I was standing in front of the mirror when Laura got home. Our eyes met in the mirror as I put on my earrings, and she bent down to leave her briefcase next to the door. She wore a charcoal gray suit with matching vest, a navy blue tie and a sky blue shirt. Her dark brown hair was secured in a tight bun. She crossed the floor in bare feet, and I knew her shoes were lying next to the love seat downstairs.
"Good evening," she whispered. She kissed my neck and ran her tongue over the shell of my ear. I shuddered and pressed back against her, dressed only in my strapless black bra, black panties and stockings. She put her hands on my hips and looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Is this what you're wearing this evening? Because I may dress to match."
I smiled and said, "No. You're not as late as I led you to believe." I turned in her arms and said, "We have an hour." Her left eyebrow went up and I shook my head. "An hour that includes you showering and getting dressed and driving to the house. Behave." I angled my head toward her and she kissed my lips. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and her hands moved down to my ass. I felt her fingers through the material of my panties and I suddenly regretted shooting her down so completely.
When she broke the kiss, she moved her lips along my cheek to whisper in my ear. "Leave the panties here." She sniffed my neck, taking a moment to appreciate my perfume, and then slipped away. In the bathroom doorway, she shrugged out of her suit jacket. Something about the back of her shirt, the wrinkles in her vest, turned me on. She turned to close the door, saw me watching her, and smiled.
I waved my fingers at her, looked at my reflection in the mirror, and slid my panties down my legs and kicked them away.
#
The resort was lit up like a fortress in the woods, coming into view as we rounded a curve on the dirt road. I handed the keys over to the valet and gathered my shawl around my shoulders. I wore a wine-colored dress with thin shoulder straps, cut low on the chest and high on the leg. Laura put her arm through mine and pulled me close. Her hair was down, resting on her shoulders. She had changed into a dark black suit. The two halves of the jacket parted just enough to reveal the lace at the top of her blue camisole.
A discreet sign pointed us toward a cobblestone walkway covered by an arched trellis. Ivy and tiny white fairy lights trailed through the latticework. We walked through the tunnel of lights and greenery and found a pair of open doors that led to a ballroom. A dozen people filled a room large enough for easily ten times that amount. A trio of chandeliers hung from the ceiling, accenting the flickering candlelight from sconces along the wall.
A man in a white tuxedo approached us with a smile. I reached into my purse and withdrew the invitation we'd received in the mail. The resort was newly renovated, and this was the first Christmas party held in the ballroom. The invitation was simple; the words 'Traditions have to start sometime' written in gold script, with the address, date and time written underneath.
I handed the invitation to the man, and he smiled. "Welcome to my resort, Ms. Seward."
I thanked him and he slipped away to deal with the next arrivals. I led Laura across the floor as the band played genteel dance music. A few couples swayed on the dance floor, but I felt awkward at the idea of dancing when there were so few guests. So we stood next to the refreshment table. I took a champagne flute, handed it to Laura, and watched as she tilted her head back and took a sip.
My eyes trailed over her throat, down to the wedge of her chest exposed by her jacket. When she turned toward me, I saw a bead of wetness on her upper lip. I reached out and wiped it away with my finger, and she sucked it into her mouth. Our eyes locked as she sucked gently, and a smile danced on her lips when I pulled my finger free.
We made the rounds of the room, pausing to talk to people Laura new from the practice. I smiled when introduced, idly listening to talk of work and cases. I sipped my champagne, dutifully draping my arm around hers as I scanned the room and tried to drown out her voice.
I spotted her first, a blonde with perfect Barbie doll features. Her eyes were wide and startled, blue as ice, and her lips were painted pale pink. Her blonde hair trailed down her back in a complex ponytail and, when she turned to look toward the refreshments, I saw that her pearl white dress dipped low enough to see the dimples above her rear end. I stood, transfixed by the line of her spine, and watched as she crossed the room. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and I took a slow sip of my champagne.
"Laura," I said softly. She turned and looked at me. "I need a refill."
"Oh," Laura said. She excused herself from her friends and led me across the room. I slid my hand down to hers and laced our fingers together. "I'm sorry if I was boring you," she said.
I smiled. "You never bore me. I just needed a refill."
We arrived at the refreshment table and I made sure Laura was between me and the blonde bombshell. Up close, her skin was even more flawless. She looked up as we approached, gave us a shy smile, and moved to one side to give us more room. Laura immediately took in the woman's bare arms, her small breasts and the gentle slope of her spine. I knew that look well; it was the look that meant Laura was picturing you naked, tangled in sheets, arching up into an orgasm. Preferably one she had caused herself.
Laura held out her hand. "Laura Sanchez," she said. "This is my partner, Lynn Seward."
"Pleasure to meet you," the woman said. Her voice had a thick accent, but it was clear she was fluent in the language. She took Laura's hand, squeezing the fingers gently. "Katya Martynova."
"A beautiful name," Laura said. She kept Katya's hand in hers and said, "So what do you do, Katya?"
I put my hand in the small of Laura's back and she turned to look at me. I smiled, dipped my chin, and stepped away from the table. Laura watched me go, and then turned to focus on Katya again. I picked up another glass of champagne from the table and meandered deeper into the room. More guests had arrived, and I greeted faces familiar to me from work and from the newspaper.
Meghan, the resort's owner, was standing by the doors, and I took a moment to compliment her on how quickly the place had come together. Laura and I had been there a few times, weekend getaways from the urban sprawl, and we both adored the place. "It's still a work in progress," she said, "but I'm happy with it."
I danced with Helena Thompson, a paralegal from Laura's office I occasionally flirted with when I stopped by to have lunch with her, and we pecked lips when the song ended. "Is Laura here tonight?" she asked, her hands teasing the straps of my dress.