Chapter 4
He put it bluntly. "Up to my room."
She looked around the room quickly, as though fearful someone might have heard him.
"I don't know, John," she said slowly. "I just don't know."
He stood up. "All right. Forget it."
"Don't be annoyed at me, John. I'm afraid my aunt will find out, if I do."
"Is she your keeper?" he asked bluntly.
Joan frowned. "I live in her house. I have to be careful not to make her angry."
"Why should she be angry? I don't belong to her. You don't belong to her."
She got up from the bench, placed her hand on his arm. It felt nice. He wanted to grab her, kiss her hard, but restrained himself. She pressed her body against his and he felt the delicious heat and softness of it. He became much more aroused.
"John...." she said and stopped.
"Come with me," he urged. "Ever since I met you, you have been getting me all excited. I think you want me to love you as much as I want to."
"Let's go up ... to your room, John," she said, surprising him. "Come on."
She walked swiftly from the room. He followed her, caught up with her, put his arm about her waist. She pulled away from him.
"Wait," she whispered. "Someone might see you."
They went up the stairs together and he pushed open the door of his room. He saw her hesitate for a moment, then she stepped inside. He closed the door, put his arms about her. She sighed, leaned against him. He was sexually erect. She must have felt it; she drew back a little, looked up into his eyes, pushed her cunt against him, sighed again.
He led her to the bed, noted she was shaking, wondered if she was really that frightened of her aunt; frightened or whatever. He found this difficult to believe. He thought her shaking must be due to excitement, hoped it was.
He pushed her down gently on the bed and she lay there on her back, staring up at him. "Did you lock the door, John?" she whispered.
He got up, slightly annoyed at having to do this, went to the door and locked it. He came back to the bed, got on it with one knee. He placed his hands down on the bed, one hand on each side of her, lowered his body down so that he could kiss her. He did so. She kissed him in return. Her lips were very wet, nice, warm, soft.
He straightened up, looked down at her, still holding himself up with his hands. "You're beautiful," he said softly. "You do wild things to me, Joanie."
She did not speak. She simply lay on her back looking up at him and waiting for him to make his move, apparently.
He lay down beside her, resting on his elbow, looked at her neckline, felt the urge to touch her there. He placed his hand on her lower throat, let it run down her body a few inches. Her flesh was unbelievably smooth, soft, pleasant to the touch. He unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then the second and third buttons. She lay still, looking at him. He shoved his hand down inside her blouse, knew then that she was wearing no bra. His hand crept down over a breast, feeling the soft roundness of it, the rise and fall of it as she began to breathe faster. He found the nipple, let his fingers play with it momentarily.
"John!...." she breathed. "Oh!...."
He moved his hand over to the other breast and she stirred on the bed, drawing one leg up. He looked down, saw her skirt had crept high on her thighs. He saw the silver-colored garters. What had she called them? Sin Seed? Something like that. Despite his intensity, he smiled a little at the thought. He withdrew his hand gently from her breasts, placed it on her thigh.
"Oh ... John...." she breathed.
He ran his hand up her thigh. She stiffened, moved her leg.
"Don't fight," he said softly. "Relax, Joanie."
He found the elastic of her panties, tugged at it. Her panties were very thin, very smooth to the touch. He could feel the heat of her pussy through them easily. She stirred again, her knee striking his forearm. The touch of it set him off in great shape. He wanted to yank her panties off, and make a sudden, even brutal move, but held himself in. He knew he had to go slower, not frighten her into refusal, which could easily happen.
He tugged on the elastic again, drew her panties down slowly. She did not raise her hips to help him. He had to inch them down, first one side, then the other, using only one hand.
The other hand was on her breasts.
She sighed, moved her legs again. This movement helped him. He pulled the panties down her thighs almost to her knees. He let his fingers lightly play around with her crotch. She pressed her legs together. He frowned slightly, slipped his hand between her legs, tried to part them.
