All parts Copyright © 2009. All rights reserved.
PART 1 of 3
Daniel Stockton pressed his foot harder against the accelerator of his mud-caked Defender 90. He had been away too long. Clouds of dust and rocks shot away from the thick tires as they ploughed through the winding mountain road. He knew this path well, but it had been nearly four months since he'd been home. And he knew she'd be waiting for him.
Squinting, he dropped his mirrored sunglasses down onto the bridge of his rugged nose. The early morning sun fired lasers through the pines that tickled his pupils and made him smile. He pictured her eyes. Two endless pools of electric blue and green that echoed the rolling sea. He remembered how those eyes would tenderly, eagerly examine the muscles in his arms, his shoulders and settle on his face. Like search lights they probed his eyes, effortlessly coaxing his body to respond. It had been too long.
He tried to fill in the rest of her face as he drove on. His hands loosely but confidently gripped the steering wheel. He jammed the wheel left, center, left again, right, in response to the road. Her olive skin. Her high cheekbones and supple lips that moved like silk over his rough skin. Hard right, back to center, downshift. Her hair fell in deep brown curls over and around her shoulders.
His beast of a truck shook and rocked back and forth, side to side, skidding along the uneven surface. He jammed the breaks, swung around to the right, shifted and hit the gas again as he followed yet another switchback up the mountain side. Only 5 more miles. He loved the mountains, but this was now a tedious distance. His heartbeat quickened.
Perhaps her hair would be up when he entered the cabin, exposing the velvet brown ropes of muscle and tendon running from ear to collarbone. He pictured the gentle wisps of hair tapering down to the nape of her neck. Her elegant shoulders. Her soft skin. He wanted her now.
Four miles. Would she be in the kitchen? Would she be on the deck, working on her paper? He saw the delicious curves of her thigh as she sat with one leg planted on the seat of the chair, the other on the floor. No, it's still early; she would be lost in the endless down comforter on their wood-framed king, still sleeping, her chest heaving rhythmically in dreams.
Daniel pictured her body in their bed and his smile grew. He pushed his weight back into the seat and adjusted his jeans with a tug of his hand. He was eager to get home. Only three miles to go.
****
Sarah Marcus was wide awake, in spite of a poor night's sleep. She couldn't help herself. She knew he would be home today and she was excited.
The air in the log house still held the chill of night, even with the rays of sun streaming in the windows. She looked at the clock. It was early, not quite 8. Out of the refrigerator she took enough ingredients for a feast and made piles on the kitchen island: eggs, bacon, bread, peppers, cheese, butter, biscuits, orange juice. She would make him a little breakfast. He would eat well today. He would taste her today. She felt her face blush. What if he was delayed? With a sigh, she put everything back.
She nearly danced her way over to the den, her bare feet skipping lightly over the woven rugs and bare wood floor of the mountain cabin. Yoga? Not today. She would read.
Deep breath. She settled into the soft leather sofa and picked up one of her texts, opened it to where she left off. The book smelled like academics, like print and acrid glue. She smoothed her hand over the page. She thought about his hands, calloused and tender. She closed her eyes. She felt his palm settle on the small of her back, fingers sliding deftly under the lip of her cotton shirt, pulling her closer to him. Warm bodies pressed together.
She slapped the book shut. She would take a shower. That was what she would do. Shower.
She trotted lightly up the carved log steps of the staircase to the lofted bedroom above. She passed the unmade bed and went into the bathroom. She pulled off her shirt and pushed her soft pajama bottoms and underwear down to her ankles. With a practiced kick, she tossed them to the corner. She turned on the shower. She wanted it hot. She wanted to drown in steam.
As she waited impatiently for the water to heat up, Sarah examined herself in the mirror. She didn't think herself unattractive, but she hungered for the way Danny looked at her. Made her feel special. They had been apart for too long. Enough waiting already!
She played with her curls, piling them up to the top of her head. She looked at her familiar eyes. Nothing new there. She pursed her lips and turned her head aside to examine her neck. That's a fun pose. All of sudden she felt like a teenage girl. She would pose for him like a model. She would feign runway sex appeal.
She chuckled and let her eyes lower to the rest of her body. Her breasts, her waist, her curved hips, the trimmed patch of her black pubic hair. And she felt mostly pleased. She wanted to look good for him. And she was almost sure she did. She was slim, athletic, but not skinny. Living at altitude helped, but so did an active lifestyle. She looked at her breasts. Yes, they were slightly lower than they used to be, but still full and round. Ah well.
The steam interrupted her ritualistic scrutiny. She stepped behind the fogged glass of the shower stall and flinched at the hot water. She adjusted the dial. Her body tingled in waves as hot water poured over her head, through her hair and rolled pleasingly down the gentle curves of her body.
She thought for a moment about work, about her writing, about her family back east. Images of her life flashed through her mind accompanied by snippets of songs, commercials, and recent conversations with friends. She should publish. She should take another class. She should buy Crest.
Sarah breathed in the moist hot air then turned and buried her face in the vigorous spray of hot water. Eyes closed, she reached for the soap. She lathered, inhaling the lavender aroma, and caressed her body in a kind of daze. She pictured herself showering with Danny, as they had on their last anniversary after a delicious meal and a little too much wine. She pictured the water pouring over his chest, making regular patterns in the dark hair on his torso, arms and thighs. She remembered how the water diluted the taste of him when they kissed. And she smiled gently at their laughter when the spray kept getting in their eyes.
Showering together is only rarely as erotic as it is as an idea. Especially when both are drunk.
With a slight wave of vertigo, Sarah opened her eyes. Time to get out. She was flushed. She shut off the water, grabbed her towel and stepped out of the shower. She was tired. Lack of sleep was catching up to her. Perhaps it was time for a morning nap. Her eyes were heavy as she ran the towel over her limbs and rubbed her hair. She should moisturize. She liked the idea of massaging the scented cream into her skin all over, but frankly, she was just too tired. Maybe after she woke up.
Still damp, Sarah flopped into bed once again. She twisted herself under the down comforter and waited for it to warm up. As she did, she thought of Danny. How would he enter the house? Would he announce his arrival with pomp and fanfare? Or would he be stealthy and sneak upstairs, rousing her from sleep with a silent embrace from his gentle, muscular arms?
Her body responded to the latter fantasy. She felt her heartbeat in her chest and then between her legs. She couldn't help herself. Her hands moved slowly down her stomach, now dry and soft. They slid over her coarse pubic hair and touched the soft, swelling folds of her womanhood. She smiled at her wetness. Danny would be home soon.
After a time, she drifted off to sleep.
