She took another sip of the red wine and sighed. Just for tonight, she decided, she'd open her arms to the unlimited possibilities of her life right now, as it was. Where was the harm in that? It was permissible to let her imagination run free every once in a while, wasn't it? It was all right to let it out to play.

Even if it wanted to play with Lucio Montevez.

Ginger stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes in the moonlight. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, feeling her fingers skitter across her thigh. It was still smooth and firm flesh, aching for a loving touch. Lucio had reminded her of that today. Melting under his caress, drowning in his kissit had flipped a switch inside her. She couldn't deny it another second. Her body was on fire for a man's attention. That man's attention.

It had been a long time since Larry had touched her with love. She couldn't even remember what it felt like. The last few years of her marriage had been confusing, hurtful, and lonely. Near the end, there wasn't a shred of devotion left in Larry's touchjust a cold, slimy guilt that he tried to cover up with words he knew Ginger longed to hear.

She held on to those words and pretended all was well for as long as possible. But she knew better, and it was a struggle to keep the truth pushed down inside her. She'd convinced herself that infidelity was something that happened to other couples, not themnot Larry and Ginger Garrison, college sweethearts, good and decent people who worked hard to build a life together and raise their sons.

She'd held on to the ruse right up until the night she caught Larry with the boys' math tutor in the cargo area of the minivan. In her own driveway, for God's sake! Larry's bare ass was a ghostly white in the glow of the streetlights as it moved up and down. Up and down.

Right there and then, as Ginger watched her husband of eighteen years porking a college coed, her delusions were history. So was her marriage.

Ginger took in a shaky breath, counting backward, adding up all the months of disconnection and, then, separation. Could it be that she'd gone without a man's loving touch for years? She laughed bitterly. She'd been deprived. She'd become empty. And now she was starving.

Her fingers pushed up the hem of her skirt. With her eyes closed, she reveled in the feel of the night air on the exposed skin of her inner thigh. How would it feel? What would the sensation be like if, just now, Lucio Montevez were to come to her, kneel in the grass at her feet like the sexual panther he was, stretch her thighs wide and hook them over the armrests of this old Adirondack chair and touch her, wet and silky and so very, very needy.

Ginger sought out the satiny crotch of her panties and pushed it aside. Her fingers were immediately drenched in juices. Her own wetness startled her. Her legs trembled. She took one last fortifying sip of wine, and, with eyes still closed, she set the goblet on the grass. Her mind reeled. Her body was greedy.

It was well past midnight. The ranch was silent. Only Mrs. Needleman and the women in the bridal party had stayed overnight. She was hidden under the shadows of the old live oak. No one would see.

So Ginger did it. She reached under her bottom and yanked off her panties, tossing them to the ground. She took a deep breath and imagined him right there, on his knees before her. He would spread his big hands over the tender flesh inside her thighs and pull her open. He would lower his mouth to her.

Lucio! she called out in a ragged whisper.

Ginger squirmed. God, the man knew his way around a woman! He was teasing her, nipping and licking and biting everywhere but where she needed it most. He was really, really good at this. So good it was pure torture.

Ginger heard herself groan in frustration. She imagined his dark head hovering between her thighs. She imagined the heat of his breath so close, but not close enough.

Finally! He flicked his tongue around and across her enflamed clitoris. Then he drank from her. He used his tongue and teeth and lips to pull the juices from her body, pull her soul to the brink of orgasm. Oh! He was using those strong hands to adjust her, like she was a plaything, a dollgrabbing her by the ass and pulling her toward his mouth like he was a starving man at that sexual buffet Bea had described.

Ginger's head swam with the imagesher body was the overflowing smorgasbord of lust and Lucio had already paid at the door. She wanted to feed him. He was a hungry man. Everyone wins!

Oh God, it felt so good, so real. Her hands fell away from her body, yet, somehow, the sensations continued to build. She imagined in detail how it would feelshe would reach for his long, thick hair, grabbing silky fistfuls as she pulled him tighter to her pussy.

That's right. Pussy. She never used that word. It was sordid, somehow. Daring. But wasn't that the whole point of a daringly sordid fantasy? So she let the word pulse through her. She was nothing but a lonely, dripping, needy pussy. And it was only for him. She was his pussy. Somewhere deep inside her she knew that she'd always belonged to him and only him, the sexual panther of the shadows.

This is your pussy, Lucio, she whispered. It belongs to you.

Suddenly, she threw her legs around his neck and convulsed wildly, the orgasm so deep and strong that it shot her into a swirling, black nothingness, then launched her back to consciousness with a flare of bright white light. Her body twitched and burned in exquisite pleasure. Her eyes flew open, and her vision was filled with the night sky and what was either the aurora borealis or one hell of a long, drawn-out orgasm.

Inexplicably, she felt as if she were rising from the chair, her limp body being taken up to heaven in the arms of God himself. She must have orgasmed so hard that she'd had a stroke, which would explain the aurora borealis.

God, no! I can't die! Who will take care of the boys?

It was a particular taste that brought her to her senses. The taste of herself. Soft, wet lips covered hers, sharing the tangy, salty taste of her own body. The mouth was covered in her juices and it pressed harder and harder against hers.

My God, you are delicious, the lips said, an accent falling thick and hot in her ear, on her face. She was being carried up the lawn toward the guesthouse'but how?

I will need more, pelirroja, said the unmistakable voice. I will be taking more of the redheaded pussy you say is mine.

Ginger stiffened, a lightning bolt of awareness hitting her smack between the eyes. Ohmigod, put me down! She tried to pry herself from Lucio's arms, but his muscles only contracted further. She was trapped against his chest as he climbed the walkway to the guesthouse. I said put me down! Now! Are you deaf?

Lucio ignored her. He plowed ahead, now almost at the guesthouse door. Ginger's pulse hammered wildly. She could hardly breathe. How in God's name had she ended up being carried to her door twice in one day by the same man? Had she fainted again? No, waithe'd really had his mouth on her! It had all been real! This was awfultoo awful to face.

Put me down. This time her warning was delivered in a menacing whisper. Put me down right this fucking second or I'll scream so loud you really will be deaf when I'm done.

Lucio's response was to reach around her face and cover her mouth with his big hand until they reached the guesthouse porch. Once there, he eased her down to her feet but kept her mouth tightly covered. He turned the doorknob with his free hand.

He pressed Ginger's back against the front of his body. Ginger wasn't stupid. Something big and hard was poking into the base of her spine, and she knew exactly what it was. She tried to squirm away.

Lucio whispered into her ear, his breath still infused with the scent of her body. I will wait until I hear your door close and the lock slide into place. Then I will leave. He let his hand drop from her mouth and turned her toward him.