Chapter 1

Sophia wanted to be excited about her marriage. After all, it was only twenty-four hours away.

Tomorrow she would be Mrs. George March, and her life would finally be secure.

She was in her bedroom. She glanced at the clock by the bed. Three-fifteen.

She had promised Rick Warren she would meet him at three-thirty.

Sophia shivered in the sudden chill. She was naked, and her reflection in the mirror showed a beautiful woman with long legs, blonde hair and a slender figure that promised never to fatten or thicken.

But what was she to do?

By tomorrow she would be a married woman. Not only married, but married into the most conservative family in town. In a way, she rejoiced. It put the lie to all the things people had said about her.

She'd rub their noses in it once the wedding was a fact. There was nothing more respectable than marriage, and no people more respectable than George March and his family.

Still, Rick Warren was waiting in his cab. She dressed quickly, without even considering that she didn't have to meet him. She would, though; she owed it to him.

She left by the back door and walked two blocks. Rick was there. She got in and he said, "I almost left."

"Why? You knew I'd be here."

Rick's insolent dark good looks made her heart skip a beat. After tomorrow, she thought, no more Rick. No more of any of the men and boys that she had enjoyed so much.

"Let's take a ride," he said.

"Not too far," she answered.

He drove to the ridge road and parked on a deserted turn-off. "So tell me all about your marriage," he said. "I can't quite believe it."

"You'd better believe it," Sophia said. "I'm marrying George March tomorrow."

"And letting yourself in for one long boring life." He shook his head. "Not you, babe. It won't work." He took her into his arms, his lips pressed against hers. She felt his tongue and slowly answered with her own. She did not protest when his hand cupped her breast lightly.

"Hey!"

They both looked up. A state trooper stood by the car. "Move it," he said. Then he leaned down and peered into the car.

It was Harry March, George's older brother. Harry went white-faced with anger when he saw his sister-in-law-to-be.

"Harry," she said, "I can explain."

She cried all the way back to town. Rick let her out near the March home. "I think it's a mistake," he said softly. "Maybe it's best this way. Just let them be."

"No," Sophia said. "I've got to see George-explain it to him."

"How? How are going to explain that you were parked with another man the day before your wedding?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'll think of something."

Harry greeted her at the door. "Go away," he said. "We don't want to see you around here anymore."

"I want to see George," Sophia said firmly. "Isn't he interested in seeing me?" From inside she heard George's voice: "Let her in," he said.

Harry turned around. "Then I'll be going," he said. "Still got some patroling to do."

George was sitting at the kitchen table. "What do you want?" he said.

"To explain," Sophia said.

"Explain?" No amount of explaining was going to work, his eyes said.

"Please. Let me talk," Sophia continued.

"Look," George said. "We both know I'm not a sophisticated kind of guy. Just a stick-in-the-mud, interested in living in this town, starting a business, stuff like that. You knew that, and you played me for a jerk. So get out."

Could it really be over? Wasn't the whole afternoon a bad dream? "I'm going into the next room to call up the minister and all of my friends and tell them that the wedding's off," he said. "And I don't ever want to see you again." He got up and walked through the doorway.

Sophia got to her feet and left the March home. She went home, entered through the back door and walked quietly upstairs to her room.

She packed quickly, and then stole downstairs again. She could hear her father and uncle arguing in the living room. By the time she got to Rick Warren's place, it was barely five o'clock.

Rick let her in, and when she told him what had happened, he told her that she could move in with him if she liked. She shook her head no.

"Lend me some money," she said. "About sixty dollars. That will get me to New York."

Rick nodded. "Sure," he said. "Only what are you going to do there? Stay with your sister?"

"I don't know. I'll figure it out once I'm there."

He handed her the money, and she kissed him once and left.

Two hours later, she was settling into her coach seat for the run into New York City.

On the train, of course, she suffered ... or enjoyed ... the usual flirtations of salesmen, and, in the latter part of the trip, commuters on their way to their cozy little wives and homes in the city. There was a certain thrill about it all, and a certain fear as well. Sitting in her seat, she found herself sometimes jittery, sometimes calm and confident. Anything that lay ahead of her she could handle. And then there were other moments, as towns and countryside raced by, that she asked herself, "Can I?"

"Next stop, Pennsylvania Station, New York!" bawled the conductor.

