"I feel so good!" she shouted.
For the past four months, since the beginning of their affair,
she had exercised every day. Though Jean-Pierre had been the one
to suggest the calisthenics, she had become obsessed with her
daily workout and needed no encouragement to get on her cycle and
go every morning. With each strained breath she pictured herself
becoming more slender, more youthful, more attractive and
beautiful and sexy for him.
Clad in undershorts, Jean-Pierre stood combing his long hair
before Matthew's bureau mirror. He swung his head back, collected
his mane with both hands behind his head, and worked an elastic
band over the ponytail.
Greta tugged off her headband and playfully pulled it over his
head. "Now you look like an Indian."
He smiled and tugged the band off. As he reached for his shirt
hanging on the bedpost, she grabbed his wrist and roughly pulled
him beside her on the bed. She flattened his hand against her
chest, his middle finger settled over the horseshoe charm he had
given her. "Are you an Indian giver?" she said suggestively,
moving his hand from the charm to her breast.
He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. When her grip
loosened he stepped back and stood before her with his hands on
her hips. "Greta," he warned her, "I must get ready. I have a
nine o'clock lesson, and already I am going to be late.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310