Over and over he pleasured her that way, widening his fingers, driving them deeper, until Naomi cried out her ecstasy, and her physical response flowed hotly over his hand. For a moment, she could only lie there, reveling in the ripples of delight that echoed through her. Never in her life had she experienced such an exquisite pleasure. Never before had she been taken to such heights. Before she returned to earth entirely, however, Sloan lifted her from the mattress and, seating himself on the edge of the mattress, he straddled her over his lap.
Still feeling drugged and dazed by her release, Naomi lifted her hands instinctively to his shoulders, curling her fingers into his hot, silky flesh. Instinctively, she knew she would have to hold on tight for this ride. When she glanced down between their bodies, she saw that, at some point, Sloan had sheathed his heavy, stiff shaft in a condom. Vaguely, she wondered if she should be concerned about his preparedness, as if he’d been planning what she told herself she’d never seen coming. Then he was situating her over his long member, his hands gripping her hips firmly as he guided her down onto his teeming length.
And then he was inside her—deep inside her—penetrating her so fully, so completely, she halfway feared he would split her in two. Soon, though, Naomi ceased to think at all. Because she realized then that, on the contrary, instead of being split in two, she was forged into one—with Sloan. Throwing back her head, she cupped her hands over his shoulders, digging her knees into the mattress and spreading herself wider, so that he could fill her entirely.
And he did fill her entirely. So entirely, she knew in that moment that she would never feel empty again. As he buried himself inside her as deeply as he could, she wove her fingers through his silky hair and pulled him close. He nuzzled her breasts as he drew closer, then opened his mouth over one and drew her inside again. Now she was in him, and he was in her, she thought. There was no way the two of them would ever be separate again after this.
She wasn’t sure how long they coupled that way, only knew that with every motion of their bodies, she gave more of herself to Sloan, and took more of him for herself. Eventually, he changed their positions again, so that she lay on her back on the bed with him kneeling before her, circling her ankles with strong fingers as he opened her legs wider, lifted her hips from the bed as he hooked her ankles behind his neck. And then, just when she thought she was about to come apart, he changed their positions again, and she was bent over on the bed, and he was behind her, his hands on her waist as he thrust himself into her again and again and again. Finally, though, they lay side by side, facing each other, and as Sloan kissed her again, he draped her thigh over his, cupped his hands over her bottom, and drove himself into her. Deep.
Gradually, his pace increased, and Naomi met every plunge and every lunge. And then, with one final forward thrust, his body went absolutely still, and he roared his completion, spilled his fulfillment. Naomi was no more able to keep her own joy inside, and she, too, cried out in both anguish and ecstasy.
Then he moved their bodies again, so that she was on her back once more. He kissed her hungrily, ravenously, thoroughly, almost as if this would be the last time he allowed himself the pleasure to do so. She returned his kiss with equal fire, equal furor, until he finally broke the contact. For a moment they only gazed into each others’ eyes, gasping for breath, groping for coherent thought, both of them more than a little dazed by what had happened.
Then Sloan smiled a small smile and, very softly, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
And then Naomi was alone in bed, wondering where he had gone. The condom, she recalled immediately. He’d had to dispose of that. That modern safety measure that had prevented the mingling of their physical essences and protected them from both unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted dangers.
Would that it had prevented the mingling of their emotional essences, too, she couldn’t help thinking. Would that it could protect her, at least, from other, more insidious dangers, too.
Because now, as the warm rosy afterglow of their lovemaking turned into a crisp, stark light of reality, Naomi realized the enormity of what she had just done. She had just made love with a man who had entered her life only temporarily. She, a woman of nearly forty, a woman with four daughters, a woman who had prided herself on being sane and solid, had just done something completely stupid. She, a woman who, until now had only had one lover in her entire life, had just made love with a man who, she was quite certain, had taken infinitely more lovers than that. A man who, she was likewise certain, would have no idea of the significance she attached to what they had just done. A man who did this sort of thing as a pastime. A man who’d had a condom at the ready, and no second thoughts.