Sophia looked up. The past hours in this coach seat had been both an eternity and a speeding blink of the eyes. She'd managed to shoo away two Casanovas, and, also successfully, she'd managed to not think too deeply about the abyss into which she might be falling. What would happen would happen. She was ready for anything. She'd never been particularly good at sharing innermost secrets with Margo. Maybe Margo had changed a lot; after all, she was a big name on television now.

She'd take Sophia in. She'd have to.

The train jerked back and forth and then came to a dead stop. Sophia carried the grip up the long ramp, into the station's overfilled lobby, and thought, "I'll be able to breathe here." There won't be the necessity to melt every time a man touches me-not here in New York. I can be my own woman.

But, as she sat in a phone booth and dialed her sister's number and waited to hear the familiar voice, Sophia knew it could not be as easy as that. And the truth of it crashed at her.

Margo's newly acquired maid announced, "Miss Holland's residence," with perhaps a trace of too much phony pomp. But it did sound regal.

Sophia gave her own name and was told to wait. Her famous sister didn't come bounding to the telephone, but Sophia heard the familiar, husky voice call out, "Tell her to get her bucket into a taxi and snap it up. The whole world's been looking for her."

In the cab, Sophia divorced herself from her problems long enough to marvel at this city her petite sister had conquered. Margo was only six years older than she, but the witty, intelligent, attractive redhead had made use of everything put before her, good and bad. She, too, had had the same passive father; she, too, had lived in a motherless home. But nothing has stood in her way. There had been two goals: New York and success, and she'd achieved them both. Daddy had fought her, of course, but she'd known how to handle him. Margo had succeeded everywhere that Sophia had failed.

"Here's Central Park South, lady," the driver acknowledged.

"To the right," she directed, remembering that cheerful-looking building exactly. The doorman was waiting, under the extended awning, to help her out of the cab and to take her bag. Thanking him, she felt bedraggled, a ragamuffin about to enter this sumptuous dwelling. She'd done her best at washing and hair-combing in the train's two-by-four compartment, but her skirt was wrinkled and in her throat she could still taste the grit of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

"Miss Holland, please," she said to the doorman after paying the driver.

"Yes, indeed. Will you come this way, please?" Unsure of herself, particularly as she brushed past stylishly dressed tenants emerging from the building, she was lulled by the acceptance of the doorman. He was trying to be secretive about it, but his eyes were sliding over her generous curves, and his Central Park South polite smile furtively informed her he like what he saw.

Then, moments later, the maid was opening the door for her, inquiring, "Miss Sophia?" and taking her bag from the doorman.

"That you, Sophia?" came Margo's voice from the bedroom.

"Hello, Marg!" she called back, once more drinking in the opulence of Margo's apartment. It was immense and it was wealthy. Three wide steps led down to the spacious living room with a wall-to-wall picture-window view of the park. Its splendor was other-worldly, still hard to associate with the Margo who used to make such a big deal of her presidency of the sophomore class and the loss of her skate key and her talent in hopscotch. Each time Sophia had come here, she'd been welcomed; but still she felt uneasy, never quite invited.

"Well, what the hell are you doing out there?" bellowed Margo, "employing squatter's rights? Come on in here and share my hangover!"

The maid grinned sheepishly, as if she were responsible for her mistress's bad manners, and guided Sophia into the luxurious bedroom.

Margo was sitting with her legs folded, Indian-fashion, in the direct center of her oversized blue bed. Every piece of furniture matched the blue walls.

"How goes it, kid?" greeted Margo. She was completely nude. In her right hand she held a cigarette in a long bamboo holder; in her left was a cup of black coffee. She extended a crooked, palsy-walsy grin.

Something had happened to Margo in the three years since Sophia had last seen her; there was a tiredness in her pretty face that wouldn't be removed by sleep alone. Her good figure was just a bit fleshier and her once brilliantly titian hair was now a mass of orange straw. With a lipstick and comb job, she'd be glowing again, of course; but Sophia was disturbed by this early-morning picture of realism.

"Hi, Marg," Sophia said and kissed her. "Should I have wired you first?"

Her sister shook her head and pointed to the coffee carafe on the night table. "Help yourself. You look beat." Sophia did; coffee would go just right now. "You might've let your aging sister know you were coming, yes; but you're here, so forget it. Will you look at you, though! You've really bloomed, honey. You always were the beauty of us two but you've gone and abused the advantage." She held out her cup. "Pour me, will you? I need three of these jolts before I can mobilize. Ooh, that drinking last night! I keep swearing on Grandpa Holland's grave that I'll stick to buttermilk forever after, but as soon as noon comes around and the waiter places a luncheon cocktail in front of me, I'm a goner."

