Hands. There were hands everywhere. Hands and tongues. Someone's hands on her breasts, and another pair of hands holding her legs open, where one tongue was licking her ardently. Her hands twined in golden curled hair and her tongue twisting with the man who owned it. Then he was gone, replaced my the man with the so-handsome face, capturing her mouth so that she could taste herself on his lips. The other man's mouth now working between her legs, she felt herself falling, falling, and then she was coming, and laughter was bubbling up out of her. Then he entered her, stealing her laughter away on a long moan. Then they were both inside her, and she was kissing him, and they were kissing each other, and they were both kissing her, and she felt like crying and laughing at the same time as she tumbled over the edge into oblivion once more.
-----
Claire looked around vaguely, wondering for a moment whose limbs were whose. Then she turned her head and found herself nose-to-nose with Sebastien.
"Hi," she said, then dissolved into soft giggles.
He raised an eyebrow, amused, then kissed the tip of her nose.
"Don't I get a hello, too?" asked René from behind her. She turned, and shivered at the feeling of skin sliding against her sensitive skin.
"Hi," she said, making herself laugh again. She lay on her back, noticing both men watching the movement of her breasts. Sebastien propped himself up on his elbow, glancing at René.
"Mon frère," he said, sliding a hand over her right breast, "shall we see if we can make her hysterical?"
-----
This was more or less the way it had been for the past three months. It was now May, nearing the end of her first season with the symphony, and she and Sebastien showed no signs of slowing down. Every now and again, like today, Sebastien invited René into the bedroom with them, and Claire was finding it to be quite a pleasure.
Adhering to her promise, she never went to his apartment without first being invited. Before rehearsal, he would slide a note underneath her dressing room door if he wanted to see her that night, and she would usually accompany him home. Other days, he would call - or have his driver call - to set up a time to pick her up. To amuse both of them, she would occasionally blow him off... and pay for it the next time she saw him.
Still, she couldn't quite shake the uneasiness she still felt, the tension in her body that just wouldn't go away when Sebastien tied her up, tied her down, spanked her. She enjoyed it, of course, immensely, but she couldn't relax. It was like she couldn't admit to herself that she wanted it, craved it, no, needed it. Sometimes she even berated herself, telling herself it was unnatural and sexist and ridiculous, but it didn't stop the desire. Then she would argue the other side, that it was normal to feel this way, it was okay, but she couldn't make herself relax. So she had settled into an awkward pattern, comforting herself that Sebastien didn't seem to notice.
Spring also brought other realizations with it. Claire had never paid much attention before, but it occurred to her at some point that Sebastien had gone back to France somewhat regularly, about once every other month. Since they had reconnected, he hadn't been back once, and they had enjoyed a somewhat idyllic, regular affair. So it came as somewhat of a surprise when Sebastien broached the topic one afternoon as they lay lazily in his bed. Stripes of sunshine slanted across the bed, slowly drifting off to one side.
"Hmmm, what did you say?" Claire murmured, pushing strands of hair out of her eyes and willing herself to focus on Sebastien, who let out a short sigh.
"I am going to be in Paris all next week," he replied. A thought occurred to her, but before she could even open her mouth, Sebastien was responding to her unspoken words. "No, I am not taking you. It is a family visit, and would you not think it strange for me to take you along, my plaything?"
Claire wanted to be offended, but she could see his point. "Fair enough. As long as you don't avail yourself of any other playthings while you're away," she said lightly, but pointedly.
"Moi?" He placed his fingertips on his chest with a look of surprise. "Do you think I am the type to hire a prostitute?"
"Well, you're certainly not a man who would need to, but yes, I think you would if you wanted to."
Turning serious, he placed a hand on her waist. "My demand for exclusivity was not limited to you; I hope you are aware of that."
Truthfully, she had guessed he wasn't seeing anyone else, but she hadn't been absolutely sure. "I am now," she mumbled.
"I am sorry if it was not clear before." He was looking into her eyes, so steadily, as if looking for something there. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, dropped her gaze away from his. "Come, what's the matter?"
