Chapter 13
In the taxie, Jack was unaware that Ninon held his hand. Had he seen a ghost-a phantom from the past? A Myra lovelier than he remembered her, one more sophisticated and polished?
"You look so pale, Jack. Are you ill?" Ninon pressed his hand. "Seeing Myra Manners did things to you. Of course, she is lovely, but then, so are others."
"It's just-she reminded me of someone I knew. But of course it couldn't be the same girl. Did you say she wrote the movie you're working in?"
"Well, she wrote the novel which is now being adapted into a screen play. Lance Studios bought it before it was published. She's here to help with the adaptation ... She's stuck on that Ted Howell-he's the star of the movie. Imagine, a girl from Ohio nobody ever heard of-at least that's where she's supposed to be from-in die limelight. But that Ted will open her eyes to the facts of life. He's positively ruthless when it comes to women."
Ohio, he thought, relieved. Yes, it couldn't be his Myra. She would never cowtow to some dumb movie idol.
"It's really a good play; you should read the novel, Seed of Hate, I'm sure it's a best seller."
"I'll try to find time to read it," said Jack.
Ninon, worthy of her illustrious namesake, made him forget all about the phantom of Myra. She was playful like a kitten, soft and cuddly, wanting to please.
"The way you ate up that silver-blonde Manners woman, I was worried you didn't go for brunettes," she said, kissing him on the forehead.
They had dispensed with the couch and were on the bed, her slim, budding form stretched out close to him. His fingers rippled down her smooth back and he kissed the tip of her nose. "Nonsense, blondes always impress me as pale and passionless," he lied. "While you had passion written all over your dark charms." His hands drew her down over him and the soft feel of her flawless skin was wonderfully soothing and at the same time exciting. He cupped her breasts that resembled champagne goblets and kissed her shimmering, perfumed hair trying to forget the apparition of the silver-blonde goddess, knowing she could have nothing in common with his Myra.
Ninon was a charming child, eager to please, a child with experience. Her kisses touched and excited him, her velvet tongue made him quiver. She pulled at his hair, her tongue teased, her little fists beat a tattoo on his chest.
"You act so solemn, relax. You're my big teddy bear, and you're mine to play with." Her nose rubbed against his hairy chest; she tweaked his arm. Light as a leather, she fluttered over him, taunting, exciting.
He caught her in his arms and pressed her lithe-slimness to his chest. "You're my little nymph, Ninon. My playmate."
She wriggled, pretending to fight him, giggling, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. "I like you, Jack. I feel safe with you-protected. Hug me close."
He pressed her to him, his lips seeking hers. Her mouth opened to admit his tongue. She knew how to tantalize him, making him taut, ecstatic with longing. She pressed her pointed nipples into his flesh, rubbing up to him.
"See, I got you all up in the air," she giggled, detaching herself to marvel at his readiness.
He moaned and writhed under her artful administrations, finally letting go his pent up fervor, feeling waves of ecstasy spilling over him.
He watched her emerging from the bathroom, a snow-white, lithe pageboy, a mere snip of a girl. She has fire, . he thought, and her playfulness is touching. Yes, he would see as much as he could of her, he decided. She would banish the ghost of Myra.
She landed right on top of him, pulling at his hair. "You like your Ninon?" the eyes were brilliant and enormous, eating into her triangular face which now, bereft of make up, looked so young and vulnerable it made Jack ache with protective tenderness.
"You're the sweetest girl I ever knew," he said, knowing it was so. He kissed the soft eyelids, the peach blossom cheeks, and die elastic firm cups of breasts. "You look like a school girl," he kissed the top of her head.
"I'm almost twenty," she said. "And I know a lot about life," she added, proving it by her experienced kiss.
As she cuddled up to him, his nerve ends twitched. Desire again enveloped him, penetrating each pore of his body. He wanted her to fill his emptiness, wanted her to adore him, look up to him, be advisor and mentor to her. Here was one girl, young and quiveringly alive he could mold to his taste, one who would be appreciative, one who would never hurt him.
Her warm, soft skin rubbing against his own made him dizzy with wanting. His arms went about her, and his hands trailed down her back, fastened on the resilient flesh of her bottom. He had an odd desire to hurt her, to punish this white flesh, make it sore and red, asserting he was the master. He gave her one playful slap that made her giggle. The second time his palm hit her she cried out.
