Forever (11 page)

Thick blonde cascades, freed of their
restraints, were suddenly released and came tumbling down. Sweeping
the tops of her shoulders. Softly framing her flushed face.

His lips left her throat, and he raised his
head to eat her up with his eyes.

'Stephanie,' he whispered huskily in her
ear. 'Beautiful, beautiful Stephanie.' He glided his hands through
her hair, feeling the cornsilk texture, his fingers alternately
kneading and stroking and massaging.

She let her head move limply in whatever
direction his fingers dictated, yielding herself to pure undiluted
sensation. The unhurried deliberation with which he proceeded was
delicious, and yet at the same time maddening.

How long could foreplay last?

Then she felt his palms smoothing their way
down, past her face and shoulders, until they slid over the
curvaceous silken contours of her breasts. Cupping a hand under
each, he lifted the satiny weights, his thumbs and forefingers
teasing the aroused, jutting strawberry nipples.

Only after what seemed an eternity did he
dip his head and solemnly lower his mouth, first to one nipple,
around which he licked light little whorls, before giving equal
attention to the other.

She moaned and trembled violently. It was
all she could do to endure the exquisite thrills of pleasure, all
she could do not to cry out for him to take her, here, this very
instant, and fill her to bursting!

She cradled his head in her hands, drawing
his face closer into her breasts.

Such luxury, this passion. How had she
managed to do without for so long?

Without warning, his arms gathered her up
and in one effortless movement swooped her off her feet. She let
out a little cry of surprise and clung to his neck as he carried
her towards the door.

Once again, he proved himself almost psychic
as he unerringly chose the neutral territory of the guestroom, the
one room in the entire apartment that was completely devoid of
ghosts and memories for her.

Reverentially he laid her down on the cool
spread of ivory lace and old, crocheted cushions. From the ceiling
above the headboard, a sweep of fringe-bordered white muslin curved
down from a corona. A faded, tattered garden of old needlepoint
cushioned the floor.

It was like being in another time, another
century.

She lay back, luxuriously naked, watching as
he removed his shoes, peeled his trousers down lean muscled thighs,
and discarded his jacket and shirt. They dropped soundlessly to the
floor.

Her eyes feasted.

He seemed carved in that half-light, a
chiaroscuro Praxiteles sculpture come to life; his shaft engorged
and swollen, like a gleaming sword of flesh. Such a perfect
specimen of manhood; his chest broad and powerful, his arms corded.
Absolutely sublime: a muscled yin to her softly voluptuous
yang.

He slid onto the bed and stretched out on
top of her, his weight upon her, but evenly distributed, so as not
to crush. His skin felt satin smooth against hers, and his manhood
was trapped between their bellies. Like something live and hard
straining to be freed.

He kissed her again, his fingertips
feathering her face and arms, sides and hips, breasts and
belly.

Gentle, gentle. Butterfly brush strokes.

She watched, quivering, as he moved slowly
down her body, a symphony of lips and hands. Moaned as he drilled
his tongue into her navel. Gasped as he hugged her buttocks and
pressed his face into the triangle of soft blonde curls between her
legs.

She nearly levitated from sheer
pleasure.

Oh, the ecstasy of his warm tongue upon the
radiant liquid of her womanhood! The sheer torture of his lips
closing around her secret of secrets, gently nibbling and sucking.
Then the overwhelming loss when he stopped, like being deprived of
life-giving sustenance.

But not for long. He spread her legs apart,
driving her even wilder by kissing and nuzzling and stroking her
inner thighs.

Stephanie gasped. She could actually feel
the beginning of orgasmic pleasure coming on!

She dug her elbows into the mattress and
half sat up. 'Put it inside me!' she whispered. 'I can't wait any
longer! Love me! Please, Johnny! Now.!

'No,' he whispered, 'not yet. Lie back and
enjoy it. You don't have to do anything . . . '

Tenderly, he slid a finger up inside her
moistness.

'Johnny!' she screamed, as her back arched.
Her head bore into the cushions, and her ribcage stood out like
bold latticework.

'Oh, oh my Go-od! Please, Johnny. Now! I
can't wait! Now! OhGodohGodohGodohGod! Love me
now!

