She’d poured herself another stiff one and downed it in one gulp.
And then Brad was there, standing in the family room, his big hands strong and eager, the muscles of his chest straining through his shirt, his dick so huge and ready, she could see it pulsating through his jeans.
She let him slide the fabric of her dress off her shoulder. She let him gently rub the skin. And then she let him kiss it, making tiny circles with the tip of his warm, wet tongue. And then he lowered his head and found her breast.
“God, how I want you,” Brad said. “How I’ve wanted you from the first day I saw you.”
She thought that she protested. But once his mouth was on her nipple, his tongue teasing, licking, sucking, firm, firmer, firmer …
Ginny moaned and parted her legs. “Bite me,” she commanded.
His teeth sank into her.
“Harder!” she screamed. “Hurt me!”
He bit her again.
Her body throbbed. And then he was between her legs, ramming and slamming that great big juicy dick over and over until she cried and shrieked and only wanted more.
And now, the memory of that night was too damn clouded to even make her want to cum.
“Screw it,” she said, hauling herself from the bed and stalking to her closet.
She jerked open the door and stared inside, remembering that after that night with Brad, she’d burned her clothes. Every last bit of sexy, white-hot clothes.
Somehow, she’d replaced them. She’d replaced the clothes but not the feeling. And now when she reached in, she wanted only sweatpants and a big, snuggly shirt. One of Jake’s shirts. One of dead Jake’s shirts.
Ginny was standing in the family room in sweatpants and Jake’s shirt, staring out the window, stuffing baked-not-fried Tostitos into her mouth when the doorbell rang.
It was probably another flower delivery from Lisa’s well-wishers. Or worse, it might be Lisa herself, the nice-nice daughter that Ginny really didn’t need right now. Not that she had any idea exactly what—or whom—she needed. She brushed some crumbs from her shirt and hoped Consuelo would quickly send whoever it was away.
“Ginny,” a small voice came from across the room. “It’s me. Jess.”
Ginny blinked at the nothingness outside. Jess?
No
, she thought. And yet she knew. It would not be out of character for Jess to come all the way across the country when she’d seen the media reports about Jake’s death. Like Lisa, Jess was nice.
God help me
, Ginny thought, then slowly turned around. And there was Jess. That whisper of a woman from another place in time.
“Jesus,” Ginny said, “what the hell are you doing here?” It hadn’t been that long ago—had it?—since Jess had shown up with the idea of a reunion. With the idea of meeting Lisa. She’d come unannounced that time, too. Unannounced, and most decidedly unwanted. And though they hadn’t seen one another since the reunion, they had stayed in touch—if phone calls once every few months and Christmas cards with kids’ pictures tucked inside was considered staying in touch.
Jess walked toward her now, a thin smile on her pale, New York-winter face. “Ginny, I think I need your help.”
Ginny looked back at the window, but there was no escape. She turned reluctantly to give Jess a kiss-kiss-hug. “I guess it’s ludicrous to say you weren’t expected.”
“If this isn’t a good time, I’ll leave.”
As Jess slipped from Ginny’s hug, Ginny noticed the pink that rimmed her eyes. It seemed a little odd—Jess had barely known Jake. Then again, as a kid she’d been prone to tears—she had spent many weepy days and nights at Larchwood, waiting for her boyfriend who’d never written. Yeah, Ginny decided, news of Jake’s death might be enoughto touch off a torrent of Jess’s ready tears. “Did you cry the whole flight out?”
Jess tossed her small, boxy handbag on the leather sofa, dead center on the cushion where Ginny. had fucked Brad’s brains out so very long ago, back when
And then Brad was there, standing in the family room, his big hands strong and eager, the muscles of his chest straining through his shirt, his dick so huge and ready, she could see it pulsating through his jeans.
She let him slide the fabric of her dress off her shoulder. She let him gently rub the skin. And then she let him kiss it, making tiny circles with the tip of his warm, wet tongue. And then he lowered his head and found her breast.
“God, how I want you,” Brad said. “How I’ve wanted you from the first day I saw you.”
She thought that she protested. But once his mouth was on her nipple, his tongue teasing, licking, sucking, firm, firmer, firmer …
Ginny moaned and parted her legs. “Bite me,” she commanded.
His teeth sank into her.
“Harder!” she screamed. “Hurt me!”
He bit her again.
Her body throbbed. And then he was between her legs, ramming and slamming that great big juicy dick over and over until she cried and shrieked and only wanted more.
And now, the memory of that night was too damn clouded to even make her want to cum.
“Screw it,” she said, hauling herself from the bed and stalking to her closet.
She jerked open the door and stared inside, remembering that after that night with Brad, she’d burned her clothes. Every last bit of sexy, white-hot clothes.
Somehow, she’d replaced them. She’d replaced the clothes but not the feeling. And now when she reached in, she wanted only sweatpants and a big, snuggly shirt. One of Jake’s shirts. One of dead Jake’s shirts.
Ginny was standing in the family room in sweatpants and Jake’s shirt, staring out the window, stuffing baked-not-fried Tostitos into her mouth when the doorbell rang.
It was probably another flower delivery from Lisa’s well-wishers. Or worse, it might be Lisa herself, the nice-nice daughter that Ginny really didn’t need right now. Not that she had any idea exactly what—or whom—she needed. She brushed some crumbs from her shirt and hoped Consuelo would quickly send whoever it was away.
“Ginny,” a small voice came from across the room. “It’s me. Jess.”
Ginny blinked at the nothingness outside. Jess?
No
, she thought. And yet she knew. It would not be out of character for Jess to come all the way across the country when she’d seen the media reports about Jake’s death. Like Lisa, Jess was nice.
God help me
, Ginny thought, then slowly turned around. And there was Jess. That whisper of a woman from another place in time.
“Jesus,” Ginny said, “what the hell are you doing here?” It hadn’t been that long ago—had it?—since Jess had shown up with the idea of a reunion. With the idea of meeting Lisa. She’d come unannounced that time, too. Unannounced, and most decidedly unwanted. And though they hadn’t seen one another since the reunion, they had stayed in touch—if phone calls once every few months and Christmas cards with kids’ pictures tucked inside was considered staying in touch.
Jess walked toward her now, a thin smile on her pale, New York-winter face. “Ginny, I think I need your help.”
Ginny looked back at the window, but there was no escape. She turned reluctantly to give Jess a kiss-kiss-hug. “I guess it’s ludicrous to say you weren’t expected.”
“If this isn’t a good time, I’ll leave.”
As Jess slipped from Ginny’s hug, Ginny noticed the pink that rimmed her eyes. It seemed a little odd—Jess had barely known Jake. Then again, as a kid she’d been prone to tears—she had spent many weepy days and nights at Larchwood, waiting for her boyfriend who’d never written. Yeah, Ginny decided, news of Jake’s death might be enoughto touch off a torrent of Jess’s ready tears. “Did you cry the whole flight out?”
Jess tossed her small, boxy handbag on the leather sofa, dead center on the cushion where Ginny. had fucked Brad’s brains out so very long ago, back when
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