by Judith Gould
“Yes, but . . . it’s been so long since I . . . and we’ve never . . .” She gestured with her hands.
“Forget about it. The physical part of our relationship can wait. In time, I know it will come.”
He smiled reassuringly, giving no indication how much effort it took for him to will the wild beating of his heart, and the fiery passions in his loins, to die down. He placed his hands on her shoulders in a brotherly fashion.
“Besides,” he added, “what’s wrong with waiting a little while longer? Love makes time relative, or didn’t you know?”
Chapter 52
They sat silently for a long time, each deep in thought, each aching for the other. But his words and restraint had released some of the tension inside her. He could even see a faint smile beginning to tremble at the corners of her lips. “You sound just like my shrink,” she finally said.
“That,” he told her, “I’ll take as a compliment.” Then he made a production of studying her tear-streaked face. Abruptly he frowned.
“What is it?” she asked worriedly.
“The way you look. We will have to do something about those tears.”
“God, I must look a mess!” She reached up to wipe her face.
“No!” he said. Gently he took her by the wrists and pushed her hands down to her sides and held them there.
She watched him warily, puzzled.
“Let me,” he whispered.
Her eyes went wide and she sat absolutely still as his face moved closer to hers. And then he was touching his lips lightly to her skin, chastely kissing away the trail of each moist tear.
The feel of his lips made her start trembling all over again.
“There,” he said with a smile when he was done. “I’d say that looks a lot better.”
There was no fear in her eyes now, but the tenderness he’d displayed brought fresh tears to them. She still found it difficult to believe her Doc was for real. How sensitive and special he was!
But then, she thought with a sudden pang of bitterness, her experience with the opposite sex hadn’t exactly been something to trumpet. First there had been Brother Dan, then nearly that pimp at Port Authority, and finally Snake . . . Snake, whose ole lady and devoted house-mouse she’d been . . . who’d instigated the gang rape and set all those animals loose on her.
Her features suddenly hardened. Stop thinking about that bastard! she told herself. You can’t let him and that gang of unwashed cavemen ruin the life you and Doc deserve to enjoy. You can’t remain frigid forever. Surely even the patience of a prince like Doc has its limits. How long do you expect him to wait until you get your mental act together?
But the mere thought of surrendering herself voluntarily to a man—even a man she loved beyond life itself—made her physically ill. She could feel all the symptoms already. The nausea. The dizziness. The perspiration and panic.
Now her fear of sex was like nothing she had ever known.
If only I could return Doc’s love physically. Why can’t I give myself to him? Is that too much to ask for?
But the terror ran so immeasurably, so painfully, so irreversibly deep.
Silent minutes ticked by.
I have to overcome it sometime, she thought. I must. So why not now!
She didn’t know where her voice came from. “Doc . . .” she said nervously. Her pulse was racing, and terror, like an icy tornado, tore through her body. She swallowed hard and drew herself determinedly erect.
“Yes, Billie?”
She was silent for a moment, then she drew a deep breath. Every instinct inside her was fighting what she was about to do. “I ... I want us to make love.”
He hesitated.
“I’m sure,” she said quickly. “Don’t you see? I want it. I need it. Only you can cure me.”
He shook his head. “I cannot cure you. Only you can do that.”
Her eyes held his. “And I intend to,” she said with quiet conviction.
He did not speak.
“I have to, Doc. I can’t keep on living as only half a woman. Please. I need your help.”
“Are you sure you aren’t rushing it?”
“I have to take that chance.” Swiftly, as though she might otherwise change her mind, she stood and started unbuttoning her blouse. Her movements were jerky and her fingers trembled. Her mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Would she really be able to go through with it? And if so, could she satisfy him?
She honestly didn’t know. But she had to start somewhere.
Her heart was running away; her head was pounding.
What if midway through she had to stop? Would he take her for a tease?
No. She was certain he wouldn’t. Not Duncan. Not her Doc. He would be gentle . . . and understanding.
With new determination she slipped off her blouse and let it fall to the floor. Almost defiantly she raised her head and lifted her shoulders. Her lace-brassiered breasts rose. “Take me, darling,” she whispered. “I’m all yours.”
Duncan’s protectiveness ran deeper than carnality. “I don’t want to force you,” he said, the sight of her partially undressed body, as well as her bravado, bringing a tightness to his chest. He could well imagine the immense courage and resolve this was taking on her part. His voice became suddenly hoarse. “Billie, I want you to know that anytime you feel you have to stop—”
She shushed him by placing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say that, Doc,” she pleaded. “Please?” She paused, color heightening her incandescent, exquisitely boned face. She took a deep, breast-heaving lungful of air. “Just promise me one thing. That’s all I ask.”
He continued to look at her silently.
Her voice grew suddenly strong. “That no matter how much I fight it, you won’t stop.”
“Billie—” he began, shocked.
“Please, Doc!” She stared at him. “You must do as I ask.” There was a faint edging of tears around her eyes. “This is the most important moment of my life,” she added in a whisper.
“I know that, darling, but I can’t force you. I’d never be capable of that. Rape isn’t making love.”
