Twelve Nights (27 page)

Angela pulled the sweater off her arms and up toward her
neck. She wrenched her mouth from Richard’s long enough to pull the bulky
material over her head. His hands moved from hips to breasts and clung and
pressed and clawed through the flimsy bra. It ripped and he completed the
destruction and flung it behind him. Angela moaned as his hands returned to
stroke and pummel her and he stopped her breath with his mouth.

She struggled with his tie and jacket and shirt as he
singlemindedly focused on her mouth and nipples, driving her beyond thought to
primal need. She fought the clothes off him in a frenzy, ripping cloth with her
nails and occasionally scratching skin. At last they were both nude and
Angela’s need for contact peaked. She moaned in frustration when Richard’s mood
abruptly changed.

From rutting buck, he turned into eager and curious puppy.
He pushed her back on the bed and held her pinned with a leg across her hips
when she tried to rise up and attack him. He sniffed and licked his way along
her length from ear to armpits to bellybutton to knees to toes. Angela pushed
his head toward her crotch but he pulled back and rolled her over. She groaned
when he began his exploration again at the top and worked his way slowly,
agonizingly erotically down, this time with nips and occasional bites to mark
his progress.

By the time he reached her feet, Angela was dripping with
sweaty anticipation and inner moisture. She rolled onto her back and held out
her arms. Richard took them and placed them behind her neck.

“Would you like me to tie you?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t move,” he cautioned.

His command was hard to obey. He spread her legs and lowered
his head to her crotch. He began again with puppy-like sniffs and licks. Angela
giggled. Then he placed his hands on her open thighs and pressed her into the
bed. He latched his mouth to her like a suction hose and Angela’s giggles
turned to a cry of surprise at the sharp ache, then swiftly metamorphosed to a
wordless moan of encouragement. His tongue and lips and teeth found the keys to
her hidden compartments. Her legs fought against the pressure of his hands as
her hips sought the release of pumping. The restraint was gas on a bonfire and
she came in a violent upheaval of shaking and screams.

“Come inside me,” she yelled. “Come inside me right now!”

Richard lifted off her and she whimpered in frustration.
Nothing happened for several seconds. Then she heard the rip of a condom
wrapper. The bed shifted with his weight as he rejoined her and Angela lifted
blind arms to him. He was above her now and Angela braced herself for a hard
swift, almost brutal thrust. Instead he lowered himself slowly and his fingers
teased open her portals. Then the tip of him touched her. Her orgasm came with
the touch, so fast there was no buildup, no warning. So violent her hips thrust
up and pulled him inside her with all the swiftness she had expected from him.

His pumping began immediately, matching then leading the
throbbing of her lingering climax. She came again as he pumped and her fingers
gouged into his shoulders and her heels pressed into his hips and held him fast
from above. The orgasm jarred their emerging rhythm and when it resumed it was
faster, more urgent. Noises arose from Angela’s chest and reverberated in the
air over the bed. Her ululation mingled with Richard’s grunts and the sweat
from their straining bodies slapped and slurped, adding to the cacophony.

Richard’s organ grew again inside Angela and she knew in a
primal knowing that he was near orgasm. She undulated with his rhythm and
clenched him with her muscles. She coached and guided and spurred and whipped
them both toward the approaching peak until they were pounding past reckoning,
past thought and reason. They leapt together off the cliff toward nothing,
toward everything, toward each other.

Then she was crying, not gentle ladylike tears but great
gusting sobs that welled from her chest and burst from lips and eyes. Richard
held her tight, his chest heaving, his face buried in her shoulder. Still the
sobs pressed up and out of Angela’s lungs, out of her heart. Sobs for the
aimless underachieving older twin, the beautiful disappointment, the prostitute
who hated herself, the swindler, the thief.

“I love you.”

The words reached her ear in a thread. She didn’t believe
them.

“I love you,” Richard repeated. “I love Angela Trout.”

Slowly Angela’s sobs lost their intensity. She cried now for
letting go of the past, for the strength to embrace an uncertain future. She
remembered her words to Richard in the restaurant. The past was the past. He
had succeeded. He would help her. It was time to let go.

“I love you,” Richard reminded her again.

Angela scrubbed her eyes open with the back of her hand. Her
nose was dripping, her hair drenched in sweat, her eyes puffed almost to slits.
She had never looked worse. She looked into Richard’s eyes and smiled.

“I love you, too.”

Section of Society Column in
The Vancouver Sun,
January 3, 1998

Another big one has bitten the

dust, ladies, as Vancouver’s most

reclusive bachelor millionaire was

seen yesterday with a ring on his

finger, or was that through his

nose? In a private ceremony, an

ebullient Jimmy Buko wed the eye—

catching Agnes Trout of Auburn,

Alabama.

Word is Buko has decided to

endow the library of the new

University of the Fraser Valley, and

his wife of three days, a former

librarian, will supervise the design

of the building and the acquisition

of the holdings. The new library …

Announcement in
The
Vancouver Sun,
December 18, 2001

Gordon and Mary Trout of Auburn,

Alabama, are pleased to announce

the marriage of his daughter Dr.

Angela Beth Trout to Richard

James Urbano of Vancouver. The

bride recently received her Ph.D. in

art history from the University of

British Columbia. The couple left

for an extended honeymoon …

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Erotic romances by Carole Remy

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