All Through the Night (12 page)

“It’s too light,” she whispered, “too light, I can’t bear it.”

But she couldn’t be heard over the moaning of the chair, and apparently Jean wasn’t inclined to stop anyway. Certainly not in the way that she meant. He actually caught the crotch of her panties between his teeth and pulled the material out, letting air rush into the heat between her legs.

Kerry arched in surprise. Her legs were suspended in the air for a second, and it felt as if the dragonfly were inside her now, gossamer wings beating.

“I don’t know what will happen if you don’t stop…”

“I do.”

The chair groaned as he released it, letting it rock gently back and forth.

Kerry groaned too as his tongue slid up and down the most sensitive part of her anatomy. The way it languidly swirled, she could have been an ice-cream cone or a cloud of cotton candy. What an exquisite thrill that was, like the point of a baton lightly riding the sole of the foot. His mouth was an instrument of sweet torture. Deep muscles fluttered tightly, and she could feel dampness seeping through her panties.

“Can’t bear—” was all she got out. The rest of it died in her throat as he gathered her up in his arms. He kissed her lips lightly, and when she made a sound of distress, he kissed her deeply. Kissed her to her very soul.

“Now I want you on
your
knees,” he told her under his breath.

She assumed they would exchange places, and that he would be the cotton candy, but if she was learning anything in this adventure with him, it was not to assume. There was a lovely old Aubusson carpet on the living room floor by the window, and they ended up there, with Jean lying on his back and Kerry on her knees at his head. Her panties and robe were gone now, draped over the rocker, but she was still wearing her tank top, and her breasts were hotly excited. It was sheer nervous anticipation. He hadn’t even touched her there, and yet her nipples were flushed and taut. Every shiver rustled the silky tank top against her skin. Every shiver set her more on edge.

He spread her open above him with his fingers, and then he inched her legs wider and wider, bringing her down to his mouth. The tension was fierce and wonderful. Her thighs shook as he tongued her softly and with the eloquence of a maestro. She raised her arms above her and cried out softly, barely aware of how she must look, like a penitent, begging for mercy.

The first orgasm that shook her brought her to her hands and knees. By the second, she couldn’t control the tremors anymore. She crumpled to her elbows and then fell onto her side, next to him. He gathered her close with his arm, and she drifted off, into some kind of ecstasy, floating… floating. Some time later she felt him easing from beneath her.
■‘
She drifted again, and when she awoke next, she was aware that he had rolled her onto her stomach, and that he was above her, possibly even astride her, whispering into her hair.

“Stay just as you are,” he said, “I’m going to take you this way.”

Somewhere inside Kerry was a barely discernible bleat of alarm. It was a frantic little sound that brought Jean close, whispering and touching her soothingly. Apparently he thought he’d frightened her. And he had. But she was also stirred to the depths of her being.

Kerry wondered if she was still breathing.

He moved over her, and his weight awakened something primitive within her, a mating response. His hands were in the hair at her nape, lifting, sifting. It was glorious. She felt his hardness pressing into her thigh and she responded helplessly, lifting her hips in enticement. It was an involuntary response. She wanted him in the most ancient, urgent way a female can want a male. She wanted him there, now, deeply and fast.

She heard the soft whine of a zipper being opened, and her whole body contracted. The familiar feel of denim against her bare legs told her that he hadn’t removed his clothes—and that he wasn’t going to. This was more than an act of possession, it was ravishment, and he was neither a highwayman nor a slave. He was a phantom lover who would steal his way into her heart, as well as her body. He would hold her in thrall until he’d stolen everything… even her naked, quaking soul. Especially that.

“Stay just as you are,” he whispered again. “Utterly still.”

She tried, but it was nearly impossible not to quiver as he brushed his lips over her uptilted derriere. A hand slipped through the seam of her thighs and lightly caressed her where she was hot and tingling. Wetness gushed at his touch, and nothing more was needed. She was wild to be entered.

“Rock back as if you were still in the chair,” he told her.

He guided her with his hands, and she did exactly as he said. She swung her hips and tasted ecstasy. Tasted him.

He took her there, now, deeply… and slow.

It was the sweetest pressure in life, a sensation of being possessed and released all at once. Kerry surrendered herself with barely a whimper, shuddering helplessly at the lush thrill of penetration. He thrust into her reaches as smoothly as a hand into a snug velvet glove, and she tightened immediately. Tightened and quivered at the same time.
Possessed and released at the same time
. From the moment he entered her, she was floating in a sea of sensation, a shimmering world of light and sound.

It was delirious. She made pleading noises, unable to help herself. He was weight and darkness and the source of all pleasure. He was everything at that moment. She would be nothing without him. He couldn’t leave her. This couldn’t end. Even as the floodtide hit her and she knew that she was in the last throes, that this pleasure could not go on forever, she also knew that she had changed. Her body had changed, simply from this one act of possession. Her mind, her spirit, everything had been changed in some way, and she could never go back.

“Our journey isn’t over, Kerry.”

It will never be
, she thought. And when he turned her on her back, she reached for him. They rushed to reconnect in the most intimate way possible, clinging mouths and yearning limbs, all pining for unity and oneness, and she told herself then that he would never leave her. If he felt anything like she did, he never could.

The first time she woke up, she realized they were still on the floor, and he was holding her. “We can’t stay this way,” he said. “Let me take you to bed.”

“No, not the bed, the rocker.”

“You want to be in the chair?”

“Yes, with you. We can cover ourselves with blankets and rock until we fall asleep. Please.”

