Bobby Does Dallas: Hill Country Heart (2 page)

‘Not if I see you first,’
Bobby thought, then immediately regretted it.  It wasn't like him to be ugly.  After all, Mary Alice had done just exactly what he had wanted and expected.  The only thing different in this equation was him.  Maybe it was time for a change.  Bobby Stewart smiled as he let himself out of the cookie cutter apartment.  Everything was beginning to look the same to him – the scenery, the women.  Hell; maybe he was growing up.  Snorting at the thought, he climbed into his pick-up and headed south.

*****

"Do you know how humiliating it is when your husband won't make love to you?"  Cecile asked in a desperate whisper. 
Annalise
almost ran her car off the road.  "What do you mean he won't make love to you?" 

Cecile looked out the window.  She should neverve brought it up.  It was just too embarrassing.  Carl had been her husband for seven years and he hadn't touched her for the last three – except when he had to, or if someone else happened to be watching. Glancing back over at her best friend and client, she found
Annalise
nailing her with a stare, demanding an answer.  "Watch the road, ‘
Lise
– or they'll find two sex starved females in a crumpled up Jag."

"Hey!  Not fair!" ‘
Lise
Ramsey protested.  "You know my situation; I've had my one great love affair.  There's no one else for me but Ethan.  Since I can't have him, I'm not in the market for another lover." 
Annalise
shifted in the car seat, always aware of the horrid scars that marred the tender area between her thighs.  Even if she were able to get back together with Ethan, there was no way that she would ever be able to make love with him again.  She couldn't stand the thought of his rejection.  No man could bring himself to make love to her – not if they saw her shame. 

Cecile knew part of
Annalise's
story, but not all of it.  It wasn't something that
Annalise
enjoyed talking about.  "Besides, we're talking about you, Cecile – not me.  Now; explain yourself please.  Carl comes across as such a stud.  When the two of you are out in public together, he can't keep his hands off of you." 
Annalise
looked at beautiful Cecile.  Never in a million years would she have suspected that her marriage was a sham.  Her editor and agent exuded sexuality.  After all, that's what she did for a living.  Cecile represented one of the biggest publishers of erotic romances in North America.  Her whole career was built around sex. 

Cecile laid her head back against the car seat.  How nice it would be to just drift off to sleep and ignore the curious glances of her dear traveling companion.  The quiet engine of the Jaguar was no competition for her racing thoughts. 
Fine.
  She'd confess.  After all, she really did need someone to talk to. "How Carl treats me when we are around others is all for show.  At home, he avoids me like the plague."  When
Annalise
gave her a bug-eyed stare, Cecile laughed.  "It’s true.  Our sex life has never been what it should be.”  Letting down the passenger side mirror, Cecile played like she was checking her mascara.  What she was actually doing was avoiding
Annalise’s
sharp gaze.  “It's
all my
fault, or at least that's what Carl says.  I'm not woman enough for my husband."

"That's totally ridiculous.” 
Annalise
fumed.  “You're absolutely beautiful." 
Annalise
looked at her friend.  Cecile was adorable.  She didn’t know for sure, but she felt that Cecile was in her late twenties.  Regardless, her friend could pass for a college coed, easily.  Her dark brown hair was cut shoulder length in a mass of soft curls that just begged for a man to run his fingers through them.  Her eyes were big and the color of vibrant emeralds. 
Annalise
would have killed for Cecile's eyelashes.  They were so dark that it made her eyes look like jewels lying on black velvet.  "I'm sitting over here totally jealous of how you look.  Your body, your face, your that's w – it's all perfect.  Is the man blind or gay?"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Cecile stated flatly.  "Neither to hear him tell it; the only problem he has is me.  Carl says that I just don't do it for him.  The last time we tried to have sex he couldn't get hard enough to penetrate me." 

"Bullshit!  There has to be something wrong with him."  They were heading back to East Texas from a writer's convention in Houston.  Stopping at a red light,
Annalise
aimed the air vent at Cecile.  "You're all red, let me cool you off."

