The House of Eve (31)
William’s hands traveled, caressing the soft skin at the meeting of her thighs, and she gasped.
Breathlessly, he pulled away. “Forgive me. You’re just so irresistible. I lost control.”
This was as far as they had ever gone, but Eleanor was tired of holding back. Especially after today. She crashed against his lips, while putting his hand back between her thighs. The pressure from his thick fingers made her quiver, and after another bout of fitful kisses, she could not breathe. Her need to claim him was so big, so mountainous, she felt like molten lava in a volcano ready to erupt.
“Perhaps your bedroom would be better suited,” she exhaled.
A flash of surprise passed through his inky eyes, but it was quickly replaced by desire. “You sure?”
She took his hand, blocked the good girl voice from her head and answered simply, “I am.”
Scooping her up into his arms, William carried Eleanor down the hall, past the bathroom and into his bedroom where he placed her on his full-sized bed. Eleanor had never been in his room, and she could smell his bergamot scent everywhere.
“I need to see you, baby,” he panted.
The streetlight outside his window lent the room a grainy glow. Eleanor sat up and slowly unbuttoned her cotton blouse. She slid it over her shoulders. William stood in front of the bed and watched as she reached for the clasp at the back of her skirt and then pulled it down over her knees, tossing it in a heap. She felt shy in her slip that hung with a trimming of lace at her knees.
“You are extraordinary.” He unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor with a thud. Then he joined her on the bed and slipped her straps down her arms. Her breasts fell freely into the palms of his hands, and he buried his face in her talcum-scented cleavage. They clung and rolled. When Eleanor felt like every pore in her body was open and desperate to receive him, William reached into his nightstand and fumbled with a tin that had MIMOSA written across it. Inside was a condom.
Once he covered her body with his, he moved slowly. His tenderness made Eleanor feel like a precious tulip that he didn’t want to crush.
“You ever done this before?”
Eleanor closed her eyes and grabbed his face and kissed him.
“I’ll protect you always,” William uttered, sinking further inside her. “You’re my girl.”
After a few pushes and pulls, their bodies became one. He stopped every few thrusts making sure she was okay. She was. In that moment, her yearning for him trumped everything, and when he shuddered against her she pulled him tighter.
While the sweat between them cooled, William ran his fingers through a tangle of her hair. She was wet everywhere.
“I’ve imagined that every night for the last few months.”
“And?” Eleanor thought the intimacy would make her bashful, but it didn’t. She propped her head in her hand and turned to face him.
“It was even better.”
She kissed his lips, now dry and chapped. Suddenly she realized how much time had passed. She wanted to stay forever but told him she had to leave in time for curfew.
“It’s the weekend, can’t you make something up and stay the night?”
“And ruin my reputation? Laying with you was enough.” She tapped his nose. Eleanor pushed the sheets back, but he grabbed her around the waist and cradled her to his bare chest.
“Make something up about staying with a girlfriend across town?”
“I’d be too scared,” she said, but then thought about how Nadine did it all the time and got away with it.
Eleanor reached for William’s robe hanging on the back of his door and then padded down the hall to the telephone.
Nadine squealed in her ear. “I’ll take care of everything.”
When she got back into the bed, William removed the robe and pushed his hips against hers in a way that already seemed familiar. She opened herself up again, feeling vindicated.
CHAPTER ELEVEN SPRING FEVER
Ruby
I was making straight A’s in high school and had successfully passed both my winter and spring exams for We Rise. I came in second behind Jonathan Draper, a know-it-all boy from South Philly who would have been cute if he got rid of his Coke bottle glasses and the pimples that dotted his forehead. A We Rise awards ceremony was scheduled in three weeks’ time, for the first Saturday in May. It was to honor the ten left from my cohort of twelve who would be moving forward in the program. Now I only had to be better than eight other students to receive the scholarship, and I was so close I could feel the weight of the letter of acceptance in my hand.
The board members of the Armstrong Association, which sponsored We Rise, along with the chancellor of Cheyney University, would attend the ceremony, and I needed to present well. I had been begging Aunt Marie for weeks for my first pair of stockings to wear to the celebration. Up until now I had only worn bobby socks, and over our dinner of liver and onions with rice, peas and piping-hot biscuits, I pleaded once again.
“You’re still too young.” Gravy dripped from the corner of her mouth.
“Please, Aunt Marie. It’s 1949 not ’39. All the upper classmen wear stockings.”
“Stockings are suggestive. Don’t want you walking around here advertising yourself, making these men think you ripe for the picking.”
I turned my fork over on my plate wondering why it was always my responsibility to worry over what grown men might be thinking. I had been hearing it all my life. Even back to when I lived with Nene, as a flat-chested eight-year-old, I was constantly reminded to be modest. Not to leave the bathroom without my robe on when an uncle or cousin or friend of the family was at the house, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Back when Nene could still see, she’d get eye-level with me and say, If anybody ever put their hands on you in that way, tell me. I’ll always believe you.