Chapter 16
What shall it be, your place or mine?" Ted Howell's grey eyes inspected her pale face, leaving the road for a moment.
Myra looked ahead at the thinning out traffic and listened to the soft purr of the Merdedes. "If you don't mind, Ted, just get me home. I'm tired."
"Is your former sweetie coming to see you later, to make up for lost time?" His voice was, nasty.
"Don't be foolish. He's no sweetie and I never want to lay eyes on him again."
"I'm sorry you're not in the mood. For, I am-in the mood for a little bed-tangling. So, make up your mind right now. I don't intend to sleep alone tonight." His tone was insolent, rude even.
She turned her head and looked at his classic profile, the thin-bridged, acquiline nose and the full, sensuous lips. Did she want to lose him? He pleased her, and his body, lank and lean and powerful, had given her unsuspected delight. She touched his wrist, feeling the crisp hairs.
"Is that all I am to you? Just another woman. Won't you allow me the privdege of being alone-this night only."
"You may have all the privileges you want, Myra. But so have I-the privilege to call Anya. Of course, I'd much rather wake up with you," he added, plastering the famous smile on his lips.
She stared at his smooth cap of blond hair, wanting to slap his face. Then her eyes went to his strong brown hands on the wheel-hands that held magic, hands that knew how to coax the fire out of her body. She didn't want to lose him; he knew how to please her as no other man before had. For one moment Jack's serious face seemed to beckon; but she shoved that memory back into her darkest subconscious.
"Well, make up your mind, doll. We're right near my bungalow. Okay?" His brown, lean hand touched her arm and she sighed.
"Okay. But I've to be back at my place at six-thirty."
He abstained from telling her that there were taxis and turned the corner, halting at die last house in the quiet street.
Holding hands, they walked across the flagstone path that led up the white house shrouded in greenery. He opened the door with his key and entered the dim foyer behind her. Although this was her fourth visit here she felt the same stir of adventure as she walked over die white bearskin rug, entered the spacious bedroom all done in brown and gold. The stiff brocade curtains looked like temple columns, and the extra-wide bed appeared to her like an altar with die two six-pronged candelabra keeping watch.
"Nothing like candle light to bring out warm flesh tones," he said, touching a match to the pale yellow candles. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to my dressing room to get comfortable."
She smiled, watching him disappear. By now his mania to undress alone didn't seem strange to her any more. She draped her white fox cape over a chair and unzipped the golden dress, slipping it over her head and placing it on another chair. Standing before the triple mirror, she stared at her pale face with die luminous violet eyes. Her arms lifted to unhook the filmy lace bra and she watched her full breasts spring forward like eager, soft kittens. She kept her tan lace panties on, also garter belt, stockings and spike-heeled golden slippers. Ted wanted it that way.
Sitting down before the large, glass-topped dresser, she stared at the array of bottles, crystal flagons of all sizes and shapes. She lifted the silver-backed comb and drew it through her loose waves, making her hair billow like silvery foam down to her white shoulders. Why am I here?" she thought. I mean almost nothing to Ted-just another girl. Anya, whoever she was, would satisfy him as well. Nothing lasting could come of this affair, engineered by her. To this spoiled egomaniac she was just a pastime ... While Jack who had left her and had broken her heart wanted her now forever. Nonsense, I'm melodramatic, she told herself. I'm going to enjoy this as much as he does. "Hello, sweetheart."
He stood in the door, posing. She arose and walked up to him, admiring his bronzed torso, the broad shoulders and straight, muscled legs. Her eyes fastened on the leopard skin jock strap.
"Like it?" He touched himself and stood, waiting to be admired.
"It looks-promising." She threw her arms about his neck and nibbled at his ear lobe, trembling at the contact with his cool, scented skin. "Hm," she sniffed, "a new scent."
"Got it yesterday, directly from Dunhill's. No one else out here's got it. I like everything exclusive-including my women." His lips brushed over her cheek, found her warm open mouth that fastened on his. Lighdy, his fingers danced on her back. Now he parted her legs with one knee and allowed her to feel his excitement.