"I'm red because I'm mortified to be telling you this," Cecile squeaked through clenched teeth.  After another pregnant pause she started talking fast, as if she was on a game show with only a certain amount of time allowed to give an answer.  "The sex between us has never been good.  Even though Carl – is – uh – built small down there, it has always hurt.  I've never had an orgasm during sex with him.  He won't go down on me, although he used to demand that I give him blow jobs.  For years he’s told me that I'm frigid, but since I've been reading and editing these books, I know that's not true.  I get hot and bothered all the time from the explicit sex that you write."

Annalise
didn't say anything, she was totally flabbergasted.  She kept moving her mouth, as if she was going to start a sentence – and then she would stop.  Finally, she huffed out a little breath of defiance.  "You deserve a better life than you have with him, Cecile.  Do you love him?"

What a simple question.  It was so simple, that it stunned Cecile for a few moments.  It was as if a haze had been lifted and she was able to see the horizon clearly for the first time in a long, long while.  "Well, I don't know."  Undoing the seatbelt, she turned in the seat – looking at
Annalise
head on.  “No, I don’t love him.  I can’t even remember what loving him felt like.”  She completely ignored the ding-ding-ding of the seat belt alarm.

Annalise
whipped into a Sonic.  “It’s time for a Java Chiller.”  She rolled down her window and pressed the button, telling the remote bell-hop what they wanted.  Once she was assured that their caffeine/sugar fix was on its way, she unhooked her seat belt and turned to sit nose to nose with Cecile.  “Divorce the asshole.  You can live with me until you decide what to do about your house.”

A Few Weeks Later

 Tamara lay on the bed, trembling with anticipation.  Opening her legs, wide; she offered herself to her lover.  Derrick knelt on the floor, never taking his eyes away from the beautiful sight spread before him for his pleasurep; She was wet and swollen for him.  "I can't wait to taste you, precious.  May I kiss you?  Here?" He ran one gentle finger down the center of her pussy. 

 Tamara lifted her hips.  "Please, Derrick.  I can't wait.  No one has ever done this for me, before."  She watched in fascination as he bent his head, drawing ever nearer to her eager sex.  At the first touch of his lips and tongue, her body almost bent double with delight.  "Oh, sweet Lord," she whispered.  "That feels so good!"

 Derrick held her fast with strong hands as he ate his fill of her sweet cream.  "Steady, baby.  I've got you."

 Tamara arched her back in absolute ecstasy.  This was better than she had ever imagined.  How had she lived without this pleasure?  He cupped her breast with one hand and began to massage the nipple in time with his thrusting tongue.  "Sweetheart, I love this.  I could kiss you like this forever."      

 At his words of praise, Tamara pushed herself into his face, wordlessly begging for more.  He met her need, circling his tongue around her clitoris – driving her absolutely mad with bliss.

Cecile read the words that
Annalise
had written as erotic romance author Ann Pace.  Her hand trembled as she hit the down arrow button to change the page.  Closing her eyes she let the muscles of her sex contract and ease, contract and ease.  If she imagined hard enough, she could almost feel a cock moving in and out of her – giving her what she needed, what she longed for. 
"God!
  I'm pitiful!" Pushing the laptop away from her, Cecile lay back on the bed and cupped her swollen sex through her clothes.  She was so horny she thought she might expire from sheer sexual frustration!  "I've either got to get laid or change jobs," she sighed. 
Annalise's
writing was so hot!  Unable to stand it any longer, Cecile pulled at her own clothing until she was nude.  If no one else would make love to her, she would make love to herself.  Never having indulged in the purchase of a sex toy, all she had to work with were her own hands, but she didn’t care; she was beyond desperate. 

