Lost Love

This story is for Yas. You know that you're the inspiration, and also that incessant nagging voice when I get too lazy. MG, I hope you find the courage to take that step to happiness some day. You deserve so much more simply because of the person you are. This is meant as a dedication and a heartfelt thank you for all that you are in my life. Love you.

* * * * *

Kathryn stood at the open window, nine storeys above the city, her hands on the waist-high sill. A soft breeze played with the ends of her hair. She stared at the view laid out in front of her, her eyes taking in the stark beauty. The blackness of the night seemed like a perfect reflection of her mood. The thousands of separate twinkling lights scattered like so many diamonds of a broken necklace, a fitting parallel to the shards of her own aching heart. The silence echoed her loneliness.

Behind her was her lover, splayed out on the bed between tangled sheets still warm from sex.

Her mind went over the past two days. Where had it gone wrong? From his arrival at the airport yesterday to this moment, it had been idyllic. Why then did she feel this deep overwhelming sadness now? She thought back through the two days, each instant and every detail playing out in her mind in clear visuals.

* * * * *

Soft brown hair, the greenest of eyes, a sharp, straight nose and dangly earrings that caught the light and glinted with the smallest shake of her head. She made a lovely picture as she sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her legs crossed, glancing at her watch repeatedly, impatiently. The material of her dress hugged her torso, wrapping itself over and between her breasts, collecting at her waist and hanging down in an irregular cut a little below her knee. The leg that dangled in the air showcased high heels and a delicate ankle on which a tattoo trailed away and vanished into the inside of her leg - shapely, slender legs.

Kathryn had taken care with her appearance. She had to look her best for him.

Once more she peeked at her watch, and noticed the wedding ring still on her finger. She had forgotten about that. Quickly taking it off, she slipped it into the clutch purse in her lap. Perhaps she should stop wearing it altogether...?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and wondered if she should go check herself in a mirror once again. Maybe her lipstick needed refreshing? A quick brush through her hair perhaps?

The nervousness was unnecessary. Anybody looking at her would tell her that she embodied perfection. And if she paid any attention to the looks of the men around her, she would know it. Every male eye was surreptitiously looking at her. The women were more open with their stares, envious, almost jealous. She looked more like one of the models on the covers of her magazines than the editor in chief of the country's leading women's fortnightly.

Kathryn fidgeted again, took out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. Fifteen more minutes according to the last announcement. She smoothed a hand over the faultlessly ironed dress, feeling the soft fabric under her palms. He would like that. Texture was a big thing for him. She thought about later, when his hands would be on her dress. Would he stop to caress the smoothness before taking the dress off her? Or would he be too impatient to take her?

A shiver ran through her slight frame at the thought.

The first passengers started arriving just as she stubbed out her cigarette. She got up and walked over to the railing to look for him. He said he'd only have his carry on bag. He should be among the first ones off the plane.

Her eyes scanned the flood of people scurrying out from a single point of entry. Hands clutching the metal railing, she felt a tightening in her stomach. Now that the time had finally come, she was too nervous. More than nervous. Would it be the same as the last few times they'd met? Or...?

They had been having problems lately. Too many fights. Too many little squabbles. Too much frustration. And, she suspected, not enough love.

She had thought long and hard when he had suggested that they meet for Valentine's Day. Two days to themselves. He had suggested them as a peace offering - and as a beginning to meeting more of her demands she hoped. Her doubts about the both of them had not been put to rest totally, but he had asked her to trust him about this. And she had.

Her eyes met his above the heads of hurrying humanity and she forgot everything else. He was striding through the crowd, having a little difficulty due to his broad frame. He tapped on shoulders and excused his way through, his eyes darting away to look at where he was going, but coming back to her, holding her gaze for a scant moment, then moving away again. Each time their eyes locked, she felt a tingle somewhere deep within her.