"I wish we could do it differently tonight." He freed himself and looked at her full, round breasts. "You know, of course, your bubbies are phenomenal." He jabbed at the impudent, deep-rose turret with his forefinger, pressing down, then releasing it abruptly, watching it jut out provocatively. "I could guess their size under that tight white blouse-that first time we met in the commissary." He was amused at the flush that covered her cheeks. "No need being bashful." He hefted the heavy round balls, rubbing them against each other. "Polishing marbles," he chuckled, now bending forward and taking a bite of the red nipple. "Two nice apples for teacher. And, haven't I been a fine teacher?" Her eyes yessed him...."You were pretty uneducated in matters sexual," he stated. "But you learned fast. You're almost as good as Anya-of course, her breastworks are bigger than yours. Also, being a brunette, she's got dates in place of strawberries." Again, he made them bounce.
Slowly, he slipped off the dainty panties and unhooked the garter belt, rolling down her stockings. She lifted her right leg and he took off die cobwebby stocking, holding her tiny foot in his palm. "Nice aristocratic instep," he muttered, bending low to kiss each lacquered toe. Then repeating the ritual with her left foot.
His hand slithered up her legs, caressed the ample thighs and now fastened about her waist. His tongue titillated her navel, making her tremble.
"Darling, take off my jock strap and see what Papa's got for you."
With fumbling fingers, she undid the tight band, letting it drop to the rug.
"Like it?" He smiled fatuously. "Do homage to it."
She knelt down on the rug and her white fingers teased. Her blood roared and rising excitement made her feel faint.
"I want you," she whispered as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, depositing her gently on die tan silk sheet. She closed her eyes waiting for his knowing caress, now feeling the naked velvet of his tongue laving her body. His hands clutched her breasts and she sighed with' delight. Her legs opened; she was waiting.
He sat down on the edge of die bed and lit a cigaret. Her eyes opened to his sarcastic smile. "I've spoiled you." He blew smoke rings to the ceiling. "Now, aren't you glad you came." His left hand traced circles on her thigh.
"Darling, do it to me." Her eyes were almost black.
"Sure you want me to?" With deliberate slowness he extinguished the cigaret and his blond head bent over her. Lightly his tongue danced over exposed rosiness, lingered, stopped.
"Don't stop now, please."
Under his knowing manipulations she dissolved, her nerves twitched, her hands pulled at his hair. She was soaring up to a remote cloud, dangling, convulsed with pleasure. She moaned and a deep sigh escaped her as he coaxed ecstasy from her shivering body.
She didn't want him to stop and leave her. But he did, walking into the bathroom.
As he came back she was sitting up in bed, wanting to give back as she had received. He pressed her back down on the sheet. "Tonight, I want it straight," he said. "Takes too much out of a man the other way."
Suddenly she didn't want any part of this egocentric maniac. She tried to get up but his cruel hands wouldn't let go. She saw Jack's tender eyes, wanting it to be him who was taking her. Now she felt herself brutally invaded, torn open, feeling the lance thrusting deeper. Pushing, shoving. Faster. Deeper. Finally making her participate in his mounting excitement. He plunged forward, moaned, and surrendered his manhood. Now he found her lips and kissed them. She twisted and freed her mouth. "Jack," she whispered.
He withdrew and stared down at her pale face. His eyes were dark with fury. He slapped her cheek again and again, watching it turn crimson.
"The name is Ted," he hissed, getting up and staring down at the white, luscious body. "I'm going into the bathroom, and when I get back, I want you gone."
Myra jumped out of bed, ran to the mirror and looked at the red, swollen cheek. She felt like a woman lost. She hated Ted Howell and never wanted to see him again. It had all been a terrible mistake. She dressed in utmost hurry and slipped out of the door, hoping to find a cab.
She walked for six blocks, blinded by her tears, hating herself and hating Ted Howell even more. Finally a cab stopped and brought her to her hotel suite.
And now she was alone with herself, miserable and lonely. She had behaved stupidly. It would be awkward to see Ted on the lot, which could not be avoided. Also, she had made an enemy; she knew his nasty tongue. And she didn't even know how to reach Jack Michaels. Maybe he had already left for San Francisco.
Sheet wrapped tightly about her shivering body, she cried herself to sleep.