Cat Scratch Fever

by Sophie Mouette

  She took a sip of wine, savouring the crisp flavours, and slipped the earbud of her phone into place before dialling Gabe’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  ‘Blissfully uneventful,’ she said. ‘The Independent printed the retraction – it was very humble, by the way; I should fax you a copy – and five people called to buy tickets to the benefit specifically because they felt sorry that the newspaper had screwed up. So I was crazy-busy, but nothing went obviously wrong.’

  ‘Maybe we scared Richard off?’ he suggested.

  She hesitated. ‘I know we’re ninety-nine per cent sure Richard’s involved,’ she said. ‘But it just doesn’t make sense. He’s been making a lot of stupid mistakes recently, but that doesn’t make him a criminal mastermind who organises nightly vandalism raids.’

  ‘It’s not the first time someone assumed that the presence of the Zoo Association on site meant that the facility was going to be shut down,’ he admitted. ‘Put all together, though, Richard looks suspicious.’

  ‘Extremely suspicious,’ she agreed. ‘He just doesn’t have a motive. Why would he donate so much money the other day if he wanted us to be shut down?’

  ‘Good question,’ Gabe said. ‘I managed to get time to do some research on the corporation who made the offer to buy the Sanctuary land.’

  Felicia sat up, her heart pounding. ‘And?’

  ‘And Richard’s not attached to it – at least, not in any way I could find.’

  ‘Oh.’ She flopped back against the pillows.

  ‘Let me give you the information anyway, in case it sparks any ideas for you.’

  She grabbed pen and paper off her nightstand. ‘Shoot.’

  He relayed the company’s Los Angeles address, which she probably already had in her files somewhere, and the names of the owners.

  ‘Joseph Estabrook owns a chain of fancy restaurants – he’s a bigwig in the city,’ she said after taking another sip of wine. ‘I assume it’s him. He used to donate heavily to the AIDS foundation I worked for. I don’t remember him ever giving to the SCCS, though – too small for him, I’d guess. Lindsay Chamaine – that name sounds familiar.’ Tapping her pen against her teeth, she considered. ‘I’ll go in early tomorrow and check the donor records on her.’

  ‘Don’t work too hard,’ Gabe said.

  ‘I won’t…after the benefit is over.’

  ‘Are you going to take some time off afterwards?’

  She hadn’t really had time to think about it. ‘You know, I probably should. Once the thank-you notes are in the mail.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Take at least half the week.’

  ‘What are you, my vacation planner now?’

  She heard the laughter in his voice. ‘If that’s what it takes you to relax.’

  ‘I know how to relax,’ she protested. ‘I even took a long bath tonight.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Bubbles?’

  ‘Bath bomb.’

  ‘Scent?’

  ‘Gardenia.’

  He took a deep, not entirely steady breath. ‘Still in a towel?’

  ‘No, I changed.’ She described the short nightgown, from the narrow strip of matching green lace around the top to the way one of the straps kept falling off her shoulder. ‘How about you – what are you wearing?’

  ‘Hold on.’ There was a crackle as he put the phone down, and then she heard rustling before he picked up again.

  ‘You stripped, didn’t you?’ she asked, laughing. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘I was only wearing my underwear, anyway,’ he said. ‘And it’s not as though you’re here to help.’

  Her fingers itched to unbutton his shirt and part it to reveal the gold-tipped hair on his chest. To unbuckle his belt and push his trousers and briefs down in one quick motion. OK, so maybe it was a good thing he was already naked. She obviously wasn’t in the mood for subtlety.

  ‘So what would we be doing if I were there?’ she prompted him.

  ‘I’d stand behind you and lift up your hair and smell the gardenias on the back of your neck,’ he said. ‘Then I’d nibble, right at the nape. You’d shiver, brushing that satin across my crotch.’

  If she hadn’t been leaning back against pillows, she would’ve raised her hand to her neck, to the spot that tingled from his promised lovebite. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d pull you back against me so you could feel me growing hard. Hands on your hips, rubbing along you. Sink my teeth into your shoulder. I remember how you reacted to that last time, how you cried out and you grabbed on to me and your hips arched as if I was touching you there.’

