Free Madman's Thirst by Lawrence de Maria Page B

expected. Who furnished it, Abigail
Adams? Is that a Chippendale dresser?”
    Emma laughed. “Actually, it’s a
Hepplewhite. This house was basically a bachelor pad. My brothers are quite the
little Colonials. I think they made girls walk the plank if they didn’t come
across. They moved to Connecticut when they got married. Thank God one of them
took the Maine Sea Captain Bed, circa 1801, that used to be in this room. It
was huge. I felt as if I should harpoon something before going to sleep. This
bed used to be in the guest room. It’s called a “Ball & Ring Bed” and dates
from the revolution.”
    “Well, I get the ‘ball’ part,”
Scarne said, leaning over and kissing a nipple, which almost immediately began
to harden. “But I’m not sure I want to know about the ‘ring’ thing.” He began
working on the other nipple as his hand slipped between her legs.
    “Mmm. That’s nice. But the ball
and ring refer to the bedposts, topped by small wooden cannonballs. “And the
rings, oh, the hell with it. Don’t stop. You can bite harder. I’ll finish the
history lesson later.” 
    ***
    Much later, after another bout of
lovemaking in which Emma had displayed even more ingenuity, Scarne reflected on
the experience while she napped. Woman never failed to surprise him, he
admitted, but a few of the things she had done reminded him of someone else. He
had believed that experience to be unique. What the hell, it was probably all
available in Cosmopolitan or one of the other women’s magazines that
alternated “summer dining recipes” with graphic primers on oral and every other
kind sex.
    ***
    They were in the kitchen sharing a
pot of coffee and some decadent day-old Italian pastries. The ice bucket and
its empty bottle stood on the counter. Emma was dressed in a robe and wearing
fluffy rabbit-head slippers. Her hair was disheveled and there were small red
blotches on her upper chest where the robe draped open. Her face was relaxed,
almost somnolent. Scarne was wearing all his clothes but his sport jacket,
which was draped on a stool.
    She poured him another cup of
coffee and said, “It’s black tie, of course. Can you pick me up at 6:30? I want
to make part of the cocktail hour at least. And that will give us some time to
talk to Ari. He’ll be pretty busy during the function itself.”
    “Sure, but I want your assurance
that both your daughter and the maid will be here. And the First Marine
Division, if you can arrange it. I’m not sure I can survive another bout with
you alone.”
    Emerald Shields blushed to her
hairline and threw a mini sfogatelle at him, which he caught, laughing. He put
the crunchy sea shell shaped pastry in his mouth and took a sip of his coffee.
“My favorite,” he said, and came around the counter and kissed her. “See you
Saturday.”
    After cleaning up the kitchen,
Emma went back to her bedroom, smiling at the disaster her bed was. Jesus, what
an afternoon. I acted like a slut, but I don’t feel slutty. She straightened
out the sheets but decided not to make it. She fully planned to spend the rest
of the day (God, it was almost time for the news!) relaxing under the covers.
But first she went to the bookshelf recessed above the bed’s headboard. She had
almost died when she spotted the DVD sitting atop one of the books. She turned
crimson again thinking how she saw it. Thank God for the “woman above”
position. And thank God Jake was oblivious when their positions were reversed.
    Emma wondered if he suspected anything.
He looked surprised a couple of times. Then she decided that she didn’t care.
Let him wonder. What was the downside? This kind of sexual expertise will come
in handy no matter where our relationship, or my life, leads me. Suddenly she
realized that, perversely, she was looking forward to having Scarne and
Aristotle Arachne both vying for her attention at the upcoming dinner. The
thought excited her, even after all her recent exertions. It was apparently
true;