This time I grinned inwardly. It was a transparent ploy to see me but I wasn’t going to stomp on it.
“Have you thought of something?” I asked quickly. “Let’s hear it.”
“No matter,” she said, brightening up suddenly. “I wanted to see you on something else anyway. I’ve been thinking. A painting of me might be great publicity, something different from the usual glossy photos. Could you do something real sexy?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with a slow smile. “An artist can’t just make up sexiness. It’s something that has to come from his subject.”
“It’ll come,” she said grimly. “Especially these days.”
“Why especially these days?” I asked innocently. “You miss Karminian that much?”
Her eyes narrowed and she grew stiff, defensive. “What if I do?” she said, flouncing down on the small sofa, resting her arms on the back so that her breasts thrust forward, round, high mounds of inviting loveliness. Her foot moved back and forth, twitching restlessly, like a cat’s tail.
I was here to get more on Karminian from her, but I suddenly saw a better route to what I wanted, certainly one that might be more fun.
“What did you think of that was important about Karminian?” I asked. “Apparently you’ve been thinking a lot about him.”
She got the dig. “Maybe I don’t feel like talking about it now,” she answered quickly. “Maybe I forgot again.”
“Like hell you did,” I said, moving to stand in front of her.
She was being surly again, her restless eyes moving across my face.
I reached down, took the halter top in one hand and pulled her to her feet.
Instantly, her eyes showed fear.
“You promised no rough stuff,” she said.
“Who said anything about rough stuff?” I asked. “I want to help your memory along. Maybe reminding you of him will do it.”
I leaned down and kissed her, opening her lips with my tongue.
She didn’t move her body but her lips worked against mine, responding at once.
“Is that what you miss?” I murmured, not taking my lips from hers, still holding her by the front of the halter.
“Bastard,” she murmured back.
I let my tongue reach deep down into her, flicking back and forth, and I felt her body quiver.
“Hows the memory?” I breathed, still holding my mouth on hers. “Getting better?”
“Bastard!” she said, trying to tear away but clutching at me at the same time. “Stop it. That’s not fair.”
I let my hands drop down to press across the halter and rest on her two high, round breasts.
She threw her head back and a half-sobbing cry escaped her. Her hands still clutched at my arms.
“Do you remember being held this way?” I asked. “Remember?”
“Oh, Christ!” she cried. “Cut it out. I can’t stand it. Stop playing with me this way.”
I stopped playing with her. I slid ray hand under the halter to seize one softly firm, young breast.
Aggie almost screamed and threw her body against me. Her hips were making round motions, churning against my groin. She reached back and undid the halter top and it fell off to free my hand around her breast.
I ran my thumb across the small, pink, almost recessed tip, and she began to feverishly rub her body up and down against mine. Her breasts were indeed round and full and very youthful, and she pressed them into my hands, and her mouth against my neck was taking small bites.
I held her back for a moment and looked at her straining face, eyes tightly shut. She was nearly mad with desire, this unsubtle, simple little creature, delirious with unbridled, naked, raw desire.
I thought of how Marina, too, had been a creature of raw desire.
One was overheated from not having, the other from having. For a fleeting moment I found myself admiring this Karminian. In his own way, he was playing quite a game.
But then Aggie’s fervid desire shut all else out. Her shoulders were moving in a circular, rotating motion and I felt her breasts grinding into my palms, her hips moving against my stomach.
I was experiencing a close-up version of her dance. I reached down, put one arm between her legs and lifted her from the floor to carry her into the bedroom.
She had the pajama bottoms nearly off by the time I put her down on the bed and as she tossed and writhed I took in her firm, young, full figure. She was compact, and every motion of her body implored, begged, entreated.
I undressed and laid my chest atop hers.
Aggie began to twist and turn and moan, small, happy sounds coming from her lips, more than gasps and not quite words. Unlike Marina, there was nothing languorous, nothing subtle, nothing refined about Aggie Foster’s lovemaking. The exotic dancer was still basically a Midwest, small-town girl, and her lovemaking was blunt, a driving, uncontrollable force.
Aggie clutched me to her and rolled over atop me, her firm, compact body pumping and thrusting and driving.
I seized her shoulders and began to match the harsh, demanding movements.
She flung herself backward and cried out for me to do more. She didn’t want brutality, and masochism wasn’t part of her. She was merely totally caught up in raw passion.