And then he was walking out of the gate for passengers to her right, on the other side of the railing still. She matched his pace on her side of the railing, their eyes locked on each other as they walked the length of the railing that was two-deep with people waiting for their loved ones.

Her eyes roved over his face, his hard features, his unconventional looks, the intensity in his eyes. He was not handsome. If she had one word to describe him, Kathryn would choose powerful. His rugged features combined with his wide-shouldered build were a very potent and deadly combination, as many of his colleagues would no doubt confirm. His forceful personality and strong mind were an added asset in his chosen profession. His record of cases won was testimony enough.

He was powerful, he was successful, and he was hers. Well, his heart anyway, if not all of him.

They reached the end of the railing and turned into each other's arms. His broad body engulfed her slender one. The bear hug was a little too tight for her, but she didn't mind as she buried her face into his warm chest, her whole body pressing into his, shamelessly. Her hands wrapped themselves around his waist and she felt his solidness under her palms, delighting in the feeling. Tears formed behind closed eyes as Kathryn fought to control the intense emotions flooding through her.

God! She had missed him.

A kiss landed on the top of her head. "Hello, love," he whispered.

A small tear escaped and she sniffled.

"Oh, baby." The hands on her back worked up and down, soothing her. "You okay?"

She nodded against his chest and wiped the corner of her eye with one fingertip. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back to meet his eyes. "I missed you something awful."

"Kath." His eyes were moist too. He cleared his throat. "I missed you too." He looked around them then, over her head, noticing where they were. "Let's get out of here."

They could barely keep apart in the cab all the way to the hotel. His hands refused to stay still, stroking her hair, parts of her shoulder, upper arm, entwining his fingers through hers, playing with the hem of her dress until she took them in hers with an amused look and held them still, captive. So he just looked at her. His eyes roved over her body, stripping her and warming her to his gaze right there.

Finally, they arrived at the hotel. She could sense his impatience as they went through the lobby, the registration and finally to the lift and the corridor to their room.

* * * * *

That first time was pure need. Hurried, passion-filled, eager fingers and half-breaths as their hands vied with each other, groped at hooks and buttons and zippers as soon as they were behind a closed door. The urgency mounted. Clothes came off, almost ripped, and he was staring at her in a lacy slip.

He paused in the headlong rush to smile and trace a finger over the lace edge, running it lightly over the swell of her breast. "Beautiful," he murmured before burying his nose between, taking in the hint of perfume that she always dabbed between her breasts.

Her hands found the back of his head and wandered in his hair, delighting in the soft richness. Fingers flexed around handfuls as his tongue licked at her, lingering, moving up to her collarbone, tracing a path up her neck in small, random, ticklish stabs.

She squirmed, as he knew she would, and pulled him to her, wanting him to kiss her. They clung to each other, hands moving, not able to decide which part to touch first, or pause at. It was amazing how they found their own harmony in the confusion of arms, clothes, shoulders and hips, never once stopping or fumbling in their need to get at the other.

They undressed what was left between greedy kisses in perfect, unspoken coordination. She never knew when they moved to the bed, but they were there and he was laying her down on the springy mattress, coming down beside her, wrapping his bulk around her slight figure.

He never stopped, his mouth finding places that he knew pleasured her, his hands tracing vivid patterns on her back and his hips pushing into hers with a raw need that took her breath away. When he entered her, she cried out with the force of it, pressing her hands down on his lower back to tell him to go on.

And he continued, with his hands crossed under her head, his head buried beside hers, his breaths laboured and warm against her naked shoulder, her body covered by his and her ankles hooked around the back of his knees while he thrust himself right into her core until there was nothing but the warmth of him surrounding her, his feel inside of her and his scent in her senses and she finally splintered like the hundreds of tiny spots against the lids of her tightly closed eyes, her nails digging into his back, tears slipping down in wet trails down the sides of her face into her hairline.

Somewhere, at the outer edges of her consciousness and within the circle of her arms, she felt him tremble, tense and say her name in a tortured moan as he plunged into her one last time before shuddering into a gradual stillness and collapsing on top of her.