Sophia filled two cups. "Marg, what'd you mean, 'The whole world's been looking for her'?"

Unperturbed, Margo nodded. "Daddy phoned here about an hour, hour and a half ago. Woke me up."

"Daddy? Phone here?"

"Yeah." She noted the electric clock on the dresser: nine-twenty. "Had I heard from you, he wanted to know. Said you'd run away from home." Margo laughed huskily. "Those were his precise words, as though you were eight years old."

"Did he-seem worried?" Sophia inquired, suavely carrying her cup to the armchair, sitting and slipping out of her shoes.

"Oh, you know Daddy," Margo shrugged.

"Very controlled, very contained. Let's not get ourselves upset, he says, spoken to prove he's as cool as a cucumber but designed to scare the tar out of anyone else."

"Did it scare you?"

"Nah. Only two things scare me any more. Will my option be picked up by Lily Laval's lipstick? And is my man rocking with another woman? You're a big girl now, Sophia, there's no sense in anyone worrying about you. I told Daddy that"

"Did he-tell you anything about last night?"

"Well, yes, in his my-arm's-being-twisted way. I'd thought your little prank at college was entirely forgotten by now, but Daddy said you're still guilt-ridden by it. He's tried to put you at ease, but you take everything so seriously. I'm quoting now."

"Tried to put me at ease," she thought. When was I ever allowed to forget it? But maybe he actually does believe he was putting me at ease....

"-went back to Willetsville very contrite," Margo was saying, "and you told him you wanted to make it up to him and you'd do anything he said. So he picked you out a fine, upstanding young grocer to marry, and you agreed to be led to the slaughter. Is that right, more or less?"

"It's not quite that simple."

Margo drained her cup and got out of bed. Screwing a fresh cigarette into her holder, she affirmed, "Nothing is ever simple. So what happened last night? From what he hears, you told your grocer you couldn't go through with it. You packed your arch supports into a paper bag and stole out of town. Finis. According to Daddy, that's the story." She lit her cigarette, and appeared to detect that Sophia wasn't up to being grilled. "I'll tell you what, Sophia. I don't want to hear morbid confessions this early in the day, anyway. Suppose you get on the phone there and give Daddy a buzz. Just tell him you're here for a while, safe and snug. He'll never admit to being a worrywart, but I'm sure he's biting his nails this minute."

"No, I-can't do it, Marg. I can't talk to him."

Walking to the telephone, Margo bellowed, "Blossom!" and lifted the receiver. The maid opened the door and Margo instructed, "Run some water into the tub." Blossom scurried to the bathroom and Margo, dialing, called long distance.

"Okay, you let Colonel Margo take over all the red tape," she advised. "Go on in there and scrub your ears. You'll find a housecoat on the door. Did you bring much in the way of clothes?"

"No, I-" Sophia began, but Margo interrupted by placing the Willetsville call and ordering the operator to make it fast. When she returned her attention to her younger sister, her thoughts apparently had jumped to an entirely new tack. "We aren't going to be able to yak it up, baby. I have a rehearsal for this ghastly soiree on T.V. at half-past ten this morning. Larry Barker's picking me up here at a minute or so before ten. He's the director on the show. And when a T.V. director specifies a time, he is never to be kept waiting."

"We've seen his name on the screen credits of your show," Sophia submitted, rising. "Should I know him otherwise? Daddy hardly ever has the set on, except when you're appearing."

"No, Larry's just starting; two or three years in the business. He directed a few flops on Broadway, now he's in charge of our epic, The Keith McClure Party. That's a flop, too, except that it's been running for a year and a half. Maybe you will hear more about him, though, soon." She got purposely kittenish. "He's my fella."

"Oh Marg, how wond-"

Margo raised her head, indicating the operator had gotten Willetsville. Quietly she said, "Cut into the John, Sophia. Let me handle this in my own way. Check?"

"What'll you say? I haven't even-"

"Sh," Margo persisted and segued cleverly into a calm greeting to their father. Fuzzily, Sophia saw Blossom emerge from the bathroom, heard her advise that the bath would soon be ready and ask if she'd breakfast yet. Sophia nodded, thanked her and withdrew to the blue-tiled bathroom.

