What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  "It's ... I just feel so different when I'm with him. Like I can be so much more than I am. And he encourages that in me. I want to be that. I want to be more than just a lawyer's wife."

  "Do you think Gabriel wants that?"

  "I think he will, when he sees what I can be. I don't think...” she dropped her eyes to fiddle with her coffee spoon. “I don't think he's satisfied with me. But I think he doesn't want to hurt my feelings by asking me to change. Michael doesn't have to worry about that. He can fix me without worrying that my feelings are going to get hurt."

  "Oh, honey, you don't need fixing. Don't ever let that gargoyle make you feel otherwise!"

  Lindy's eyes widened in panic. “Kath, you can't ever say anything to Gabriel about Michael! Please, you have to promise me!"

  She reached across the table to pat Lindy's hand comfortingly. “When do I ever talk to Gabriel, anyway? Don't worry your little head about it.” She pulled back again as the waitress delivered their desserts. She picked up her fork to begin on her cake. “I'm not going to tease you, and I'm not going to judge you. I'm just going to give you one piece of advice. Affairs are all well and good until someone's heart gets involved. Then it's nothing but pain and misery. So just watch your feelings, and get out if it feels like it's becoming something more."

  Lindy brought down her spoon to crack the caramelized sugar on her dessert. “It wouldn't matter even if I did. Built in termination date, remember?"

  "Lindy, I mean it. Just be careful. And, in the meantime,” she straightened up, her normal wicked look returning, “I will be happy to be your resident excuse. Just name me as the fall guy anytime you want to escape the gargoyle and I'll gladly cover for you.” She forked up more torte. “Hell, I probably won't even have to. Like he'd call me for any reason at all!"

  Lindy laughed.

  "That's better. So, tell me how you met the man of my fantasies..."

  Chapter 11

  Lindy sat at the table in the sunroom, finishing the Sunday Times crossword puzzle. She wore well-worn sweat shorts and an oversized t-shirt of Gabriel's, her hair bunched up in a slouchy ponytail. She rocked the pen between her fingers, sipping at her coffee and trying to think of an eight letter word with the fifth letter “L” which meant “a nerve” when the antique bell on the front door of their brownstone rang out. Gabriel was still in the shower, so with a last swallow of coffee, she unfolded herself from the chair and went to answer it.

  She was surprised to find a bicycle courier there. They didn't usually come up into the Eighty blocks, and certainly not at eleven a.m. on a Sunday. The young man smiled when she answered. “Lindy James?"

  "Yes?"

  "Package for you. Sign here, please?"

  She took the clipboard and pen from him, eyeing the brown paper package he held curiously as she signed. She handed him back the clipboard, then patted her nonexistent pockets apologetically. “I'm sorry, I don't have a..."

  He held up a hand. “Not a problem. It's already been taken care of.” He handed her the package. “You have a fine Sunday!” And he was off on his bike like a shot.

  She studied the package as she closed the door. Her name and address were carefully hand lettered on the paper wrapping in a handwriting she didn't recognize. There was no return address. Instead, where the return label should be, as well as in several other places, the words “Personal and Confidential” had been written in red ink and underlined several times. Nothing else indicated the source of the mysterious package.

  She set it down on the coffee table as she sat on the couch. “Guess I'd better see what's inside.” Using one nail, she carefully slit the tape on one end and then on the other, rolling it over to slit the last piece on the bottom. She unfolded the paper to reveal an ornate, silk covered box, red paisley fabric covering the bottom while the top was a solid red, a black tassel in the middle of it as a handle. She put the paper on the floor. Well, at least it didn't look like it would blow up. What self-respecting bomber would use such a pretty box? She reached out and carefully lifted the lid by the handle.

  The last thing she had expected it to contain was books. And sitting on top, on a half sheet of Plaza stationary, was a note. “For your inspiration and pleasure. M."

  She blushed even as she grinned and dove into the box.

