Facets. Part 25

"Pam? Are you okay?"

"Just hold me, Cutter. It feels so good when you do."

She wasn't sure if he heard the desperation in her whisper. She hadn't deliberately put it there, but after the way John had touched her, Cutter's embrace was healing. She needed that badly.

When he hugged her more tightly, she sighed in relief. For the longest time they sat there holding each other. It was all Pam wanted, a balm that was penetrating and pure. Then, slowly, she began to notice things like the fullness of his chest, and his warmth, and she wanted more. When he nudged her face again, she turned it up.

His mouth brushed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. She turned the tiniest bit to catch his kiss, but it was an elusive whisper. She looked up to find his eyes soft but troubled.

"I shouldn't do this," he said.

"I love you."

"You're too young."

"I've loved you forever."

"Not this . . .?way." In the next breath, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Pam melted. Her eyes closed, her lips softened. She was his to mold, which he did with leisure from first one angle, then another. Finally drawing back, he put a finger to her lips and said in a thick voice, "I'm in trouble, I think."

"Do it more," she whispered and ran her hands through his hair.

"Pam-"

"More." She pulled his head down. Everything inside her cried with the wanting. She loved him too much to let him go so soon. And she could tell he wanted her.

His kiss was harder, and she loved it. He taught her to move her lips the way he liked, taught her to open them wider, taught her to give him her tongue. She was trembling when he finally raised his head.

"I've never done that before," she said in a broken whisper.

"Never?"

"Never. Was it good?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "Was it ever." The laugh ended with a sharp gasp when she reached up and touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth.

In the next instant she was on her back on the bed, with Cutter on top of her. His hands were in her hair, holding her still, while his mouth took hers in a kiss that was raw with need.

Pam had never tasted a man's hunger that way. If the force of it was frightening, the excitement of it was beyond belief. It made her ache the same way her daydreams had. Without conscious thought, she arched her body against his.

He swore and slipped to the side.

"What's wrong. Cutter? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Oh, baby . . ." His face was against the pillow, shoulders hunched and rigid. He moved his hips against the bedcovers. His voice was m.u.f.fled. "You did everything so right that if I'm not inside you soon, I might just embarra.s.s us both."

His words stole her breath. Her eyes were large when he raised his head.

"Do you know how much I want you?" he asked in a tormented whisper. His face was flushed, his eyes hot, his features tight.

The thought made her soar. Looking at him then, she knew she was the luckiest woman on earth. She touched his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrow. Catching her hand, he brought it to his mouth and pressed it there hard for a heated minute. Then he carried it over his chest, past his waist to the distended front of his jeans.

Pam remembered the way John had felt there when he'd flattened her against the bed. He'd been hard and ugly, threatening a violation. But there was nothing threatening about Cutter. Nor anything ugly. He was very, very hard. But she loved him. She wanted to touch him.

Opening her hand, she explored his shape. He allowed it for no more than a minute before he forced her hand away. When she protested, he silenced her with a kiss that distracted her, and by the time he let her up for air, he was stroking the side of her breast. Her flesh grew warm with pleasure. She made a small sound, then waited, breathing raggedly, wanting more but unable to ask for it.

Something of her desire must have reached him, because before he'd even fully cupped her he began to unb.u.t.ton her blouse. She felt the air on her skin, then the strength of his large hand. Again, helplessly, she thought of John.

When she closed her fingers on Cutter's wrist, he looked into her eyes. "Too much?"

She felt she could drown in his gaze. Not John, but Cutter. Not dirty, but right. "Too little," she whispered. Struggling to a sitting position, she pushed her blouse from her shoulders and unhooked her bra. There she faltered. "I've never done this before."

Cutter drew the thin straps from her shoulders and set the bra aside. Then he looked at her as though he never wanted to look away, as though her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

The soiling that Pam had felt at John's hand was washed away by Cutter's gaze. When he touched her she gasped, smiled self-consciously, then bit her lip when she felt the urge to cry out. While he kneaded her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he sucked her lip away from her teeth.

"Say what you feel," he ordered against her mouth.

"I'm burning. Burning."

