Read Carla for Free Online Page B

breasts perfectly.
    It was good to feel that there was a purpose in dressing. She liked to put on clothes with the knowledge that a man would appreciate them. Oh, why couldn’t she be a stronger person! She needed somebody to make the decisions for her, somebody who could tell her what to do and keep her from situations like this one. Maybe Charles would be strong. Maybe he would tell her to divorce Ronald and marry him, and after they were married she wouldn’t have to go through hell like this again.
    The guidance of a genuinely strong man would make a tremendous amount of difference to her. Even talking with Lizzie was a help to her, but someone who could come right out and say: “This is right” and “This is wrong,” that was the real thing she needed.
    Maybe she could find it in Charles.
    She told Lizzie she would be back for dinner, noting the expression in the girl’s eyes. Did she know? At least Lizzie would never tell Ronald. Of that she was quite certain. Still, it would be much better if no one knew, if she could keep everything to herself. She climbed behind the wheel of the MG and turned the key in the ignition, racing the little car down Delaware Avenue toward the Tiffany.
    â€œAh!” Charles said. “I hoped you would come see me. Come right in.”
    She followed him into the room, impressed by the furnishing of his apartment. The furniture was all quite modernistic without being too extreme, a blend which seemed to indicate a combination of daring and taste. A pair of Modigliani prints “were hung on the far wall in simple black frames. Charles fit the room perfectly, wearing a pair of gray flannel trousers and an elegant plaid smoking jacket. He led her easily to the couch and sat down next to her.
    â€œMay I offer you a drink?”
    â€œNo,” she began, then changed her mind. “On second thought, that might be a good idea.”
    â€œMartini all right? I have a shaker mixed.”
    â€œThat’ll be fine.”
    He rose and disappeared from the room, and she waited nervously on the couch. When he returned with the drinks she sipped hers quickly, hardly listening to what he was saying. On the way down she had toyed with the idea of seeing him without letting him make love to her, but now she knew how impossible that would be. She felt too weak to make even token resistance.
    She finished her drink and he set the glasses on the coffee-table. “Carla,” he said, turning to her, “I don’t want to waste either time or words. I think you know why I asked you here, and I think I know why you came. I could proceed more slowly, but that would only be a sham.
    â€œYou’re a beautiful woman and one of the most thoroughly attractive ones I’ve ever met. I would like to make love to you.”
    She began to breath heavily.
    â€œCarla?”
    She looked into his eyes, her own eyes going soft and her lips parting automatically. Her breasts rose and fell with her uneven breathing. For a long moment neither of them moved.
    Then he took her in his arms.
    His lips on hers were a new experience, half full of fire and half full of ice. There was a passion to his kiss that she had never experienced before, a passion blended with the skill and artistry of the lover to whom love was a true art. Every movement of his mouth on hers and his hands on her back sent little fires coursing through her whole being, burning her up with their feverish intensity. She could think of nothing but the overwhelming desire to merge herself with him, to immerse her whole being in the intensity of his love.
    â€œCome this way,” he said. He took her hand and led her from the living-room through a hallway to the bedroom. The covers were drawn back, waiting for her. She stood like a person in a trance while his deft fingers lifted her sweater over her head and dropped her skirt to the floor. Then, almost without touching her, his hands removed the flimsy bra