She stripped and stepped into the luxurious sunken tub, feeling more lost, more adrift than ever. When Margo, without knocking, opened the bathroom door a few minutes later and entered with a wry smile, Sophia still felt the strange barrier between them. Margo was so perfect, so positive of herself, never wrong, never awkward. They were sisters, but the tall, blonde girl's ego had been badly battered in the past few months and she was conscious of every move she made, as if it could be nothing but incorrect and therefore displeasing.

"All's well that starts well," announced Margo. "Daddy sputtered like a thirty-cent outboard motor for a little while, but I cooled him down. He said he feels a lot better knowing you're under big sister's wing."

Sophia marveled. "You've always been that way, Marg. You can say a half-dozen choice words and everything's set right again."

Chuckling, Margo took a huge bath towel and went to the stall shower next to the tub. "It comes from clean living and deepbreathing exercises." She turned the faucets on. "Do you have any plans?"

"Well, I left so quickly, I-"

Margo darted into the shower, cutting off her sister's words. Sophia scrubbed herself vigorously and decided it was time to assert herself. Margo wasn't an ogre. She was simply a busy, fast-living girl who had a rude manner but whose heart was invariably in the right place. When Margo reappeared, teeth chattering and groping for a towel, Sophia had emerged from the tub, dried herself and gotten into the housecoat. Margo remarked, "What'd you say? Do you have plans in the big city?"

"Could be, Marg. I didn't get my sheepskin, but I spent enough hours in Dramatics I and II to give me a little bolstering. I'll start knocking on producers' doors in the morning."

"Maybe I can help a little."

"I don't want to impose."

"Hell. What's a sister for?" Margo growled with remote irritation. The shower appeared to have done wonders for her. Full of life now, she set about running the towel over her nimble body with graceful speed. "I frankly don't know if my name will be a help or a hindrance. I meet all these big wheels from Broadway, at parties and places, and there's nothing they won't do for me-but I'm not such a popularity kid in the dark corridors when they start pinching me and I have to start slugging. But we'll see what we'll see."

The doorbell sounded and Margo frowned. "Oh, God! Is that Larry already?"

"Can I help?"

"Yes. By all means, yes. Go out and say hello. Keep him occupied till I make my entrance, will you, baby?"

"Say hello? But look at me. I'm not dressed. I look like old laundry."

"You look delicious. Go on, Sophia. It's late and I've got no excuse and Larry goes wild when I'm not ready at his beck and call. Charm him for five minutes or so. Please, Sophia."

Sophia haltingly obeyed. She took one quick look at herself in the bathroom's full-length mirror, figured she didn't look too bad, and left the scampering Margo.

Blossom was escorting the muscular, extremely good-looking man into the living room as Sophia appeared, tightening the sash of the houseboat and dispensing with most of her self-consciousness. Blossom took it upon herself to introduce Miss Holland's sister to Mr. Barker.

Mr. Barker, Sophia saw, was reason enough for Margo to have been so kittenish. Dapper, with a masculine, sensitive face, he looked as if he might have just stepped off a Parthenon frieze. There was something just a trace foreboding about his manner, but it somehow added rather than detracted from his attractiveness.

"How do you do, Mr. Barker," Sophia declared, determined to put all her charm to work. "Margo will be out in just a moment."

He nodded curtly but didn't smile. "Thank you. This time it's my fault; I'm a few minutes early." Turning to the maid, he inquired, "Blossom, could you rustle me up a quick coffee, please?" Blossom made her exit, leaving Sophia fearfully alone with him.

"Margo's sister, hmm?" Larry Barker queried. The first impression of foreboding now emerged with an impression of rudeness. His frown remained. There was ice in this man; if he was equipped to having it melted, he was putting on a strong show of hiding the fact. But, she had to admit, if his aloofness remained, so did his good looks. He was about thirty, with brown wavy hair and a firm chin. His dark eyes pierced past her but into her, as though they were instantly able to evaluate her. Sophia, leading the way to the depth of the living room and sitting on the striped couch, summoned up all the faculty for poise she possessed. She knew her gauche costume and unpowdered nose put her at a disadvantage, but she was damned if she was going to dwindle before this challenging, ungiving man.

"Yes," she assented. "I beat you to this apartment by less than an hour."

