Buddy wasn’t nearly as good a lover as Tate was, but he sure had stamina. Too much stamina for Silk’s taste. As he pounded into her body for the fourth time Saturday night, she squeezed her eyes shut, pretending that Tate was on top of her. But her little game of pretense wasn’t working. Tate had finesse and was a gentle lover. He used the soft touch of his hands and the honeyed sweetness of his kiss to get her riled up and in the mood. Silk supposed that putting up with Buddy’s brutishness in bed was the price she had to pay for her shiny Cadillac, her fashionable wardrobe, and the comforts of her lovely home. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could suffer through Buddy’s bad love-making when she yearned to be lying in bed next to Tate. But Tate was a mystery. He had sets of keys to six or seven different places, yet none was his home. He claimed to have a bachelor pad in Philadelphia but hardly ever went there due to the amount of business he had to conduct in Chester.