  There were five books in all, one hardcover and four paperbacks, all bound in various shades of purple and fuchsia and peach. The hardcover was a manual of sexuality, full of discussions of positions and biological processes. She flipped through it briefly, embarrassed to find herself being titillated by the tasteful drawings of men and women engaged in all manner of intimate expression. She put it back in the box and looked at the others.

  They were collections of erotica.

  As she scanned the jacket notes, she realized what these were. He had sent her collections of fantasies. Women’ fantasies, couples’ fantasies, but all erotic imaginings. A part of her started to get angry. Didn't he think the kind of fantasies she had were good enough? But then she realized. His note hadn't said they were for her education, they were for her inspiration. He wanted her to read these, get aroused by them. Find pleasure in them...

  Her heart started pounding.

  "Lindy?” Gabriel's voice came from the hall, startling her. She scrambled to put the books and the note back in the box and pushed the box under the couch, spinning around to stand straight just as he came into the living room, toweling vigorously at his heavy blond hair. “Did I hear the door?"

  "Oh! Yeah. It was nothing. Just...” She shrugged, her mind racing to think of something. “...Jehovah's Witness. But I told them we weren't interested."

  "Jehovah's Witness? On a Sunday?"

  She shrugged again, struggling to look innocent as she toed the brown paper wrapping under the couch as well. “Maybe they forgot what day it is?"

  "Are you okay? You look kind of flushed."

  "Fine! I'm really. Fine. I was sitting in the sunroom. In the sun. It was pretty warm."

  "Okay.” He still looked puzzled. “I'm going to grab something to eat and then I have to go in to the office for an hour or so."

  "Okay. I think I'll just ... stay here.” She flushed. “Maybe catch up on some reading..."

  * * * *

  She sat curled up on the couch, her knees up to her chest, the book she was reading gripped tightly in her right hand. The silk covered box sat open next to her.

  She'd lost all track of time as she'd disappeared into these women's fantasies. She wasn't sheltered by any means, but she'd never thought about sex in these graphic, abandoned, sometimes violent terms

  I was backed against the kitchen counter, Kyle's hand under my skirt and working into my panties, when the phone rang. I tried to push him back, but he was having none of it. “I have to get that,” I insisted, even as his fingers slid into the wet folds of my pussy.

  "I'm not stopping you,” he purred against my throat.

  It was all the more overpowering because it was real. These were real fantasies women had, real things they did. It made Lindy feel like such a child sexually, to never have considered that this world existed. And it made her want to explore it more.

  I picked up the cordless, finally able to step away from him. “Hello, this is Amanda."

  Kyle was right behind me, turning me and pushing insistently to bend me over the bar, his hands already pushing my skirt back up to reveal my ass.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "Kim!” With the instinctive knowledge only a child could have, my daughter chose now to call from college.

  Kyle just chuckled. I felt his hand go between us to release his pants, his heavy cock instantly probing for entrance in my sodden slit. I was hard pressed not to moan my pleasure into the phone, giving us away.

  The phone rang.

  Lindy reached out with her left hand to grab the handset off the sofa table behind her, never taking her eyes off the page as she pushed the talk button. “Hello?” She was surprised by how husky and
low her voice sounded.

  There was a warm chuckle on the other end of the line. “You enjoying your present, pet?"

  "Michael?"

  "You getting packages from more than one secret admirer?"

  "No! Of course not. I just didn't expect to hear from you. I wanted to come over..."

  "Sh, shh, ‘s okay. I'm not even home. Working diligently away at the office so I can be at your beck and call this week."

  "Oh.” He was making time to be with her. It shouldn't have pleased her so much.

  "So, what do you think of the books?” he asked, his voice soft, alluring.

  "They're ... overwhelming. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

  "That's why I thought you might like them. Broaden your horizons a bit.” He paused, and she could almost hear him smirking. “Find anything you want to try?"

  "Michael!” She pushed the box away and pulled her knees closer to her chest.

  He chuckled, a rich, erotic sound. “No, no, pet. No shrinking violet with me. I'm here to make all your fantasies come true. So you have to tell me what they are."

