Страница 15

The thought threw more water on his already damp amour. He didn't want to think of Grandma looking down from her heavenly abode at what was happening to her granddaughter on her bed.

That didn't stop him from undressing. He heard Emma go into the bathroom. She clearly wanted to do this; apparently was looking forward to it, and that, as much as his own awareness that he was not quite so reluctant as he pretended to himself, made him fold up his clothes and leave them in a neat pile on the floor beside the dresser.

He climbed onto the bed and lay down, his head on a pillow. After a moment he found the position too vulnerable, and stacked up all the pillows behind him so that he could sit up. He crossed his arms over his chest.

His penis lay half-tumescent as if it, too, was not sure if this was going to be a good experience.

He wished he had something to cover it with.

He heard a curse through the bathroom wall, right behind his head. Then another curse and movement. What the hell was she doing in there?

He perked his ears, listening. She must not know how easy it was to hear through these walls.

"Ow!" she said. "Ow! Dammit! Ow!"

His eyes widened. Visions of nipple clips and leather-wrapped objects for insertion into various orifices danced in his head.

Emma muttered darkly and thumped around a bit; then there was an ominous silence. His ears strained, trying to pick up some hint of what was happening. The silence continued. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought there was no one there.

And then all at once the silence was split by a Hai-ya! and a brief ripping sound. He bolted upright, his semiarousal shrinking like a snail withdrawing into its shell. There was a slap and a squeak, and then all was quiet again except for the pounding of his heart.

The water ran and was shut off, and a minute later the bathroom door opened. He grabbed the sheet at the bottom of the bed and pulled it up over his hips as he lay back, trying desperately to look relaxed.

"Almost ready!" she called softly. "Are you?"

"Sure." He swallowed and gathered his courage. He didn't want to disappoint her or hurt her feelings; somehow, no matter what she had pla

He tried to imagine her bare breasts. Touching one. Licking the nipples.

He heard the microwave turn on.

The microwave? What the hell was she doing with the microwave? She wasn't heating up a dildo, was she?

He closed his eyes and tried to think happy, bouncing-booby thoughts. He reached down and shook his penis, trying to encourage it to return to life. A shrunken willie was not the first naked impression a man wanted to give a woman.

The microwave stopped, the door opened and closed. Then the music that had been playing stopped and he heard her changing disks. The pianissimo opening bars of Ravel's Bolero began to filter into the bedroom. His penis perked up. It was the music used to cheesy sexual effect in the old Bo Derek movie, the piece composed of the same few bars of exotic, swaying melody repeated ad infinitum, only slightly louder each time as if building to a climax. Cheesy, but very promising.

He sensed Emma approaching. He pulled his hands back above the sheet and opened his eyes.

She was standing in the doorway, a red mixing bowl in her hands. She wore black fishnet stockings, a tiny white apron, and a small white cap pi

His animal lust shoved his noble instincts firmly to the back of his mind.

"What's in the bowl?" he asked, half-hopeful and half-wary.