Lying back on her beige quilted duvet, she bent her knees and spread her legs open wide.  Just the air from the ceiling fan made her engorged clit vibrate.  Hungry to be touched, she let her own palms slide up her thighs, over her abdomen and up to cup her aching breasts.  Even the touch of
her own
hands felt good.  Tossing her head from side to side, she played with her own tits.  Finding that she needed more than a tender caress, Cecile clasped her nipples between her fingers and the base of her thumb and worked the tender nubbins against the hard part of her hand.  It felt so good!  As she massaged and pinched her nipples, she worked her hips up and down, clenching and unclenching the muscles of her vagina – pretending that a man was pumping into her empty, throbbing sex.

Needing even more, Cecile fingered her own pussy.  Sliding the tips of her fingers up and down the lips of her vulva, she inserted one finger into the channel that pulsed with longing and moved it in and out.  Finding that to be highly unsatisfying, she moved on up, rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion. 
Oh, that's better
.  As she pulled at her nipple and manipulated her clit, Cecile pictured herself as the heroine in one of
Annalise's
novels – a desirable woman that could attract and please a man.  In her mind's eye, she saw him above her.  His expression was heated and he had eyes only for her.  Lifting her head, she sought his lips – fantasizing about greedy kisses and the mating of fevered tongues.  Her hero would want her –
her
– Cecile.  His cock would be hard and hungry –
for her
.  He would find delight –
in her
.  Arching her back she met his thrusts, and parried them with the rhythmic seeking of her hips.  Frantically, she ground her clit beneath her own caress until she achieved release – a sad, lonely release.  Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down the side of her face to dampen the pillow. Was this the way it was going to be?  Would she never know the passionate touch of a lover? 
How sad – how very sad.

The buzz of her cell phone drew Cecile out of her orgasm induced stupor.  As orgasms go, it hadn't been that good – but it was the best she had felt in many a day.  Sometimes Cecile thought that
Annalise
and the other erotic authors that she dealt with on a day-to-day basis made a lot of that 'fireworks, the earth moved and volcanic eruption' stuff up.  Maybe Carl was right, maybe she
was
frigid.  Her body craved a climax, but the ones that she gave herself were weak and short-lived, nothing like what other women boasted of feeling.

Dragging herself off the bed, she retrieved the phone from her desk.  For a moment, she hoped that it might be Carl calling to check in on her, but it wasn’t – it was the gynecologist calling to remind her that it was time for her
pap
smear and mammogram.  Yuck!  She hated doctor visits!  Noting it on the calendar, she was grateful that it was over a week away.  For a minute she stared at the phone, wishing she had someone that she could call and invite out for a meal.  Because Carl was such an asshole, they didn’t have many friends and he discouraged her from having girlfriends that she could meet for drinks and go shopping with.  She didn’t know why.  Sometimes she thought that he was afraid that she would talk to them – confide in someone how truly bad their marriage was.  So Cecile wasn't close to anyone other than
Annalise
, and she lived almost four hours away.  Carl didn’t have anything to worry about – there was no way that she was going to air her dirty laundry in front of her Dallas work acquaintances.  They had no idea that she – an erotic romance editor – lay untouched every night in a lonely bed, forced to masturbate for even the smallest of amount of sexual relief. 

Climbing back into bed, she opened her emails.  There was a message from
Annalise
, apologizing again for not having the five chapters that she had promised Cecile.  She confessed that she was experiencing major wrter's block.  Typing in a quick response, Cecile joked with her, doing her best to inspire ‘
Lise
out of her funk. 

After talking to her friend coming back from the conference, Cecile realized that she wasn't the only one who was depressed.  ‘
Lise
Evans was still desperately in love with a man she had met in college.  They had a whirlwind romance but had been torn apart after
Annalise's
suffered through a tragic rape.  It had happened over spring break during ‘
Lise‘s
freshman year.  Afterwards, she had endured several reconstructive surgeries. 
Annalise
and Ethan had never seen one another again – the only other thing that Cecile had managed to get out of
Annalise
was that she had never told Ethan about the rape.