Chapter 3
He smiled at her through the glass and she opened the door. At once she was conscious of how she looked, and this annoyed her. So she had on a sweatshirt and jeans. So what? She didn't dress for him. She wasn't his woman.
His eyes flicked down her body and she saw no disapproval in their dark color. He was well over six feet and heavily built. His skin was somewhat dark and his hair was black and slick. His line had been just as slick when he had talked his way into her house and sold her a regular order of low fat milk. She'd paid by giving herself to him, as well as giving him cash for the God-damned milk.
"Hi," he said lightly, although his voice was low and he could talk birds out of trees, if he chose.
"I thought you'd be in bed this late in the day," Joyce countered and at once she wanted to bite her tongue. "I mean, since you're up before dawn I'm surprised to see you in the middle of the afternoon."
Chuck threw back his head and laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He had white teeth, large strong teeth that could work miracles on her body. "That's sort of what I had in mind."
"I'm sorry." Her voice was stiff and she began to close the door. "That's over. I told you the last time."
"Christ, you've told me that every time, Mrs. Babcock. Maybe you mean it because I know damned well you've been avoiding me. Out somewhere early in the morning when I knock on the kitchen door." He looked at her with his head tilted as though she were a naughty girl.
It was partly true. He made his deliveries twice a week at about eight and Joyce had begun taking walks on those days. She wouldn't come back until she went to the back door and found that the milk had been left. Chuck had gotten in the habit of delivering to her house late, so that he'd have time to tarry if he caught her.
It made her angry because it wasn't as though he was seducing her twice a week. Two, three, four times, no more, but he at once began behaving as though she were his exclusive property. His shack-up. She shuddered.
"What's wrong?" His voice was low and oily now. He knew damned well what was wrong. He was so handsome he could get away with anything. That was the way it had been, Joyce admitted to herself, but it was finished now.
"It's cold."
"Then let me in so we can close the door and get cozy."
She shook her golden head. "No. I'm cleaning house and, besides, I don't want you in this house again."
"You're afraid the old man might walk in on us. Admit it."
Joyce had indeed glanced at the clock when she'd seen who it was. Three o'clock. Jim wouldn't be home before six. "It crossed my mind," she admitted. "He'll be here any minute."
"Bullshit."
"Don't talk to me like that," she snapped right back.
"He doesn't get home until almost seven. I know. I got a brother-in-law who works in a bank. He keeps books, like your old man. Christ, they keep him there half the night when the stupid broad tellers can't come out right at the end of the day."
Joyce lifted her chin. "He's a cashier. That's something different. And he'll be home before six."
"So we got three hours."
He pushed on her breast and she gave way before him. Then he was closing the door and his grin was broad. She frowned and shook her head again..
"Please get out. I mean it. We're finished."
He frowned. "You mean you and the old man are making it in the pad like in the old days?"
God, why had she told him so much? When a man has taken a woman like Joyce, ah, well...."No, but...."
"All right, so you still need my therapy. Have you sprung any of the tricks I taught you?" She shook her head.
"You ought to." His laugh was strangely high. "He'd be so pleased he'd send you back to me for more lessons." This time his laugh was a real guffaw.
Joyce was furious and she punched him on the chest. "Get out. I don't want you to touch me ... not anywhere."
Swiftly his arms encircled her, trapping her own arms at her sides. His face-that wonderfully male and handsome face-came down only an inch from hers. Their noses brushed once. "I'll make a deal with you, lady. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Okay?"
"Then I don't want you to stay." Already her voice was losing its conviction. He was so dreadfully sure of himself. If only Jim were capable of making her erotic, if only she and her husband could make it together. Then she wouldn't have this wall of pent-up sex inside her. It made her hungry body boil almost instantly with Chuck.
Chuck shook his head slowly. "No, my offer starts in five minutes. After I've had my time at bat. Then, if you don't want to let me score, the game is over. That's a promise. You know, except for that first time, I never forced myself on you. Admit it and everything will be easier, baby."