She jerked away from him, jumped to her feet, smoothed down her dress, after yanking up her panties, just as the knock came on his bedroom door. He got off the bed, swore softly to himself.
She looked at him, and he at her.
Whoever was knocking on the door kept it up.
"Of all the rotten luck," he muttered.
"Where can I hide?" she whispered.
He moaned softly. "Go into the bathroom, close the door, if you feel you have to."
She ran lightly across the carpeting, entered the bathroom, closing the door after her. He stood there. The knocking continued.
"Who is it?" he called.
"Keith Ainsworth. Let me in a moment. Want to talk to you."
John Deering silently cursed Mr. Keith Ainsworth, but he walked to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open a few inches. But Keith Ainsworth was not about to be kept standing in the hallway, John noticed. He pushed the door farther open, stepped past John and into the room. John saw him look at the bed quickly.
"Better not let my wife catch you lying on the spread," Ainsworth said, smiling. "She'll give you the very devil. She's very fussy about such things."
John looked at him. He had not moved from the doorway.
Keith wrinkled up his nose, seemed to be sniffing. "Perfume, Mr. Deering? My heavens, I didn't think you were the type."
John continued to look at him.
Keith walked around the bed, patted it, smoothed out the few wrinkles. "There. Now it looks all right again. If you want to lie down, Mr. Deering, for a rest, remove the spread first."
John said nothing, wished the guy would clear out, but what could he say? It was Ainsworth's home, not his.
Keith walked toward the bathroom door, stopped, turned about facing John. He smiled, started to pull the door open, did not do so, but walked back across the room.
"You said you wanted to talk to me," John said.
"Yes. Yes, I do, Mr. Deering. I'm ordering steaks from the caterer. Wanted to know how you like yours-rare, medium, what?"
John cleared his throat. "Any way," he said, surprised to find his voice shaking slightly.
"All right. I'll make it rare for you. Man like you needs lots of ... raw meat, I'd say. Wouldn't you, Mr. Deering?"
John shrugged. He had gotten the implication. "It's your party, Ainsworth," he said.
Keith placed the back of his hand on one hip, laughed hard. "I would scarcely call it a party, Mr. Deering. We are merely hungry."
Damn the guy anyway, John thought-why couldn't he beat it?
"A rare steak will be fine," he heard himself say.
Keith Ainsworth walked to the door, put his hand out, caught the edge of it, looked at John over his shoulder, smiled. "Very well, Mr. Deering, rare it shall be. Don't muss up the bed. Remember."
"I'll do my best," John said gruffly.
"Come now. Don't be touchy. I'm only giving you fair warning about my wife."
"Thanks," John said dryly.
Keith Ainsworth stood there smiling at him for several moments. He doesn't really look like me, John thought with some relief-he has the same coloring, a similar look, similar build but that's all. His muscles are flabby, his expressions are entirely different. It made him feel better to know these things. He had been told he looked exactly like Keith Ainsworth-and this was scarcely a compliment, not to a man such as John Deering.
"I'll see you later, Mr. Deering. The steaks will be here in an hour or so, maybe longer. Someone will come up and let you know when. Good-bye now." He smiled at John.
John merely nodded, closed the door after he had left.
He walked over to the bathroom door, pulled it open. "All right, Joanie," he said. "He's gone."
There was no answer from her; nor did she appear. John stepped into the room, saw another door leading off it at the other end. Frowning, he crossed the ridiculously large bathroom, pushed open the second door, saw another bedroom; it looked about the same as his. Joanie was not in the room. He crossed the room, opened the door leading to the hallway. She was not in view.
"Damn it," he said aloud. "This isn't my day."
He retraced his steps back to his room, stood by the bed, wishing he had a drink. He decided to go down to the large front room and have one.
He stepped out into the hallway, heard a noise in one of the rooms farther along the hall. He stood still, listened, started to walk toward Mrs. Ainsworth's room. When he arrived there, he saw the door was open a few inches. He looked into the room, saw her lying on the floor, trying to get up, apparently.
