Free Night Tides by Alex Prentiss Page B

stuck into the carefully airbrushed bridge of her nose. “Take that, you bitch,” the angry man muttered as the fleeting satisfaction faded almost at once. “That’s what you all deserve.”
    He wrenched the knives free, tore down the centerfold, and replaced it with another one.
    R ACHEL KICKED OFF the covers and sighed loudly. Tainter trilled in response and raised his head but did not move from his spot beside the bed. Shadows from the miniblinds drifted across the ceiling as a car passed on the street, trailing the bass thump that so many young men used to compensate for other inadequacies. She pressed her hands and heels into the mattress, stretching the muscles and tendons to dissipate some of the twitchy, persistent energy. She took several deep breaths and licked her lips, tasting salt from sweat that had nothing to do with the summer night. The clock beside her bed informed her, in huge red numbers, that it was 2:30 A.M.
    Not even her usual routine had diminished the effects of her overripe imagination. Hours later, she still suffocated in a swelter of physical desire. Her nipples were tight beneath her sleep shirt, and her panties damp. She sprawled with her legs thrown apart, her toes flexing in the dark. The ceiling fan hummed above her, stirring the air but doing nothing to cool her down. She could not remember a time when she’d been so infuriatingly, inexplicably horny.
    She stared at the turning blades and slid one hand inside her panties. Both fabric and flesh were moist. She could not get the image of Ethan Walker out of her mind, only now it wasn’t the way he’d looked back at the diner. In her imagination he lay atop her, his muscular body as naked and sweaty as her own. His weight pressed on her, and his erection filled her. She could feel him swell with nearness, hear the ragged catch in his quickening breath. She spread herself wide for him, ankles crossing at the small of his back, as his lips closed over hers and his tongue claimed her mouth. Yes… let it go, give it to me, yes…
    No! She sat up, wiped her hand on the sheet, and rolled onto her side, clutching her pillow. She thought of menus, limericks, grease traps, and cat food. Anything but Ethan Walker.
    But her resistance lasted all of thirty seconds. Now in her mind it was earlier in the encounter, before the surrender and conquest. He was sucking her nipples, his teeth closing around them and tugging, his tongue flicking over the tips. His hands, big and rough, ran possessively over her skin, and she moaned in her fantasy as she begged for him to take her, pleaded with him, arched her back and raised her hips to allow him to reach her.
    She was moaning in reality now, almost pitifully, her fingers once again probing in place of what she so desperately wanted. Her other hand slid under her nightshirt to cup her breast, her own small palm a poor substitute for the broader hand she imagined. He wouldn’t be tentative, he’d crush her soft flesh, knead it, pinch and caress it. He would own every part of her.
    Whining low in her throat, she flopped onto her back and tossed her head on her pillow. There could be no release, she knew, and that infuriated her the most. Only the lakes could bring her to ecstasy. For a moment she wondered if they were somehow behind this, using their magic or mind-control powers on her to magnify her natural attraction to this unnatural level. But for what purpose? She could go down to the lake and ask, but she doubted her legs could carry her across the room right now, let alone down the street to the park.
    She rolled onto her stomach, again hugged her pillow, and pressed her hips down into the mattress. She imagined Ethan on top of her this way, one hand pinning the back of her neck, the other guiding himself into her from behind. She hated that position with a man, hated the subservience of it, but now she could think only of his hardness splitting her in two. She bucked her hips helplessly as the