They rolled onto their sides and he gathered her against his chest, trailing a hand down her spine as he whispered his love to her. She luxuriated in the togetherness, her mind lazily trying to gather all the various imprints of his body against hers. Her hands roamed his chest. The liberally sprinkled hair tickled the tips of her fingers as she ran them through it.

"I don't want to let you go," he told her, and that's when she felt that first twinge at the place where she thought her heart was. Why should he have to let her go, she thought. Why say this now? Her arms closed around him, tighter, and he reciprocated, both of them joined together in mind and body as they pressed into each other.

The next time they made love was slower, gentler, languorous. They took their time, rediscovering how to pleasure each other all over again, reaching out and exploring places, reactions, feelings. He laid his mark on her, branded her with his teeth, with a squeeze, with a fingertip, with a look. She got overheated at his gentle marauding, wrapping cool sheets around herself when she couldn't take it anymore; and then he touched her through them, running his hands over her sheathed body or sucking at the cloth until it stuck to her in damp patches on which he blew, making her laugh.

He peeled them off her and simply looked at her until she felt like her whole body was blushing, and then he kissed every bit of her, bowing his head over her and telling her without words what she meant to him. Each touch was a silky caress, each wet kiss a delight.

Kathryn had never felt happier. It felt like his love was liquid warmth that he was pouring on her from the intensity of his eyes, the tenderness of his touch and the broken hoarse whispers of his incomprehensible words.

When he took her again, she felt every sensation minutely... his hands on her hips, his length filling her, their joint desire thick and sweet. The afternoon turned to the diffused orange-red of the early evening as they made love in slow abandon, again and again, savouring each touch, squeezing the most pleasure out of their togetherness.

Totally wrung out by the time it was dark, they realised that they were hungry. Ravenous. He had booked a place for dinner through a friend, but it was still some time before they were due there. So they had two packets of Cheetohs in bed before they got dressed.

It was precious, the illusion of domestic everyday life they went through in that impersonal hotel suite. The completely normal way they used the bathroom together, not minding the other's presence, Kathryn pinning up her hair in the bathroom mirror while he had his shower. And then she forgot to breathe when she saw him in the suit that hugged his shoulders.

Dinner was exceptional. The restaurant he'd booked was one of those posh, luxurious places, with that hushed, expensive silence falling around them in heavy waves, broken only by soft, romantic music and the tinkle of silverware. Everything was just right and discreetly made to sink into the background to relax them and help them concentrate on each other, and they did.

Food was another sensual affair, conducted publicly, through their eyes; and tongues and lips and spoons and forks. It was something you could do only with someone who knew the different parts of your mind better than you knew them yourself. A certain lick of the corner of your lips and a dropping of the eyes or that particular look and the tightening of a hand over a napkin, small gestures, but telling only when you were attuned to each other to perfection.

Back in their room, they cuddled, her face against his neck, and talked. He told her about his latest case and she related the latest cover page gaffe and how she had hired a new fashion editor. He told her about the antics of his toddler and she went through the recent problems she'd been having with her daughters. Words and touches intermingled, comfortably getting slurred and slower as they got sleepier, the tiredness of the day finally catching up with them until they finally fell asleep in a warm tangle of arms and legs.

* * * * *

She woke up to him nuzzling her neck. Hooking one slender arm around his neck, she stretched languidly, arching into his body as he looked on at her unselfconscious beauty.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love," he whispered into her soft skin.

She smiled as she whispered it back to him.

A sleep-filled kiss later he asked her what she wanted that day. "Your wish, my lady, is my command," he pronounced.

She paused a bit before answering. "I want my every morning to be filled with you. I want your arms to hold me like this and you waking me up like this. I want many more nights like yesterday and I want to be secure in the knowledge that you're mine. I want to hug that thought to myself and make it come true." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I want... I want... I want a whole lifetime with you."

She swallowed.