  Oh God, she remembered, too. He’d bitten, gently but firmly, and then laved the area with his tongue as if to soothe the erotic hurt.

  Her hips shifted restlessly on the bed, the nightie rising a little higher on her thighs.

  ‘Are your nipples hard?’ he asked.

  She described how they were plainly visible through the nightgown. ‘Touch them? Please.’

  ‘Just try and stop me,’ he growled. ‘Would you like it if I rubbed the satin on them?’

  ‘Yes.’ Was that her voice? It sounded like a whimper.

  ‘Do it. Drag the satin across them. Use your fingernails to graze them through the satin.’

  She did, her breathing growing heavier. ‘It feels so good,’ she said. ‘But it’s not enough.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Harder.’

  He fell silent again. She knew he was toying with her. She gritted her teeth, promising herself she wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t beg.

  ‘Pinch them.’ His voice was rough through the phone. ‘Twist them, as hard as you like. Tell me how it feels.’

  ‘Good, really good.’ How could she describe the sensations rippling through her? ‘It gets me so hot.’

  ‘Do you think you could come that way, just from having your nipples played with?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Maybe with you. But she didn’t say it, because she wasn’t sure. The use of the phone, as well as the fact that they were separated by thousands of miles, made it easier to talk about some things. Made it easier to whisper honestly into the darkness. ‘I’m willing to give it a try, next time. If there’s a next time.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he breathed. ‘There’ll be a next time. You can count on it. But for now – stop.’

  Stop? She didn’t want to stop.

  ‘I want you to lick your fingers,’ he said. ‘Then play with your nipples again. Get the fabric wet. Use your nails, too.’

  She complied, still not sure what he was getting at. He didn’t keep her in the dark for long.

  ‘That’s my mouth on you, sucking and nibbling through the satin.’

  This time she moaned, imagining the feel of his hands and mouth on her. Her nipples peaked harder, the moisture on the satin reacting to the air conditioning. Cold and hot. Ice and fire. She told him.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wish I was there to do it myself. God, yes. Your breasts feel so good in my hands. I can practically smell the gardenias.’

  ‘Can you feel my hands on your head, urging you closer?’

  ‘Absolutely. Show me what you want. Tell me what you want.’ Then, as if the thought suddenly struck him, ‘Would you want to try nipple clamps sometime?’

  ‘Not – not very painful ones.’ Given how charged she was right now, though, she doubted she would complain if he snapped a pair of tight ones on her. The hurt would throb like the blood pounding in her clit.

  ‘Just the kind that add pressure,’ he agreed. ‘I’d love to see you wearing ones with little bells dangling off them. Pretty jewellery for such pretty breasts. If you were on top, I could close my eyes and listen to them jingle as you came all over my cock.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Felicia’s pussy clenched futilely around nothing as she imagined his cock inside her. She leant over and fumbled to get her nightstand drawer open.

  ‘What are you doin
g?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you mind if I get a toy out? It’s not the same as having you inside me, but –’

  ‘Sure, get it out,’ he said. ‘But don’t use it until I tell you to.’

  She bit her lip. She wanted it inside her so bad. She could just ease it in, quietly, not turning on the vibrator…No. Perversely, she wanted him to run the show, to tease her. She wanted to be helpless to his whims, to put her pleasure in his imaginative hands. Even if she went insane from needing to come.

  ‘Are you wearing panties?’ When she told him no, he said, ‘Spread your legs.’

  Cool air slithered between her thighs, but it wasn’t nearly enough to cut the heat she swore she could feel radiating out from between her legs.

  ‘Use your hands to part your lips.’

  She could smell the spicy-sweet scent of her own arousal as she did so. ‘I’m so wet,’ she said. ‘Already. Slippery with my own juices.’

  ‘Taste yourself,’ he said. ‘Let me hear you suck the juices off your fingers. You taste so good, Felicia. I could just feast on you for hours.’

