddenly, breaking into his reverie. Her smile was as bright as a summer day and seemed to envelop him in its warmth. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“I'm sorry, Mickey. I was”—he searched for the right phrase—“woolgathering.”

“I said I was going to the village this morning to bring you the tutor. You are ready for this next step in your studies. Monsieur Pierre Faroux is a scholar.
Extraordinaire.
He will read to you and he will teach you whatever you wish, philosophy, language, law, art, music. He is a rare individual. He was a wonderful friend to my husband and myself. He will take you under his wing,
chéri,
and in six months, a year, you will be eligible for any university you choose.”

“Mickey, I never even finished high school. I can't afford college, and law school seems a million miles away. Reuben's got all these ideas but…I just don't see how—”

“Bah! Your mind is quick as lightning. Begin today solving the future's problems! Be gracious. Let Monsieur Faroux share his knowledge with you. He is an old man now with nothing in his life but his books. And you love the books. You will make him happy.”

“I'll try,” Daniel conceded. He glanced at Reuben.

“Mickey's going to teach me to drive the motorcar today, Daniel. So while you're having lessons I will be gadding about the countryside.” Reuben hesitated, realizing how that sounded. “Do you think that's unfair?” he asked.

Daniel pretended not to hear the anxiety in Reuben's voice. “Of course it's fair. Please don't crash into a tree this first time out, or run over a cow.”

“You worry too much, Daniel.”

And you don't worry enough, my friend, Daniel thought to himself. Six months, a year, she'd said. Had Reuben picked up on her intimation? And if so, how did he feel about it?

Monsieur Faroux arrived two hours late; he, too, had celebrated the Armistice. He was a little man with a shock of white hair that stood on end, making him appear taller. His mustache was spiky and also white, curling at the ends. He possessed incredible eyes, the color of taffy, crowned by the same white spiky hairs as his mustache. He wore a heavy wool sweater two sizes too large and baggy trousers that had once been black but were now muddy gray. His hands, though, were of a much younger man, the fingers perfect for playing the piano or violin. But it was the taffy-colored eyes that mesmerized Daniel: he read in them all the things Mickey had said about the old scholar. He worshiped the old tutor on sight and flushed when the Frenchman kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

“So, you are my new
élève!
Come, we go to the library at once so I can choose our lessons for the day. Go, go, you are in my way,” he said to Mickey and Reuben, shooing them toward the door.

“Come,
chéri,
we are in the way here. Daniel, do not forget to have your eye treatment and you must rest for a while. Pierre will read to you when you have the compresses on your eyes.”

“Yes, yes I will see to everything. Go, so we can begin our work.”

Reuben searched Daniel's eyes to see if he was in agreement. What he saw there assured him. Except for the day his bandages came off, Daniel was the happiest he'd ever seen him.

 

Reuben and Mickey strolled side by side to the barn. He wanted to say something to her, to tell her how wonderful the night before had been, but her behavior was so casual, so…so ordinary, as though nothing had happened between them. He didn't want to be gauche, so he contented himself by returning her warm smiles.

George had said you never let a woman know how important she is to you. Never let her see how much you want to bed her. You're a man, that's taken for granted. Women know their place, and it's next to a man, when that man wants them.

“Now,
chéri,
you wait here and I'll drive the Citroën out.”

Reuben watched her run ahead, imagining her bottom jiggling deliciously under her sable coat. He could feel the heat between his legs, feel himself stiffening. Before allowing himself to think twice, he was running after her, overtaking her just as she was about to open the wide barn door.

“I want you here, now!” he said hoarsely.

She continued to open the door as though she hadn't heard him. Reuben's heart fell; feelings of inadequacy welled in him. Why was she so uninterested? Had his inexperience been so obvious the night before? Hadn't he pleased her? He followed her into the shadowy barn.

The combination of sweet-smelling hay and Reuben's manly scent was so heady. Her own breathing was as labored as his when she finally spoke.

“Here? In the barn? Like animals?” She turned to look at him, felt his gaze pierce her, felt the intensity of that gaze tingle her spine and quiver through her thighs. “You want to fuck me? Or do you want to make love to me: Animals or lovers, Reuben? Which?” Her voice was throaty, deep inside her chest, the tone suggestive, provoking. Actually she didn't care how he wanted it, only that he wanted her. Immediately upon awakening she had wanted him, wondering what he thought of her, wondering if he found her woman enough to slake those irrepressible passions he'd unleashed the night before. Was her waist slim enough, her skin smooth enough? Did her breasts please him? Her sex? Would he ever want her again?

“Like an animal,” Reuben said. “Against the wall. Standing up. Now,” he insisted, pushing her backward.

“Is this how Americans do things? In barns, in awkward positions?” she purred, already anticipating the feel of him between her legs, stirred by the powers of her own femininity that he would want her again and this time would be the aggressor.

“I don't know what Americans do, and I don't care. This is what I want to do.” He moved toward her, hands reaching to span her waist, pulling her against him, feeling her flesh yield.

“Then do it!”
Mon Dieu!
It was as though she'd unleashed a sleeping tiger within herself. She let her hands brush open his overcoat and pulled at the buttons on his trousers, reaching through the soft wool to find him. Her breathing came in quick, hard gasps. His hands were raising her skirt, searching for the fullness of her thighs, groping for the hot bare flesh exposed at the top of her stockings. He laughed when he slid his hands around to her buttocks, slipping them beneath the lace edges of her panties. The sound was sly, amused, satisfied at finding her bare skin.

