the couch as Marco closed the front door. It was in fact the ugliest piece of furniture I’d ever had the misfortune to behold. The burnt orange background was the Crayola crayon color no one ever wanted to use and the patterns of large nameless flowers were varied hues of urine yellow and shit brown.
Marco gave a short laugh and then pulled me close, kissing me hard an d pressing himself against me. Just before I closed my eyes and sank into his kiss I glimpsed a brass-embellished end table with teenage 8x10 headshots of Marco and his brother Damien. For a strange second it was as if no time whatsoever had passed between the “Good year” Marco admired on my bedroom wall…and now.
Marco began peeling my clothes off , his voice gruff. “Let’s get rid of these.”
I glanced with alarm at the curtained window, knowing full well we were at least partially visible. After the front porch sexcapades I should expect it didn’t matter but my more sensible side finally screamed through.
“Not here,” I stilled his hands.
With a sharp tug he pulled me into a narrow hallway and opened the door to a room I had never seen, not even in the hazy era of early childhood. It was his bedroom.
Marco’s mouth was moving rapidly across my nipples and between my breasts, skating across my stomach and teasing lower. As he rose I reached into his pants and withdrew the pulsing organ which was ready to go again.
He pulled back a few inches, examining me. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
My face felt warm under his scrutiny. No man had ever looked at me so closely. And been so hard doing so.
“I’m not,” I said.
Marco took the flare of my hips in his strong hands, massaging gently. “You are,” he insisted. “You’re perfect , Angela.” And then he wrestled me onto the bed and entered me without another word.
I didn’t count how many times we coupled and in how many positions; from the front, from the back, sideways, on top, with tongue. Marco was a demanding lover who gave as good as he got and he showed me possibilities to rival the Kama Sutra. Finally I fell asleep in his bed and even then, half in a dream, I felt him inside of me again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I opened my eyes to sunlight my heart nearly stopped.
“Marco,” I poked him urgently in the side to roll him off of me.
He smiled. “Hello, Angel of the Morning.”
I ignored his lyrical reference and began feverishly pulling clothes on. “I’ve got to go.”
Marco propped himself up on an elbow and watched me appreciatively. “Why? You’re not exactly sixteen.”
“Well, Grace and Alan believe otherwise.” I snapped my jeans closed and searched for my shoes.
“Angela.”
My bra hook was proving elusive so I ripped the whole garment off and shoved it in my back pocket. “What?”
Marco hesitated, watching me with dark intent eyes. After a moment he sighed and rolled onto his stomach. I tried not to look at his naked body. I didn’t want to have a reason to stay. The word ‘Seventeen’ was tattooed in large spidery script from one shoulder blade to the other.
“Hey,” he groaned from the bed. “Close the curtains, would you? That sun is glaring like a mother fucker.”
My heart threatened to escape my chest as I took long strides across the street to my house. It was Sunday morning but surely somewhere behind the glinting windows of Polaris Lane there were one or two hardy busybodies already awake and sipping tea as they surveyed their tiny world.
Thankfully, Alan and Grace Durant were not among them. I climbed through my bedroom window and listened carefully for a moment, hearing nothing and finally exhaling with weak relief. Technically I was beyond their legal reach. But sneaking back in sure as hell fought off a lot of unanswerable questions.
I grabbed some fresh clothes out of my bag and headed for the shower. As I was stepping
Marco gave a short laugh and then pulled me close, kissing me hard an d pressing himself against me. Just before I closed my eyes and sank into his kiss I glimpsed a brass-embellished end table with teenage 8x10 headshots of Marco and his brother Damien. For a strange second it was as if no time whatsoever had passed between the “Good year” Marco admired on my bedroom wall…and now.
Marco began peeling my clothes off , his voice gruff. “Let’s get rid of these.”
I glanced with alarm at the curtained window, knowing full well we were at least partially visible. After the front porch sexcapades I should expect it didn’t matter but my more sensible side finally screamed through.
“Not here,” I stilled his hands.
With a sharp tug he pulled me into a narrow hallway and opened the door to a room I had never seen, not even in the hazy era of early childhood. It was his bedroom.
Marco’s mouth was moving rapidly across my nipples and between my breasts, skating across my stomach and teasing lower. As he rose I reached into his pants and withdrew the pulsing organ which was ready to go again.
He pulled back a few inches, examining me. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
My face felt warm under his scrutiny. No man had ever looked at me so closely. And been so hard doing so.
“I’m not,” I said.
Marco took the flare of my hips in his strong hands, massaging gently. “You are,” he insisted. “You’re perfect , Angela.” And then he wrestled me onto the bed and entered me without another word.
I didn’t count how many times we coupled and in how many positions; from the front, from the back, sideways, on top, with tongue. Marco was a demanding lover who gave as good as he got and he showed me possibilities to rival the Kama Sutra. Finally I fell asleep in his bed and even then, half in a dream, I felt him inside of me again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I opened my eyes to sunlight my heart nearly stopped.
“Marco,” I poked him urgently in the side to roll him off of me.
He smiled. “Hello, Angel of the Morning.”
I ignored his lyrical reference and began feverishly pulling clothes on. “I’ve got to go.”
Marco propped himself up on an elbow and watched me appreciatively. “Why? You’re not exactly sixteen.”
“Well, Grace and Alan believe otherwise.” I snapped my jeans closed and searched for my shoes.
“Angela.”
My bra hook was proving elusive so I ripped the whole garment off and shoved it in my back pocket. “What?”
Marco hesitated, watching me with dark intent eyes. After a moment he sighed and rolled onto his stomach. I tried not to look at his naked body. I didn’t want to have a reason to stay. The word ‘Seventeen’ was tattooed in large spidery script from one shoulder blade to the other.
“Hey,” he groaned from the bed. “Close the curtains, would you? That sun is glaring like a mother fucker.”
My heart threatened to escape my chest as I took long strides across the street to my house. It was Sunday morning but surely somewhere behind the glinting windows of Polaris Lane there were one or two hardy busybodies already awake and sipping tea as they surveyed their tiny world.
Thankfully, Alan and Grace Durant were not among them. I climbed through my bedroom window and listened carefully for a moment, hearing nothing and finally exhaling with weak relief. Technically I was beyond their legal reach. But sneaking back in sure as hell fought off a lot of unanswerable questions.
I grabbed some fresh clothes out of my bag and headed for the shower. As I was stepping
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