The Best of Kristina Wright Read Online Free PDF

speak, afraid he’d stop touching her.
    “Want to make me happy?”
    Again, she nodded.
    His voice had dropped to a whisper. “I need you, Caro. I need you.”
    “You can have me,” she’d said.
    “I need your mouth. Can you do that for me?”
    If he’d mentioned it when they were sitting at the dinner table or climbing between her mother’s antique bed linens, she would have refused him. That was something a woman just didn’t do. Not a good woman, anyway. But there, in the field, she hadn’t the will or desire to refuse him anything. And so she had fallen to her knees – her much younger, much more nimble knees – and worked his zipper down with trembling fingers. A long time later, he’d filled her mouth with warm, thick seed. She’d tried not to gag as he’d stroked her head gently, his panting, raspy breath in her ears.
    That had been nearly forty years ago, but Caroline could remember it so vividly. The feel of the hard ground beneath her knees, the smell of Coneflowers, the taste of Ed. The taste of him. She’d grown to love that taste. So much so, that she would, eventually, take him between her lips without coaxing, even on her mother’s Irish linens.
    The prairie had been their place, their secret. Now, kneeling, covered in Ed’s ashes, Caroline felt something she hadn’t thought she would ever feel again.
Desire.
The memory of Ed’s cock, in her mouth, between her breasts, in her sex, even in her behind when she’d had a few too many glasses of the cheap wine her sister-in-law was always bringing over for Sunday dinner. As the gritty remains of her husband clung to her, him dead a whole month now, she wanted him.
    “Damn you, Ed,” she said, working the buttons of her housedress loose the way she’d worked his zipper all those years ago.
    She slipped each button through its hole, until the dress hung open, a whisper of a breeze caressing her skin. She pushed the soft, worn fabric off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. She unfastened her bra, her pulse quickening as she remembered the way Ed had done it so many times. Instead of his warm breath and wet mouth, she felt the wind on her nipples, tightening them into hard peaks on her sagging breasts. She sat on the ground, her housedress beneath her, and dragged her underwear down her hips and over her butt. It tangled on her sandals. She laughed, remembering how, in all the times they’d fucked on this prairie, they had never taken their shoes off.
    Now, naked except for her sandals, Caroline stretched out on the ground, her housedress wadded beneath her. She still felt Ed’s ashes clinging to her skin. It should have been morbid, but it wasn’t. He was there, with her, beneath the moonlight.
    There in the empty prairie, beneath a summer sky so clear it looked like the stained glass in one of those fancy Catholic churches . . . Caroline touched herself. Tentatively at first, while the respectable part of her whispered how nasty she was. Then the memories claimed her. Memories of Ed taking her from behind as she leaned over the big rock, of riding him in a driving spring rain, of begging him to kiss her between the legs and make her come while she lay just like this on his field jacket.
    She could hear the wetness of her sex even as she felt her arousal slippery on her fingers. She had been so embarrassed by that sound, so afraid of what Ed must think. It had only seemed to make him hotter, to make him drive into her deeper, fuck her harder. Later he would apologize, saying he hadn’t meant to be so rough, but secretly she thrilled to those moments when he lost control, lost himself inside her.
    Now it was her fingers buried inside her, driving into her as hard as Ed ever had. She pinched her nipples with her left hand, feeling the grit on her skin, knowing it was Ed and moaning his name as if he was there with her, flesh and blood instead of sand and bone. She stroked herself with hungry fingers, rubbing her juices up and over