misunderstood.
Jody, Carlie, both young and with long lives stretching before them. He’d known what Pearl meant, and it had more to do with time than with anything else.
Women—men, too—had to establish their own personal relationships with time.
Pearl moaned again, lost in her consuming passion, safe from all her fears if not her desperation. For now, anyway.
Another trailing moan.
Pearl.
Afterward, he held her to him as she slept.
18
C onnie was awakened by the light from the bedside reading lamp.
She screwed up her eyes and turned her face into her pillow. The pleasures of last night—Brad with his hands on her, all over her, Brad entering her body, pushing into her, ramming her, flooded into her memory. The evening hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. Then, within minutes after entering her apartment, it had gone exactly as she’d planned.
Plan B , she thought. She realized there had always been a plan B.
Thank God he wore a condom .
It seemed to her that the kind of deep and penetrating sex they had might lead to pregnancy almost every time. She knew it was foolish to think that way, but thinking had nothing to do with it. Feeling . That’s what it was about. It had not been like sex with other men. Not in its intensity. For a while he had turned her into a creature that lived only in a world of sensation. Consideration and caution, morality and logic, none of it meant a thing because none of it existed when he so thoroughly possessed her.
Pregnancy.
She derived some solace from the knowledge of the condom. Still, she couldn’t be sure. Condoms breaking or failing in other ways had led to entire industries of alternative means of protection.
She told herself not to be an idiot. She wasn’t in such a terrible situation. They’d had sex. He’d used protection. So be a big girl and don’t start to worry ’til you miss a period. Right now, all over the city, there were plenty of women in more danger of an unwanted pregnancy than she was.
But what if she did become pregnant? What would be her reaction? His reaction?
All the while she pondered, a part of her knew that it was something else about last night that was bothering her. What he’d done to her, what he now could do to her because of the power he held over her, seemed very much like prologue.
Or foreplay?
The possibility frightened and thrilled her.
She burrowed her forehead and eyes deeper into the pillow to escape the light.
“When you gonna turn the lamp off?” she asked, and for the first time wondered why he’d turned it on. There had been enough ambient light in the bedroom for him to make his way to the bathroom. She shifted slightly so one eye was exposed and could see the clock radio by the bed. Its green numerals indicated that it was 2:17 AM .
“Sweetheart? The lamp?”
No answer.
She felt with an exploratory foot and decided that she was alone in the bed. Maybe Brad was in the bathroom. She scanned the dark rectangle of the doorway and saw that the light in the bathroom was still off.
Connie sighed. Now she was completely awake. With her mind even more awhirl.
“Brad? Honey?”
No answer. But she could hear him—someone—moving around.
She sat up in bed and the room spun.
Really spun. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. She placed both hands on the mattress and clutched at the sheet so she wouldn’t fall off the bed.
What the hell?
“Brad?”
“Here, Connie.”
She couldn’t see him; the room was revolving around her so crazily it was as if a powerful strobe light were making everything lurch with irregular but increasing speed.
“What’s going on?” she asked breathlessly. “I’m so . . . It’s like a carnival ride.”
“Must have been something in that last drink you had,” Brad said. She had a fix on him now, saw him in the strobe light as he went spinning past again and again. Nude, the way he slept. But his hands were different. A different color. Pale. White. Gloves. He
Jody, Carlie, both young and with long lives stretching before them. He’d known what Pearl meant, and it had more to do with time than with anything else.
Women—men, too—had to establish their own personal relationships with time.
Pearl moaned again, lost in her consuming passion, safe from all her fears if not her desperation. For now, anyway.
Another trailing moan.
Pearl.
Afterward, he held her to him as she slept.
18
C onnie was awakened by the light from the bedside reading lamp.
She screwed up her eyes and turned her face into her pillow. The pleasures of last night—Brad with his hands on her, all over her, Brad entering her body, pushing into her, ramming her, flooded into her memory. The evening hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. Then, within minutes after entering her apartment, it had gone exactly as she’d planned.
Plan B , she thought. She realized there had always been a plan B.
Thank God he wore a condom .
It seemed to her that the kind of deep and penetrating sex they had might lead to pregnancy almost every time. She knew it was foolish to think that way, but thinking had nothing to do with it. Feeling . That’s what it was about. It had not been like sex with other men. Not in its intensity. For a while he had turned her into a creature that lived only in a world of sensation. Consideration and caution, morality and logic, none of it meant a thing because none of it existed when he so thoroughly possessed her.
Pregnancy.
She derived some solace from the knowledge of the condom. Still, she couldn’t be sure. Condoms breaking or failing in other ways had led to entire industries of alternative means of protection.
She told herself not to be an idiot. She wasn’t in such a terrible situation. They’d had sex. He’d used protection. So be a big girl and don’t start to worry ’til you miss a period. Right now, all over the city, there were plenty of women in more danger of an unwanted pregnancy than she was.
But what if she did become pregnant? What would be her reaction? His reaction?
All the while she pondered, a part of her knew that it was something else about last night that was bothering her. What he’d done to her, what he now could do to her because of the power he held over her, seemed very much like prologue.
Or foreplay?
The possibility frightened and thrilled her.
She burrowed her forehead and eyes deeper into the pillow to escape the light.
“When you gonna turn the lamp off?” she asked, and for the first time wondered why he’d turned it on. There had been enough ambient light in the bedroom for him to make his way to the bathroom. She shifted slightly so one eye was exposed and could see the clock radio by the bed. Its green numerals indicated that it was 2:17 AM .
“Sweetheart? The lamp?”
No answer.
She felt with an exploratory foot and decided that she was alone in the bed. Maybe Brad was in the bathroom. She scanned the dark rectangle of the doorway and saw that the light in the bathroom was still off.
Connie sighed. Now she was completely awake. With her mind even more awhirl.
“Brad? Honey?”
No answer. But she could hear him—someone—moving around.
She sat up in bed and the room spun.
Really spun. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. She placed both hands on the mattress and clutched at the sheet so she wouldn’t fall off the bed.
What the hell?
“Brad?”
“Here, Connie.”
She couldn’t see him; the room was revolving around her so crazily it was as if a powerful strobe light were making everything lurch with irregular but increasing speed.
“What’s going on?” she asked breathlessly. “I’m so . . . It’s like a carnival ride.”
“Must have been something in that last drink you had,” Brad said. She had a fix on him now, saw him in the strobe light as he went spinning past again and again. Nude, the way he slept. But his hands were different. A different color. Pale. White. Gloves. He
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