"Here?" He brushed her nipples with his fingertips.

She did cry out then. But he was still waiting for an answer when she finally caught her breath. "Inside," she cried, not caring how desperate she sounded. The sensations were too new, too strong. She didn't know how to handle them. "I'm burning inside. I need you, Cutter."

When he slipped a hand between her legs, she closed her thighs on it and moaned. What she felt was so excruciatingly beautiful that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She had always imagined it would be like fire in heaven with Cutter, but she hadn't dared think her imaginings would come true.

Suddenly, when the reality of it was so close, she was terrified. "You're not going to say no now, are you?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. "I'll die if you do." Hands shaking, she unsnapped her jeans and dragged down the zipper.

He caught her hand. "What are you doing?"

"What 1 should have done when I first got here."

She rolled away. He lunged for her, but she was off the bed, pushing down her jeans and panties before he could reach her.

"Pam-" He snagged her around the waist and tumbled her back to the bed, with her jeans still hanging on one leg.

She wore a defiant look and little else. "If you don't like what you see, you can send me home. I may be only seventeen, but I'm a woman. I can be woman enough for you if you give me a chance. Teach me, and I'll make you burn, too."

"You already do that," he growled. With his body angled across hers to hold her still, he freed her leg of the last of her clothes. Then he took a long look at her.

Whether from pride or arousal or even shyness, she didn't know, but she felt herself swell inside. "Help me," she whispered, all defiance gone. "I don't know what . . .?It's hurting."

Fully clothed, he came over her. "Be sure, babe," he warned, sounding hoa.r.s.e. "Past this, and I won't be able to stop. I've dreamed about doing it once too often."

"Do it."

"I'll hurt you."

"Never."

"Physically. You'll tear."

Her voice had a frantic pitch. "I don't care. Hurry. Hurry, Cutter." She was pushing futilely at the waistband of his jeans.

He tore off his shirt, then his pants. In the broad light of day, he was more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, all long limbs, lean muscles, and sandy hair.

The touch of his bare skin against hers was like fire. She gasped. Then gasped again when he touched her. Before she knew what was happening, her body erupted into spasms of incredible pleasure. She threw back her head, eyes closed, panting for breath as the pleasure went on and on. She was still in its grip when she felt a searing pain. Her eyes flew to Cutter's face, and although the pain lingered, the sense of fullness that came with it told her what had happened.

"I'm there, Pam. Inside you. You're mine now. Mine."

"I've always been yours," she whispered on a thread of breath and smiled. "I love you."

"I know. Me too. Does it hurt?"

"I feel so full."

He gave a broken laugh. "You are."

"Here, too," she said, pointing to her head.

"Jesus."

"What?"

"I'm gonna come." He scrunched up his face, went tight all over, then pulled out of her just as his large body began to pulse.

"Cutter?"

It was a while before he could answer, and then it was a grunt from between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Why did you leave me?"

After another while, he raised his head. His hair was damp, flattened in spikes against his forehead. "I couldn't put a rubber on. Not the first time."

"I feel empty now."

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. "Not sore?"

"Empty. I want you back." What she'd felt had been too beautiful to be so short. It was everything her life had been missing. She needed him more.

"In a minute," he said and began to kiss her gently. In time the kisses grew hungry again, and she strained closer. He touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her belly, between her legs, and with each pa.s.s of his hand she loved him more, until she felt she'd burst from it.

He left her for only a minute before entering her again, and this time there was no pulling out. The pleasure built until explosion was the only possible route back to earth.

Pam spent the weekend in Cutter's bed. He made love to her over and over again, forcefully sometimes, tenderly at other times. Having set aside his qualms, he seemed bound to prove how much he loved her, and she didn't complain. She surprised herself with her own hunger, which was barely sated when Sunday afternoon arrived. By that time she had told him that she was moving into the dorm, although she hadn't said why. She didn't want him to get angry at John, when it would only be self-destructive. More than that, she didn't want the smallest reminder of John when she was with Cutter. Their time together was too precious.