  "I ... I can't.” She went on before he could interrupt her. “I just ... haven't processed it enough. I can't begin to sort it out in my head yet."

  "Fair enough,” he conceded. “Tell you what, you mark your favorites, and the next time I see you, you can tell me all about it. Preferably while I do decadent things to your body."

  The thought of telling him these wicked fantasies as he went down on her almost made her swoon.

  "Lindy? You still with me, pet?"

  "Yes,” she breathed, her eyes closed. “I'm here."

  His voice grew even more seductive. “If I'd known you were so sensitive to suggestion, I would have called you days ago."

  "I...” Something dawned on her. “Michael, how did you get this number?"

  "Wouldn't be much of a stalker without your telephone number now, would I?"

  "I'm serious!” A note of panic crept into her voice. “I never gave you my number."

  "Lindy.” His teasing voice was now serious, soothing. “You're listed in the phonebook, luv."

  She stopped. “Oh."

  "See? Nothing sinister. It's also how I got your address, in case you were wondering."

  "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little..."

  "Worked up?” The teasing, seductive voice was back. “I can imagine. You've gotten used to daily orgasms. Going a couple of days without has made you ... tense."

  "Michael,” she groaned.

  "I can take care of that for you."

  "Oh god! I can't. I want to, but I can't. My husband ... he could be home any time."

  "Yes, you can. And you don't even have to leave the house."

  "I don't..."

  "Lindy.” He stopped her. “Do you trust me?"

  She couldn't lie to him. “Yes."

  "Where are you right now?"

  She looked around. “Living room. Sitting on the couch."

  "Perfect. Lean back against the arm of the sofa. Get all nice and comfy."

  She surrendered, gave herself up to his honeyed words, let him shape her just with his voice alone.

  "That's it,” he coaxed. “Put your knees up, there's a good girl. You holding the phone in your left hand?"

  She shifted it. “Am now."

  "Put your right hand on your bare stomach.” She complied. “Now just move it around in soft, light circles. Feel how soft the skin is, how strong the muscles are underneath.” She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensations, feeling almost as though her hand was an extension of his own. “Let your hand wander up now, luv. Let it feel how round and firm your breasts are.” She hummed lightly at the contact. “You like that, do you?"

  "Yeah,” she breathed.

  "Are your nipples hard?"

  She ran her hand across one aureole, then the other, holding her palm centered over them. “Not yet. I can feel them ... feels like they're twisting against my hand."

  It was his turn to hum. “Wish I was there to suck on them."

  She gasped softly, his words sending an electric charge through her.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you? My mouth, wet and warm on your pretty little flowers, licking them, sucking on them..."

  "Oh, Michael,” she groaned.

  "Move your hand down, Lindy.” His voice was deeper, more gravelly, and she could tell he wasn't unmoved by this. “Slide it back down over your stomach, down into your panties where it's all warm and secret. Spread your knees, pet, open yourself up to it. Slide your fingers right down into it and tell me how it feels."

  "H ..hot,” she stammered, overwhelmed by the sensations of her cooler fingers invading her center. “Thick. Slippery."

  "Mmm. I'd imagine so. Spread that lovely stuff around, pet. Make everything nice and wet. All over that beautiful cunny of yours."

  She did as he instructed, opening up lips and folds, spreading up from her opening to the hard little nub of her clitoris. She gasped as her fingers slid over it.

  He didn't miss it. “Find something you like, pet? Don't be shy, give it a good hard rub from me."

  She cried out at the sensation as she roughly stroked it with two fingers. She did it again, and again, whimpering as she arched her hips into each stroke.

  "Christ, Lindy, you're killin’ me. The sounds you make ... wish I were there."

  She felt encumbered, restricted. She paused to arch her hips up, pushing shorts and underwear down around her ankles, before returning to eagerly attack her nub. “What ... what would you do if you were here?” she panted.

