Page 66 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I can’t wait,” he said, and moved on to other places he had not yet kissed.

Several times she tried to stop him with her hands, or pull him into an embrace, but he continually raised her arms back up, above her head. “Let me,” he would say each time.

And she did.

The worst part, or the best part, was when he prepared to enter her. Looking down, he said, “I love you, Delilah Jones.”

She wanted to repeat the words back at him, but they stuck in her throat. Years of distrust had built up scar tissue that blocked her emotions. But she showed him.

With her hands now free, she held his precious face as he thrust slowly in, and out, of her body. With her knees bent and cradling him, she showed that he was welcome. With her hips meeting his every stroke, she followed his lead and then set a counterpoint of rhythm.

Her gaze locked on his beautiful whiskey-brown eyes, and hoped he saw there what she was unable to express in words.

But then, the lovemaking that had started out slowly and gently turned turbulent. His strokes became shorter and harder, hitting her clitoris with a rhythm that was both torture and pleasure. Her orgasm came hard and suddenly, rushing out in waves of spasms that had her stiffening her legs and raising her butt against the onslaught.

He gasped and arched his head back, the veins in his neck sticking out as he tried to hold back his own climax. But she was having none of that. She reached between her legs to the place where they were joined and squeezed him.

With a roar, he withdrew and slammed into her one last time.

And she came again.

Afterward, as she lay cuddled in his arms, the storm finally hit with pelting rain. It gave the motel room a feeling of being in a cave. Comforting. Safe.

“We’re good together,” he remarked idly.

“Are we?” she asked. “I mean, it was good for me, but I don’t have much experience for comparison.”

“I do, and, believe me, we are a good match . . . in bed.”

His trailing words implied, other than bed, too.

“I just wish . . .”

“What?”

“That you trusted me.”

“I trust you.”

“Not entirely.”

He was right, and that was a concern. That he could sense that she had secrets she wouldn’t or couldn’t share with him.

Time for a change of subject. “You know what I wish? I wish I had some bubble bath. With that little shower in my apartment, I’ve been dying for a tub to just soak up to my neck in warm bubbles.”

He grinned and jumped off the bed. “Your wish is my command.”

“What?”

He set his cell phone on flashlight mode and had the door unlocked before she could grasp that he intended to go outside. In the pounding rain. Bare naked.

Good Lord! She got up, wrapped a sheet around herself, and walked over to the open doorway. She saw the flashlight over by the shed, and she began to understand what he was up to. The fool!

Even more foolish, she watched as K-4 pulled in from his late-night trip to one of the local bars. When he got out of his SUV, he stood talking to Merrill for a minute. There was laughter on both sides and a remark from K-4 over his shoulders as he ran toward his motel unit. Something about “monkey ass crazy horndogs.”

She had towels ready for Merrill when he came back a short time later, soaking wet. Before he towel dried, he handed her two bottles, Avon Cherry Blossom and Vanilla Cream Bubble Delight. “Delightful as these sound, I couldn’t find any lemon ones, darn it! On the other hand, I’m not sure I could handle you tasting like lemons. I would probably overdose.”

He winked at her.