ringlets clinging around her ears and the nape of her neck. The sleek white fabric of her nightie was glued to her back and rump.
“You’re drenched,” Larry said. “Must’ve been a real corker.”
“Probably. I don’t remember.” She bent over her side of the bed and pulled the top sheet out of the tangle. Her breasts swayed slightly inside the low-cut, lace bodice.
“You think it was about today?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.” She swept the sheet high. As it fluttered down, Larry leaned forward and caught the edge. He drew it over his naked body and eased backward onto the mattress. The sheet was enough to block out the chill of the soft night breeze. But the lightweight blanket felt even better as Jean covered him with it. She smoothed it carefully over her side of the bed, then came around to his side. Bending over him, she straightened the blanket. He slipped his arm out and stroked her rump. The nightgown felt silken and damp. Her skin was smooth beneath it, and very warm. She glanced at him, eyebrows rising. He moved his hand down the back of her leg and slipped it under the hem of her nightgown.
Standing up straight, Jean reached out and turned off the lamp. Her gown, pale in the faint light from the windows, climbed her body and fell away. Larry swept aside the sheet and blanket that she had just finished arranging so neatly. But she didn’t protest.
She crawled onto the bed, straddled his legs and eased down on top of him. As they kissed, he caressed her back and her small, firm buttocks. She lifted her legs onto his. She pressed his growing penis between her thighs and squirmed against him. Her breasts were warm, slick cushions rubbing his chest, and though the feel of her writhing body made him ache with need, her hipbones felt as if they were grinding into him.
He rolled, tumbling her onto the mattress, covering her with his body. He pushed himself up with elbows and knees to keep his weight off her. She squirmed as he kissed the side of her neck, moaned as he moved lower and kissed one nipple, then the other.
He pushed himself back. Kneeling between her open legs, he whispered, “Just a second.”
Jean’s fingers curled lightly around him, slid the length of his shaft. “I don’t think you’ll need one tonight.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. I hate those damn rubbers.”
“I know.” She smiled.
Bright teeth in a faint blur of face. Patches of darkness where her eyes should be.
Larry was suddenly under the stairway again, kneeling over the corpse. He felt himself go cold and tight.
Don’t think about it!
He realized that Jean was about the same size as the horrible, dried-up thing.
Stop it!
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing,” he said.
Her shadowed skin was dark, but not
“Honey?”
Her hand felt leathery around his small, soft penis.
He pictured himself knocking it away.
But he knew that this was Jean. She hadn’t turned into the corpse. He wasn’t hallucinating, either. This was just Jean, and his damned imagination was simply messing with him.
Not going to let it win, he promised himself.
He scooted backward on the mattress. Her hand went away from him. He kissed her belly. Warm, soft, slick with sweat. Not dry and leathery.
Stop comparing!
But when his face rubbed Jean’s moist curls, he remembered the thing’s blond thicket of pubic hair. A shudder passed through him.
Jean thrust fingers into his hair.
He went lower. She writhed and moaned, thrusting herself against him, clenching his hair, and he lost all thought of the corpse.
Soon she was whimpering.
But not from any nightmare, Larry thought as she tugged his hair and he scurried up the mattress. He clamped his wet mouth to hers. He ran the hard length of his penis into her heat. She seemed to suck him in as if she were hungry to be filled.
“I should have... nightmares more often,” she told him later.
“Yeah.”
She was panting beneath him, lightly stroking his back. Then she turned her face away, worked her lips strangely, and raised a hand to her mouth. With her thumb and index finger, she pinched something and pulled it out.
“What’s that?”
“A hair.”
“Where’d that come from?”
“Your mouth,” she said, shaking under him as she chuckled. She rubbed her hand on the sheet, then wrapped her arms around Larry and gave him a powerful squeeze. It was as if the hug used up the last of her strength. After a moment she released him and sprawled out limp. Then he eased away, sliding out of her.
He pulled the sheet and blanket up and scooted closer to her. He rested a hand on the warm curve of her thigh. Under his fingertips was a smear of stickiness. “Ooo, yuck,” he said.
She laughed softly. “Don’t complain, buster.
“Want to trade places?”
“It’s my wifely duty to sleep on the wet spot.” Her hand covered his, caressed it, fooled with his fingers.
In the silence he began to worry that Jean might ask about his problem. He doubted that she would, though. Their sex life was something they rarely discussed. Besides, he’d made a rather spectacular recovery.
“Well,” he said, “I’d better go to sleep or I won’t be worth a damn tomorrow.”
“You’ll have to write like a dog to pay for Lane’s new wardrobe.”
“Bought out the store,” he muttered, rolling away from Jean and curling up on his side.
She laughed, then surprised Larry by snuggling against him. Normally they slept at opposite sides of the bed.
But it felt good. Her breath warm on the nape of his neck. Her breasts and belly pressing his back. Her lap against his rump. The soft tickle of her pubic hair. Her thighs smooth against the backs of his legs. An arm came down over his side and fingers curled tenderly around his penis.
“You still horny?” he asked.
She kissed his back. “Wiseguy. I just want to be close to you.”
“Well, I guess that’s all right.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I guess so. How about you?”
“I wish we hadn’t gone there today.”
“Me, too. I’ve never seen anything so horrible.” She pressed herself more tightly against him. “On the other hand, you’re always looking for material.”
“I could do without
“The real thing’s too much for you, huh?” she teased.
