Hunger Read Free

times. Suddenly I was overwhelmingly tired, sick of the entire situation, the seedy little drama acted out weekly here in the Ballroom of Romance.
    â€œDeirdre?” Max was glaring down at me, an expression of warning on his face. “Are you feeling okay?”
    I looked at the two of them standing there expectantly and suppressed my unexpected emotional reaction. “I’m fine, thank you, Max.” I smiled at Bill and gestured to the chair recently vacated by Max. “Please, sit down.”
    As Bill did so, Max politely excused himself with a twisted smile. “Well, I’ve got a business to run. Enjoy yourselves.”
    Now that we were alone, I had no other option but to proceed as I normally would. I looked over at Bill and smiled again, hoping that my sudden disgust hadn’t been too obvious. This was my life now and I could never turn back. It is too late, I admonished myself, for an attack of conscience. Too late to worry about how this evening would affect his life, his family. Too late for anything but this.
    He returned my smile and I realized what a good choice Max had made for this evening; he certainly knew my taste in men. Youthful and attractive, but not devastatingly so, Bill Andrews was pleasant, unassuming and waiting for me to make the first move. I usually preferred being the predator, but tonight, for some reason beyond my understanding, I had no taste for the hunt. Maybe Max was right; I was losing my touch. I reached for another cigarette and as he lit it for me, I saw his wedding band gleam in the flame. In that instant, my heart hardened and I abandoned my rueful thoughts. He was just another bastard looking for some action. And, I thought vehemently as I gave him an appraising stare, he would get some.
    He cleared his throat and pulled at his tie; my silence had unnerved him. Seeking to repair the damage, I smiled my most inviting smile and gestured towards the dance floor. “Let’s have another glass of wine before we join the crowd. I hate to dance sober, don’t you?” He agreed with a laugh that relaxed us both. We began to engage in the typical small talk that leads to seduction, my flattering attention to the talk of his career, his compliments on my appearance and body. By the time we finished our wine, we had moved closer together, our knees making contact under the table. His hand brushed my thigh and remained there; I could feel the heat of his touch through the leather. “Time to dance,” I said provocatively, took his hand and led him to the dance floor.
    Making an effort to seem slightly drunk as we began to dance, I leaned against him and he held me tightly and possessively. I made no effort to pull back from him. This was what I wanted now; it was no longer just acceptance of the inevitable. I had become intoxicated, not with the wine, but with the flesh of this man. I put my head on his shoulder so that I could better savor his aroma, the cologne he wore, the muskiness of perspiration, the acrid smell of wine on his breath. I could feel his heart pounding next to my breast, the rhythm matching my own heart and the music. As he became more aroused he whispered in my ear, “Sweet, oh, sweet.” He kept repeating it like a prayer to a goddess. His hands were caressing my back and I was trembling with the urgency of my own need.
    â€œCome with me,” I said, and he followed obediently.
    The corridor outside the bar had a few secluded rooms known only to those intimately familiar with the place. I led Bill to one of these places; a lounge, seldom used, with a sturdy lock on the door and a comfortable oversized couch. The music from the band could be heard softly in the background and the bar was equipped with the burgundy I liked. I poured two glasses while he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. Sitting next to him on the sofa, I handed him his wine. He drained it in one gulp, then seemed embarrassed, so I followed suit. This