He knocked discreetly, called out. "Are you hurt, Mrs. Ainsworth?"
"Come in," she called back. "I fell out of this fool of a bed."
He entered the room, went over to her. He wondered, idly, why she did not get up on her own accord. Not having feet would not prevent her from drawing herself back up on the bed. By now, he thought, she should be able to do that. Handicapped people are often very smart and clever about handling themselves in emergencies.
He could not help noticing that her nightgown was high on her hips. She was exposed to his view. He tried not to look at her cunt, but found it next to impossible not to do so. She has a beautiful body, he thought-she must have been ravishing once, before her accident. She still is, he thought further-no mistake about it. There is nothing about her that repels me, as she feared there might be. I find her damned pleasant to look at, feet or no feet.
"Mr. Deering," she said. "You have a faraway look. Mind helping me back in the bed?"
He acted swiftly. He bent over, picked her up easily, held her in his arms longer than was necessary before placing her on the bed. Her body was very warm and soft. He felt the same stirring taking place inside him. He wanted to pick her up again, tried to think up an excuse for doing so, found one.
"I don't think you are quite comfortable," he said lamely, and slipped his arms beneath her body, lifting her.
Immediately, her arms went about his neck. He was not certain of it, but he thought she sighed. Her breasts are lovely, he thought, as they seemed to press eagerly against his chest.
"You're very strong, Mr. Deering," she said softly.
"You're not very heavy," he said. "You're a nice little woman."
She laughed. "Thank you. I haven't heard anything like that in years. Makes me feel good, Mr. Deering."
"I mean it," he said, still holding her. He liked the feel of her soft lush body in his arms. I'm some guy, he thought. One minute I'm after Joanie, the next minute I've forgotten her and am all worked up about Mrs. Ainsworth. Thinking this caused him to grin without realizing it.
"Something amusing you, Mr. Deering?" she asked, her lips close to his face.
"I was just thinking," he said. "Want me to put you down now?"
Her answer was to wrap her arms more tightly about his neck. But then she said, "If you want to, Mr. Deering. Personally, I find this stimulating."
And so do I, he thought. "I'd just as soon hold you," he said, smiling.
"Why, Mr. Deering?" she asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do you like holding me?" He smiled again. "A good question. I think the answer is obvious. You're a lovely woman."
She surprised him a little by kissing the side of his face. "Thank you for saying that."
"My pleasure," he said, and meant it, wishing she would do a repeat on the kiss job.
She again surprised him and pleased him by doing exactly that, only this time she found his mouth with hers, held it. His sexuality came into being instantly. Her hips, he knew, were touching him there. He heard her sigh, felt her lips on his again, more wetly this time. She finally pulled her face from his, looked at him with her large blue eyes.
"Oh ... Mr. Deering," she sighed. "You make me feel so good."
He started to kiss her but stopped as he heard the voice from the doorway. "Well ... what's all this, may I ask?"
John turned his head, saw Keith Ainsworth standing in the doorway. He calmly placed the woman down on the bed, straightened up, looked her husband squarely in the eyes.
"Your wife," he said casually, "fell out of bed. I picked her up. There seemed to be no one else about to do it."
Keith Ainsworth laughed, came into the room farther. John saw him glance at his wife with amusement. "She often falls out of bed, don't you, dear? She manages to do so when there are outsiders around."
John looked quickly at Mrs. Ainsworth, looked at her husband. He hates the sight of his wife, John concluded swiftly. And she has no feeling for him at all. I can tell from their expressions.
"There's no need to be rude, Keith," she said quietly. "Mr. Deering happened to see me on the floor and was kind enough to help me."
Keith Ainsworth turned and walked to the door, stopped, turned about, looking at John. "I'm not being rude to her," he said. "I was just stating a fact, Mr. Deering. As far as your holding her is concerned, I couldn't care less. Matter of fact, if you want to crawl in bed with her, help yourself. I'm sure you will be welcomed with open arms ... and, I might add, opened legs. Good-bye for now, Mr. Deering. Enjoy yourself."
