The Insiders

Gloria was lying nude on his bed. She moved her body suggestively at him and then turned onto her stomach. Over her shoulder, ignoring his glowering look, she said, "Oh, and while you're up, be a pet and fix me a drink, won't you? Something long and strong, with lots of ice "

Hating Gloria almost as much as he hated Eve at this moment, and despising himself also for not being able to resist the temptation of Gloria's body, David flung himself over her, pinning her down.

"You bitch—it's not a drink that you need right now, is it? Tell me what you need."

"God, I love it when you get fierce! This way, David, fuck me this way. Take out all of your frustrations on me, baby. Your little Eve is going to come crawling back to you for more of this, with all the lovely loot she's going to collect from her rich husband, and—ooh!"

He rammed himself up her squirming ass, ignoring the way she moaned and cried out under his relentless battering—her protests that he was hurting her, he was a savage brute. He knew damned well she was enjoying every minute of it, her struggles meant to egg him on. But then, most women were goddam masochists, anyway. They enjoyed being hurt; they begged for it. Like Eve, crying to him, trying to hold onto him, and smothering him with her so-called love. He thrust his hand in Gloria's wet cunt and heard her scream against the pillows as she came.

Well, at least he was sure that Gloria would keep coming back, just as long as he treated her this way, like a bitch. Spitefully and deliberately, he started to think about Eve, about having her in bed with him again, treating her the same way, making her beg for more, and the thought made him start the tightening spiral of his own climax. She'd come back to him, all right! And what a pleasure it would be to cuckold Brant Newcomb. He'd be having his revenge on Eve, too, at the same time. He'd make her crawl for it, by God. And in the meantime the world was full of women waiting to be taken and used.

Eve could wait her turn, labeled "unfinished business."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

EVE AND BRANT threw their first big party when their house was finished at last. She had had a gold-and- silver sari made into a dress, and on this occasion, at least, she let Brant buy her jewels—emeralds set in antique gold. She sparkled with them, hardly able to recognize herself in the mirror.

A photographer from Town And Country, here to do a story on them, was delighted with her. Here, at last, was a rich man's wife who knew how to pose for the camera, and whose earlier training kept her from complaining.

Eve was very beautiful tonight. The photographer had arrived two days ago and was used to seeing her in cotton sundresses and the shorts she wore to go sailing. He expressed his admiration quite spontaneously when he told her she looked exceptionally lovely. Even Brant said so.

"Have you missed all this, Eve?" he'd asked her abruptly. "The parties, the people, getting all dressed up..."

"Not really. And you?"

Sometimes they still talked like polite strangers, even in bed. Polite, restrained. No quarrels, few arguments. He was always so reasonable, damn him, and always polite. Was he holding back anything? Did he miss the parties he used to give and go to?

Eve looked into Brant's face, and it told her nothing, except that he desired her. He told her that.

"You make me want to make love to you."

He made love to her well. His words sent a tickle of lust down her spine.

"Why don't you, then?"

The ocean waves washed and thundered on the beach outside and withdrew with sighing whispers of regret. Except for the photographer, who was busy taking pictures of the house from outside, and the servants, who were busy in the kitchen, the house itself was empty of the guests who were expected to arrive at any moment now.

He began to laugh, softly;

"You're a woman after my heart. Always ready. No fuss."

"Why should I fuss? Do you want me to play coy?"

"Hell, no!"

He held her long skirt up and slipped off her panties, kissing her perfumed crotch.

Then he took her standing up, one hand on the small of her back. In the full-length mirror on the opposite wall, she watched him go inside her.

There was a slight roundness to her belly and he caressed it.

"Do you mind?"

"You mean, being pregnant? No. It feels strange, but good, too. To know there's a child in there, growing, waiting."

They were close then, for a few moments of shared passion.

But during the party, Eve felt a difference in Brant. She remembered him, suddenly, as she had first known him. The Brant of the party circuit—aloof, bored, looking for kicks. She felt afraid, but wouldn't let it show.