| OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/97 and strokes his chest. He laughs. "Morose mistress," and grabs her, kisses her hard on the mouth, rubs her back until she pushes her groin against his, and he kneads her buttocks with his hands. Her face feels hot and raw from razor burn by the time he stops kissing her. "Oh, God, woman. You've made me much hotter than I should be while standing on the end of Lewis Wharf," he groans, and she smiles up at him, nestling her body against his. He looks over her head at the wharf, splintered and exposed to Boston Harbor on two sides. "What are we going to do?" he asks her. "I just put down a deposit on my own apartment this morning," she tells him. "Hopefully, I can move in this weekend." His arms relax their grip. "You're kidding." She is afraid she shouldn't have told him. It's too early. "Well, no. I mean,-I just got sick of living with my parents. It seemed like it was time to get my own place." "At.good idea," he says as his eyes roam her body, t "So we'll have a place to go. A den of iniquity," she says, hiding her fear in a joking tone. He laughs, and nestles his chin in her hair. "A den of iniquity," he repeats. "A mistress and a den of iniquity." He kisses her again, rubbing his body against hers. "That solves the future," he tells her. "What do we do now?" "Don't most people carry on their affairs in a motel?" she asks, pushing her fingers through his hair. "A motel," he repeats, and she realizes that the decision is hers. She can go home now, back to the dinner table with Ned and Ruth, back to her room with the corner of the rug grazed by vanished horseg; ' Or aha cuu-giKto motels, wait in cars, meet him in hallways |