Approaching her, he offered a cigarette, which she took, and he took one for himself. "Margo's talked about you. You're interested in the theatre, as I recall." As he bent down to light her cigarette, he proved himself to be at least temporarily human, for as Sophia leaned forward to meet the light, she caught a glimpse of his cold eyes traveling between the folds of her robe. The vicarious thrill of it struck her. It was an outrageous stunt she was pulling, getting him over to her side if only for a second by partially exposing the provocative valley of her bosom, but she did achieve it. Laughing inwardly, she failed to censure herself. Whom would it hurt? And who would be the wiser?

"I did some acting at college. And I have the usual notes of acclaim from the collegetown newspaper." She sat back, leaving his eyes tormented. He collected himself, though, and retreated. Lighting his own cigarette, he walked to the deep chair across frqm her.

"Uh-huh. You played Juliet and theingenue in The Old Maid, right?"

"Juliet, yes." Her hostility, born of nothing tangible except her overwhelming urge to melt his iceberg mien, prompted her to cross her legs and pull the hem of the housecoat's skirt snugly over her legs, so that the outline of her shapely flanks would be perfectly visible.

"Do you sing? Dance?"

"Well, Margo has the voice in the family. I do sing, but it's a kind of whiskey baritone. My dancing isn't bad, though."

"Uh-huh," he said absently. Blossom re-entered, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. "Thanks a lot, Bios."

"Is this supposed to be your breakfast?" insisted Blossom.

"My breakfast. And probably lunch, too, unless you go in there and yank that tempera mental redhead out here."

"Now she's hurryin'; don't fume and fuss so much. Why don't you eat right, Mr. Barker?" Shaking her head wearily at the thought of this nice young man who refused to take care of himself, she waddled out of the living room.

"Blossom's probably got your number," Sophia volunteered as he drank his coffee. "I'd be happy to scramble some eggs for you."

He seemed embarrassed by this display of attention. Frowning more deeply, he responded, "No thanks. Today's going to be a killer at the studio. I know the theory about good hot breakfasts, but it doesn't work with me. A full meal make me leaden. Uh-tell me some things about yourself," he pressed quickly, as if anything more said about Larry Barker would be too revealing. "Are you here in New York to live?"

"Well, not here. I intend to get my bearings in a day or two, then I'll find an apartment somewhere."

They talked some more, but the conversation was heavy and stilted. Is it my fault? she wondered. Blossom talked to him as if he were human. Is it just my lot to communicate with a man by either flinging my body at him or withdrawing into a shell?

She was saved in a short while by Margo's bustling entrance. The diminutive redhead, dressed in slacks and a frowsy blouse, charged in, with the inevitable cigarette, as if she'd been awake for hours and was just now winding into full activity. The passivity she'd shown in bed was now missing; she was full of pep. She was also the most feminine, most enticing, most enviable woman Sophia had ever seen.

"Now, no speeches!" Margo chortled as an entrance line. "I'm not late!" Gliding to the chair, she added, "Good morning, darling," and kissed his forehead. "Who told you to get here at dawn? Milkmen don't get up this early!" "Hello," he said somberly and rose. "Today's the first run-through. I'm anxious to get it going on the right foot."

Sophia rose, too, certain she'd never been more of a wagon's fifth wheel.

"You two are old cronies by now, I trust?" Margo grinned, taking his arm.

"Yep," Larry Barker nodded, still not smiling. "You've done The Keith McClure Party and all the television industry a great disservice by keeping her under wraps this long, Margo."

"That's my nefarious plot," Margo rejoined and produced a mockingly vicious laugh, cutely imitative of The Inner Sanctum. "Sophia's the kid sister I keep chained to the bedpost. You see, if I ever did take off those wraps, she'd knock the eye out of every male from here to Madagascar. And where would that leave a flat-chested old crone like me? Come on, let's dance out of here and rehearse our happy little show."

Larry Barker obliged by draining his cup, nodding (formally again), to Sophia and proceeding to the door. Margo, heightened her animation, advanced to Sophia and pecked her lips against her sister's cheek.

"Sorry to run, baby, but I gotta make a buck today. You still look beat. You hop in the sack and grab some shuteye, okay? I'll call you later, the minute this slave-driver lets me sneak out the door.

"It won't be neces-"

"Margo!" boomed Larry Barker. "You're holding up the entire progress of the Chandler Television Network!"

Once more she kissed Sophia, exclaimed, "See? Slave-driver!" and scurried out of the room.