Which was just as well, Naomi decided. Because she was having more than enough second thoughts for both of them.
It never stops being a big deal, Evy. It is always a big deal.
The words she had spoken to her daughter only a few short hours ago came back to haunt her like a bad dream, and only then did Naomi realize her fatal mistake. Sex was a big deal. To her, at least. It had always been a big deal. That was why she had been a virgin when she’d met the man she ultimately married. And it was why she hadn’t been with anyone since her husband had left. So why, suddenly, had she abandoned her conviction and done something like this?
Naomi decided immediately that she didn’t want to explore the answer to that question. Not here. Not now. Not until she was alone someplace where she could make sense of everything that had happened tonight. Of everything that had happened over the last month. Because she was fairly certain that once she did make sense of it—if indeed such a thing were even possible—she wasn’t going to like what she discovered.
As quickly as she could, she located her discarded clothing and got dressed. She finger-combed her hair, knowing the gesture was futile. She knew she must look exactly like what she was—a woman who had just engaged in a night of hot, unbridled—if casual—sex. Except that it hadn’t been a whole night. And it certainly hadn’t been casual. Not to Naomi, anyway.
Alone. She needed to be alone right now. Alone and far away from this place where she had just made a gross error in judgment. Perhaps the grossest error—in more ways than one—that she had ever made in her life. Sloan was still in the bathroom, even though he’d had plenty of time to take care of what he’d needed to take care of, and she could only conclude that he hadn’t yet emerged because he had no more idea of how to react to what had just happened than she did. He probably wanted to be alone, too, she couldn’t help thinking. Alone and far away.
But, hey, he was the one who had gotten the room, so she should be the one to get lost, right? Right. It would be the polite thing to do, right? Right. At least, Naomi thought that would be the polite thing to do. She had no idea how one was supposed to act after having casual sex. She’d never had casual sex before. Not even tonight. Intuitively, though, she suspected that leaving was the way to go here. Because the longer she lingered, the more in danger she became of doing something really stupid. Like crying, maybe. Or worse, like asking Sloan to make love to her again.
Quickly, she snagged her purse and ran a hand through her hair again. Part of her screamed at her that she should stay and see this thing through, that running away would only compound the mistake she had already made. But another part of her—the scared part—told her to flee. And as much as Naomi hated being scared, as much as she told herself to be strong, she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what to do. And in times of distress, she thought, there was just one foolproof method of survival.
Run away.
So Naomi did.
With no small panic coursing through him, Sloan gripped the sink in the hotel bathroom, gazed at the man in the mirror, and wondered who the hell the interloper was. He didn’t recognize himself. How could he? He’d just done something totally out of character, something he’d sworn to himself he would never do. He’d just lost control with a woman. Completely and utterly lost con
trol. He’d become so intoxicated with wanting her, needing her, having her, that he’d ceased to think, had only acted, and oh… What those actions had made him feel. Feel for the woman with whom he’d been acting. And she wasn’t just any woman. No, Naomi was a nice woman. A nice woman who deserved infinitely better than a casual one-night stand with a man who lost control.
But had it been casual? Sloan asked himself. And had it only been for one night? It sure hadn’t felt casual. It had felt… Incredible. Never in his life had he enjoyed an experience like the one he’s just shared with Naomi. From the moment she had stepped into his arms on the dance floor, he’d felt as if the two of them had wandered into some kind of alternate reality. And then, when he’d kissed her—or had she kissed him? he wondered; he couldn’t really recall now—when he’d tasted her sweetness and felt her warmth suffusing with his own, he’d simply been swept away.
