Michael awoke with a start, pale arm snapping back from the edge of the feather bed, his fingers sliding across the eyelet coverlet. Grey eyes adjusted to the shadows of the room, mixed blue and orange from the streetlight outside and the hurricane lamp across the room on the dresser. She was still there, he realized, and exhaled. He didn't notice he'd been holding his breath.
The soft moan from Alice's usually languid awakening brought a smile to his lips. "Hi," she half-breathed, her voice husky with sleep. Down-soft curls pushed back into his neck. In the shadows and streetlight it shone honey and sepia; would he ever sketch her hair in the light? It seemed that all of his memories of her were in the darkness, the twilight. A light flick of the nipple of the soft breast she was pressing into his hand made her smile.
"Mmmm...You’re going to get in trouble doing that."
A kiss to her hair. "I know," Michael’s voice vibrated through her temple. He was lengthening again, pressing against the roundness of her smooth derriere. The hand around her waist splayed out on the gentle mound of her belly, pressing fingers into her skin, reminding her that it was all too close to her already dampening pussy. Alice's tongue darted out to her lips and a sigh escaped. Slow pressure on her breast and stomach closed her eyes; she could feel the rough whorls of his fingertips and palms.
Billie's coronet voice was pleading from the other side of the blue-dark: "I'd lie for you/I'd cry for you/I'd lay my body down and die for you/if that's not love/ It'll have to do /until the real thing comes along..." They were quiet, their breathing punctuating the stanza for the song whose irony was not lost on them. The phone rang. She stirred; he only loosened his hold on her enough to allow her arm to stretch to the receiver and bring the phone to her ear.
"Hello?" She feigned sleep.
The hands continued their teasing while the person on the other end garbled something into the phone.
"Uncle Edward...listen...I don't care what Lydia said..."
Him! Michael bit the wet flesh of his lip, released it as a thought came to him. Let her stupid, racist Uncle Edward listen. Oh, he'd give him something to listen to... If Alice could have seen his smile just then, she would have called it wolfish. He flicked her wine nipple purposefully; weathered fingertip sliding across the hardening, plump bud. And he heard that sharp intake of breath that she tried to hide.
"No, I haven't seen him..."
There was no doubt what Ol’ Eddie was giving her the third degree about. Hadn’t seen him, huh? Oh, really? Cream leg nudged caramel thigh upwards, nestling his leg between hers. The phone she was cradling between her ear and shoulder shook precariously.
"Careful," he whispered."
"Oh, nothing...I didn't say anything, Uncle Edward."
He was smiling; the feel of his cheekbones rising against her temple was all too familiar that she couldn't help but smile in conspiratorial knowledge.
Damn her stupid family for being too nosy for their own good. Who cared if Lydia heard Michael was coming down here? Uncle Edward was droning on about that boring, attorney friend of his who was 'so taken' with her when they’d been introduced-- the jerk had leered so much at her tits that she wanted to slap him. Michael's hands were rubbing away the frustration in her muscles. She sighed again. And felt his right hand move with familiar surety past her belly, touching the hand that rested there in greeting on the way down...down...he was palming her now, and she was pressing into his hand with all the unabashed need of the first time...
"Yes, I'm fine. I just...”
A finger slipped into her wetness easily. Oh God, he felt so good....
”... I just have a little cold, is all. You know..."