"You're so frightfully poetic," she said with heavy sarcasm.
"Five minutes," he repeated.
Then his face was down on her, his mouth searching and finding her lips. When she tried to twist her head away he freed an arm and grasped the back of her neck to steady her head. He pressed against her lips hard, but he wasn't hurting her. He was too good for that. He knew how to be rough without taking away from the sensation of sex and allied pleasures. A man who hurt could turn a woman off fast. Yes, Chuck had lectured Joyce during those long cool mornings when they'd been in bed, while the milk had stood warming on the kitchen drain board.
At last he lifted his face. "Three minutes gone."
"Get out," she whispered.
"I'll do anything you ask in two minutes."
He was kissing her again and now he freed his other hand. Incredibly, Joyce didn't fight him off. She didn't bother to lift her own arms to pummel his chest. Instead she stood, still with a stiff body, behaving as though she hated it. His hand touched her breast through the sweatshirt, a breast that was al ready swollen with anticipation. She hated it when she was so obvious.
He took the hand away and he stepped back. His eyes drifted casually up and down her body, a body that was trembling with revulsion and anticipation in the same instant. He smiled in his most charming way, really pouring it on.
"Five minutes, ma'am. I'll do whatever you say."
Joyce struggled with herself. She felt so cheap, so easy to make. If only she'd masturbated or whatever it is women do to themselves, she thought. She could have drained off some of her frustration and thus shown him the door at once.
"I want you to go." Her words were barely audible.
Chuck pretended not to hear. "Beg pardon?"
"I said ... you can stay for a few minutes, but only to chat or something. I don't want you to touch me again. I really mean, knowing how you are," she stammered. She wasn't making sense and they both knew it.
He chuckled and walked across the kitchen. At the refrigerator the lanky milkman helped himself to a beer after holding a can up to her. She shook her head. He popped the tin tab and downed almost all of it in a few gulps. He set it on the drain board and turned to her.
Joyce adroitly stepped around him and then she half stumbled over the sink. She whirled and leaned hard against the edge of the sink. He came over to stand before her. "Don't be so afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're damned right you aren't."
He turned his palms up. "We made a deal. Nothing you don't want me to do, baby. Word of honor."
Joyce snorted. "Honor," she spat.
He grinned his crooked grin and she felt something snap inside her body. Damn. She wasn't going to lose another battle with this man. She made a face of despair as he lifted her chin. Tenderly, he kissed her on the mouth and she didn't try to pull her face away.
His tongue came out and it was only then that she snapped her head back. "No!"
"Like shit. Admit you love it, baby. Admit you want me to go over you like a fine comb. There's nothing you don't want me to do."
"I want you to go." There. She'd finally said it as though she meant it.
He stepped back with a shrug. "Okay, I told you I was a man of honor."
At once he turned on his heel and went to the door that led to the yard. She watched helplessly and then a small sound came from somewhere. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Without knowing it she'd followed him and now she stood by the refrigerator and the sound had come from her own throat.
"What?"
She lifted her hand toward him and then dropped it as though it were a dead thing. "Nothing."
He turned and came back to her. In despair she slumped against the refrigerator, her head down. Again he lifted her chin and as he stared into her eyes his hand came up. It found a heavy breast inside the sweatshirt and squeezed. She moaned as the tingling raced through her body. She felt the breast grow with an ache at once, the nipple turning hard as it pressed into his palm.
Even through the heavy cotton it was as though he were touching naked flesh. She looked into his face and her lips moved slowly. "Please don't. It's not right. I beg you. Go away, even if I can't make you."
Chuck threw back his head and laughed. Hot shame flushed over her face. He certainly enjoyed degrading her, making her feel as though she were less than nothing. Damn you, Jim. If only you could give me what I need I wouldn't lower myself to the level of this lousy milkman.
