Rogue Affair

by Tamsen Parker

“She speaks before the coffee has kicked in,” I tease, leaning in to kiss her neck. “I was wondering if you ever said that.”

  “I do,” she murmurs. “On rare occasion.”

  “I’m honored.” I grab a muffin and hop onto the counter as I slowly have my breakfast. Ask. Her. Right. “So…last night was fun.”

  She blushes and takes another big sip of coffee. “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to assume anything about you, but I’d like to do it again.” Now, for example. Later. Now and later.

  I get a nod in response. “Me, too.” She finishes her coffee and refills her mug before looking over at me. “You’re welcome to stay with me for a while in Vancouver, too.” She frowns. “There’s a lot of work to be done in prepping for a show. I have one next month, the Four Seasons show, but I’m hoping I can find a space to host Climb a Mountain sooner than later. A test installation, so to speak, before I shop it around to formal galleries. It’s not normally how things are done, but I won’t be sure about the impact until I actually do it. So there’s lots of work if you…”

  She trails off as I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve made a commitment to the winter adventure camp. They’re expecting me to start next week.” I don’t want to work for her. I want to fuck her. Those two things are mutually exclusive in my books. “But it would be great to keep in touch.”

  “Sure,” she says, a little too carefully. “Of course.”

  I finish my muffin in two quick bites, then hop off the counter and snuggle up against her side. I wiggle my fingers under her shirt and stroke the soft flat of her belly. “I don’t want this to just be one night, although if that’s what you want, I’ll understand.”

  She clears her throat. “That would be the smart thing to do.”

  “It’s not what we’re going to do, though, right?” I run my nose over the soft skin of her neck. “Because there’s a lot you still need to show me.”

  That gets me a groan, and I grin with glee.

  “My flight out is day after tomorrow. Let’s cram as much sex as we can in before that, and then worry about future hook-ups later. We’ll keep it easy and simple.”

  “In my experience, extended affairs are rarely either of those.” She says it gently, but it still stings a bit.

  “I know. I’ve had my share of relationships.”

  “How about heartbreak?”

  I lean back so I can see her face. “Less of that.”

  She gives me a half-smile. “Lucky girl.”

  “You won’t break my heart, Astrid.”

  She laughs at that and cups my face. “I know. But you could break mine.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “Oh.” My heart catches in my throat, but before I can respond, she’s tugged me close for a kiss.

  “Don’t worry about that,” she says against my lips. “I know what this is, and what it isn’t.”

  Does she? Great. Because I have no clue.

  But her heart isn’t the only one that’s on the line. As heat swirls around us, as we make-out against the counter until the floor is littered with clothes and I’m riding her hand, I think, I just lied to you. I didn’t mean to…

  And then thinking is over for a while.

  We arrive back in Vancouver in the late afternoon. Astrid unloads her photography gear and I offer to do the copious laundry we’ve brought back with us.

  Two hours later she finds me in her utility room—which is nicer than my last three bathrooms, all shiny tile, with an old-fashioned porcelain sink in between the washer and dryer, and a separate counter for folding clothes.

  “How goes the laundry battle?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe. Her hair is loose and damp, and her eyes are bright. She looks relaxed and happy, a totally different woman than the one who picked me up at the airport.

  Did I do that?

  Was it the time in the mountains?

  Maybe both. Maybe it’s all a very good, very hot combination.

  “Almost done. Last load is in the dryer now.” I pat the top of the warm machine, vibrating productively under my hand.

  “Good. What do you want for dinner?”

  It’s such an ordinary, delightfully mundane question. Also the first time she’s actually asked me, rather than just fetching food she hopes I’ll tolerate, no pineapple in sight.

  But it’s not the real question that hangs in the air between us. Are we on a dinner countdown? Do we need to make this special because it might not happen again? I’ve been thinking about that all day.

  I need to go, if only to give myself some time to be clear on what I want. But also because I asked for a job, and I made a commitment, and I can’t be selfish twice in one year.

  “I don’t know what to do for dinner. Or with my life, either,” I admit. “The last bit is a total over-share, sorry.”