  "Vixen!” he groaned in her ear, and she could almost feel his hot breath on her throat. He drew a shuddering breath. “I'll tell you what I'd be doing. I'd be sitting behind you, my legs on either side of you, holding you in place as you lay back against my chest.” Her strokes became shorter, faster, more fierce as he went on. “You'd know how much I want you because you'd feel how hard I am against your ass. But I want to watch this, watch you, more. So I'd hold you, and suck the sweat off your neck and shoulder, and fondle your beautiful, beautiful breasts as you writhe against me in pleasure."

  She sobbed aloud, feeling the power of his words and her impending release driving out all thought.

  "Yes, love, come on. You can do it. Keep it nice and wet now. You don't want it to hurt when it feels soooo good now.” He paused, then continued. “But as soon as you were done, as soon as you came, do you know what I'd do?"

  She couldn't get her answer past her throat, but he seemed to understand, because he went on. “I would push you forward so you were up on your knees, supporting yourself on the other arm of the sofa. That's it, petal, a little harder, you're almost there. And I'd grab your hips and slide my cock back and forth until it was all nice and wet. And then I'd shove it into your quivering little quim so hard and so deep..."

  His final words were lost as she wailed out her climax, her body bucking so hard she dropped the phone. She lay there for long moments, too spent to move, before she remembered it. Weakly she pawed through the cushions before finding the handset shoved into the corner. “Michael?"

  She could hear his smile. “Welcome back, pet. How do you feel?"

  She laughed breathlessly. “Limp. And also very good. What about you?"

  "Well,” he confessed, his rich voice slightly tense, “I may have to go to the loo and get myself off like a teenager if I plan to get anything else done today."

  "Oh! You mean you couldn't ... you didn't..."

  He chuckled. “No, like a fool I didn't lock my door when I decided to call you. Didn't expect it to affect me as well. My own silly fault. I should know by now that everything about you affects me."

  She sighed and smiled, her breathing finally settling down to normal. “I promise to make it up to you tomorrow."

  "I'm gonna hold you to that, pet."

  "Just so long as you're holding me..."

  Chapter 12

  "What to wear, what to w
ear..."

  Lindy stood in her underwear in the middle of her walk-in closet, eagerly trying to decide how to dress for Michael. They were meeting at his place at lunchtime, and she could already feel her skin buzzing at the thought of his touch. But what exactly did one wear to a sex date? If she dressed too casually, he might think she wasn't taking this seriously, but if she wore something too couture, he might hesitate to rip it off her. She groaned softly at the thought, remembering the strength in his hands when he had ripped open the shirt she wore the last time they were together. She definitely wanted to experience that again. Maybe she should bring a spare change of clothes, just in case...

  The phone rang just then. She threw on her robe as she went to answer it. “Hello?"

  "Hey, babe, it's me,” Gabriel's voice came over the line. “Can you run into my study for me? I think I left some files on my desk that I need today."

  "Yeah, sure, just a second.” She left the bedroom to go down the hall to the large room at the back of the house that served as Gabriel's home away from home. The room was done up in masculine old world paneling and heavy drapes, so that even in the bright morning light it was still gloomy. Lindy almost never ventured in here.

  The top of the antique desk was clear except for the docking station for his laptop, a few law books and a brown expandable file stuffed with folders and labeled Technovironments LLP. “There's only one thing here, for Technovironments."

  "That's it. Damn.” He was quiet for a minute. “Lindy, I hate to ask you this, but I need those files for a meeting this afternoon. Could you possibly bring them down to the office?"

  "Sure.” She mentally sighed. So much for primping time. “How soon do you need them?"

  "An hour ago."

  "Oh. Okay then, let me throw on some clothes and I'll be right there."

  "Thanks, honey, you're a peach. I may be in a meeting, so if I'm not there, just leave them with Caroline, okay?"

  "No problem.” Big problem. She hated Gabriel's secretary, and she knew the feeling was mutual. Four more hours to Michael. Four more hours to Michael.

  "You're the best.” And he hung up the phone.