The American Lady(136)

After that everything happened quite naturally. Without even thinking about it she opened the door for Richard. Tonight she wanted to be his woman. She’d never wanted anything so much.

When they were facing one another, she lifted her arms and pulled her camisole over her head. It fluttered to the floor and lay there. Then she reached behind her back. It took her a moment to open the hooks on her brassiere, her hands were trembling so, but it soon lay beside the camisole. Then she took off her panties. Unhurried and unashamed. The tension was thrilling, these moments of waiting so sweet!

She knew that she was beautiful. Ever since she had grown into womanhood a few years ago, men had looked at her admiringly—and women enviously. She knew the reason why. But she had never felt so beautiful as she did now, the first time Richard saw her naked.

He looked her up and down with awe in his eyes, more reverently even than he looked at his beloved glassworks. Without being asked, she turned round in front of him like a dancer on a music box. He drank in her nakedness like wine, and she in turn grew drunk on his admiration. Now she could hardly wait for his touch. Her skin was growing warm just from his gaze, and she felt hot flushes ripple across her body. Wanda wrapped her arms around Richard, nestling into his shirt, but he pushed her away gently but firmly. Without taking his eyes off her, he began to undress. Involuntarily she wondered whether she was the first woman he had ever undressed for. Once, early on, she had asked him whether he had ever courted another girl—apart from poor Anna—but he had never answered. She didn’t doubt, however, that—unlike her—he was experienced in matters of love; he had always been so certain in his caresses, had never lost control, and he was a fantastic kisser.

Wanda passed her tongue over her lips expectantly as Richard knelt down and untied his shoes. Her thighs were trembling almost unbearably, so she had to sit down on the bed. Richard unbuckled his belt briskly, and his pants fell to the floor.

A sigh escaped from Wanda’s throat. Was it acceptable to tell a man how beautiful he was? She didn’t dare. He was just as muscular as she had imagined he would be, without being bulky. With his broad chest that tapered down to a narrow waist, he had a physique like those of the male ballet dancers in New York. Wanda glanced downward. Without his pants, his legs were more sturdy than she had expected.

Once he was quite naked she found herself to be a little afraid after all. Afraid not of the unfamiliar sight of a naked man, but rather of her own desire for Richard, which almost smothered her. She wanted to pull him down on top of her, put his hands on her breasts; she wanted to . . . she blinked hastily to dispel the seductive visions.

“You’re so . . . manly,” she whispered hoarsely.

Richard had seen what she was looking at and grinned. “All the muscles are from the hard work at the bench and lamp.”

“And where’s . . . that from?” Wanda’s eyes were half-closed as she pointed at his erection, which was straining upward, pulsing with strength. The brazenness of her question made her blush. What must Richard think of her!

“That’s your doing. All you,” Richard murmured, his voice choked.

A moment later, his arms were around her and his lips were upon hers. His lips roamed to her ears. She bowed her head. His tongue lapped at the hollow between her shoulders and back up to her neck where his warm breath stirred the small soft hairs.

Wanda was breathing faster with every kiss. She could not hold herself back any longer but ran her hands over his body and kissed him, tasting the salt on his skin and breathing in his scent. By now they were lying together on the narrow bed. It groaned reproachfully under their weight and they laughed.

With every kiss, every caress they spun a cocoon of passion more tightly around themselves. Nothing outside that cocoon mattered. The nearness of their breath, velvet skin, gentle moans, their hearts beating together, her soft curves and his strong arms around her, the pleasure and the pain . . .

Wanda surrendered herself entirely, felt the cresting waves of passion lift her higher and higher, washing away the pain and leaving nothing but this joyous appetite.

Any thought of the other guests in the hotel was long banished from Wanda’s mind as she screamed from the depths of her soul, “Hold me tight! Forever . . .”



“Help me . . . I can’t take it anymore!”

Marie’s scream ripped through the room. Her torso bucked and thrashed, the searing pain in her abdomen ripping through her even worse than before. Whatever was happening couldn’t be right. It was too painful. She was being torn in two. She . . .

“You have to keep still! Eleonore is helping you! The bambino will be here, soon, soon!” Patrizia’s face was dripping with sweat; her face was set in rigid lines as though she shared in Marie’s pain. She looked impatiently at the midwife who was standing between Marie’s legs. What was taking so long?