I ran to the phone, tripping over the cat. Two, three rings…better get it before the fourth, after which the answering service would pick up. I had been anticipating the call from the gallery, and wasn’t about to miss it after I had stayed in all afternoon.
“This is Kate,” I said, a bit breathless from running. I combed my fingers through my hair, trying to gather my composure, even though my appearance wouldn’t be obvious to the person on the other end. “Hello?” I asked again.
After a long pause, a soft voice replied, “I need to see you.”
My heart plunged into my stomach. It was Leila, and though we hadn’t spoken for weeks, I thought of her on a daily basis. That night we shared in her home, the ecstasy and passion she instilled in me…I felt it rising again in hearing her voice.
“Leila…it’s great to hear from you. Are you alright? You sound down.” My heart was racing.
“I’m in the city,” she said abruptly. “I…,” she paused again, “I really need to see you, Kate. I’ll be outside your building in ten minutes. Can we go for a drink or something?”
“Of course,” I replied, knowing that if I leave, I’d miss the call from the gallery. But hell, they can talk to my machine. Leila’s tone had an unfamiliar seriousness in it, which concerned me. “I’ll be waiting out front.”
“See you soon,” she responded, and quickly hung up.
I was in a whirlwind of emotion. Not a day went by that I don’t think about the time I had with her. Just that morning, I had been masturbating to the thought of her very touch, her soft lips against mine, sultry voice in my ear.
Looking myself over in the mirror, I definitely needed to change into something more formal than track pants and a t-shirt. Standing in my closet, I chose a pair of black Prada slacks, and a red snug-fitting long-sleeved sweater. I certainly wasn’t as well off as Leila, but I did have an impressive wardrobe, part of that owing to the schmoozing aspect of my career as an art dealer and critic. Reaching for a pair of panties, I hesitated, smiling at the thought of possibly not needing them. My smile faded as I reprimanded myself for thinking of my own lust, when Leila could have a serious problem to discuss. Nonetheless, I didn’t wear panties or a bra.
Glancing at my watch, I paced in nervous anticipation of the time growing closer. Quickly, I fed Matisse and turned on a floor lamp, as I did not know what time I’d be returning. Grabbing my coat and keys, I flew out the door.
The elderly doorman smiled and tipped his hat as he saw me approaching in the lobby. “Good evening, Ms. Verneau. Shall I call you a cab?” He opened the door for me.
“You’re so kind, Patrick,” I responded, “but that won’t be necessary, as a friend is picking me up.” Looking left, I saw her black coupe approaching. I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air in my lungs giving me a new energy.
“Very well. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Verneau,” Patrick said with a smile and wink. I looked back in appreciation, and spoke similar sentiments.
The car stopped, I heard the unlocking of the door, and got in. Smiling, I greeted her warmly. “It’s wonderful to see you, Leila. Though you have me a little worried. Is something wrong?” She looked amazing, as always. But especially today—black cashmere shaped her arms and breasts beautifully, a silk Hermes scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, her legs draped in dark grey chinos. Those dazzling green eyes, searching my face, burned deeply into me. Her familiar scent—musky, yet sweet—excited me, seducing my libido as it had before.
Her hand reached for mine, holding it firmly against her thigh. Accelerating, we bolted out onto the city streets. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind, Kate, and God knows I’ve tried. I think of you incessantly,” she looked at me intensely, her hand caressing my cheek. She was driving like a maniac.
Shivers went down my spine, a tingling sensation growing in my sex. I smiled warmly. “I think of you quite often, Leila. We had an amazing connection that summer night.” I was being overly polite, as not to appear as fervent as I felt.
“Don’t speak of it as if it’s a past event, like some fling that I just had,” she said, obviously irritated. “I don’t do that shit, Kate. I’m a married woman, for Christ’s sake. But you….we have something different, something I’ve never felt with any man or woman. I need you tonight, Kate. I just need you so badly.” She had taken several turns, and my sense of direction became muddled. By the style of her driving, she had an obvious destination in mind. Drinks were not likely to be on the agenda.
Not knowing how to respond in words, I placed my hand on the back of her neck. So soft, and a little damp from the rain, her hair felt angelic. I massaged her neck gently as she continued driving. She sighed, feeling content that I understood her, and these feelings were mutual.
Once we arrived at her hotel on the west side, she tossed her keys to the valet. Leila nodded to the bellhop as we entered the elevator. “18th floor, please,” she said politely. We were standing apart, Leila intently watching the numbers light up one by one. My heart was pounding, my sex growing eager, lustful. If the bellhop hadn’t been present, I would have taken her there in the elevator.
The suite was extravagant and in definite accordance with her expensive tastes. Peruvian Marble floors in the entry, vases filled with exotic flowers, various antiques serving dually as furniture and exquisite art…it looked like a photograph taken from Architectural Digest. The lights were low, and I brushed my fingers against the great cherry oak desk in the study to the right of the entry. Removing my coat, I set it on the leather chair. A bottle of merlot sat on the desk--opened, and half empty.
She approached me from behind, her hand brushing my hair to the side. I could feel her breath on my neck, warm and lustful. Her right hand slipped under my sweater, and she began to moan softly as she touched the skin on my abdomen. Her lips swept lightly on my neck as she whispered my name.
I sighed in response, completely melting with lust and desire for this woman. Allowing her to touch me, her fingers lulled me into seduction. My nipples hardened when I felt her airy touch on my breasts. She giggled devilishly. “No bra this time,” she whispered breathlessly. “That’s a good girl.” I was burning up.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. Turning to face her, I grabbed her tightly, kissing her passionately. Tasting her on my lips again, a calm washed over me, easing my aggression. I held her against me, never wanting to let go. My eyes teared up as I felt her body against mine, acknowledging the connection that compelled us to be there.
“Honey, it’s ok,” she said to me consolingly. Cradling my chin in her hands, she whispered, “We both want this. We need each other.” She kissed my lips softly, almost exactly like that first night. The same rushing chills surged through me. Slowly, deliberately, she guided me toward the bedroom. Sharing tears and salty kisses, we stumbled toward the bed, peeling and sliding our clothes off and onto the floor.
She laid me down gently against the satin sheets, scented with her perfume. We spent an hour just kissing and holding one another, playfully caressing the forms that were already so familiar in our memories. Another bottle of merlot had been stashed near the bed, and we indulged in a few glasses.
