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  I wasn’t in a coma…not quite. But I wasn’t sure how much time I had. I looked over his shoulder, but nobody was paying attention to us. They all had their own thing going on, which made sense, didn’t it? I didn’t need them. I just needed him.

  “Take me upstairs,” I said into his ear, and tugged his lobe between my teeth.

  “You want to split? I can dig that.”

  I snickered. I couldn’t help it. “Dig it” was so quaint, so seventies sitcom. So…sort of sexy, really, when he said it, not like he was trying to toss around slang for effect but like that’s just how it came out. Natural. Everything about him was natural.

  “You’re so different,” I told him in the hallway as he linked his fingers with mine.

  Johnny gave me a glance. “Than what?”

  “Never mind.” I couldn’t explain that I meant he was different than himself. “I like it.”

  His grin lit up his face. He put his hand on the newel post and swung around a little, one foot on the stairs. “Where’ve you been, anyway? I looked all over for you. You don’t live around here, huh? You just visiting again?”

  “Just visiting,” I agreed.

  We stopped to kiss at the top of the stairs. My fingers tangled in the silk of his hair. I tugged the bandanna free so his hair fell over his eyes, and when I kissed him the fringes tickled my face.

  “You are something, all right,” Johnny said in a low, mystified voice.

  I remembered where his bedroom was, but stopped at the doorway as Sandy came out toting the baby on her hip. She paused and looked at both of us blankly. Then she shrugged and held out the baby for Johnny to look at.

  “I gave her a bath and everything. Now I’m gonna feed her a bottle.”

  His arm slid around my waist and held me tight against him, hip to hip. “Yeah, sure, that’s great.”

  Sandy pursed her lips and shook her head a little. “Well, see ya.”

  Inside the bedroom, the door closed, we made our way to the bed where I pushed him back and he fell down onto it, bouncing a little before pushing himself up on his elbows to look at me. I pulled my camisole off over my head and stood bare-breasted in front of him. I tugged open the zipper of my jeans, toed off my shoes, pushed down the denim along with my plain cotton panties and stood before him naked.

  I’d never felt so beautiful as I did at that moment, with Johnny’s gaze upon me. Never before, but always, always after. When he looked at me, it didn’t matter if I felt rounder in places than I wanted to be, or if my breasts weren’t of pornstar proportions. It was the time, I thought, cupping them and flicking my thumbs over my nipples to get them hard. Back then women could be normal-size.

  There was something else different about the women he was used to. Johnny’s gaze focused on my pussy, which I’d shaved just a few nights before. Not bare—I hated feeling as if I looked like a schoolgirl. I’m a woman, and women have hair. But I had trimmed my bikini area and left a landing strip, mostly for convenience rather than fashion, since I was due to get my period in a few days.

  Johnny dragged his hand across his mouth, pulling at his lips and leaving them sheened with saliva. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he was at the perfect height when I moved to stand between his legs. His hands found my ass as he looked up at me, eyes a little glazed.

  Drunk, I thought. But not from the beer he’d been drinking when I found him in the kitchen. Drunk on me.

  I ran my hand over his head and tugged off the bandanna. I tossed it onto the bed. His hair fell over the back of my hand when I wove my fingers in it. My fingers tightened in it, and I pulled to tip his head back.

  “Johnny.” I said it just to say it. Just because I could.

  “Yeah, baby.” His voice was low and throaty. Full of sex.

  “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…” Laughing, I tipped his head back farther.

  He laughed, too. His hands moved, stroking my ass, the dimples at the small of my back, my upper thighs. “Yeah, Emm. I’m right here.”

  “So am I.”

  “I see that.” When I released him from my grip, he nuzzled against my breasts and found my nipples with his mouth. He sucked gently, one and the other, and looked up with a grin when I gasped. “You like that, huh?”

  “Yes.” A sudden, vivid memory of him saying those exact words in one of his films came back to me. My cunt pulsed. “Does that make me a whore?”

  I said it in my Central Pennsylvania accent, hard on the r at the end. Nothing like the way he said it. Johnny paused in exploring my breasts to look up at me again, brow furrowed. “A what?”

  “A…whore,” I said, my voice gone breathy with painfully urgent excitement.

  “A…whore?”

  Fuck. The way he said it made the Fourth of July explode in my pussy. I bit my lower lip and still couldn’t quite keep in the gasp. “God.”

  His chuckle sounded perplexed. His hands stopped roaming for a moment on my rear. “Do you think you’re a whore?”

  A hooah. “Christ, that shouldn’t be so fucking sexy,” I said.

  Johnny blinked, ducking his head for a moment as his shoulders shook with laughter. “That turns you on, huh?”

  “Yes. Say it again.”

  He stopped laughing when he looked up at me. Something dark skittered in those green-brown eyes. He licked his mouth, wiped the back of it with his hand again. His voice got lower. “You wanna be a whore for me?”

  I didn’t want to be a whore for anyone. I just wanted to hear him say it. I wanted to see him look at me that way. My fist tightened in his hair again. This time, he winced.

  His hands gripped my hips, hard. “That it? That what you like?”

  “You make me like it.”

  He was stronger than I’d expected. I was on my back on the bed in half a second, my hands pinned above my head while Johnny looked down into my face. His denim-clad thigh rocked slowly on my bare cunt. The rough fabric sent shivers of pleasure throughout me—or maybe it was just his eyes, his mouth. His voice.

  “You like that? Huh?”

  “I like it.”

  He nudged his thigh a little higher. “Does that get you wet for me?”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  I never spoke out like that, but this, I reminded myself, wasn’t real. It was all fantasy. All made up. All of this was nothing more than some misfiring neurons in my mangled brain.

  With the hand not holding my wrists, Johnny yanked open his belt. He shifted. I arched my back, tipping my hips, waiting for him to enter me—but he surprised me instead. Johnny moved his mouth down my body, over the slopes of my breasts and belly. He slid his hands beneath my ass and lifted me to his mouth, his tongue stroking over my clit before he fasted his lips there and sucked gently.

  I shuddered and said his name. Johnny said nothing, just got to the business of eating my pussy.

  I’d never seen this in any of the movies.

  Oh, they’d hinted at his oral prowess. Soft-focus shots of women writhing as he lapped at their skin. Off-centered shots of his head at waist-level, then cuts of the women’s faces contorted in ecstasy, all of them crying out his name. But none of the movies had actually shown him licking and sucking between their legs. I had no images to call on.

  This was all me.

  He did it with his eyes closed. He made small groaning noises. The sound a man makes when he feasts on something delicious, a meal that completely sates his hunger. He sampled my clit for a while before sliding a finger inside. Then two. I cried out.

  “So fucking wet,” Johnny muttered against me.

  Pleasure coiled spring-tight in my belly. Heat rose, flushing up my chest and throat to my cheeks. His mouth burned on me. Electric. I shifted my hips under him, unable to stay still.

  I didn’t notice how he’d pushed his jeans down, only that he had. I tasted myself on his mouth when he kissed me. My mouth was already open when I gasped as he entered me, and I drew in his breath and made it my own.

  Johnny buried his face a