Ashamed as she was she couldn't lift a hand to protest as he moved his hand to her other breast. In seconds it was as heavy with desire as its twin and the nipple, if anything, was even more distended. His massage was a slow series of circles that was driving her mad. The blood was raging through her body and her nerves were sending out a thousand tiny alarms. Never had she been more alert, her senses so perfectly in tune. At this rate she'd have an orgasm before they were properly started.
Properly started?
She was talking to herself as though she were already certain he'd screw her, screw her good right there on the kitchen floor. She couldn't allow that to happen. If Jim were to walk in on them ... No, she must have a better reason. She must want to be faithful, not simply be afraid of getting caught.
"Get away," she hissed.
He took his hand away at once. "I wish you'd make up your mind. We don't have forever. Just maybe two hours or so."
"Go."
Again he was headed toward the door and again she was stumbling after him. "That's far enough."
He turned back with a sigh. "Christ, you're singing a funny tune, Mrs. Babcock. I can't follow the music."
"You know what I want ... need. Come ahead. Fuck me and fuck me fast."
He lifted his eyebrows in a superior way. "We mustn't rush these things. Besides, how do I know you won't change your mind again-right in the middle of things?"
"I promise."
"That's a laugh." He leaned against the door and folded his arms as though the last thing in the world he were going to do would be to screw her.
She went to him and stood, waiting, arms at her sides. When he still refused to move she placed her hands on his throat. Slowly, she began to open the buttons on his denim shirt until she got it open to his waist. Then she gradually tugged it out of his belt all around his body, reaching closely behind him to get at it.
He made no move to touch her, not even to lean against her when her breasts dragged across the front of the shirt. His coolness was driving her out of her mind. Abruptly, she leaped back and her fingers went to her crotch, where she gripped her hot mound hard.
She felt the shameful rush of passion flood through her and the heat was even greater. Then it was moist and, after she snorted like a winded mare a half dozen times, she took her hands away. Together they peered down at the spreading dark stain on her jeans.
His laugh was high this time. "Christ, Joyce baby, you've never been this quick before."
She turned away from him and returned to the sink. There she leaned heavily on her elbows, leaning forward, trying to make herself throw up into the drain. It wouldn't come and after a moment her nausea passed. Still, she leaned down, her head hanging in despair.
God, but she was a cheap tart. She ought to tear away her clothes and make him whip her. Something really sick like that so she'd feel finished and contrite. Better yet, she'd confess to Jim and perhaps he'd beat her. Yes, she was a wife who deserved to be beaten.
She didn't hear him come up behind her but then she felt it. Something touching the stretched denim that encased her buttocks. It was hard and warm. That could only mean one thing. She knew it was still inside his pants, but that it was straining mightily to be freed.
She licked her lips but she didn't move. "I don't care what you do to me."
"Then I'm not going to do anything. I don't want you if you don't get a bang out of it. I don't want to pour the meat to a dead lump of dough."
"You express yourself so beautifully."
"I never claimed to be an English teacher."
She sighed but she stayed where she was as he leaned more heavily against her. At once her passion was back. She was ready to expend herself all over again. Chances were that she'd make it several times with him. He once got her off five times.
"That better? Anything stirring?"
"You know damned well it is," she snapped.
"Good girl."
His prick pressed harder against her, but there was no way he could make it into the crack of her ass. The denim was like a skin tighter than her own. At last he leaned away and she heard the zipper. The prick pushed again and, although it was hotter, it got no farther into her fissure.
"Damn."
"I suppose you want me to take them down."
"No," he snapped. "I want you to change into a Shirley Temple suit! Hell yes I want you to take them down!"
"You'd needn't shout at me. The neighbors will hear."
"Tuck the neighbors, too."
She sighed as she moved her fingers to her fly. The top brass button snapped away from the strain of her heaving belly and she paused.
No, she'd let him do it. If she were going to be fucked, he'd need to take charge.