"You're good." He kissed her ear, her hair, moving slowly back to her face. He kissed her eyebrows and dropped his glass on the floor and the glass splattered at their feet. Fortunately, the wine did not ignite as that in the bottle had. Or maybe it did; she suddenly felt as if she were standing in a pool of flames. The moment was pure eroticism, pleasurable beyond belief. Free titled her face up and began to kiss her mouth, deep kisses, that made her feel as if she were naked.

You're so bad.

He could read her mind, that boy. He took the glass out of her hand and led her to the bed where she stretched out beside him and threw her arms around his neck, while his hands moved over her body to places Bill had never wanted to venture. But Teresa did not think about her boyfriend then, nor did she think of Poppy, waiting outside in the car. Her passion consumed her, and maybe the old hag was right and it was cheap, but Teresa felt it was high time she had got a bargain. Free's mouth was all over her, and the wine in his mouth darkened her skin in places where he caressed her so that, yes, once more, it looked as if the beverage was blood, making her believe that she was bleeding and being eaten by the boy who was making love to her. Yet she laughed at the thought, in ecstacy. It was all a dream, it must be. Right then, she couldn't even remember having left home.