by Ronica Black
Dozens of people clamor by, exiting like packed cattle from the elevators, all of them on a mission called “lunch.” Bobbing and dodging, she manages to find an elevator going up.
“What floor?” a nice-looking man in an expensive business suit asks, his slack umbrella dripping onto the gray Berber carpet.
“Sixty-four,” she says, breathless.
Beside her a woman shuffles away toward the wall and a few people behind her clear their throats. A cell phone rings in the tone of a dog barking “Jingle Bells.” Someone chuckles and another sneezes.
The elevator stops three times on its way to sixty-four. Men and women squeeze by her, hurrying off to their appointments or their desks. She pushes up the arm of her coat and glances at her watch.
Five till noon.
Perfect.
Sixty-four arrives and she steps off, glad to be in the open but nervous about the destination ahead. A maze of cubicles challenges her, but she moves quickly, giving the few heads she does see little attention. Phones ring and beep, most of them going unanswered. When she reaches a main corridor, people smile and nod, rushing by her. A few stare and one even comments on the rain. She smiles but lowers her eyes, quickening her step.
When she reaches Margaret’s desk she’s glad to see that she’s already left for lunch.
She looks beyond Margaret’s area to the blinds on Julia’s windows. They are vertical and closed, and as she approaches, she’s just able to make out Julia’s voice on the other side. Hand on the cool doorknob, she closes her eyes and leans in, listening to the deep, throaty strum of her. Julia’s voice was the first thing she’d been exposed to when they met. A business phone call that had been placed across the wires and into infinity nine years ago. That phone call had led to many, many more.
And now they are here. In this moment. Her heart beats wildly into her throat as she turns the doorknob. Opening her eyes and breathing deeply, she eases the door open. Julia doesn’t see her at first, facing the large outer window overlooking downtown, phone pressed to her ear. She steps inside, takes another courage-seeking breath and leans back against the door as it closes, making sure to lock it as well.
The click catches Julia’s attention and she turns. Her blue eyes widen and her face halts with true surprise. A low whisper escapes her. “Sam.” Then, caught back in the net of conversation, she continues.
“Ye—yes, I understand.”
Sam doesn’t smile and she doesn’t wave. Instead, she crosses briskly to the broad oak desk and pulls the book bag from her shoulder. She busies herself retrieving the items she needs. Three wide candles, a small book of matches, her iPod, which she sets in Julia’s speaker stand, and one single white rose.
Julia watches her closely, saying “mmm-hmms” into the phone. Sam’s body heats under her stare and heats even more under her unspoken questions. Sam meets her gaze, promising answers and a whole lot more.
The match scrapes and snaps to life as she lights the candles and places them along the front of the desk. Then she walks to the big window and closes the blinds. The room immediately comes to life, inhaling and exhaling with the breaths of the candlelight.
Sam gets lost in it for a moment, her body buzzing, her soul rooting and growing in what it is she’s about to do. With a false sense of confidence, she stands in front of her lover of eight years, her best friend of nine. Julia’s eyes search hers desperately, and Sam can see her pulse in the tiny vessel on her temple.
“Say good-bye,” Sam whispers.
Julia clenches the phone. “Right, right. Yes. Listen, Bob, I need to run. What’s that? Yes, okay. Uh-huh. Okay. Talk to you soon. Good—”
Sam unplugs the phone, simply pulling the cord out from behind the charging stand. Julia lowers the receiver slowly and Sam takes it and sets it in its cradle. Julia still appears too shocked to speak.
“Hi,” Sam offers, taking Julia’s hands in her own.
“Hi.” Julia holds up her hands. “You’re freezing.” She looks at her face and the shoulders of her coat. “Soaked nearly through. I’ll have Margaret get you some coffee.”
“She’s gone,” Sam says. “Just as nearly everyone else is. Besides, I’m far from cold.”
“Did you forget your umbrella?”
“Didn’t want one.”
“Why not?” Julia still sounds confused.
“Because I wanted to feel every drop.” Sam made sure to look into her eyes.
“You did?”
Sam runs her hands through her hair, finger-combing her long, dark locks. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand—are you okay?”