He grinned wryly at the idea that he, Sloan Sullivan, pragmatic workaholic and confirmed bachelor, could be swept away by anything—especially a woman. Especially a woman who had four children, and who lived in a white frame house, and who drove a minivan. Especially a woman who could bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan. Then again, he thought further, recalling the hot and heavy sensations that had plagued him for the last four weeks, she was also a woman who’d never let him forget he was a man. ’Cause she was most definitely a wo-man, w-o-m-a-n.
Good God, he thought. She’d even moved him to song.
He gazed at his reflection in the mirror again, marveling at how he even seemed to have changed physically since the last time he looked at himself. Maybe it was just good lighting, but his eyes seemed brighter all of a sudden, and the lines bracketing his mouth seemed to have eased. Even his skin appeared to be glowing. Somehow, making love to Naomi made him look and feel as if he had shaved years off of his life. He certainly hadn’t felt this good, this vital, this alive, in a long, long time.
God, what was he supposed to do now? Unfortunately, no answer was forthcoming from the man in the mirror. Because Sloan had no idea what to do now.
But there was a woman waiting for him on the other side of that door, he reminded himself, and she was most assuredly expecting some kind of a response. Sloan just wished he had a response to give her. One that made sense, anyway. Because all he knew at the moment was that he wanted Naomi again. Badly. And he suspected it was a reaction that wouldn’t be subsiding anytime soon. Because right now, in this moment, he couldn’t imagine a time in his life when he would stop wanting her. And that pretty much scared the hell out of him.
Afterglow, he told himself quickly. What he was feeling now was simply the result of that uncertain, unreal afterglow that came in the moments after making love. Of course he was going to be feeling this way after incredible sex. Of course he was going to want to do it again. Lots of times. For the rest of his life. After a day or two, such feelings would subside. After a day or two, his desires and needs would go away. After a day or two, his hunger for Naomi would be nonexistent. Oh, sure, he’d miss her now that their…association…had come to an end. But in a day or two, he’d be fine. Of course, that didn’t help him with the right now….
He inhaled a deep breath and told himself to stop being ridiculous. He’d had lots of afterglows to deal with over the years. There had been lots of women with whom he’d dealt—for lack of a better word—after making love. In many ways, Naomi was no different from any of them. Even if, he couldn’t help thinking further, she was totally different from all of them.
He shook the thought off and opened the bathroom door, then strode through it as casually as he could manage. Which was no easy feat, seeing as how he was stark naked and utterly confused. But he realized even before looking around that the room was empty. Empty of a lot more than Naomi, too.
But mostly, he noticed that she was gone. Almost as if she’d never been there at all. And she was probably gone in a lot more ways than one, he couldn’t help thinking further. And somehow, the realization of that came as no surprise to him at all. And for some reason, too, it settled deep in the pit of his stomach, like a cold, congealed lump of clay, a sensation, he suspected, that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.
Great, he thought. This was just great. What was he supposed to do now?
Chapter 11
The gymnasium of East Central High School in suburban Atlanta was a complete one-eighty from the Jackson High gym to which Naomi and the Lady Razorbacks were so accustomed. This school clearly didn’t suffer from underfunding, as evidenced by the bright lights—not a single one of which was broken or burnt out—splashing illumination down over vivid red bleachers that looked as if they’d just been purchased, and a state-of-the-art scoreboard that was flashing in time to the Jackson High School pep band’s rendition of “Rock Around the Clock.”
And the Razorbacks’ opposing team, the Lady Falcons of Dorman High School of Augusta, appeared to be no less well equipped than the school hosting the state finals. The Falcons sported crisp-looking red-and-gold uniforms that could very well have been designed by a professional, a sharp contrast to the Razorbacks’ tattered and faded blue-and-white jerseys and shorts.
The Falcons seemed to be better equipped with school spirit, too, Naomi couldn’t help noticing. The bleachers were packed with students and parents and sports writers, the vast majority of whom waved red-and-gold banners for Dorman High. Only a few splashes of blue and white here and there offered any indication that the Lady Razorbacks of Jackson High School weren’t—quite—alone, even though their school was much closer to Atlanta than Dorman was. All Naomi could hope was that her Razorbacks would outdo the Falcons in terms of strategy, scrappiness and heart.