He shoved her aside and turned her over so she lay on her tummy, his eyes on the intriguing derriere. His heart pounded and a wild upsurge of pleasure dizzied him. He would punish this girl, make her suffer for what Gail had done to him. Yes, in this association he would be the master, to be catered to, cajoled and obeyed.
He stared at the enticing double mounds. He wanted to see them red and swollen, wanted her to cry out.
"You like it that way?" he heard her voice. "It hurts, but I don't mind." Her head was buried in the pillow; she didn't turn to look.
His hand zoomed through the air making contact with the soft skin. "Ouch," she cried out, trying to wiggle away. The second blow was even harder. The whole area was suffused in a deep rose. Jack felt like an executioner punishing a culprit. Mercilessly, not heeding her moans that became sobs, he belabored the tender flesh. Now his hands brushed over the sore spots to which he applied soothing lips. He was in a state of high excitement; his head reeled. Now he would take over and really possess his prey. Why turn her over? Her backside looked appealing. It was a novelty for him, but this was a new girl and a new start in debauchery. He knelt over her, his hands probing. He couldn't delay another minute.
"Please, it hurts," she cried out. His hands held her down while he indulged himself. As he came back from the bathroom, she lay on her side, her dark eyes brimming with tears, "And I thought you would be nice and gentle," she accused. "I'm sore all over."
He rushed up, knelt by the bed, kissing her face, his hands running lightly over her injured backside. "I guess die wildness in me came out, I'm sorry Ninon."
He lay down, holding her in his arms, feeling soothed and at peace. Yes, that was the way to handle a woman, show her right from the start who was boss. He even felt proud of himself. They slept close, his head against her breast.
Jack woke up first. Slowly his eyes came open and he stared at die black vines of hair sprayed over the pillow. Asleep, she looked like a high school kid, the dark curly lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. He had been cruel and hurtful last night. Now, staring at die slim white figure with the exquisitely rounded breasts, he felt ashamed. He would make it up to her. His hand reached, fondling one firm globe, then traded down to her flat belly. He felt full of vigor, rejuvenated, ready to start the day's work with lovemaking. As he kissed her half open lips, her eyes opened. She smiled, winding her arms about his neck.
"Morning, bruiser."
"I'm sorry-about last night. I-I don't know what came over me, I'm not a cruel type." He kissed one strawberry. "Are you too tired-I mean-would you mind?"
She sat up staring at his tautness unabashed. "I don't mind at all, darling. I see you're ready."
He kissed every inch of the white body, turning her over, fondling the bruised derriere with gentle fingers and tender lips.
"This time, I want to see your face." Giggling, she turned over, offering her enticing front view.
"You're my girl, Ninon." He kissed her lips, at first lightly, then their mouths fused, remained glued to each other till they parted for breath. Jack's pulse beat like a hammer, the blood was roaring in his veins. He topped her, his right knee separating her slim legs. Slowly he invaded, pressing deeper into delightful recesses, filling them completely. Thrusting forward he saw her eyes glazed in a foretaste of pleasure. Faster, now exploding in a burst of maddening pleasure, letting go, surrendering, losing himself, lost in ecstasy.
Her hands played with his hair while he remained where it was warm and soft. He never left the hiding place, hands clutching at her apples. Renewing his vigor without retreating, feeling strength flowing back. Resting, eyes closed, light-headed and content. Till he was ready once more to soar to another pinnacle of delight. Slowly he moved, feeling himself expand, now ready for another invasion.
This time it was a slow conquest, with careful, deliberate motion till once more he filled the narrow grotto. She moaned and twisted, her dark eyes like black diamonds, her hands digging into his shoulders.
"Oooh, oooh, Jack, this is the best."
The inner combustion in the tight chamber made him burn with a new flame of passion. The torrid lava poured forth, inundating die subterranean grotto. He moaned, pouring forth his desire into the chalice of her young, receptive body, feeling reborn.
They rested side by side. Jack's arm was about her shoulder, his head on her mantle of hair. He felt exhausted, unburdened and happy. He was a new man!