Fanchon's Book(37)

"You should know. I'm always excited."

"How nice. Oh, Fanchon, I do love you. Sweet… such a sweet, sweet slave-and so devoted, yes, do that, kiss my feet, my pretty feet-and my legs too after a while; then maybe I'll let you suck me. Would you like that?"

"Darling… "

"Kiss, kiss-ah, what a mouth you have! Don't you wish we could wake up like this every day?"

"Umm, every day. I'll do it."

"But you can't, of course. Too bad."

"I'll do it, I'll do it. You'll see."

"Oh, sure. But only while we're on vacation-and then we'll have to go back home and… well… you know… "

"I'm sorry. I'll try to make you happy."

"Happy? But you can't afford it, Fanchon, that's the trouble. You've spoiled me-and now I get the chills when I think of your nasty old husband hanging around. He'll be in the next room every night and-oh, I just hate him! How can I be happy living there? I do wish we had money. Enough so that I wouldn't have to work. Enough for a little place of my own so that we could be together whenever… " Her voice faded despondently. "Just a dream, I guess."

"Please angel don't be sad. This is our holiday. We'll worry about it when the time comes, shall we?"

"Uh-huh. I suppose so…"

I lulled her with my caresses. And I lulled myself too, after a fashion, letting the detergent tide of passion lave away the ugliness of my poverty and her discontent. Until, almost reluctantly, she heaved a small sigh of appreciation and came out of her doldrums to whisper the word, the all-important word, indulgently at first and then with increasing urgency as I dived between her legs and began to suck; but soon there were more words, other words, lewd, lewd, and I was relieved when her thighs clenched convulsively and deadened the noise. Even so, the soundproofing was only partial, and through the soft flesh clapped to my ears I could still hear dots and dashes of scurrility. But somehow it didn't bother me as much now; she seemed to be enjoying her outburst immensely, synchronizing the shrillest oaths and obscenities to the lustiest tremors and twitches of her body; it was all rather quaint, in a way, and how could I feel antipathy toward gutter argot if it gave the ferocious little hellcat such apparent glee? Let her spout the dirty words, I was too busy to care, too busy mouthing my own hot-tongued silent imprecations-and besides, I just couldn't see myself resenting something that simulated her sexually and kept her mind off the querulous view she had taken of our future. I only hoped the gnawing grievance, would slither away and be forever forgotten. I didn't even want to talk about it. At least not until it became absolutely necessary.

As it turned out, though, the problem had been shunted aside only temporarily. We spent the rest of the afternoon in bed mostly, calling room service for sustenance and resuming our lovemaking with restored vitality. Then, toward evening, we bathed and dressed and went downstairs to the main dining room. That was where she brought it up again, right in the middle of the soup course. The money issue.

I hadn't realized how much it was upsetting her. Nor could I find any means of circumventing the discussion, now that it seemed so portentous. So we got involved in some serious talk-and I soon gained a better understanding of what I had feared might be a clear-cut case of avarice. Nothing of the sort; it hinged on jealousy, rather: Kristi didn't really object to low-paid housework, but the nearness of Oliver was simply too much to bear. She wanted me-and no one else. Our romance would wither and die without privacy, she insisted, and we needed the same kind of seclusion that had made last night so perfect. A hideway, then. A place where we could be together and not have to worry about a husband on the other side of the thin wall. A little love-nest all our own.