The Trophy Case

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Chapter One

Alana had a rough night. She dozed and held onto George; talk about what? It buzzed around in her head. She was in a new place; she was a new person. Thirty years of cynicism and nihilism had just washed away. The ice that held her heart had melted. Nobody really had to talk about anything.

George woke with her against his back. He turned over and kissed her. She responded. But stopped his hand from reaching her breast.

“If we need to talk, let’s do it now,” she said.

“Now?”

“We’re both naked neither of us have anything to hide, seems like the perfect moment.”

“Monday, I have to go to New York.”

“That’s it?”

“You’ve been in a tizzy all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” She squeezed his arm tightly.

He put his hand on the side of her face and looked in her eyes.

“Relax and listen,” he said. “I have meetings in New York on Monday and Wednesday, if you go you get two shopping days on Manhattan.”

She started to speak but he put his finger over her mouth.

“Comments will be solicited later,” he continued. “Tuesday, we can go to Tiffany’s and get the rings,” once again he was forced to employ his finger.

“Thursday, we catch the early morning flight to Vegas. I’ll have everything arranged and we’ll get married. Now, comments?”

She almost couldn’t speak. “You’re proposing.”

“No, I’m just warning you that I will Tuesday. It’s impolite to propose without a ring. And by Tuesday the whole thing will arrive pre-thought over.”

“So, I can’t just say ‘yes’ now?”

“It would be a major breach of etiquette.”

“How about ‘I love you?’ Can I get away with that?”

“Miss Manners might approve of that, but I get to say it first, I love you Alana.”

She put his hand on her breast and whispered in his ear, softly blowing the words, “I love you too, now that that’s settled let’s get back to what we were doing,”

He played with her tits a bit longer, teasing her, licking her neck and running his hands down her back. She was shivering when he finally got his fingers in her and rubbed her into an orgasm.

She lay on top of him, exhausted when he finally recharged her batteries. He came and her nerves stood up and took notice.

Elle watched him all night on the beach. To all intents and purposes, she seemed the same Elle, no smiles, hard edged. Inside it was different, frightening. He had touched places she didn’t even know she had. She certainly wasn’t calling the shots anymore.

He brought her back early, as soon as he noticed her chugging her glass of pinot gris. It was a bit surprising. He did pull out all the stops, and she was as receptive as a girl experiencing it all for the first time. Was the ice maiden a false face? Her reputation didn’t say so. Still she was hardly one of the hard-edged cynical bitches he was used to.

Again, he closed the door to her room and stepped up to kiss her. He slowly undressed her. She had worn a wrap skirt and a single pull draped it around her. As he pulled it down her he got on his knee and kissed her stomach, the brushing his fingers up to her bra, which he removed, and licked both her nipples before kissing her, and her neck while gently massaging her tits. He went back down, sliding his hands down her spine, pulling her panties down and kissing her a bit lower.

She was shaking a bit as he laid her out on the bed. He kissed the inside of her arms, and ran his hands up her back, before again getting his fingers inside her and gently stroking her into an orgasm. He kept it up longer than he had before, and the orgasms didn’t stop. She was almost catatonic when he finally spread her legs and entered her.

This time she felt his weight on her, and felt her clit against him as he gently employed a circular motion that minimized the friction and made her shiver all over. She was out of it when he came, frightened into near immobility.

He woke about midnight to her softly sobbing. He felt a stab of guilt. Did he melt an ice queen, or strip a child of her armor?

He gently embraced her, tried to turn her face to his, but she refused.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“You … everything. I had it all figured out. Nobody got to me; I was safe. Didn’t need anyone or anything. One day with you and that’s all changed. Now if I lie in bed alone, I’ll feel you. Why couldn’t you just bang me like the rest of them? Didn’t I make you hot enough? Jesus, I never felt like this. What the hell is it? And once you go away what am I going to do about it?”

Mikey knew then he’d gone way too far. She was a vulnerable child and he exploited that, terribly. She continued to cry, and each teardrop burned his conscience like acid.

“What do men do with a pretty girl like you? Did I hurt you?”

“Men bang me. Maybe maul my tits a bit. They hurt me, but they don’t get to me. I get to them. And I’m safe. You come along and make love to me. And now everything scares me. You’ll go away, and that terrifies me. Will I ever feel that again? I had a life, now, I don’t.”

It got to him. This beautiful child/woman lying in his arms, vulnerable, frightened, all but begging him for comfort. She was prettier than most of the skanks he’d broken and, once he got past the armor, she had every potential to be a loving partner.

He considered his options. If it didn’t work out, he could bail later. It wouldn’t be any worse for her.

He turned her on her back. “Look at me,” he said in the most commanding voice he could muster.

She struggled with it, but finally gave in.

“I have to be back in New York on Monday. I can fly you up to San Jose. Would you need two days to pack, or could you get by with Sunday?”

“Pack?”

“I’m asking you to move in with me in New York.”

She caught it and all of a sudden felt an incredible happiness that came out in a smile and more tears.

“Why?”

He licked her nipple. “I’m addicted to the taste I guess.”

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