She shook her head. “No, Doc. Don’t you understand? You won’t be raping me. You’ll be helping me!” She came into his arms and pressed herself against him.
He could feel the warmth of her body and the jackhammer beats of her heart. The scent of her perfumeless flesh was intoxicating, pungent with a heady fragrance all its own. Suddenly he flashed back on that night a million years ago . . . that night that, in some ways, still seemed only yesterday . . . the night when Olympia had brought her to him, bloodied and battered.
“Doc?”
She was waiting for an answer.
He looked at her for what seemed an eternity. “All right,” he said at long last. “So long as you’re sure ...”
A sudden relief flashed in her eyes. “I’m positive,” she whispered huskily. “Thanks, Doc.” Quickly she kissed his cheek, then pulled away and turned around. She stood there with her back turned. “Undo me, Doc, will you?” she said over her shoulder.
Pressing his lips to the back of her neck, he unhooked the brassiere and slid the straps down over her arms. He could hear her sharp intake of breath as her bared warm breasts met the cool of the air.
His touch was soft and tender as he turned her back around to face him. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his feather-light hands unzipping her skirt very slowly. She was barely conscious of the fabric sliding down her legs and gathering in whispering folds around her ankles. Her panties were flesh-tone, and gave the illusion that she was already completely naked.
He started to unbutton his shirt, but now it was she who closed her hands over his wrists. Her voice was low. “No. Let me.”
He looked at her. The pink of her tongue was parting the moist pearly white gleam of her teeth.
Before he could reply, she unbuttoned his shirt and slid the sleeves down over his arms. “Your body is so beautiful,” she whisp
ered, tentatively smoothing her hands across his curly-haired chest. She rolled his nipples between her fingertips. “Do you like that, Doc?”
“Do I like it!” He reached for her.
“Not yet.” She moved his arms to his sides. She wanted to return in kind the wonderfully slow, deliberate sensations he had aroused in undressing her. Her mouth and tongue brushed across his chest as her fingers slid down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. They fell to the floor.
He was wearing tight navy-blue briefs. The bulging ridge of his manhood pushed and strained against the fabric. She was about to touch it, when her hand froze. Instantly that wild, afraid look was back in her luminous eyes.
“Slowly,” Duncan whispered, his hands barely touching her. “One step at a time.”
She nodded and he took her back in his arms, his lips kissing hers again. He could feel her beginning to relax once more, and his tongue danced a slow-motion ballet inside her mouth. Slowly she began to get caught up in his passion. They kissed each other, kissed and kissed wherever their hungry mouths could reach—lips, face, chin, throat. And all the while, his hands, his marvelously skilled surgeon’s hands, caressed her sensitive breasts in slow concentric circles, his fingertips finally teasing her jutting nipples.
He could feel them hardening to stiff points under his touch.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised softly into her mouth.
“Yes!” she whispered back, and shuddered convulsively.
Slowly, deliberately, his fingers strummed their way down across her latticed rib cage, trailed over her softly muscled, concave abdomen, and followed the contours of her narrow curving hips. She watched, entranced, as he reverently dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed his face into her belly. But it was when he twirled the moist tip of his tongue into her navel that the powerful blast of emotion she was unprepared for rocketed through her.
He could hear her catch her breath—or had she stifled a moan of dismay? He looked up and tried to read which response it had been, but her head was tilted too far back, and he couldn’t see her expression.
Taking the waistband of her panties between his teeth, he slowly peeled them down her legs.
Now.
Now she was completely nude.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Remember,” she reminded him in a fierce breathy whisper. “If I fight you—”
“I won’t stop,” he promised, glancing up at her. The panties were still between his teeth, and his head was down by her calves. Lifting her legs one by one, he slipped the panties off her. Then, letting them drop, he worked his way with flicks of his tongue back up one of her beautiful, wonderfully sleek long legs, legs sheathed in flawless pale skin smooth as satin.
When his head was at groin level again, his hands glided around her hips. Cupping her buttocks, he gently pushed her closer into his face.
Tension moved the thigh muscles under the surface of her skin; he could catch the faintest aroma of her sex wafting, all frankincense and honey and myrrh, sweetly at him from her groin.
His hunger was overpowering. Abruptly he buried his face into her dark curly mound, his mouth opening around the moist oval that was the mysterious heart of her womanhood.
It was like thrusting his face into a fire.
“Oh, Doc!” she gasped, flinging her head back and thrusting her hips forward. Grabbing the back of his head, she pushed his face even further into the heat of her thighs.
His tongue delved and dallied and teased.
“Yes!” she moaned. “Oooooh, that’s good! That’s so good, Doc!”
He slid a finger up into her and gently nipped at her button with his lips.
Her back arched and she nearly went crazy.
When he stopped, her eyes instantly snapped open and she looked down at him with disappointment and surprise. “Don’t stop!” she whispered. “Doc, please . . .”
He stood up. “Come,” he said softly, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the bed.
She looked at it in a condition of petrified apprehension, everything it represented filling her with a cold, heart-stopping dread. She turned to him, her eyes wide, and saw only love reflected from his face. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and crawled up on the mattress. Courage, she told herself in a silent litany, all it takes is courage. She stretched out, half-raising herself on her elbows, watching as he slipped out of his briefs.