He glanced up at her, his eyes glowing in
the near dark. There was an intent expression on his face, a kind
of purpose and power shining from within him.

'Not yet, Sweet,' he whispered. 'All in good
time.' His eyes seemed to reach into hers. 'Trust me. Okay?'

She went into whimpering spasms as he kept
up with the teasing, bringing her to the verge of orgasm, only to
stop the moment before the tide could fully engulf her. The
impatience she felt was almost palpable. And still he teased, his
tongue setting off little fires, his lips searching out
secrets.

The tide threatened her again.

And again he sensed it and backed off.

Suddenly she could bear it no longer.
Without warning, she lunged forward and grabbed his head. Then her
legs jackknifed, her pelvis rose, and she thrust herself at him,
rubbing herself obscenely in his face.

Grabbing her ankles, he forced her legs
apart and buried his face even deeper in the pungent sweetness of
her. Suddenly the heat blasting at him was too much. In a frenzy,
he tore his face away from between her splayed legs, forced them
down flat, and changed position.

Now he was kneeling over her, legs
straddling her thighs. He looked down into her face.

She was staring up at him, her eyes glazed
with a mixture of greed and triumph.

'You want it?' he whispered.

'God, yes!' she moaned.

As he grabbed hold of her hips and lifted
them to meet his, the thundering pulse within her roared and
deafened, and the rushing blood sped to a screaming crescendo. This
was the moment! she knew. His weapon of flesh was poised and ready,
in the air right in front of her.

'Johnny!
' she cried.

For a moment longer he seemed to hover in
midair, seemingly held there by some unseen force. Then she cried
out his name again and the straining erection lowered and drove
down into her.

It was as if the earth moved and the heavens
split asunder. Scissoring her legs around his waist, she dug fierce
fingers into his flesh and slammed herself against him as if to
swallow him whole.

A look of rapt, almost beatific
concentration came over her as he slowly began to thrust. Closing
her eyes, she joined his movements, rocking forwards and backwards,
forwards and backwards, timing it so that they moved together in a
perfectly synchronised dance of flesh.

Forgotten, for the moment, was the grim
reality of the day. The funeral and the burial belonged to another
time . . . another lifetime entirely. This . . . this love-making
was a celebration of life. A conquest of death. A reaffirmation, a
rebirth.

As he began to pump faster, her moans came
like supercharged breaths. 'Fas-ter!' she urged him on. 'Har-der!
Oh, John-ny, har-der! HAR-DER!'

Then she began to moan and scream and twist
and writhe as the first full wave of orgasm came rolling over
her.

Wildly her head flopped from side to side,
and she dug her nails so fiercely into his back that he cried out
in pain.

She barely heard his bellow, so powerful was
the thunder reverberating within her. Her head whipped back and
forth in a frenzy, her thrusts increasing in fury to keep up with
his. And all the while, his eyes stayed on her. On her face,
screwed up in agony and ecstasy, where her mouth was gaping and
gasping, as though her insatiable passion was fed from the very air
itself.

The thrashing of her gleaming body fuelled
his hunger, and his moans and grunts merged with hers. He drew his
lips back in a kind of snarl. His heart was jack-hammering as a
torrent began to rise from deep inside him.

Faster, faster, faster they slammed into
each other. Ravenously, like things possessed. Harder, harder,
harder! Smashing against each other as if for dear life itself.

Harder now, he squeezed her breasts. She
cried out and raked his back. He was too caught up in the engulfing
heat to even cry out. Again, he squeezed her nipples, and despite
her sudden tears, a blasting shudder seized her in its spasms and
her entire body began to quake.

'Ooooooh - 'shescreamed. 'OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHr
Her pupils froze and she stared wildly into his eyes as the
apocalyptic climaxes tore through her, drowning him in a torrent of
juices.

Her screams and levitations triggered the
explosion within him. He shouted, cursed, and grabbed her almost
cruelly, rearing up like an untamed bronco. Sensing him coming, she
contracted as tightly as she could.

The seed flew wildly out of him even as he
reared and bellowed, and, together, the two of them tumbled over
the edge of the earth and out into the far reaches of time and
space and the darkness and dazzling light beyond.