Sam once again holds her stare. “No. I’m not okay. Because we haven’t been okay. But I’m about to make that right. I’m about to show you just what it is you do to me. What it is you mean to me.”
“I’m so sorr—” Julia tries.
“No. Don’t speak. Please. We are long past words. Spoken or unspoken. And we are long past meaning well and meaning to. It’s time to do.” She takes her hand and pulls her in front of the chair and then pushes her down into it.
“Sit,” Sam says, inches from her lips. “And don’t move.” Julia nods and Sam wheels the chair around the desk face-to-face with the visitor’s chair. Julia tries to speak again, but Sam stops her lips with a press of her finger.
“Shh.”
Sam leans against the desk and pushes play on the iPod. She adjusts the volume for Loreena McKennitt’s “Marco Polo.” Beautiful, haunting, and exotic, it is Sam’s narrative for Julia. It gripped her the very first time she heard it, just as Julia’s voice had.
Allowing the music to fill her, Sam stands in front of Julia and unties the belt of her raincoat. Then her fingers undo the large buttons. Julia’s cheeks bloom red and her hands squeeze together in her lap. Sam can tell her breathing has quickened by the rise and fall of her chest.
The music is a hypnotic instrumental and Sam knows every bit. She runs her hands down the front of her raincoat to ease it apart, her entire being filling up with Julia, her voice, her eyes, her face, her hands, her song.
“I love you,” Sam whispers, opening the raincoat, slipping it from her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.
Julia tries to mouth it back, but Sam stops her, bending to gather her lips in her own for a quick, heated kiss. Sam feels her tense but then soften, and a low groan comes up from her chest.
Sam massages her lips softly, wanting desperately to continue, but she pulls away, very much aware of her own body’s burning-hot need. The scent of Julia, the feel of her lips, the sound of her groan…it had been so long, so damn long. Her body and soul had been so empty, like a cold, parched fireplace that had just been stacked with thirsty logs and hungry kindling. Lit matches were now being tossed into it, end over end.
Whoosh. She can feel the sudden heat and flame, hear the snapping and crackling of her own burning desire.
She wants her, needs her, and she stands before her, wearing nothing but white lace panties and a matching bra. Julia’s favorite.
Her skin feels alive as if Julia had run her nails lightly over her.
“I can feel you,” she says to her, the fire surging. “I’ve been feeling you since early this morning.”
Julia watches her, the blooming on her cheeks darkening.
“I was in the shower when it started,” Sam says breathlessly, trailing her fingers up and down her sides, moving her hips to the music. “I was out of my shower gel so I picked up your soap and started lathering myself. And the second I caught the scent of it, I nearly collapsed. The smell of it, of that sudsy, curved white bar…it was you. And it had been so long since I’d inhaled the silky, soft scent of your skin, it nearly overwhelmed me. Especially when I realized…that it was you I was rubbing all over me.”
Julia swallows and her pulse races alongside her throat. Sam steps up to her and straddles her, laying her legs over the armrests of the chair. Gripping the back of it, she arches her back and thrusts her che
st forward. “See, baby. Smell me. I have you all over me.”
Sam looks to the ceiling, watches the shadows flickering there, and moans when Julia’s breath finds her collarbone. It’s followed quickly by her warm hands, palms flattened against the planes of her back, rubbing up and down. Julia inhales and exhales, electrifying Sam.
“Oh God, Julia,” Sam whispers. “You feel so good. You touch me everywhere. Do you know that?” She holds Julia’s face in her hands, feels the fire of her skin. “No matter where you are in the world, you’re always touching me all over.”
She kisses her again, this one longer and deeper as their tongues probe hungrily. More noises come from Julia and her fingers dig into Sam’s back. Sam wants so badly to give in and ravage her right away. But she forces herself to push away, to break her lips away from Julia’s.
Standing, Sam dances some more, skimming her hands over her body, holding Julia’s gaze. The music seems to crawl inside her, captivating her muscles, moving through her like a wave. She closes her eyes, licks her lips, imagines Julia is touching her…everywhere, inside and out. That her mouth is upon her, those luscious lips, the long pink tongue.