He gathered her up and gently settled her in the soft leather cradle, then got a comforter from the bedroom and joined her. When they were all bundled up and she was blissfully pressed next to him, her leg draped over his thighs, she wondered if this was what it was supposed to be like between men and women. She’d never had anything like this. She felt whole for the first time in her life.

He’d said he was missing something. It had to be this.

She couldn’t ask the question that meant everything— Are you free, Jean? Did it work? But fortunately, there was another one.

Her mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. “You said there were things that men could only learn from women. What things, Jean?”

He shivered as she lightly raked her fingers through his chest hair.

“How to touch like this?” she asked. “How to be tender?”

He rested his chin against her forehead, and she could hear him breathing. She could almost hear him thinking.

“It’s not about giving as much as it is about receiving,” he said. “Women teach men how to
receive
tenderness— and other things, like love.”

His mouth must be dry too. His voice was grainy and thrilling.

“You taught me something important tonight, Kerry.”

“I did?” She looked up at him, aware that she couldn’t swallow. It was virtually impossible to swallow. Could you die from that? she wondered.

“It’s not about success or personal power or even courage,” he said. “Those things keep a man enslaved. It’s about love. That’s what sets his soul free.”

It’s about love.

Now she didn’t need to ask the other question. It must have worked. He must be free of the curse, and she had been a part of it. She’d given him the key to unlock the cage. Now, for the first time in her life, she could sleep through the night in a man’s sheltering embrace, dream in his arms, and believe that he would be there.

The journey was over. Her life had only begun.

Chapter Seven

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Several moments passed before Kerry knew where she was. The gentle rocking motion conjured thoughts of a boat, anchored in a harbor… and then she opened her eyes. Her living room was cast in a bluish haze, but it was light coming from the window, not a TV or computer screen.

Dawn, she realized. The sun was coming up, not going down.

And she was alone.

She pushed off the comforter, wondering if Jean had gone to the kitchen for something to eat. The unsteadiness she felt as her feet hit the floor brought a vivid reminder of the surreal experiences of the night before. She was still shaking; it was that intense. She could hardly believe it had happened. Certainly nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

Her pink robe was in a heap on the floor, but she didn’t bother with it. She was too anxious about where he was. Too anxious even to call his name.
Please don’t let him be gone again
, she thought.
Don’t do that to me. It would be too cruel, like tormenting an animal at the zoo
.

Her kitchen was hazed with blue, too, and a pinprick of fear touched her when she realized he wasn’t there, either. The breakfast nook looked out on her snowed-covered backyard, as well as the garage apartment, where Malcolm lived. There was no sign of her tenant or anyone else, al-though she wouldn’t have expected to see Malcolm. He worked at an assembly plant during the day, and whether he was at home or not, his blinds were always tightly closed.

Kerry’s mouth had gone dry with excitement the night before. Now it was coppery, bitter. She already knew what she was going to find when she went to the bedroom, but she had to go anyway. A desperate feeling came over her as she scurried through the living room, knowing it was hopeless.
He was gone
.

The entire house looked alien to her. The place that had given her comfort and refuge now gave her nothing but torment because he wasn’t there.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, “this can’t be happening. It is
too
cruel.”

Her bedroom was the proof she dreaded. It was exactly as she’d left it, the sheets thrown back the way they were when she’d crept out of bed to investigate the noise. Her bathroom looked untouched, too. There was no trace of him anywhere. Other than her robe on the floor, she couldn’t find evidence that he’d ever been there.

Under her breath, she said, “No one has dreams like that.”

She stared at the Aubusson carpet with a growing sense of horror. Was she delusional now? She couldn’t tell this story to anyone. It would have sounded like the ramblings of a madwoman. But Jean was as real to her as her own heartbeat. Either she hadn’t freed him with her ridiculous plan, or she had, and he had better things to do than hang around with a housebound crazy.

She turned in the room, searching for answers that were becoming more incredible than the questions. Maybe his curse required that he pass more than one test, and this was only the first. Now that he’d conquered the maiden, he had to go out and fight a dragon or something. And maybe Kerry Houston really
was
in need of antipsychotic medication.

“Our journey isn’t over, Kerry.”

She spun around, thinking it was Jean behind her. Someone had spoken, hadn’t they? But there was no one there. The sensation that ran up her spine was like an icy breath of air. She clutched her arms and held herself, fighting the pain that flared every time she tried to breathe. What was it he couldn’t feel? He had shuddered in her arms and told her that love could free him. What deeper emotion was there than that? She didn’t believe the feeling he spoke of existed. It couldn’t.

Her body quailed with another chill.

“Damn, drafty old house.” She was freezing, but that wasn’t causing her to quake from head to toe. It was despair. Despair and a burning sadness. She had to sell this place. She couldn’t live here any longer. The neighborhood had gone to pot and taken her along with it. Even her grandparents wouldn’t want her to be here now, not like this. How she would get through the ordeal of packing up and moving out when she couldn’t even get through her door was beyond her. But if she didn’t do something, they would soon be coming for her with a net.

Gooseflesh needled her bare arms and legs.

That was when she realized she was standing in her living room half naked He’d left her in nothing but a tank top, and she was
still
in nothing but a tank top. The awareness nearly made her ill. It was symbolic of her downfall, of the whole mess. It shouted at her that she wasn’t just an emotional wreck, she was guilty of frighteningly bad judgment and worse. She’d given in to dangerous urges with a man she didn’t even know, possibly at the risk of her life, certainly at the risk of her sanity. Who knew what he might have done to her? Or who he might have been? On a sliding scale of moral character, you couldn’t slide much lower than that.