His lips crushed her and then began to travel. The rough-smooth sensations of his soft mouth and bristly cheek sent a thousand erotic calls echoing through Susan’s head. Griff was making a valiant effort at patience. He was in no mood for slow, sweet lovemaking. His mood was a fierce, urgent desire to consume. His lips swept over her flesh, from her hard-tipped nipples to the tiny curve of her stomach to the softness of her thigh; the tempo of his breathing increased, and hunger vibrated through him like a shudder.
She slid her hand down over his hip, then let it turn inward, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. Both of her hands moved to his head when he loomed over her; her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him down, so that a kiss blended exquisitely with his silken smooth thrust into her body. Her spine arched for him, legs twisting. She knew the rhythm, the fierce, primal rhythm… The climb started from her womanly core, a fever as heated as his, a desperate need that tumbled not only her defensive walls but the whole world. Just Griff. There was only Griff in that place…
Yet from somewhere other emotions intruded, desperately unwanted. Tension from the real world, fear, anxieties not resolved… The feelings surfaced, not as conscious thought but as a faltering in intensity, a slip in rhythm for Susan, something she couldn’t help… But she could pretend for Griff’s sake. It didn’t matter. Griff did; loving him was what counted, and when she felt his body grow taut in a last effort to control his pleasure for her, she urged him on, whispering, her body arching into his, her hands ceaselessly encouraging him.
When his body exploded in release, she felt a special joy that came from the heart rather than from the sensual pleasures of the body. She stroked him, curling up next to him, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow, loving the sheen of moisture on his body and the sheer exhilaration of the feel of him next to her.
It was several minutes before he shifted, before he slid down next to her and turned. His lips touched her forehead; his hand cradled her head as he lifted her face to his. “It was good for you?” he whispered.
“Very good,” she whispered back, meaning it. It had been good-if not in quite the way he meant.
He sighed, his eyes very dark over her, very grave and almost menacing. Still, a faint, seemingly amused smile touched his lips. “I had no idea exactly how much we needed to get straight in this relationship,” he scolded, his voice still husky and low. “Don’t do that to me again, Susan. Ever.”
“Do?” She was bewildered.
“Fib.” He shook his head, scoldingly, his displeasure reinforced by the delicate nip he took at a spot directly between her neck and shoulder. “I was faster than a speeding bullet. I’m not denying that. As you are on occasion. Maybe I was just in a hell-bent hurry to break down your defenses before we even tried to talk, because I could see you repairing old walls, love. Anyway, the reason doesn’t matter. But you fake nothing with me, Susan, you understand?”
The kiss that landed on her mouth was rough and sweet and very, very clear. “We take care of each other,” he murmured. “Don’t ever, ever think again that I’m not willing to take care of you.”
His hands slipped down with caresses, all silk, tantalizing and gently alluring. Giving her back the mood she’d thought was lost, driving away her fear that the children would come back too soon, disallowing this time, all conscious and unconscious hesitation. His lips followed his hands, and he was so intent on ingraining a particular lesson of love that he didn’t let her go until she had shuddered violently in her own ecstatic release, once, twice, three times.
Susan went through the evening in an oddly sleepy, desultory haze. At some point, she remembered munching on a sandwich while she let Tiger slaughter her in a game of checkers, and at another point she remembered curling up next to Griff on the living room couch as all five of them watched a half-hour sitcom that was perfectly dreadful…but they all laughed. Only later did it occur to her that she and Griff hadn’t had the talk Griff had insisted they have when he came home like a storming Viking.
That occurred to her about the same time that she wandered in the kitchen to find the dishes done. Moments later, she walked upstairs to find that the kids’ bedrooms had been miraculously tidied up. Good fairies? No, obviously more potent forces were at work. There were fresh towels in the bathroom.
She was too tired by then to think it out. Tucked in next to Griff with the comforter pulled up to their chins, she felt her eyes drooping with fatigue. It was Griff who had used a very silent, very heavy hand with the kids behind the scenes; she knew that.
She couldn’t help feeling that Griff must be disappointed in the way she was handling his children. One tongue lashing from him and his brood jumped, but she just wasn’t built that way.
A nameless fear was beginning to haunt her nights-that in other ways she wasn’t built as Griff must have thought initially. They’d had to snatch those moments of lovemaking; was that how it was to be? Granted, this was a period of transition, and yes, she loved the children. She also valued privacy. She needed it and had needed it all her life. She needed privacy with Griff as well. Their own relationship was still new…too new, she thought fleetingly. Loving him, she was afraid to admit that he just might be disappointed in his choice of a wife. She had not been blessed with either self-sufficiency or confidence. And she wanted-needed-more of Griff than a quick, stolen moment now and then.
When Susan woke up, the place next to her in the bed was empty, and she had a strange, queasy feeling in her stomach. Those sandwiches for dinner had obviously not agreed with her, she thought wryly, and dragged herself sleepily out of bed. The clock showed six o’clock, but Griff was already up and out. She knew that, because today was Friday, and with any luck the labor negotiations at the plant would end today.
Yawning, she snatched up bra and pants and slip. By the time she’d showered and put on underclothes, it was twenty minutes later, and she rapped on the three children’s doors to waken them. Why was her stomach playing leapfrog? Ignore it, she advised herself. Pulling on a yellow crocheted dress, she ran a brush through her hair, applied a minimum of makeup and gave up her bathroom to the morning lineup. Not that there weren’t other bathrooms, but even Barbara now demanded that she be allowed to feed the fish.
Downstairs, Susan switched on the kitchen light and began to do the dozen assorted chores it took to start the day. Pack the lunches; prepare some breakfast; take something out of the freezer for dinner; remind Tiger where he left his book bag; throw in a load of laundry… Every precious second of that morning hour counted and, of course, this morning a few were lost. The downhill slide started when she poured herself a quick cup of coffee, tried to take a sip, and felt her nostrils flare at the revolting smell.
She set the cup down. Waffles for Tiger; Tom liked two eggs sunny-side up; Barbara would have to be coaxed into eating one slice of toast-she was afraid of losing her sylphlike figure; nutrition was “stupid.” While she cracked the eggs, Tiger’s head suddenly showed around the door, his hair slicked down with water, his face most definitely grave this morning.
“Susan,” he said seriously, “I think we’re going to have to have a cat.”
“We are, are we? Honey, I think I saw your gym sneakers under the couch. Your book bag’s behind your coat.”
“We need one,” Tiger continued. “We’ve always needed a cat. Our whole lives, this family has never had a cat.”
“You’re tired of the hamsters already?”
Tiger shook his head, perching directly next to her on the counter so that she had to reach around him. “The hamsters are neat, especially the babies. But they really smell. Cats don’t smell.”