  He’d already shown her his cunnilingual prowess. The thought of him doing it for hours, while she came and came and came again under his ministrations, made her toes curl.

  She missed him.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing? Tell me. Let me see.’

  ‘I’m naked,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘I’m hard. Talking to you, thinking about what you’re doing to yourself – that makes me so damn hard.’

  ‘Are you stroking yourself?’ Felicia loved the mental picture of his hand sliding up and down the length of his cock.

  ‘Lightly. There’s some pre-come, and I’m rubbing that on the head. But I’m not ready to come any time soon. This one’s for you, Felicia. How hot can I make you, over the phone, telling you where to touch yourself, and how?’

  ‘Pretty damn hot,’ she admitted. ‘I’m wet, and needing you inside me.’

  ‘Stroke your clit, gently,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t come yet. While you’re doing that, tell me what the toy looks like. I want to imagine you using it on yourself.’

  ‘It’s bright blue,’ she said, holding it as if she’d never really seen it before. Truth be told, she was usually pressing it against her clit or impatiently pushing it up inside of her, and neither of those positions provided a good angle for her to watch. ‘The shape is pretty realistic, with some shaping and veins. There’s another part that extends from the base, and it comes up into a shape like a bunny’s head. The ears vibrate.’

  ‘I’ve seen those,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll bet you like those ears buzzing against your clit, don’t you? It probably makes you shoot off like a rocket.’

  ‘Mm hm,’ Felicia agreed. ‘I call him Mr Twitchy.’

  Over the phone lines, she heard a strange noise. Gabe was either choking or laughing. It was probably the latter. Well, she didn’t care: Mr Twitchy had been making her happy a lot longer than Gabe had.

  She wanted Gabe to make her happy, though. She wanted him to tell her she could come soon. She wasn’t used to holding back when she masturbated, and the slow maddening movement of her own fingers, one on either side of her wet clit, was driving her crazy.

  She told him. ‘I need to come soon,’ she added.

  ‘OK,’ he said, much to her surprise. ‘But not quite yet.’

  Dammit!

  ‘Put Mr Twitchy’s head –’ and she could tell he made a great effort not to laugh when he said that ‘– just inside you.’

  She was so wet that the tip slid in easily. Her thighs trembled from the strain as she resisted the urge to plunge the vibrator deep inside her. He continued to instruct her to feed it in, inch by excruciating inch, until it was buried up to the hilt.

  ‘God, I wish that was me inside of you,’ he said.

  She couldn’t fashion a coherent response. She wished it was him, too, but a fake cock was the next best thing, filling her up.

  His next words almost sent her over the brink. ‘Turn on the vibrator.’

  With the dildo portion all the way in, the bunny ears nestled against her aching clit. A flick of the switch, and they hummed and buzzed against her.

  She was so close, so charged, that it was only a moment before the orgasm peaked, tumbling her over the edge as it spiralled out through her belly and down her legs. She pulsed around the vibrator, pressing the fake cock deeper inside to trigger a second intense orgasm. Dimly, over her own cries of passion, she heard Gabe shout his own release.

  Exhausted, she fell back against the pillows.

  Even thousands of miles away, he still had the power to rock her world.

  * * *

  Lindsay Chamaine sounded hauntingly familiar but, after searching the donor database, Felicia still couldn’t find her.

  Not for the first time, Felicia yearned for the more sophisticated database they’d had at the AIDS organisation. This one was pretty bare-bones, programmed in Access by a high-school student doing a community service project, and they had to keep a lot of information in paper files.

  She’d just have to check paper files. And, like it or not, she’d have to start with Richard Enoch.

  Her palms were sweating as she pulled the file. Funny, some detached part of her brain thought, she’d heard that expression a million times but it was the first time she’d ever noticed it happening to her. Sweaty palms and a sick sensation in her stomach.

  The file was thick. Richard had been involved with them almost from the beginning. She started from the current stuff and worked down. Buried deep in the stack, she found a note in Katherine’s handwriting: ‘Divorced from Lindsay Chamaine June 2001. Need to update database.’