Sam glides her hands to her bra. She frames her lacy nipples, rubs in circles, exciting herself. The sensation bolts straight down her body to her clit, and Julia’s eyes upon her as she does it only intensifies the moment.
Trembling with desire, Sam moves her fingers to the straps of the bra. She slips under them, bringing them down from her shoulders. Then, holding Julia’s gaze, she reaches back and releases the clasp. The bra slinks down her arms and falls slack at her side. She drops it to the floor. And once again she moves her hips and hands, touching and teasing, all the way back up to her breasts. She frames her now bare nipples and squeezes, delighting in the spark it causes between her legs. She does it several times, tensing and hissing, clenching her eyes and then opening them in amorous surprise.
Julia watches it all from the chair, her back straight as a rod, her face flushed, and her hands holding tightly to the armrests. She sits very still but her eyes are a fiery blue and her lips are a swollen deep red. She swallows frequently, her lower lip twitching and sometimes mouthing silent words.
Sam can smell her skin, that hot, silky, sudsy smell, and she knows she’s aroused. Just the look of her, sitting so intently, perched like a cat hunting in tall grass, ready to pounce at any second. It makes Sam wet.
So much so that she decides to show her.
Sliding her hands down, Sam slides them under the lace of her underwear and lowers the fabric to her ankles. She steps out of them carefully and retrieves the white rose from the desk.
The soft petals kiss her nose and then her lips as she inhales. Julia watches her closely and her eyes dilate when Sam sits in the chair directly across from her.
“A white rose,” Sam says. “Your favorite.” She presses it to her lips again and smiles. “You always say you love the way they smell, the way they feel on your skin.”
Sam runs the rose over her chin, down her neck to her breast. There she twirls the satin swirl around her erect nipple, hissing at the sensation. “You’re right,” she says. “It feels so good. Just like you.” Slowly, she traces the rose down her abdomen to her pubis, her muscles trembling at the faintest of touches.
Body on fire, she inches back on the chair and spreads her legs up and over the armrests. Julia tenses and her eyelids appear to grow heavy as her irises focus in desire. Sam warms at the sight, and her nerves feel charged as if throbbing with neon.
She feels so out of control, everything inside and out of her reacting involuntarily. She’s aching and seeking, wanting to show and take.
She concentrates on the candlelight as it flickers across the room. It shadows the elegant features of Julia’s face, creating two halves. One light, one dark. One full of immeasurable love and devotion, the other full of incredible lust and desire. Both of them staring her down.
The music strums along with it all, stroking the air with tangible vibrations causing the rose to almost move along on its own, following the music’s path, weaving intricate designs along her skin.
When the soft petals reach her bare, aching flesh, she inhales sharply. Julia leans forward, the veins in her neck and hands standing at attention.
Sam mumbles in pleasure, stroking the rose along the sides of her clitoris. Making great grand circles around and around. She can feel herself throbbing, dying for the pressured touch directly on her reddened knob. She sighs into the dancing light, moves her hips up and around at the music. The satin swirl of the rose works its magic mystically, and when she pushes it upon her clitoris she arches her back and cries out in ecstasy. Twirling and twirling, she presses it firmer and firmer against her. Pulsing in pleasure, she tightens her abdomen and holds her head off the chair, locking eyes with Julia.
“This is what you do to me, Jule. Do you see it? Oh, oh God, it feels good.” She brings herself close to climax, so close she can feel every tendon in her body strain for it.
“Look,” she says, forcing herself to go slower. “Look at how wet…”
She lowers the rose to her opening, feels the teasing of the tightly wound petals as she dips the tip inside. Somewhere, amidst the music and the glimmering light, she hears Julia groan.
“Yes, Julia,” she says. “This is how you make me feel. See it. See it all.” She twists it and dips it, fucking the tight, soft petals, saturating it with her arousal.
“Oh, honey. Yes, oh God. I’m fucking your rose. I’m fucking you. Do you see it? I’m so wet, look, Julia.”
“Ah,” Julia mumbles. “You’re so beautiful.”