"But... right now, breakfast," she continued, trying to diffuse the moment. "And after that, I want to walk through the streets with your hand in mine, looking at windows filled with beautiful things and buying them in our dreams and planning what we'd do with them. I want to be a tourist and take lots of photographs. I also want you to buy me flowers and a cool drink. And maybe a straw hat."

His smile spread against her skin as her list wound down, and there was a nibble at the mention of a straw hat. "Yes, it wouldn't be quite the same without the straw hat," he agreed.

And the day was exactly how she had imagined it to be. Right out of a dream. But only so much better. They went to all the touristy places, with all their noise and crowds and the common, sweaty smell of too many humans that went through these places everyday. They never noticed. All they seemed to see was each other, the way his eyes lit up at her smile, the way the sun highlighted golden sparks in her hair as it shone through, the way their hands fit perfectly, the way she charmed the ticket collector at the gate with a bright grin.

They walked around with their arms around each other, seeing everything like it was the first time. Trees. Birds. The cracks in the pavements. Everything was too intense, too clean, too concentrated, edged faintly with pink and tied with a ribbon. Kathryn filed away slides of every moment in her mind, storing it away to be gone over carefully later. They took numerous pictures, but more than that, they made memories.

As the day progressed, a thought that was niggling at the back of Kathryn's mind took shape and grew. This would be the last day they'd have together, till... when? When would be the next instance they could take time off from their respective lives and meet up like this, furtively, and live another one of these fairytale days?

She railed against the unfairness of it all, that she, who loved this man so much, should share him with all the other things in his life. That he should have a whole other life, one in which she didn't figure anywhere except in stolen, hidden bits here and there. That she supposedly meant so much to him, but when it came to it, there was nothing he could do about these feelings, except put them in words and go back to his life at the end of the day.

But then she reminded herself that she was the other woman. It was her lot to take whatever she could and be happy with it. She couldn't ask for more, though she did, so many times, forgetting herself and almost begging. But her turn would always come last – after he had given himself to everything and everyone else – his work, his wife, his children. Nothing would change that. Those were the terms and she had to live by them.

A gloom settled over her happiness, lining it and turning the whole dream bittersweet. The deep enjoyment that she had been taking to this point was now faintly edged by sadness. And it grew, so that by dinner she was solemn and much too quiet. The easy smiles had dried up, replaced by brief, uneasy ones.

When he gave her the Valentine's Day gift before dinner, a tiny pendant in the shape of a heart lined with diamonds, her eyes twinkled briefly as she opened the box.

"It's beautiful," she said, awed. And it was.

He just smiled at her. He knew she'd love it.

She slipped it onto the chain she was wearing and it nestled between her breasts. Her fingers sought it out throughout the evening again and again as they ate, as if reassuring herself of his love by touching it.

He noticed, but didn't say anything. Her frame of mind affected him too. He knew what was going through her head; it wasn't the first time.

The dark mood was carried over to their room, like something tangible. It entered the lift with them, walked between them, down the corridor and was present all through, getting into bed with them, under the covers, as they faced each other and stared into the other's eyes.

Kathryn gave him a wry smile. "This is it then?"

"We still have a few hours," he reminded her.

She nodded. Her flight was early in the morning.

Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt. There was a studied intensity to her actions, like she wanted to remember every bit of the remaining time, burning it into her head. And like she didn't want to acknowledge that their time was running out, ticking away. If she could just shut her mind to it, then it would go away.

With the sweep of her fingers on his chest, she told him of her desperation. The tense pressure told of her helplessness. Her clenched jaw betrayed her anger at herself, at needing him so much and not being satisfied with what finally came her way after being distributed among the legitimates.

Their coupling was more of her feelings being played out than an expression of love. It was need, anger, want and frustration. Their fingers intertwined and locked, palm against palm as Kathryn straddled him, the smooth insides of her legs against the roughness of his outer thighs. Her knees pressed into his hips, her gaze linked to his.