Sheltering Dunes by Radclyffe Read Free Book Online Page A

month from the fourth month on. I promise.” Tory popped the button on Reese’s waistband and worked her way down to the next one. “And at the first sign of anything going wrong…” Tory dipped her fingers into Reese’s briefs and pushed down, stopping just over her clitoris.
    Reese sucked in a hard breath. “You can’t promise—”
    “Yes, I can. I know what I’m facing. I promise I won’t let anything happen to me during this pregnancy. I won’t put you through that again.”
    Reese held on to the railing so hard she was afraid she’d crack the boards. Her knees were wobbling. She was going to drop any second. “I need you.”
    Tory played her free hand up and down Reese’s hard abdomen, then gripped the waistband of her jeans and tugged. “I know. I need you too. Right now I need you to be all mine.”
    “I’m always all yours.” Reese grasped Tory’s wrists before she lost all focus. “Let’s go inside. Time to get the little swimmers on their way.”
    “Mmm.” Tory leaned into Reese. “Rumor has it a well-timed orgasm will give them a running start.”
    “That can be arranged.”
    Tory laughed. Reese took her hand and walked out of the shadows into the safety of home.
     
    *
     
    Flynn traveled west on Commercial, threading her way through the early-evening throngs. After Labor Day the tourist traffic cut down, but October was a popular month—the last gasp of Indian summer when the leaf peepers still flooded New England and the town geared up for Women’s Week, one of the biggest events of the year. With Columbus Day weekend still a while away, most of the stores and restaurants were open and shoppers and sidewalk crawlers took advantage of the unseasonably warm early fall evening to stroll the streets. She slowed in front of the Shoreline restaurant. The plate glass windows were dark, and inside, chairs were piled on the small tables that filled the storefront. She knew Mica wouldn’t be here—the restaurant, popular with locals and tourists alike, closed after a late lunch hour. Still, she had come to check, a bubble of expectation in her throat. And just as she had known, her anticipation was greeted with empty silence. The steeple clock at Town Hall chimed eight, and the unoccupied tables and chairs reminded her she hadn’t eaten dinner. She didn’t cook much, preferring to grab a sandwich or a piece of pizza after shift.
    She turned and started back to the center of town. On impulse, she deviated down the board sidewalk to the Piper Bar. Midweek, off-season, the place was fairly deserted. A few locals sat at the bar, several couples swayed on the dance floor adjoining the rear deck, and a few others occupied tables around the edge of the room. One bartender worked the bar. Flynn slid onto a stool and waited.
    “Help you?” A redhead in a tight black T-shirt with a sequined peacock over her breasts slapped a cocktail napkin in front of Flynn.
    “A beer. Whatever dark you’ve got on draft.”
    “Sure thing.”
    The redhead turned away, and Flynn studied the napkin, remembering the last time she’d been here. She’d had a date with Allie. Their first date. They’d danced and walked home hand in hand. They’d kissed on her sofa, and the kisses had led to more. But Allie had stopped her when she might not have stopped herself, and that was unusual for her. She wasn’t a go-all-the-way-on-the-first-date sort of person. But Allie had made it easy to forget who she was. Allie made it easy to forget a lot of things.
    “Here you go. Three fifty.” The bartender set a glass in the center of the white napkin, and a dark ring spread out around its base from water dripping down the sides of the glass. Flynn extracted a five from her wallet. “Keep the change.”
    “Thanks, hon.” The bartender hesitated. “What’s your name?”
    “Flynn.”
    “I’m Marylou. You’re new in town.”
    “Been here almost a month,” Flynn said.
    “Planning to stay?”
    “Yes.” Until she’d