The End of the Rainbow (Hudson 4)

"I guess so," he said. His eyes wandered and then settled on the phonograph. "You want to hear one of those old records?" he asked.

"Yes, I would like that," I said. If we got our minds off our predicament for a little while, we would surely feel better. I thought.

He rose and picked out a record. The melody was sweet, comforting, but the singer's voice was so high-pitched. I smiled.

"Music was sure different in those days," Harley said. "The words were nice though."

He put on another and we listened. It was a song in French. Neither of us could understand it, but we knew whatever it was about was sad.

"Who's the singer on that one. Harley?" I asked when it ended. He read the label.

"Edith Piaf."

"Play it again," I said. He shrugged and did so. Then he came to sit beside me to listen. He put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned into his chest and closed my eyes. He kissed me on the forehead and I looked up at him. Maybe it was because of the music or because of what had happened to us, but his eyes were two dark pools of deep sorrow and pain. I hated to see him so sad.

I reached up and with the tips of my fingers touched his lips. He took my hand in his and held it there and then kissed my fingers. The tingle traveled down my arm to my breast and curled over my heart.

"You're so lovely. Summer, even now, even here, even after all that's happened. When I look at you. I feel so happy inside that I forget everything terrible around me. It's always been like that for me."

"Harley," I whispered.

He lifted me gently and turned me so he could lower his lips to mine. It was a soft kiss, a kiss that was more like turning a key that opened the lock to my heart and soul. He shifted and lowered me to the sofa.

"This itches," he complained, referring to the sweater, and pulled it off.

I smiled up at him, my heart starting to tap faste

r. He sprawled out beside me and kissed me again, a little harder, a little longer. I turned into him and put my arm over his shoulder, holding him to me. He kissed my eyes, my nose and my neck.

"Our love is so strong," he whispered. "it protects us."

I was thinking that. too. For a few minutes, at least. I could submerge myself in him and, like lowering myself into a warm bath after being in a cold rain, feel soothed, comforted. protected.

I kept my eyes closed as he unbuttoned my blouse and took it off and then unfastened my bra and slipped it away. His lips were on my breasts, the tip of his tongue grazing each nipple. Every move he made was slow, deliberate. Gentle, soothing, I moaned softly and he pressed his lips to mine, touching my tongue with his and then kissing me harder, faster everywhere. I felt my heart thumping, my blood racing,

"Tell me to stop. Summer. Tell me to stop," he whispered, but brought his fingers to the button on my jeans and undid it.

I should. I thought, but I didn't want him to. At least, not just yet. Just a little more, just a little longer. It all felt so good and I had been terrified ever since the date rape that loving would never be Good for me again.

His hand moved in and around my waist to my rear. He pressed, pushing me toward him. Then he brought his lips to my exposed stomach, lowering the jeans just a few inches at a time to clear the way for his lips. Soon, they were down to my knees.

"I love you so much. Summer," he said. "I love you. too. Harley."

"Tell me to stop," he repeated, but moved my jeans down to my ankles. I lifted my leg so he could gently get them off and then he pulled back and took off his jeans. too.

"We're going too far," he said more in the tone of a voiced thought. He sounded like he was warning himself more than he was warning me.

"I know." I whispered. I felt drank, my mind spinning, the warmth traveling up and twirling in my stomach and then under my breasts, moving inside me like invisible hands, soft fingers touching me in places I touched myself in dreams.

There's a point of no return. I told myself. You're reaching it. You're almost there. My panties were off. He was naked. too. We held each other, gasping, hesitant. but knowing there was a flood of passion about to overwhelm us.

"Tell me to stop," he practically begged as he brought his hardness to me.

Maybe I really did want to prove to myself that I hadn't been ruined for life by Duncan. Maybe my love for Harley was so strong that all restraint and caution was trampled beneath its marching feet. Maybe I had simply lost control and was at the mercy of the winds of my own unleashed animal desire. Whatever the reason. I did not say stop. Instead, I lifted myself to bring my lips to his and he entered me and held me, and we moved in a slow rhythm to bring ourselves higher and higher, to lift ourselves out of our pain and fear, to reach the clouds and float away on a magic carpet of love.

However long it lasted was far too short. I clung to him afterward, refusing to surrender to any aftermath, refusing to retreat. His heavy breathing slowed against my cheek and as the world around us began to reappear, the realization of what we had done settled over both of us like a cold, wet blanket.

He lifted himself away and sat for a moment. Then he began to put on his underwear and his jeans. I turned over on my stomach and buried my face in the cushion. Neither of us had heard the phonograph needle going round and round at the end of the record until now. He went over and lifted the arm away and then he went into the small bathroom.