When his manhood sprang free, she eyed it with curious trepidation. It curved, long and hard, up at a scimitar angle from the thatch of crisp brown pubic curls; from beneath it hung his testicles, two ripe succulent fruits dangling from a thick branch.
Courage, she reiterated to herself. Courage!
With utmost caution, as though she were some fragile, treasured piece of crystal that might shatter under the slightest impact, he slid smoothly onto the bed beside her and, with his rigid penis pressed against her flesh, continued his sweet caresses and loving kisses. He smoothed his hands ever so tenderly along her arms, her back, her shoulders and buttocks and thighs, knowing that if he took her too soon he would only contribute to her fright.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he could feel the tenseness within her die down, and he positioned himself and parted her legs.
“Billie . . .” she heard him whisper.
Courage deserted her as she stared up at him while he raised his hips off the mattress. She watched with quaking concentration as he started to lower himself into her splayed thighs.
“I love you, Billie,” Duncan told her softly. But his words were lost amid the deafening drumming of her blood in her ears. She felt him scooping up her hips, lifting them to meet his, and then he started to guide his shaft down into her.
The moment she felt him enter her, an overpowering panic took hold. She instantly went rigid, then dug her elbows into the mattress and furiously tried to crab-crawl her way backward and escape. But his hands, still gentle but firm now, held tenaciously to her hips. Desperately she twisted and bucked and writhed, doing everything within her power to throw him off. Even her slick vaginal muscles, contracting against the intrusion, fought him.
Perversely, the very tightening against his penis made entering her feel that much more exquisite. The constricting muscles squeezed him deliciously, made him want to throw back his head and bay lustfully at the moon.
But it was not he who howled.
“Nooooo!” she screamed suddenly as he slowly, inexorably drove deeper. “Stop! Please . . . you’ve got to stop!” The freeze-frame nightmare images were back, filling her mind with motor-driven speed as the present merged with the past.
“Nooooo!” she screamed, thrashing her head from side to side, her hair whipping back and forth on the pillow. “Stop it! Stop it!” And suddenly her anguish metamorphosed into blazing rage. Grim-faced and with full strength, she began hammering Duncan’s back and chest and shoulders with her fists. Her legs kicked and jerked, her heels alternately pounding him and digging into him in an effort to thrust him away. That failing, she bared her teeth and attempted to hurl herself at him to bite and annihilate, but her head came up short. Frustrated, she grunted and tried to shove a foot into his face.
He averted his head just in time.
“Stop it!” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I said please, please stop it,” she sobbed.
It was her tears, not her screams and struggles, that caused Duncan to hesitate and slide halfway out. He couldn’t bear to see his beloved in such terror and pain. He wanted to make love to her, not force her like the brutal Neanderthals who had caused her so much hurt and anguish. He stayed poised, his pelvis hovering indecisively.
“Just promise me one thing ...” Her words, spoken just minutes ago, played back in his head. “. . .no matter bow much I fight it, you won’t stop. . . .”
So she had said. But had she truly meant it?
He was torn between keeping his promise and giving in to her struggles.
I can’t fo
rce her, not when she’s fighting against me so violently . . .
He was about to withdraw completely when he suddenly became aware that her fists and heels had stopped pummeling, that her cries had abruptly stilled. Her hips, instead of battling him, were—could it be? . . . was it possible? . . . yes!—rising to meet his and bury him inside her up to the hilt!
“Doc?” she whispered, an inner light glowing from her eyes. “Why are you stopping?”
His eyes went into hers, and suddenly he understood. The bottled-up passions she had lived with for so long had risen like a torrent within her.
“Who said I’m stopping?” he whispered back, and now, his penis buried so deep inside her that he could actually feel her womb, he began to move in and out of her in slow rhythmic thrusts.
“Yes!” she moaned, her breathing coming faster and faster as her hips rose and lowered greedily, moving ever quicker and more relentlessly to devour him. “Oh, God, yes!”
Forgotten now were the nightmare images and sexual terrors. They were discarded, buried, never to haunt her again. A powerful loving passion had replaced them, substituting the horrors with the pleasures of giving and taking, reaffirming her womanhood and her trust in men—at least in one man—once and for all.
What had just moments ago been screams of sheer terror were now moans of magnificent release and pleasure; what had been pummeling fists and bashing heels had turned into exploring, clutching grasps. Like two demons possessed, they went at it with an oceanic fury, moving in a mad unison until neither of their bodies could stand holding back any longer. Together they tensed, arched, and clung to each other for dear life as, with thunder clapping and lightning flashing, they burst to orgasm together.
Panting and spent, they collapsed limply against each other, their arms still entwined. When awareness slowly returned, a sense of wonder shone in Billie’s face. Leaning up on an elbow, she stared down at him. “Oh, Doc, Doc!” she whispered forcefully, the tears wet in her eyes. “You’ve done it! You’ve freed me! You’ve made me whole again!”
“If anyone deserves to take the credit for that,” he whispered in return, “it’s you.”