Claire felt her lips move into a pout, even as she struggled not to. "I'm not going to see you for a week."
He smiled broadly. "You will miss me, is that it?"
"I didn't say that..." Sighing softly, Sebastien rolled over onto her, kissing her cheeks and neck. She turned her head to the side. "Will you... call me?"
"I promise."
-----
Claire was poised on the edge of her bed, ready to pounce on the phone if it should ring, which she anxiously hoped for. That evening, she had stalked nervously around her apartment, taken her hair out of its bindings and brushed it, repinned her hair, mindlessly eaten an entire package of baby spinach - leaf by leaf - and a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter, attempted to practice the arias for an upcoming show, flicked through a half dozen channels on TV, showered, meticulously attended to her nails, braided her hair, and finally flounced down on her bed, exhausted from near-paroxysms of anxiety.
When the phone did finally ring, Claire had to ball her hands tightly to restrain herself from picking up on the first ring. No reason to appear too much like she was waiting on the call. She was, though! She had missed Sebastien's first call, and he had said he would call today, and so far, nothing. She took a deep breath as the second ring faded into silence, and then snatched up the receiver in the middle of the third ring.
"Hello?" she asked, as casually as possible.
"I hope I have not kept you waiting too long," drawled a deeply accented voice on the other end.
"No, of course not," she replied. Sebastien's soft chuckle warmed her right down to her toes.
"Mon abeille, when will you ever learn that I can tell when you are lying to me?"
Claire shrugged uncomfortably, then realized he couldn't see her. She opted to change the subject.
"How is Paris, Maestro?" It sounded sulky even to her.
"Lovely, as always."
"When are you coming home?"
"Do you miss me, mon abeille?"
"Maybe..."
She heard the smile in his voice as he said, "Soon. Very soon."
-----
Finally, the day came. After two weeks, Sebastien was finally coming home from Paris, and Claire was beside herself. Her skin was aching for his touch, and though she dared not admit it - even to herself - it wasn't the only part of her that had missed him. He had mentioned offhandedly that he was coming home on the late eleven o'clock flight, but hadn't said a word about when he planned to see her. She supposed it wasn't fair to think that his first desire would be to see her when he returned home. Still, she wondered, why would he have told her the time of his flight if he hadn't been thinking of that?
At last, she opted for the calculated risk of surprising him at the airport. She dressed carefully in a sexy black dress she knew he particularly admired on her, and took a cab to his apartment building, hoping that, at ten o'clock, his driver would not yet have left. Indeed, the car was still in its usual spot, and the driver - whose name she had finally learned was Alan - was not there. She lounged against it, and he soon appeared. Where did he live, anyway, and how did he get here, she wondered.
Alan looked startled to see her. "Did Monsieur Boulet ask you to come?"
Uh-oh. Claire stood up straight, looked coolly at Alan. "If he hadn't, would I be here?"
He looked at her dubiously, but unlocked the car doors and allowed her to get in. As always, neither one spoke during the drive, and the quiet whooshing sounds of the other cars on the road seemed almost to amplify the silence in the vehicle. Claire always got the impression that Alan didn't like her, or was at least vaguely disapproving of something - her, the relationship between herself and Sebastien, she could never be sure. She was almost surprised he had let her get into the car at all.
As Alan turned into the airport, her heart started jittering and skipping in her chest. She felt a sudden sense of foreboding. She tried to convince herself that she was just being ridiculous as he pulled up to the curb, but then she saw Sebastien, and he was not alone. He was still a good distance away, but she could see the woman who was walking along at his side, clutching his arm familiarly.
Her first thought was, who is that woman? She was about his own age, with glossy dark curls and heels that brought her height up to his.
Her second thought was, whoever she is, Sebastien is going to be very unpleased to have to explain my presence to her.
Alan was behind the car now, opening the trunk in preparation for Sebastien's luggage, and Claire hurriedly got out of the car. She dashed across the busy street, and down the sidewalk on the other side, where they would be sure not to see her. She hailed a cab, and prayed that Alan wouldn't betray her. He had no motivation to tell, she reasoned, but he also had no loyalty to her.