  That was why the name was familiar. Lindsay and Richard had been long divorced by the time she’d started at SCCS, but she must have seen it in the file or in some old event materials. Did that make Richard guilty or innocent? Part of a convoluted plot involving his ex or a victim of it?

  Rummaging further in the files told her nothing useful. Apparently, Lindsay had never been deeply involved in SCCS.

  Someone must know more.

  Valerie Turner.

  She knew everyone. If there was dirt on Lindsay or on the divorce, she’d know.

  Felicia was glad Mrs Turner was on her speed dial, because her hands were shaking.

  ‘Felicia, darling, I was just about to call and see how my tables were coming together. I’m sorry it’s all so last minute, but some of my friends can be very naughty if I don’t keep on them.’ Her voice was husky and amused, and definitely not the voice of someone just waking up. (Unless she’d been waking up slowly and in good company, but that didn’t seem likely.)

  ‘You’re up to twenty-three guests so far. I’ll fill you in on that later, but I’m hoping you can help with a delicate question.’

  ‘I’m all ears. Always glad to help out.’

  How to phrase this? She trusted Mrs Turner, but she had little idea how deep loyalties and friendships ran in her circle. ‘A name’s come up a few times lately as a board candidate, but it could get touchy and I wanted your opinion. It’s Lindsay Chamaine.’

  ‘Lindsay? How curious she hasn’t said anything to me about moving back to the area. She moved to San Francisco after she and Richard split up.’

  ‘I heard she’d started a business in Los Angeles. Real estate development, I think.’

  Valerie snorted. ‘Hardly! She’s a photographer, a fine one, but no business sense whatsoever; Richard still has one of his people taking care of the financial end of the photography for her or she’d be lost. The closest she’s come to being a businesswoman is being the paper owner of some of Richard’s firms for tax purposes. The dry-cleaning chain, maybe a few others.’

  ‘Still? They’ve been divorced for years.’

  ‘Longer than they were married. She just wasn’t cut out to be a society wife. But they’re better friends now than they ever were. Funny how it works that
way sometimes.’

  Felicia took a deep calming breath. For a few minutes, she’d had hopes of a vengeful ex scenario, something that would make a man she’d come to respect a victim, not a villain. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  If Richard had walked into her office, she’d have clubbed him with her laptop.

  She forced herself to sound casual. ‘Can’t imagine what scrambled story I heard. A new husband who’s in real estate, maybe?’

  A laugh from the other end of the phone. ‘When I said Lindsay wasn’t cut out to be a society wife, what I meant was she left Richard for a massage therapist named Inge. But you didn’t hear this from me, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Felicia muttered, too distracted to enjoy what would normally have been a delicious piece of gossip. ‘Is Richard involved in real estate development?’

  ‘Richard knows how I feel about preserving the desert, so he’d probably not tell me just to spare himself the lectures. It’s possible. He dabbles in everything, as long as there’s money in it.’

  A more thoughtful tone had crept into her voice as she talked. Then she paused, such a pregnant pause that Felicia held her breath. Felicia’s heart raced, feeling as if it wanted to break free of her rib cage.

  ‘This isn’t about getting Lindsay on to the board, is it? This has to do with all the problems SCCS has been having. You’ve figured something out.’

  For about half a second, Felicia considered lying. Valerie was impulsive and eccentric. But she was far from stupid and would probably sense the lie.

  She was also, at this point, the board member Felicia knew was most loyal to the organisation. ‘Lindsay’s the paper owner of the firm who tried to buy our land, along with Joseph Estabrook the restaurateur.’

  ‘Whose sister recently married a Barbery Foundation trustee. I was at the wedding – and so was Richard.’

  Felicia used several words she would have normally avoided in front of a board member. Then she apologised.

  ‘Quite all right. I was thinking far worse things; these are people I fancied were my friends.’

  ‘The problem is, the connections are all there, but how do we prove wrongdoing?’ She sagged in her chair. She had answers now, but she still didn’t know what to do with them.