"Laymon, Richard - Come Out Tonight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

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COME OUT TONIGHTChapter One

On his knees, Duane braced himself up with one arm. With the other, he reached out past Sherry's face. She heard his clock radio scoot on the shelf of the headboard.

"Putting on some music?" she asked.

"Getting this," he said.

She looked up at the plastic packet and said, "Ah. Good thinking."

As he ripped it open, Sherry gently glided her hands up and down his wet thighs. Only a few minutes earlier, she had toweled him dry after their shower. But now he was sweaty--and so was she. Her hands made soft wet sounds as they slid against his skin.

We must be nuts, she thought, doing this on the hottest night of the year. And at his place. But she supposed the heat was probably what had brought them to this. On all those other nights, she'd managed to control herself and call a halt before it went this far.

Tonight, she had no intention of stopping.

She wanted him. Wanted him all over her, hot and wet and slippery, wanted him inside her.

Maybe the heat had something to do with that.

Maybe a lot.

The unusually hot night. And Duane's apartment building without air conditioning.

His windows were wide open. The hot Santa Ana winds blew in, caressing her, filling the room with the acrid aromas of brush fires somewhere in the distance.

It was the sort of night that made you feel restless and vulnerable and maybe a little frightened ... the sort of night that stirred desires.

"Here we go." He slipped the rubber disk out of its wrapper, then waved it at Sherry with a crooked smile. His face was red and sweaty. "Now if I can just figure out what to do with the damn thing ..."

"Allow me," Sherry said.

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He handed it to her. "I never ... used the things with ... you know, with Bev. She was on the pill and..."

His voice stopped as Sherry took hold of him with one hand.

"I'm not so good at this sort of thing myself," she said. "All I know is, you don't unroll them first."

"You're probably right."

Still holding Duane's penis with her left hand, she used her right to push the disk against its head. Fingers encircling the rubbery ring, she started to roll it down. The latex felt sticky. It crackled.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Duane asked.