«I won't hurt you,» he said solemnly, and I smiled. Yes, you will, I thought, but I didn't say it. I turned over onto my belly and shivered as Jack ran warm hands down my sides. «Very nice. Sleek and brown, like a…a…» «An otter?»

He chuckled. «Not exactly. Maybe a mink. You've got a temper like a mink, don't you?»

«Me? I don't think so.» I closed my eyes as he ran a light hand over the curve of my ass. Very nice. Just palm against bare skin was lovely. «Do you have any lube?» «There's some old stuff in the drawer next to the bed.»

I heard the squeak of springs, the slide of the drawer, then the tear of foil. A moment later I heard the squirt of the tube and shivered. There was another pause before a fingertip insinuated itself at that sensitive pucker of flesh. Lots of warm gel and a gentle press. I expelled a long breath, consciously relaxing my muscles, but Jack's entry was more caress than push. He slipped past the little ring of muscle, homing, pressing against the prostate. I shivered.

«Good?» I could hear the smile in his voice. I grunted acknowledgement, easing myself onto his hand, unable to concentrate on more than that delicate pushing and rubbing inside me, wanting more of it…and deeper. So fucking long. I'd forgotten how good this could feel…

After a time Jack's second finger slipped in, slick and warm with jelly; I moaned, humping back. His breathing sounded funny, rough and fast. «You're beautiful like this.» He moved his fingers back and forth in that shattery massage that had me squirming on the bed. I needed the cock brushing the cleft of my ass to be inside me. «Now,» I urged. The voice didn't even sound like me. «Fuck me now, Jack.»

He moved his hand some more, refusing to be rushed, petting and palpating, and I didn't know whether to swear or start sobbing with the need twisting through my guts. «Jack!» I groaned when I just couldn't take it any longer.

And there he was, guiding himself in, controlling the thick weight of his penetration –I could feel him shaking with need and hunger, but he held it in check – until he was in, buried to the balls, and we both moaned together in relief that sounded like harmony.

He rocked against me, and I rocked back, and we slid into effortless rhythm, like we'd been working on this routine for years, like we were fuck buddies of long standing – or true lovers.

Slow and sweet, push and pull, the timed thrust and instinctive contractions that changed after a time to something neither of us could control, something powerful and primitive. Our sweat-soaked bodies labored, the sheets twisted and tangled, lungs gasping for air as we pounded against each other…the hardness of bone and muscle, the softness of skin and genitals. One hand fisted in my pillows, the other milked my dick ruthlessly while Jack's hands dug into my hips, and I knew I'd have bruises there and didn't care. It felt good being held so hard, pierced so deeply.

At last I began to come and I buried my face in the damp linen of my pillow and howled my relief. Jack kissed the back of my neck, and a few moments later I felt his body go rigid.

Hotness pulsed into me, spilled through me. He was coming in my ass; I was wet with his semen. Jack trembled, transfixed as orgasm rippled through him in blinding waves, and then he collapsed on top of me and started laughing.

And that was something we had in common because I loved that husky, breathless laugh of his.

I chuckled too, and he stopped laughing and said, «Turn over, I want to kiss you.» I dragged myself onto my back, and Jack hauled me into his arms and covered my mouth. The kiss surprised me, wet and deep and hungry as though he couldn't get enough. He was kissing me like I wanted to kiss him, but wouldn't have dared. «Was that okay?» he asked at last, cuddling me against his side. «Fucking A,» I returned, and he laughed again, closing his eyes, growing quiet. I reached over, jerked the sheet over us. * * * * *

In the morning we were relaxed and easy together, and the give and take of pleasure was quick and gentle.

«Are we swimming this morning?» Jack asked, when I brought him a cup of coffee a little later. I sat down on the foot of the bed. I liked looking at him in my bed. Liked the brownness of him against white sheets, liked the pillow-ruffled softness of his hair, liked the contentment of his sleepy gray eyes as he sipped his coffee. «I am. Do you have time?»

He glanced at the clock, considered. «I've got a few errands to run before work…but sure.» He took another swallow of coffee. «What's your sign?» I asked, curious. His smile was wry. «Yield? I don't know. What's yours?» «Stay alert. Expect new traffic patterns.» He chuckled. «Seriously. What month were you born?» «I can't be serious about astrology. That's what you're talking about, right?» I nodded. «I'm just curious.»

«That's how it starts. Next thing you know you're dialing Madam Cleo, credit card in hand.» He sighed. «April eleventh. Aries.» He glanced at my face. «Is that good or bad?»

I rose from the bed. «Beats me. Maybe I'll ask Roman Mayfield. He left a message setting up another meeting.» «This is the guy who left the tarot card on your door?» «Yes. I didn't tell you. I finally got to interview Stephen Ball yesterday.» «Still think he's your murderer?»

I found my swim trunks, pulled them on. «I don't know. I don't like him, but…I don't know. He thinks – or says he thinks – that it was the husband. And if it wasn't the husband, he says it was Gloria Rayner.» «What was her motive supposed to be again? They both wanted the same part?»

«And maybe the same man – Stephen Ball. That reminds me. I need to try to call him again.»

Jack finished his coffee and threw back the sheets. «You make your phone call and I'll meet you down at the pool.» He picked his jeans off the footboard. Even in the heat of the moment, Jack had managed to avoid throwing his clothes on the floor; I found that sort of endearing.

While Jack went upstairs, I tried calling Stephen Ball again. Morning though it was, he wasn't at home – or least not at home to me – and I had to leave another message. By the time I got outside, Jack was already in the pool doing laps.

I dived in, the water chill and refreshing despite the fact that it was already getting hot; air conditioners were starting to hum all over the complex.

Jack and I swam laps, which inevitably turned into a race, but it was friendly and I don't think he took it too badly when I beat him by an arm's length – both times. We horsed around for a little longer and then swam for the stairs in the deep end.

Climbing out of the pool, I felt the aura sweep over me…too much light flooding over me, bright and remorseless, bleaching out my vision. My heart sped up, but it was already too late. I felt that shift in balance, a dizzy drop though I was still gripping the railing. I put my hand out. «Jack…will you help me?»

I came back to awareness of grass tickling my face, the heat of the sun, the smell of chlorine. Someone was speaking to me, quietly, slowly.

«That's it. That's it. Take your time. Everything's okay.» He was running his hand up and down my bare arm. I croaked, «Jack?» «Right here.»

Swallowing hard, I breathed in the smell of the grass and soil and flowers and my own sweat and sickness. I felt sleepy, weak. «What's…wrong?»

«Nothing's wrong.» Jack sounded definite about that. «You had a seizure. You're okay now.»

I opened my eyes, trying to focus. Jack's face was hard, despite the gentleness of his touch. I closed my eyes against the truth I could read there, and hot tears threatened to spill from under my lashes. «Don't,» he said tersely. «I can't take you crying.»

«No. Sorry.» I wiped the back of my arm across my face, tried to roll over so that I could push up. I felt so fucking feeble, still quivering with the physical and emotional shock; it must have been a bad one. Jack's arm came around me at once. He was naked and wet –no, he was wearing a pair of swim trunks. And so was I. I remembered that we had been swimming. And then it got confusing.