Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/158

 tears came to her eyes. Why had she stayed away so long: So long … and still it seemed only yesterday they had been children. The swells in her bosom ached with release. Her heart leaped with happiness, almost bursting the tiny brassiere which seemed the only thing that was holding it within her. She thrilled at his touch. How odd; the touch from Blake's hands had not excited her as these did. These hands that had played in mud with hers, building sand castles, mud pies, sewing doll dresses … even fastening her clothes … unfastening them. They had been so close … so far apart. An entanglement had separated them … She had escaped, but he had been lost … lost behind the high stockade that had sprung between them.

Gaylord was watching her steadily as if she was something unreal. She stared back, her heart pounding, and there began to steal over her a slow weakness and languor, so consuming that even her hands felt heavy. Every part of her was burning with longing. She touched his arm in affectionate reassurance and looked into his eyes. They returned a childish frown she remembered so well. There was no barrier now, and yet, she was half scared, uncertain of what they said.

The restraint he had shown thus far now vanished and his arms reached out, went around her waist and drew her slowly toward him.

Joy, inexperienced but not innocent, met his lips and returned his kisses eagerly. She slid both her arms around him. Somewhere far back in her mind she thought of Robert Blake, but the sound and the image grew fainter, dissolved.

Gaylord did not have to force her back onto the sofa. In fact it was her move. She glanced at Gaylord, a wandering glance and a sweet tumult beat within her, saying something mysterious, almost forbidden, must lie beyond …

An opalescence of soft light and peace and beauty was over the room.

Gaylord pulled himself together. His hands moved upon her blouse, and a strange sense of intoxication rose to his brain. His hands trembled as she helped him remove her wrinkled blouse, tight brassiere.

She lay half-mad with passion and longing under the curly hair over her eyes. She let herself relax under his trembling and shivering body. She wanted to say she loved him and wished he would say he 148