In the weeks that followed, they saw each other several times a month, either in Cutter's cabin or in one nameless motel or another on the outskirts of Boston. Knowing he was waiting for her, Pam didn't mind the restrictions of dorm life. She had no interest in dating the boys at school and was content to spend her time studying. When she checked out of the dorm for weekends, she gave the name of a friend. John didn't ask questions.

Things were more tricky over the summer, when John insisted she work in the Boston office. She had to lie directly to him. She might have felt guilty had he not been making her miserable. In his dark, silent way, he taunted her. When she was at home, he made his presence felt. Although he didn't try to touch her again, the threat was always there. That was justification enough for her lies, she reasoned.

If her life had been dichotomous when she was a child, it was even more so now. During the week, she was a dutiful office gofer. She kept to herself when John was at home and slept only in bits and s.n.a.t.c.hes, always with a plumber's wrench close at hand. On the weekends when she was with Cutter, she was in another world. They did whatever took their fancy as long as it didn't involve the risk of discovery. That meant staying near the cabin when Pam was in Maine and steering clear of Beacon Hill when Cutter was in Boston. Pam didn't mind. As long as she was with Cutter, she was happy. She loved him more each time she saw him and was sure he felt the same.

So she easily lied when John pointedly asked, "Have you seen Cutter Reid?"

"No."

"Simon saw your car taking his turn last weekend."

"Simon's lying."

"I don't want you seeing him."

She schooled herself to indifference. "Why would I want to see him?"

"Because I don't want you to," John answered with a menacing look. "Stay away from him. I'm warning you. Stay away from him."

The warning fell on deaf ears. Much as Pam loved Marcy, much as she loved the house in Maine, Pam loved Cutter more. Being with him was as vital to her as breathing.

Summer ended and she went back to school. Aside from being able to sleep at night, little changed. She studied as hard as she could and lived for the weekends with Cutter.

Then, on the day after Thanksgiving, Tommy Willow, Marcy's seventeen-year-old half-brother, bludgeoned his father to death with the handle of a rusty water pump. It was a crime of pa.s.sion, but a willful one, prompted by one too many instances of violence on Jarvis's part-and it gave Pam an excuse to go north.

A week later, Marcy came to see her at the dorm, looking as though she'd been through h.e.l.l. "He knows," she whispered as soon as the door to Pam's room was closed.

Pam had a.s.sumed that Marcy's anguish had to do with Tom's predicament. "Who knows?"

"John. He knows you been seeing Cutter." She covered her face and started to cry. "He asked me straight out, and I told him, Pammy. Didn't know what else to do. He said that if I didn't tell the truth, he wouldn't help Tom. He's payin' for the lawyer. We could never do it ourselves, and without it Tom goes to prison. He's a good boy, but he's never had much of a chance, and if he's sent away, it would kill Ma. So when John asked, I told him that you been seeing Cutter." She wept softly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

For a quick minute, Pam felt betrayed. Then she thought about Marcy's situation and her own, and the choices she might have made if the tables were turned, and she couldn't remain angry. Upset, yes, and frightened-very frightened. She put her arm around Marcy as much to steady herself as to offer comfort.

"How much does he know?"

Marcy sniffled. "Just that you see Cutter in Maine. I told him I don't know what you do when you're at school." She raised fearful eyes. "He'll do something. He's an evil man."

Pam knew that all too well. Sinking down on the bed, she gave Marcy a pleading look. "I can't stop seeing Cutter. He's my life." Then the unfairness of it all hit her again-her father's senseless death, her mother's hospitalization, John's tyranny. With a hard swallow, she squared her jaw. "I'm nearly eighteen. I can do what I want, and I want to be with Cutter. If John has trouble with that, that's his problem."

John kept her on pins and needles for two days before showing up at the dorm. In a private corner of the living room there, he confronted her.

"I told you not to see him, but you did it." He kept his voice low, but it was no less deadly than his look. He wore an impeccably tailored business suit that added to his aloof demeanor. "I warned you, Pam. I even asked you if you'd seen him, and you lied. That wasn't very nice."

She thought of lying again, but it was too late for that. "I love him."

His lips curled. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

"I love Cutter."

"Then unlove him, because it's over."