Free Butterfly by Kathryn Harvey

the ski mask, she could see the lower half of his
    face. And…he was handsome.
    “Then Ah must be in the wrong house.”
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    Kathryn Harvey
    Linda was confused. Had they put her in the wrong room? But no…this was defi-
    nitely the companion she had asked for. Then what—?
    He came toward her, his crystal glass in his hand. “But then,” he said quietly, “maybe
    Ah don’t mind not findin’ Charlotte.”
    He came and stood close to her. Linda looked up at him. How could she have forgot-
    ten how tall he was? And then she was struck by a familiar scent. Only faintly—a hint of
    men’s cologne. He had worn it the previous times. What was it called? She seemed to
    know it…
    His hand came up to her cheek. Long fingers traced the contours of her face, touched
    her lips, caressed her eyelids. There was nothing hurried in him; his manner seemed lan-
    guid, almost lazy, as if they had all night.
    “May a gentleman introduce himself to a lady?” he asked softly. “My name is Beau.”
    He bent his head and touched his lips very lightly to hers.
    Linda sighed. It was so perfect. No names, no faces, no wondering what he was going
    to think later, no having to explain about her problem, the thing that had killed two mar-
    riages and always brought new relationships to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t allowed to won-
    der or ask. He simply had to do what he was paid to do. And send her home cured.
    She kissed him back.
    “Beau” took his time. Slowly, he removed his gray officer’s tunic, and then the linen
    shirt. The sight of his athletic torso, even though she had seen it twice before, did not fail
    to make Linda catch her breath. Not too much muscle, just enough to warn of strength.
    Not too tanned. There was nothing overdone about this beautiful man. Not even his
    kisses, his exploring touch, as though this were their first time together. How often, on
    first or second dates, with men who had looked deceptively considerate, had Linda had to
    suffer the urgent, devouring kisses, the rush to get her panties off, the premature battering
    with an erection when she wasn’t ready.
    She felt Beau’s erection. She felt it through yards of lace and satin, and through the wool
    of his Confederate trousers. How much more delicious that was! Delaying the mystery,
    building up the anticipation. Not rushing her. The things this man could teach other men.
    But then, all of a sudden, he became urgent. The timing was perfect, it was exactly
    when she wanted him to start to hurry, now that her own excitement was rising. Her
    breath came short; she clung to him, with her arms, her mouth. She felt his fingers work
    the buttons at the back of her dress. The satin bodice came down, but she was still hidden
    beneath lace and cotton, ribbons and stays. Beau knew how to undo these as well, swiftly
    and expertly, kissing her all the while, holding her against him, pressing into her.
    And then she wore only her petticoats. Lifting her suddenly, he carried her to the bed
    and laid her gently down. The kisses continued, on her face, her neck, her breasts. When
    she groaned, he lingered there, on her nipples, making her body arch, making her gasp,
    finally, “Now… ”
    He removed his boots and trousers. But when he reached for the drawstring of her
    petticoats, she stopped him.
    So he lay on top of her, kissing, stroking, bringing her to a peak. When his hand
    slid down between her legs, she brought it back up, wordlessly. When he entered her,
    BUTTERFLY
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    modestly, not touching her, just enough to guide himself in, he didn’t bury his face in
    her neck, but stayed up on his elbows, so that he looked down at her, through the
    black mask. Linda was caught in those dark, intense eyes. As they rocked together,
    joined in body, she was held by that gaze.
    “Come,” she whispered. “Beau, please come.”
    But he moved slowly, in a dreamy oceanic rhythm. Linda locked her arms around his
    neck; she curled her legs around his thighs. “Come!”