Twice in a Lifetime by Dorothy Garlock

legs spread so that he could come closer. She twisted her fingers into his hair, fanning his desire, feeling it exhaled in hot, ragged breaths.
    “That’s nice,” she murmured.
    Tommy’s lustful longing wasn’t surprising; Naomi had taken great pains to make him feel the way he did. She was almost twenty, just three years older than him, but she was far more experienced in the ways of the world, especially when it came to the desire of a man, or in this case, boy, for a woman. Everything she did, every word she said, was calculated to get his attention: the way she batted her dark green eyes; the lipstick that colored her full mouth a candy-apple red; how she tossed her long black hair over her shoulder; the words she whispered in his ear; the rhythmic way she moved her hips when she walked, a sexy metronome meant to hypnotize him. But it was especially in the way she dressed: heels, white pants that hugged her curves like a second skin, a sleeveless black blouse unbuttoned far enough to allow a glimpse of cleavage. Add it all together and Tommy could have ignored his lust for her no more than he could shut off the sun.
    “Naomi…” Tommy groaned as he slid his hand up her thigh, across her waist, rising toward her breast.
    “Naughty boy,” she scolded, moving his hand away.
    “But I can’t stand it anymore,” he complained, his breathing ragged and his face flushed.
    “Everything in due time, sugar. Don’t you worry none, the day you want so bad ain’t that far away. For now, just keep on doin’ what you were doin.”
    Like a well-trained dog, Tommy went back to kissing her neck.
    Naomi smiled. The power that she wielded was potent. She wanted Tommy hanging on her every word, obedient, even a little bit frustrated, bottled up like a volcano ready to erupt. She couldn’t have said why it was this way, not exactly. Tommy was handsome and doting, though immature. The truth was, she had no reason for turning him down. It certainly wasn’t because she was a virgin. At a young age, when most girls were growing into their bodies, she had understood that her looks could get her anything she wanted, so long as she was occasionally willing to give something in return.
    So far, with Tommy, she hadn’t had to offer much.
    It had become a game to her, though Naomi would have struggled to explain why she played. Because the hold she had on Tommy was intoxicating, she supposed, though she worried that might be slipping a bit.
    The night at the cemetery when she’d knocked over the tombstone, drunk from the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s tavern, Tommy had been reluctant to cut loose, worried that they were going to get caught.
    “Quit bein’ such a goddamn kid,” she had slurred.
    “We shouldn’t be here,” he argued.
    “Maybe I oughta find me a man who ain’t gonna worry ’bout gettin’ into trouble. There’s plenty who’d be happy to take your place…”
    Tommy had protested loudly; it was because they were arguing that they hadn’t heard the sheriff’s car, so when he flicked on his lights, the broken tombstone lying at their feet, Naomi had momentarily frozen. Next thing she knew, she was running. She expected Tommy to be right behind her, but when she burst through the honeysuckle bushes at the wood’s edge, she was alone. Glancing back, her eyes blurry from the liquor, she watched him give himself up. Then she left without a shred of remorse. Fortunately for her, he’d held his tongue and not spoken a word about her involvement. Naomi could only imagine how angry his mother had been to find out that her precious son was in jail.
    I sure wish I could’ve seen that…
    Petty as it was, a small part of the reason Naomi was still with Tommy was because it drove Clara Sinclair crazy.
    She knew little about the woman; as a kid, she’d stood in front of Clara’s bank window when her father made an infrequent deposit. She’d always seemed to be nice enough. Like everyone else in