“Do you think you are the only one with strong passions,
chéri?
” she asked, grazing the flesh of his belly with her finger, searching for and capturing that which would be her prize. “I anticipated this, and if you hadn't followed me in here, I would have called you in, saying the Citroën wouldn't start.” A smile played across her lips as she continued. “I, too, know what I want, and I want you. Reuben. I want you. Fuck me! Fuck me, now!”

“Then open your eyes,” he ordered as he pressed her onto the nearest hay bale. “I want you to see what I'm doing to you.”

Mickey leaned back, obeying him. He pulled away her panties, picked up her legs, and wrapped them around his waist, exposing her to his plunder. Gazing upon her open, waiting sex, he felt himself stretch almost beyond the limits of his control. “Keep watching…” His voice was a gravelly whisper now. “Look,” he ordered again as he drove into her fully, in one long, quick motion.

“Quickly,
chéri,
for I cannot stand it. Faster! Faster,” she moaned, all the while watching their wild, wonderful, unbearable joining. When he withdrew from her a little so she could see him hard and glistening, she pulled him back, urging him onward. One last violent thrust and both cried out at the same time.

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!”
Mickey raked her fingers through his crisp dark hair. “We are animals!” she cried in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

“Was it good for you?” Reuben asked. Suddenly he was unsure of himself, worried that it might have been over too quickly, that he'd slaked his thirst for her too greedily.

Mickey smiled as she smoothed down her dress and rearranged her clothes. “
Cheri,
don't ever ask that of a woman, for she may lie to you. There are many who pretend. You must know, here”—she thumped her breast—“if you pleased me or not. Do you think you pleased me?”

“I know I pleased you now,” Reuben groused good-naturedly. “I know you liked it because I watched you. I saw your face and it was beautiful.”

“Ah, yes, because you filled me with yourself. Yes,
chéri,
it was wild and wonderful, the exquisite release. I wanted more. I always want more. You will never be able to give me all I want,” she warned softly.

Reuben's neck grew warm. “Would Madame care to place a small wager?”

Mickey looked deeply into his eyes. “No,” she said simply. “I think you may be the exception, and that frightens me.”

 

Reuben's first driving lesson was exhilarating. He drove the roadster as though it were a windup toy, whipping it around corners, over ruts and gouges in the road, with no mind to the speed he was traveling. He laughed uproariously as Mickey blessed herself over and over. She cursed him, screaming for him to drive in a straight line. “We are not going to hell,
chéri,
at least not today. Slow! This is supposed to be pleasurable, not miserable. You are making my teeth ache!”

Reuben continued to laugh as he put the touring car through its paces. When at last he braked by the side of the rutted road, he pulled her to him. “All you had to do was say: ‘Stop! I want to make love with you again,' and I would have stopped.” He kissed her soundly, passionately. Her quickened breathing made Reuben smile. When he released her, she gasped.

“You had my life in your hands, Reuben,” she said, trying to sound severe. “If you care to place yourself in danger, that is your decision. Do not take liberties with my life. Start the engine and I will take liberties with you. Start the engine!”

When the Citroën began to move forward, Mickey foraged into the folds of his overcoat and then into his trousers. He was delicious, this one, she thought as she lowered her head onto his lap. Before she took him into her mouth she ordered, “Now drive as you should.”

Reuben's foot pressed the accelerator the same moment her mouth closed over him. For what seemed an eternity, he felt himself being hurled forward, racing toward an unreachable destination. He didn't know if he was driving on the road or had left the earth entirely, shooting off into space. All he knew was the pleasure of being in her mouth. When he shuddered again and again, reason overrode passion and he braced himself against the brake pedal, grinding the car to a halt.

“Mon Dieu!”
he moaned as Mickey began to laugh.

“Now it is my turn, Reuben. and I will request your full attention.”

“My pleasure,” Reuben answered. He would do whatever pleased her.

“And mine.” Turning toward the back of the car, she threw her sable over the seat and scrambled after it. Reuben quickly followed the length of her silky leg and the promise of her favors. After nestling deep into the fur, Mickey ran her fingers through his hair as she searched for and found his mouth with her own. Oh, how she loved the feel of him, the touch of him! The way his lips evoked a cry in her throat and how his fingers had learned and knew her body almost better than her own.

He was tall and slim and hard-muscled. Her greedy fingers could not touch him enough, her hungry mouth ached to taste every morsel of his flesh. And always there were the words: beautiful and loving, praising her beauty, adoring her passion, filling her head and warming her heart, throbbing through her and creating an aching need for him.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind and logic, she knew she was being wanton, even barbaric. But she didn't care. All she cared about were the slim hips poised above her and the honeyed words falling from his lips.

His mouth sought hers; his strong, sinewy arms locked her in an urgent yet tender embrace. Wave after wave of desire coursed through her as she answered his kisses, her tongue darting into the depths of his mouth. Her hands caressed and stroked his back, bringing him closer still. Her breasts were taut, their pink crests hard nubs beneath his palms. Soft moans of ecstasy escaped her parted lips as he proved himself to be an artful lover.

His thighs twined with hers, and she was completely aware of his body and the driving desire he held for her. A deep wave of yearning spread through her belly. Drawing up her knees, she yielded herself to him, inviting their union.