But before she exited, she had fixed one precise, unusual gaze on Sophia, a sober gaze which might very well have instructed, "hands off, baby, and don't get any big ideas. He's mine, all mine."

Sophia watched them leave. It was just as well, she thought. She was still very tired. Perhaps a nap was in order.

She fell asleep at once. The strain of the last few days was telling on her. Sophia didn't know it yet, but her life had changed and would never again be the same.

But in her dreams, she returned home. It was the same as always, dull but secure. In her dream she was leaving the house by the back door, her heart beating furiously. It was another of her secret dates.

She walked three blocks in twilight and then saw him sitting in his sports car. She didn't know his name-she didn't have to. He had the right smile and the right manner, and that was all that counted.

She had met him downtown the day before, and he had asked but one question: "Are you free?"

But it was his smile that contained the real message. "Are you ready?" his smile said.

Sophia had wanted to say no, but she couldn't. She smiled and told him where to meet her. He was there, peering anxiously around in the gathering darkness, thinking perhaps that he had been stood up.

They rode out of town, to a small motel used by the locals as a love-nest for rent. The fellow's name was Tom, and when he pulled in, he told Sophia to wait in the car for him.

It was a scene she had played many times. She nodded, and when he walked inside the office, she watched for the telltale signs of nervousness.

He had them all. He was walking with a bit of stiffness that she could tell was sheer nervousness. He was carrying his shoulders high and tight. And he kept glancing outside to make sure she didn't steal his precious car.

Then he was back, a big smile on his face. He dangled a room key in front of her face. "Nothing to it," he said with a man-of-the-world air. Sophia almost laughed in his face. Men were so stupid, she thought. And then: But how stupid am I for falling for every smooth smile that I see?

She put the thought quickly out of her mind. She hugged his arm to her and he drove to the appointed slot and parked. He turned to her and kissed her hard on the mouth. "I can't wait," he said.

"Neither can I," whispered Sophia. She quickly opened the car door and got out. He walked to the motel room and opened the door.

Inside at last.

"Want to shower?" he asked casually. He set down the bag containing the traditional bottle, ice, and soda water.

Tom brightened when she replied. "Only if you do," she said. "I hate to shower alone!"

They had a drink first. "To loosen up," Tom said. She giggled. She was as loose as a goose. Still, some men needed time, so she let him have it.

Then they were stripping and she noticed that Tom was a bit hesitant about taking off his shorts. Damn, she thought. I hope he's not a guy with some kind of problem.

But it was a problem that a lot of guys would love to have, Sophia thought as Tom finally tugged down his shorts.

Tom was built like a horse.

She sucked in her breath in appreciation and Tom turned to her with an anxious look on his face. "Don't be scared," he said.

"Scared?" She laughed out loud. "Why would I be scared?" Sophia asked. She was watching, and it was getting bigger.

"Gee," Tom said, looking relaxed for the first time all evening. "You don't know how good I feel! So many girls take one look at this thing"-he hoisted his fire hose in his hand-"and they don't want to know me any more!"

Sophia laughed again. "I guess it takes a girl who likes to make love," she said. "And believe me, you've got the right girl this time!"

They showered for a half hour, taking care to soap and rinse each other thoroughly Tom was totally aroused by the shower. Sophia had never seen anything to compare to Tom in a state of arousal. She tried to guage his size. It was at least twelve inches long, and as big around as a baby's arm.

When she saw it fully erect, Sophia, for the first time, had doubts about it. It looked lethal-she wondered if she was elastic enough to take it.

But Tom was in high heat by then. He led her back to the bed and when she tried to service him orally, he said no. "I've had a lot of that," he said. "That's what all the girls want to do so that they won't have to make love to me."

Sophia nodded, her lips dry with excitement. Well, there was nothing for it but the old college try, she thought. She reclined on the bed and held out her arms to Tom. He fit himself between her legs and grunted hard when he shoved it in.

It felt like a baseball bat.

Sophia shivered with pain and then experienced the most wonderfully warm gush of pleasure she had ever had. She wrapped her legs around Tom's broad back and let him hump to his heart's content.

He was squealing with pleasure, filling her completely with his massive member. She was in a state of constant orgasm by then, lolling on the bed, feeling the hot sweetness coursing through her veins.

That was how she woke up, her body pleasured, and a strange ringing in her ears.