“Pretend I’m Taylor. You can do that better in the dark. Amanda, if you want a schedule after you’re married, then don’t learn what I have to teach you. It’s up to you.”
She pulled the string on the light and the room was absolutely dark, but Dr. Montgomery’s hands found her and guided her to sit on his lap.
“Amanda! What are you doing? You should be studying your Latin.”
“Yes, I—Oh, I see, you’re Taylor.”
“Pretending to be,” Hank corrected. “Amanda, if I were me, I’d put my arms around you like this,” he said, his arms caressing her back, “and my hands would do this.” He ran his hands down her arms, his thumbs touching the sides of her breasts. “And I’d kiss you like this.” He kissed her softly, lingeringly, in such a way that made her remember last night. Her arms went around him, her tongue entwined with his. She moaned when his hand cupped her breast. Sitting, he’d said. People could make love while sitting down. She turned more fully toward him.
He pushed her away. “But I’m not me. I’m Taylor.” Hank was swallowing and he was painfully uncomfortable. She was going to drive him mad. “Taylor would sit here like this.” He put his hands beside his thighs, not touching her. There was a little light coming in around the door and he could see enough of her to again realize how beautiful she was. There seemed to be less sadness in her eyes. “Now what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. With you I don’t have to do anything. You always seem to be ready.” She could feel how ready he was now, against her left thigh. Her heart was still pounding, but he seemed to be so cool and unaffected by their kissing—well, maybe not all of him was unaffected. “I guess I would kiss him,” she said, leaning toward his lips, but he turned his head away.
“No, start more subtly. Here, kiss my neck a little and maybe use this hand to unbutton a few buttons and this one you can put in my hair.”
“Oh,” she said, “I see.” This was the easiest assignment she’d ever had. His hair was soft and clean and seemed to twine around her fingers. The buttons of his shirt opened easily, and she slid her hand inside to touch his bare flesh. “Like this?”
“Exactly,” he whispered.
She put her lips to his neck. Hot, smooth skin with just the faintest trace of whiskers. She touched her tongue to his whiskers. His skin tasted good.
“Ear,” Hank said, and could hardly hear himself above his heart’s pounding.
Amanda thought she was maybe getting the hang of this. She put his earlobe in her teeth and pulled it gently. He moved his hands from his thighs to hers. She ran her tongue around the rim of his ear, her breath warm against it. “Am I doing all right?” she whispered.
“Fine so far,” he managed to say.
She began to get creative as she kissed his temple then his eyes and down his face to his cheeks. She had unbuttoned most of his shirt now, and she wanted to feel her bare breasts against his hot, dark skin, feel the hair of his chest against her smooth skin.
“This ear?” she whispered, and used her tongue to caress his left ear. She had to stretch across him a bit and her breasts felt so good where they touched him. She wanted to open her dress and feel his mouth on her.
She kissed his lips. As if she were dying, she kissed him, plunging her tongue into his mouth, ravishing him, attacking him, sucking at his lips, biting his lips; then her mouth and teeth bit at his jawline, down his neck. Her hands began tearing at his clothes.
Hank quit playing a game. He turned her to straddle him, treating her as if she weighed nothing, as he shoved her dress up over her hips. Her tap pants tore at the crotch so that she was bare against him, the cloth of his trousers against her soft inner thighs and her engorged womanhood.
His left hand clamped down on the back of her head, turning her so he could invade the deepest recesses of her mouth while his right hand unbuttoned his trousers, his knuckles caressing her. She rubbed against the skin of his hand.
Someone started trying the doorknob.
“I think it’s locked,” Reva said from outside. “You have the key or does Hank?”
“I think there are some keys upstairs,” Joe said. “I’ll go look.”
“I’ll go with yo
u,” Reva said, then to someone else she said, “You stay here. You can clean up your own kid’s vomit.”
Inside the closet, Amanda and Hank became aware of who they were and where they were.
“We better go,” Amanda said. “I don’t think they would understand.”
Nor do I, Hank thought as he mechanically began to refasten his trousers.
Amanda at last found the string to the light and pulled it on, and for a brief moment their eyes met, but she didn’t dare look at him for too long. It seemed that all he had to do was pull her string and she lit up like an electric light bulb.
Hank unlocked the door and looked out. Reva and Joe were still upstairs but standing quietly was an Italian woman holding the hand of a green-faced little girl. “Hello,” Hank said. “We, ah…”
Amanda began to talk to the woman, making up a long excuse as to what they were doing in the closet as they passed her to go upstairs.