"Rusch-WithoutEnd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

felt before. Ross finally looked up, his round face empty of all emotion. "The
anger," he said. "It's part of grieving too."

They first tried it in her dorm room, shutters closed on the only window, lights
off so that the posters of Einstein were hidden, so that only the
glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling remained. They crowded, side by side, on
her narrow bed, after removing their clothes in the dark. He could smell her
musk, feel the warmth of her, but as he leaned into her body, she moved away.

"We can't touch," she said. "Defeats the purpose."

So they lay there, staring up at the bright pink and green stars. And she began
speaking softly, her voice no more than a murmur in his ear.

She told him what she liked to do with him, how he tasted, how soft his mouth
was, how sensitive his ear. She worked her way down his body, never touching
him, only talking to him, until he thought he could wait no longer. And then she
was on top of him, wet already, nipples hard, and within a few seconds, they had
worked their way to mutual orgasm --the best he had ever had.

She rolled back beside him, and sighed. "Intellectual foreplay," she said. "It
really works."

GHOST LIMB. From the moment Ross mentioned it, Dylan felt not one but dozens of
ghost limbs throughout the house. Here, in the bedroom, done in designer pink by
the previous owner (all we need is a big bow on the bed, and it'll be perfect --
for eight-year-old girls, Geneva said). Something they were going to remodel
when the money allowed. The small side room, well heated, well lit, filled with
boxes and scraps of Christmas wrapping: he saw babies in there. First the little
boy, cherubic face puckered in sleep. Then a little girl, all wide-eyed and
exploring, Geneva in the raw. Future ghosts, possibilities lopped off with the
branch that was Geneva.

One night he woke in the dark, confident that he had just missed her. Her scent
lingered; the energy of her presence electrified the space. He knew, just a
moment before, that she had been there -- Geneva, alive, bright, and dancing
with ideas.

He got up and went into the living room. The cat followed him, sleepy and dazed.
Together they stared out the wide living room window at the street. A long
streetlight illuminated a patch of concrete. The light's reflection made the
neighboring homes look gray and indistinct. Ghost homes, full of possibilities.

The cat got bored and leapt from the sill, but when Dylan closed his eyes, he
could still see her, outlined in red shadow against his eyelids. Even though she
was alive, moving, and breathing, the cat too left ghosts.

It flashed across his mind, then, the possibility -- and as quickly as it
appeared, it was gone. But he knew it was there. He knew he would find it, and
then he would no longer be alone, among the ghosts.