for the seventh time, he pressed his mouth to her ear, the
whiskey on her breath stinging her nostrils. He’d had more than the one he
still held in his hand, sloshing a rare drop or two onto the shoulder of her
gown.
“I bet if I was Roger, you’d be
pressed so tight against my cock there’d be no daylight between.” Rejecting
the bait, Sunny pulled away again. “I remember what it was like, Sunny-girl.
I bet he’s gettin’ that good lovin’ all the time, too, isn’t he?”
“Leave Roger out of this,” Sunny
whispered fiercely.
“You know he’s defective, don’t you?”
he went right on in a stage whisper. “Maybe not where it counts right now,
keeping that tight little pussy of yours happy, but he spent a lot of time with
the nut cases. He’s not right.”
Sunny’s jaw tightened. She felt the
contents of her stomach lurch. “You sound both ignorant and uneducated, Scott
Black,” she stated through clenched teeth. “Or are you just drunk?”
“Oh, I’m not drunk,” he said, yanking
her close again. “I’m just pissed off. That guy’s fucking my wife—”
“I’m not your wife!” Sunny hissed. “Kathy
is your wife, and you’d do well to remember that. You stopped being my husband
long before I caught you in bed with—what was her name? I bet you don’t even
remember.”
Wedging her arm between them, she
pushed him back. He staggered before recovery, loosening his grip on her
dress. A large hand reached out to steady him by the collar.
“Careful, Scott,” said Roger’s rumbling
voice. “Watch your step.”
He could have just been talking about
Scott’s proximity to the pool and other guests, but Sunny knew Roger had heard
at least a portion of the recent conversation. Exhaling, she turned her back
on her former husband, taking Roger’s arm.
“I like the land, and the changing
seasons, and the quiet, too,” she said to him. “Can we go home?”
CHAPTER NINE
They went to his place, deep, deep
into the quiet, into the haven he had created for himself. Now she understood
why. They stood in the gloom wrapped in each other’s arms, rocking back and
forth to a silent music of their own like an echo of the wind through the
trees. By the time they stopped, had grown still and the darkness had descended
entirely, her thirty-dollar panties were soaked through, though he’d done
nothing but hold her. Wordlessly he lifted her skirt and sundered the narrow
waistband of her undergarment in a single pull, then turned with her to the
wall and raised her in his arms, driving deep and hard and silently.
After, with her legs still wrapped
around his waist, he carried her into his bedroom, where he stripped off all
her clothes and tucked her beneath the mound of quilts. The night seemed
unusually chill.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk,” he said. “I’ll be
back.”
Sunny watched him shirk off his
jacket and change his shoes, then leave the house still wearing what remained of
his expensive suit. He was angry, she could see that. Not at her. Even so,
as she listened to the front door close softly she thought: Don’t stop loving
me because I’m not exactly who you thought I was.
He had left the small light burning.
Sunny sat up on the high mattress of his bed, the bed that felt like home, and
looked around his room. She went and used the bathroom, slipping into one of
his tee shirts, which hung well past the middle of her thighs. When she
returned she climbed back beneath the covers, staring at the books on the
wall.
I’ll never know exactly who you are, she
thought, but I’ll not stop loving you .
Maybe that was what had him worried,
the fact she never could know who he was. And neither could he.
* * *
When he returned it was very late.
Some innate sense told her that, because no clock existed in the room. The
sounds of the night outside had changed, like the
whiskey on her breath stinging her nostrils. He’d had more than the one he
still held in his hand, sloshing a rare drop or two onto the shoulder of her
gown.
“I bet if I was Roger, you’d be
pressed so tight against my cock there’d be no daylight between.” Rejecting
the bait, Sunny pulled away again. “I remember what it was like, Sunny-girl.
I bet he’s gettin’ that good lovin’ all the time, too, isn’t he?”
“Leave Roger out of this,” Sunny
whispered fiercely.
“You know he’s defective, don’t you?”
he went right on in a stage whisper. “Maybe not where it counts right now,
keeping that tight little pussy of yours happy, but he spent a lot of time with
the nut cases. He’s not right.”
Sunny’s jaw tightened. She felt the
contents of her stomach lurch. “You sound both ignorant and uneducated, Scott
Black,” she stated through clenched teeth. “Or are you just drunk?”
“Oh, I’m not drunk,” he said, yanking
her close again. “I’m just pissed off. That guy’s fucking my wife—”
“I’m not your wife!” Sunny hissed. “Kathy
is your wife, and you’d do well to remember that. You stopped being my husband
long before I caught you in bed with—what was her name? I bet you don’t even
remember.”
Wedging her arm between them, she
pushed him back. He staggered before recovery, loosening his grip on her
dress. A large hand reached out to steady him by the collar.
“Careful, Scott,” said Roger’s rumbling
voice. “Watch your step.”
He could have just been talking about
Scott’s proximity to the pool and other guests, but Sunny knew Roger had heard
at least a portion of the recent conversation. Exhaling, she turned her back
on her former husband, taking Roger’s arm.
“I like the land, and the changing
seasons, and the quiet, too,” she said to him. “Can we go home?”
CHAPTER NINE
They went to his place, deep, deep
into the quiet, into the haven he had created for himself. Now she understood
why. They stood in the gloom wrapped in each other’s arms, rocking back and
forth to a silent music of their own like an echo of the wind through the
trees. By the time they stopped, had grown still and the darkness had descended
entirely, her thirty-dollar panties were soaked through, though he’d done
nothing but hold her. Wordlessly he lifted her skirt and sundered the narrow
waistband of her undergarment in a single pull, then turned with her to the
wall and raised her in his arms, driving deep and hard and silently.
After, with her legs still wrapped
around his waist, he carried her into his bedroom, where he stripped off all
her clothes and tucked her beneath the mound of quilts. The night seemed
unusually chill.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk,” he said. “I’ll be
back.”
Sunny watched him shirk off his
jacket and change his shoes, then leave the house still wearing what remained of
his expensive suit. He was angry, she could see that. Not at her. Even so,
as she listened to the front door close softly she thought: Don’t stop loving
me because I’m not exactly who you thought I was.
He had left the small light burning.
Sunny sat up on the high mattress of his bed, the bed that felt like home, and
looked around his room. She went and used the bathroom, slipping into one of
his tee shirts, which hung well past the middle of her thighs. When she
returned she climbed back beneath the covers, staring at the books on the
wall.
I’ll never know exactly who you are, she
thought, but I’ll not stop loving you .
Maybe that was what had him worried,
the fact she never could know who he was. And neither could he.
* * *
When he returned it was very late.
Some innate sense told her that, because no clock existed in the room. The
sounds of the night outside had changed, like the
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