John only stared at the man. He could not think of a thing to say. When Keith had left, he turned to the woman on the bed.
"I'm sorry," he said gently.
She closed her eyes. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Deering. What he said is true, every word of it."
"You must be very lonely," he said, still keeping his tone gentle.
A look bitterness came over her face, but it was there for only a second. Then she smiled.
"Things," she said, not very originally, "are tough all over, so I hear."
"Yes," he said, thinking of his flat wallet. "They are, sometimes."
She sighed. "I suppose now you want to clear oat of here, Mr. Deering, now that my husband has created a bit of a scene."
He shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't."
She sat up on the bed, her gown slipping down off her shoulders. "You mean you want to remain in the house after that?"
"Yes," he said. "If you want me to."
The gown slipped off her other shoulder. Now both of her pointed, lush breasts were exposed to his view. She paid no attention to them.
"I want you to," she said softly. "I like you, Mr. Deering."
"Thanks," he said, more gruffly than he intended.
She had opened her eyes; now she closed them again. "You're a strange man, Mr. Deering," she said, at length.
"Am I? Why do you think so?"
"I can't explain it ... I just feel it. Call it intuition, if you like."
"What," he said carefully, "does your intuition tell you is about to ... happen?"
She opened her eyes, regarded him pleasantly. "I'm flattered, Mr. Deering, but you can't. Not yet, anyway."
He moved closer to the bed, his sexuality more in evidence than before. "Why not?" he asked, pressing her.
"Because . .
"That's not much of an answer. Why not?"
"I told you before, Mr. Deering. I want to study you for a while."
"Study me? What for?"
"My purpose in having my niece bring you here, Mr. Deering, was so that T might have-" She broke off. "Sorry," she went on. "I don't want to tell you now. Later I will. Please be patient with me."
John was anything but patient at the moment. He wanted to do exactly as her husband had mentioned-crawl into the bed. He knew he had better not try. Not then. There was something in her face that told him he had only to wait and all would be....
"Mr. Deering," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"
"Yes. Very much so."
She sighed. "I just wanted to hear you say it again. I think you will have to leave now, and thank you for helping me."
He felt a stubborn streak taking over. "Supposing I don't want to leave your room. What then?"
"You're a man, Mr. Deering. What could a little helpless woman do if you decided to ... have your fun?"
He studied her face, knew she did not mean this, not really. She seemed to be testing him. He was torn between giving way to his sexuality and using common sense. Wait, his mind whispered to him-if you rush it, if you go ahead with it, she will not like you. Let her have the say, at first anyway.
"I don't want to force myself on you," he said more coolly than he meant to.
She smiled. "Good for you, Mr. Deering. You've just won a battle, haven't you?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "Have I?"
"I think so," she said. "Don't feel badly, Mr. Deering. You see, I have plans for you ... and for me."
Too bad, he thought-it was the wrong thing for her to say. "Mrs. Ainsworth," he said coolly. "I'm sorry. I won't have anyone else making plans for me."
She glanced at him sharply. "I see. You like to make your own plans, is that it?"
He returned her sharp glance. "Yes," he said, and turning about, walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
"Mr. Deering," she called after him, but he did not stop. He walked down the stairs to the front room, found the bourbon bottle, poured himself a giant of a drink, downed it in one, fast gulp. He had another, walked over to a window, stood looking out of doors.
I'm a damned fool, he told himself. Why did I say that to her? That's no-way to come on with a woman. It was stupid, the stupidest thing I've ever said or done. I could kick myself. He thought about it for a time, then let go of it.
He turned, after a few moments, and headed for the upstairs portion of the house. His sexuality would wait no longer, not another minute. He had been in the house for only a few hours, but already both of the women had repeatedly thrown themselves at him, only to draw back away from him when he became aroused by their advances.
Now, he was going to have one of them, or else.