| OCR Text |
Show lights the room and plays shadow games with her hair which is splayed out like a fan on her pillow. She is facing him, and he can see that her eyes are open. He undresses, quickly, but leaves on his shorts; he wants to make it clear that the first order of business is to satisfy her. And what he intends to satisfy her with, that thing which she can't find in every fraternity house, is self-control. He is, after all, twenty-nine, and he's been around. With his fingertips he carefully touches her face, her lips. She responds by taking his fingers, whole, into her mouth. He moves on. At first he moves slowly over her body, exploring each area thoroughly before venturing further, but when her breathing becomes irregular and she begins to shudder, he hurries to catch up with her. Oh yes, she moans, racing now, oh God God, and as she speeds to the finish Morgan is full of affirmative feelings, yes yes, and feeling good, God! she cries one last time and it is over. So soon, everything going so fast. And now you, she whispers, touching her lips to his neck, now it's your turn. Morgan thinks about it. His turn already? Her lips are at his chest, on his nipples. Yes? she asks, yes? God. Something's wrong. Sweat gathers on his forehead and his brain goes into a spin; he is as soft and useless as a child. What would you like? she asks. He is in a panic, something is terribly terribly wrong here and he does not know what it is. Anything you want, she says. He can feel her smile on his face. God. Goddamn. A drink of water, he mumbles, I need a drink of water. |
