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Chapter 23

I opened the door to behold a smiling Aloysius Pendergast, dressed not in a disguise or a dead black suit, but in the worn jeans and chambray shirt, complete with bullet hole. I raised my eyebrows.

“I’ve decided I like the grunge thing,” he drawled, stepping through the door. He held out a bottle of wine as I burst into laughter.

I stepped past the wine and threw my arms around him. For a moment, he remained stock still; may even have stiffened minutely. Then he responded, putting his arms around my waist, kissing the top of my head. I whispered, “How does it feel to be free?”

A pause. Then, “We are not free, Kitty. He’s still out there.”

“Yeah, but he’s scared shitless. Scared that if he messes with you, you really will pull a Socrates.”

“He’ll think of another way. He’ll come up with something. As he said before he left...we’ll never know when he’ll decide to drop by. That will be our torture.”

We were silent for a moment. Then I stood on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. “If he comes up with something, we’ll come up with something.”

“Right! But for now, show me your...” He raised an eyebrow. “...corkscrew.”

Snickering, I preceded him to the kitchen.

He poured for us both and we sat at the table to drink our wine from my mismatched glasses. He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help noticing that, when discussing the future, we were both saying “we” and “our.”

“Yes. I noticed that, too.”

“Kitty...” He set his glass down and took my free hand in both of his. “I have to tell you something. I have felt this way only once before in my life. In this life.” He smiled and I smiled back. “It was when I recognized my wife, Helen.”

I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant.

“Now, I recognize you. I know that you don’t...” He faltered, then forced another smile. “Please don’t answer now. After much research into very unfamiliar territory, I found a way to say what I need to say in your language. Will you accompany me to the living room, please?”

Mystified, I followed him, watched him put a CD in the player.

I recognized the song and my eyes blurred with tears. He stepped to me and laid a finger gently under each eye in turn, catching the brimming tears. I thought I saw moisture in his own eyes; then he blinked and held out his arms. “May I have this dance?”

I went into his arms gladly, and it was like coming home again, to his wonderful smell, his warm strength. We moved slowly, just swaying a little. He held me formally, right arm around my waist, my right hand clasped in his left, my left hand on his shoulder. That wasn’t close enough for me. I slid both my arms around his neck and leaned against him, feeling his hands go to the small of my back, remembering the first time he’d touched me there and the inexplicable attraction between us. Remembering Proctor’s story about the baby. Remembering his easy acrobatics at the gym, and my envy. His efforts to make me feel better. Dancing. Our foolishness in the hot tub. Our sweet encounter afterward. The fear that led him to leave. My own fear, that made me refuse him back. As though I could.

As before, I could feel every ripple of muscle in his lean body, and knew he could feel every beat of my heart, every breath I took. I wanted him horizontal so I could press even closer to him. I just wanted him. I looked up at him as the candles cast their flickering light on the planes of his face. He looked down at me as the sweet lyrics he’d selected wafted over us. “Kitty...I can’t let go.”

I stood on tiptoe again and this time kissed him full on the lips. His arms tightened around me and he bent his head, giving me easier access, responding gently. Always so gently.

I finally broke the kiss, breathless, and whispered, “Let’s go to the bedroom.” I heard the now-familiar sharp inhalation, then took his hand and led him to my bed.

I lit the candles, kicked off my sandals, and lay back, watching him step on the heels of his running shoes to step out of them. I lay back, holding out my arms, and he moved into them, lying half beside me, half over me, looking down at me. “Kitty...” He seemed unable to continue.

“Shhhh. You talk too much.” Suddenly I was overcome with joy. I think it all hit me at once—that Diogenes was gone, that Aloysius was here, that I felt free from fear enough to love him. Overcome with glee, I grabbed him and rolled him over, landing on top. “Now I’ve got you where I want you!”

Scrunching. “Oh. Please. Stop. Struggle, struggle.”

I laughed with delight and just looked at him, at his beautiful eyes, his fine features, his still-scrunching lips. I opened the top button of the chambray shirt, curious to see if either a tee shirt or a large handgun lurked within. Saw nothing in there but Aloysius. Opened the rest of the buttons, kissing my way down as I went, until I finished the excursion with a lick at his belly button. I saw a line of silky white-blond fur running from his navel into his jeans and thought of Diogenes.

Seeming to sense my train of thought, he said, “Kitty...did Diogenes...?” His face tried not to change, but his eyes betrayed fear, already bordering on sorrow, as though expecting only one possible answer.

“No,” I said immediately. “He didn’t lay a hand on me, except to threaten and scare.” I touched the ring around my neck.

He studied me silently for a moment, then either decided to believe or decided to let it go. One of his long white hands stole around my neck and pulled me back down to him. He just held me, a hand on the back of my neck, the other on the small of my back, massaging. So very warm.

He raised up, laying me back on the bed. “Turn over.”

I turned onto my stomach, felt his hands on my back through the silky material of my camisole. I was wearing the same favorite outfit I’d worn that first night. Talk about déjà vu. He kneaded the muscles in my lower back, then moved up to my shoulder blades. The heat from his hands seemed to radiate throughout my body, taking away the aches from my tousle with Diogenes, relaxing me. I remembered being amazed the first time he’d touched me, and fervently echoed what I’d moaned then: “Oh, God, you touch me so good.”