Sam brings the rose upward, trailing her hot, silky wetness across the planes of her belly, up to her breasts, where she once again spins the rose upon her nipples.
“See, baby? See how wet I am?”
Julia groans a yes and then drops to her knees. She wraps her hands under and around Sam’s thighs, holding her close. Sam stares into her fiery eyes, feels Julia’s breath searing her skin. Sam wants to follow those breaths, hold them captive, and then crawl in after them. Using the rose, she touches Julia’s lips. Julia inhales deeply and then kisses it, extending her tongue for a taste.
“My two favorite smells,” Julia whispers, rubbing her cheek along the rose, closing her eyes. When she opens them, she takes the rose from Sam and skims it along her skin, up one thigh and down the other. Sam jerks and sighs, watching and feeling. Julia plays with her like that for a bit longer and then brings it back to Sam’s center where she places it top down upon her clitoris. She spins it carefully and lowers herself, once again extending her tongue, this time to find Sam’s opening.
“Oh God,” Sam murmurs, gripping Julia’s thick, sandy mane, the feel of her heavy wet tongue driving her mad.
Julia thrusts inside her and Sam throws her head back, the slick, firm tongue delving in and twirling around and around just like the rose on her clit. Noises come from them both, short, sharp gasps and long, throaty growls. Sam begins to pump her hips, the ecstasy building and building. In a hurried motion, Julia tosses the rose aside and brings her mouth up to feed where the rose had been. Then long, hard fingers tease Sam’s opening just before Julia shoves them inside.
“Oh God!”
Julia’s pumping her. Into her, out of her, fast, hard, long, and short. Her mouth is now sucking, bobbing Sam’s clit in a confinement of wet, soft lips and dense, slick tongue.
“Fuck, oh God, Julia. Baby—” Sam shuts her eyes, the mounting pleasure too great. The music strums, beats, and moves in its hypnotic rhythm. The candlelight matches it, pulsating, beating, and dancing. Her insides do the same, reflecting her outside. Strums, beats, pulsations. All of it doing so with one word.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
Sam calls out her name then, loud and deep and throaty, hands clinging to her head, body shoving into her. Julia groans in return, tightening her grip, fucking Sam harder and harder.
“I can
feel you—” Sam stutters. “I can feel you filling me. All of you, all over me. In me and on me. You. Everywhere. I love you—”
Her body rocks and shakes and then stills. The million little pieces of her fall slowly and gently back down, like spent confetti.
“Julia,” she says one more time.
Sam lies there, body limp, mind flaccid. Julia lifts herself, but leaves her fingers inside. She grins slightly, her blue eyes soft, her mouth swollen, her skin bloomed in red.
Sam grins back but feels the pooling of tears in her eyes. “I love you,” she says, noticing that the music has stopped.
Julia stares into her eyes. “I know. I mean, I really know.”
Sam touches her face. “Good.”
Julia lays her cheek on Sam’s abdomen. “I’ll never forget this.” She looks at her. “Thank you.”
“No,” Sam says. “Thank you.”
A knock sounds from the door, startling them both. The doorknob turns back and forth quickly but to no avail.
“Julia?” It was Vinny, Julia’s protégé.
“Shhh.” Julia laughs. “Maybe he’ll go away.”
Sam sits up, holding fast to Julia’s wrist. “I wish he would.”
Julia gives her a smoldering look and leans in for a tender, delicate kiss. “He will.” She moves her fingers deep inside Sam, causing the sweet burning pressure to return.
More knocking. “Are you in there? Are you okay? I smell smoke.”
Julia groans in obvious frustration. “I’m fine, Vinny. Give me a moment, okay?”
“Doesn’t he go to lunch? I thought at least we’d have the hour.”
“Vinny doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep. He’s a machine.”
Sam grins lazily. “Like you?”
Julia kisses her again and removes her fingers. She stands and brings Sam with her.
“Maybe. But a different kind of machine.”
Sam laughs. “I’ll hold you to that, then.”
More knocking. “Julia, I’m really sorry, but Tokyo is on the line—”
“Okay, Vinny. I’m on it.” She touches Sam’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