For a long moment, they clung to each other,
still joined, their bodies shuddering with aftershocks. After a
while they slowly returned to reality and he went slack and rolled
away.

She lay on her back, gasping for breath.
Finally she could feel her breathing returning to normal. She
turned her head to look at him. 'I don't believe it!' she
whispered, i feel like I've been reborn!'

He grinned, if this is what rebirth feels
like, I want to be born again. And again.'

She reached for his phallus and squeezed it,
gently milking it of its last drop. 'You know,' she whispered,
staring sideways at him, 'it's true what they say. Making love is a
reaffirmation of life.'

Then the bedside extension phone
shrilled.

He could feel her tense.

'Damn!' she swore, pulling back from
him.

His arms tightened around her. 'Let it
ring,' he advised softly, stroking her hair, if it's important,
whoever it is will call back.'

She hesitated and then nodded.

But the old-fashioned, rotary dial phone
kept on ringing shrilly. Twice. Three times. Four. Five.

With a growl of frustration, she yanked
herself out of his arms and snatched up the receiver. 'Yes?' she
snapped into the mouthpiece in the middle of the sixth ring.

A man's voice asked,'Ms Merlin?'

'Y-yes,' she said, her voice suddenly
cautious.

'Ms Stephanie Merlin?'

'That's right.'

Johnny sat up, looking over at her and
silently mouthing, 'Who is it?'

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand.
'Dunno,' she said, shrugging.

'Well, tell whoever it is you're busy.'

She took her hand off the mouthpiece. 'May 1
ask who's calling?' she asked.

'My name's Rubin,' the caller said. 'Irv
Rubin. I'm a friend of Johnny Stone's. He left a message that he
was back in town and could be reached there.'

'Would you like to -'

in a moment,' he interrupted smoothly, i
know this is a bad time for you, Ms Merlin, but we're doing a cover
story on your grandfather here at
New York
magazine?
Naturally, we were wondering if you could -'

Suddenly she felt more than a little
annoyance; she was downright furious. 'You're damn right this is a
bad time!' she snapped, cutting him off in mid-sentence. 'In case
you don't know it, my grandfather was just buried this afternoon.
Good-bye! She slammed the receiver down and closed her eyes for a
moment. When she opened them, something hard and cold had come into
them.

Johnny was looking at her with furrowed
brow. 'What was that all about?' he asked.

She turned to him slowly, her fury
increasing. So that was why he had come. To give one of his
journalist buddies a direct line to her. Well, she wasn't having
any of that. Nor him for that matter!

'You bastard!' she hissed softly, her voice
taking on a venomous edge. 'You lowlife, sneaky, dirty rotten
bastard!'

'Stephanie! What is it?' He reached for her,
but she flinched and rolled away and jumped off the bed before he
could touch her. She stood at the foot of it, arms hugging herself.
'Get out,' she said quietly.

He was stunned. After the beautiful love
they'd just made, she was acting as if he were poison!

'Stephanie, if I've done something, I'd like
to know what it is.'

As if he didn't know! Who did he think she
was? Some dumb bimbo?

'Stephanie -'

Even his voice now seemed to induce the
completion of some electrical circuit inside her - disappointment,
betrayal, violation - so that all the rapture she'd felt was gone,
and only hurt and disillusionment remained. Her heart felt hollow,
and her body threatened to collapse inwards. It was all she could
do to rely on her protective armour to shield her from the worst of
his apparent opportunism . . . the worst of his betrayal.

He stared at her. 'Do you mind telling me
what I've done?' he asked quietly.

She glared at him. 'Why don't you figure
that out for yourself, Mr Casanova?' she said bitterly.

'If that's the way you want it,' he said
tightly.

She flashed him a look which would have
withered a cast-iron penis, then, raising her head coldly, and
without speaking another word, she turned and walked out of the
room with dignity, her back straight and proud.

For a moment he just stared after her,
wondering what it was that had got into her. Then, remembering all
too well how icily stubborn she could be, he got out of bed and
began stalking round the room, snatching his clothing from where it
lay scattered on the floor. Fuming, he got dressed.