Then again, she already knew those superior qualities were pretty much givens. In two weeks’ time, the Jackson High team, with the help of Naomi and their returning assistant coach, Lou Melton, had outstrategized, outscrapped and outhearted every school they’d played, until, finally, they had made it to this, the state championship game. If they could just maintain their momentum and their determination—and Naomi was certain that they could—then they’d be taking home the state trophy to Jackson High School in Wisteria for the first time in the town’s history.
Naomi braved another glance into the stands, where one particular splash of blue and white had alerted her earlier to the presence of what might very well be the Lady Razorbacks’ number one fan. Sloan Sullivan had attended each of the tournament games as a spectator, had shouted louder and longer than even most of the parents had. He’d always managed to work his way down to the bench at some point during the game, to say hello to the girls and offer some unofficial coaching. He’d greeted Naomi with a formal nod or a softly uttered “Hello” each time, but he hadn’t approached her to talk. Which was just as well, she always told herself on those occasions. Because she had no idea what to say to him.
There had been times over the last two weeks when she’d assured herself she had only dreamed—or fantasized—the evening she’d spent with him here in Atlanta before. Invariably, though, she’d recall with too much clarity the way they had been when they were together, the ways he had touched her, the ways he had kissed her, the ways he had set her entire body on fire. And she would be forced to remember that what the two of them had done together that night had been all too real. And all too extraordinary. And all too temporary. And much too big a mistake for her to ever repeat it again.
Her face flamed now just to remember that night. The things they’d done to and with each other, the errant, erotic words he’d whispered in her ear at the height of their passion, the way he’d made her feel…
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and spun back around again, before Sloan caught her looking at him. He hadn’t called her once since that night. Of course, she reminded herself, she hadn’t called him, either. And she was the one who had run out on him that night, she reminded herself further. There was no reason for Sloan to think she really wanted to have any furthe
r contact with him. Maybe he was as confused and embarrassed by what had happened as she was. Maybe he found it as difficult to approach her as she found it to approach him.
In which case, both of them were doubtless thinking the same thing: that what had happened was a mistake and an aberration, something that should never, ever have happened in the first place, something that should never, ever happen again.
Naomi told herself she should be relieved that they were on the same wavelength. She told herself she should be happy that they’d come to an unspoken agreement, because it prevented them from having to experience any further awkwardness. So why didn’t she feel happy? Why wasn’t she relieved? Why, even two weeks after the fact, did she still want Sloan every bit as much as she had wanted him that night? More, even? Worse, why did she miss even more than making love to him those quiet evenings the two of them had spent alone just talking?
Because as breathtaking and incredible as sex with him had been, those nights spent talking over coffee had commanded just as many of her wistful memories and melancholy regrets over the last two weeks. Since Sloan had departed from her life, Naomi’s house felt so empty now somehow. Funny, that, seeing as how it had always felt so crowded before.
Or maybe it wasn’t so funny, after all, she thought further. Because she knew that the girls, too, felt Sloan’s absence rather keenly. Sophie, especially, asked when he would be coming to visit them again. And Naomi, heaven help her, hadn’t had any idea what to tell her youngest daughter. Nor had she known what to say to her oldest daughters, even though she suspected that Evy, at least, understood the situation pretty well. Oh, her oldest daughter might not know exactly how far things had gone between Naomi and Sloan that night, but Evy was a big girl. She’d known Naomi and Sloan were attracted to each other, had witnessed her mother’s apprehension and excitement before going out with him that night. She hadn’t pressed Naomi for details when she’d come home so late, but she knew something was up. And Naomi hadn’t had any more idea what to tell Evy than she had known what to tell Sophie about why Sloan had so abruptly severed personal ties to all of them.
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