This time he didn’t stop, but slid his hands under the camisole, massaging my bare skin. I brought my arms up, resting my face on them, willing him to slide his hands around me, to touch my breasts. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned over me, murmuring in my ear, “Let’s take this off.”

I moved side to side a little, in such a way that he was able to work the silky top up and over my head, then pulled each arm out of the straps. I wore nothing underneath it. I started to turn over, my breasts dying for attention, and heard him murmur, “Not yet.” I rested my head on my arms again.

He kissed the back of my neck, caressed my shoulders and upper arms, kissed his way down my spine. My skin grew more and more sensitive, each cell more and more expectant. Soon it felt as though each small area was actually trying to rise to meet his lips, a sensation that was so raw it was both exquisite and slightly uncomfortable. He lifted the elastic waistband of my skirt slightly, kissed just beneath it, and tugged, and I raised myself enough for him to slide it down and off, leaving me in a pair of pink bikinis. He kissed just above them and my body began to quiver with desire. “Please, let me turn over...I want to see you...touch you...”

His hands roamed down my back, over my rump, down my thighs. “I can’t—you don’t understand. It’s been so long...I’m afraid I won’t be able to...to treat you right.”

“It doesn’t matter, darling. I don’t care. I just need to see you, to feel you...”

“In a moment...just let me...” I felt his fingers lift the elastic panty band and raised myself again, enough for him to slide them down and off. He kissed the dimple in the middle of my lower back and continued to caress me, shoulders to thighs. Kissed the back of my neck again. Almost mad with desire, I turned over, pulling him down onto me.

A gasp, and he lifted himself, moving to lay beside me, leaning over me. I looked up into eyes that glowed as though lit from within. Lit by desire. He looked at my breasts, let his eyes roam downward, back to my face. “You are so lovely,” he breathed. “So lovely...”

“Kiss me,” I begged, and he did, gently, being careful not to touch me too much. I couldn’t stand it. “Please, touch me...come to me...let me feel you...” I pulled him against me and felt how hard and ready he was, wrapped my legs around him so he couldn’t get away. He moaned softly. “I know you’re worried about treating me right, darling, but I don’t care about that now. I just want to feel you...feel you inside me.”

Suddenly he was kissing me, deeply, desperately. His hands were on my breasts, caressing, fingers fondling my nipples until they ached with rigidity. Overwhelmed, I simply lay still for a moment, then threw my arms around him, around his shoulders, murmuring encouragement as his lips left mine to trail fire down my neck to my shoulder to my breast. He seemed to be trying to devour me, all of me at once, his hungry mouth moving from breast to breast, then downward to my stomach, my belly, and finally, fingers opening me gently, my center.

His tongue took my breath away and I could only writhe and moan his name. His strong hands held my hips firmly, keeping me captive as they began to undulate uncontrollably, and I heard myself cry his name again, cry that I loved him, as orgasm slammed through me, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it brought me off the bed from shoulders to heels as he continued to lick me, my nerve endings finally shorting out until it became excruciating and I begged him to stop.

He raised his head and, eyes glittering, moved over me, breath jerking in and out of his chest, his entire body shaking with desire. I reached down and unfastened the jeans, sliding them down enough to free him, then clasped his buttocks and pulled him into me, wrapping my legs around him again. He froze for a moment, murmuring indecipherable words into my ear, then wrapped his arms around me, pulling me even closer, and began to move slowly, each thrust accompanied by a breath, each breath a moan, until moaning wasn’t enough, and he whispered, “Oh, God... oh, God...”

I thought my heart would burst with joy at being able to please him, to give him what he so needed. It seemed I had known him forever, loved him forever, and would love him forevermore. I matched his movements, trying to give him more somehow, whispered, “Yes, darling...yes...yes...”

Then, with an unintelligible cry, he shoved into me and squeezed the breath from my lungs and I felt him coming deep inside me, and it seemed to go on forever. He slowly relaxed onto me, relaxed his arm muscles, and I could breathe again. I heard him draw a deep breath, let it out in a moan—”Oh, my God—” and he finally grew still and quiet in my arms.

A few minutes later, I felt him move slightly, then his lips pressed mine lightly for a moment and I opened my eyes to behold his, inches away. He scrunched a little. “You okay?”

“Yes, considering that a nuclear device just detonated between my legs.”

I felt him shaking with silent laughter. “That’s crude, love.”

“Sorry. Don’t know what I’m saying. Ninety percent of my brain cells are still focused on my clitoris.”

He finally laughed out loud, and so did I, making him wince and exclaim, “Ouch. You’re squeezing very tender flesh when you do that.”

I squeezed down on him on purpose. “Had enough?”

He grew serious. “It’ll never be enough. Not with you.”

“I love you, Aloysius Pendergast.” I laughed. “That’s saying a mouthful.”

“And I love you, Shecky Barrett.” He kissed my nose. “Soon to be Shecky Barrett Pendergast?”

I caught my breath in surprise, but managed to say, “Hell, yes.”

“Kitty...what do you suppose our purpose in coming here this time really was?”

“Sex. Just plain old-fashioned, making-up-for-lost-time, in-the-body sex. And if that’s not it, it’ll do until we figure it out.” I gathered all my strength and rolled him over, landing on top again. “Now I’ve got you where I want you.”

“Indeed,” he said.

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