  “Has that been on your mind?” She crosses to me and holds out her arms.

  I fold against her and soak up the warmth of her embrace. “I guess so. Enough that I just blurted it out.”

  “I have a crazy idea,” she says as she tugs on my hair, like she wants to hold on tight but she’s not going to let herself.

  Hold on tight. Do it. I can’t tell her that yet, but I will, one day. “I like crazy.”

  “Go and don’t think twice about it.”

  “That is crazy.”

  She shakes her head. “You said it yourself. You have things you need to do. Go and do them, and figure out whatever is troubling you. Plus, this is new for you. I’m…different.”

  “Do you mean difficult?” I tease her. “Because that is a change-up from the people I’ve dated before.”

  She fights back a smile. “And how many of them have been women?”

  “Are we counting the girl I kissed in seventh grade?”

  “No.” Her eyes soften. “But that’s adorable.”

  I sigh. “Okay.”

  “It’s not just that. I’ve clung too tightly in the past.” She presses her lips together, into a firm, white little line. Then she blows out a quick, resolved breath. “I want you to find your own joy. And if it’s anywhere near a mountain, you let me know, and I’ll come visit.”

  “I will. But I’m not gone yet. I’m going to enjoy the last couple of days here with you.”

  “Oh?”

  I grin as I nudge her back until she bumps into the dryer. “And I know exactly what I want to eat for dinner.”

  “What’s that?”

  I press against her and brush my lips along her jaw. “You.”

  She smells like simple, clean soap, and the faint scent of lemons and thyme from her fancy laundry detergent surrounds us. How did I manage to get to twenty-three before realizing that going down on Astrid surrounded by clean laundry was my hottest fantasy ever?

  “Hop up,” I whisper as I push her sweatpants over her hips and fill my palms with the soft round curves of her bare ass.

  She sets her hands on the dryer and jumps, squeaking as her bottom hits the vibrating metal.

  Yes. Amazing. I strip her pants fully away from her legs, then lift them up so her heels are right on the edge.

  “Whoa,” she says, laughing, as she leans back. The dryer beeps at her in protest.

  But this is perfect. Her legs spread for me, revealing the wet, slick seam of her pussy. My own sex pulses as l reach out and stroke between her curls. I’ve touched her already, but I haven’t kissed her there, and for a second, my head swims with the prospect of it.

  This is different than giving a guy head.

  Way better. Like, no comparison. I’ve never wanted to crawl out of my skin in excitement at the thought of dick in my mouth. But warm, soft pussy?

  Maybe Astrid is right to think of me as an overgrown puppy. It’s like I’m a hormone-laden teenager all over again. But this time I’ve found exactly the right person to discover hot sex with.

  I kiss her thigh first. I don’t mind if she knows I’m a little nervous, so I linger there, licking and sucking at
her skin as I breathe in her scent.

  It turns me on. Astrid turns me on, I already know that with full confidence, but this is something else, something more primal and elemental I’ve never experienced before. I nose closer, sliding my arms around her hips until we’re tangled together on top of the dryer and my mouth is against her pussy lips.

  Without any conscious thought, my lips part and my tongue slides out. The first taste of her wetness makes me gasp. I vaguely hear Astrid say something like good or gentle, and I agree on both points.

  This is good, and I promise to be gentle.

  I lick again, the unique flavour of her making my mouth water. More licks, over and over again, until my face is buried between her legs and she’s writhing hard. I explore every frill and fold, each plump lip and then deeper, her slick entrance.

  I remember her question from last night. I lift my head and find her gaze hot and piercing as she watches me from beneath hooded eyelids.

  “Do you like a finger?”

  She smiles. “One or two. Not too deep.”

  Got it. I dive back in, teasing her hole with my tongue before gently circling the same spot with my fingertips.

  Need curls up hard inside me. Need to make her come, to please her, to make a memory that will last us both through a long, cold winter.

  I’m coming back to you, I promise. This isn’t the end. It’s too soon to say that out loud. And I might be lust-drunk. That’s a serious possibility.

  But as her thighs tighten around my head, as I lick up every drop of her climax on top of her dryer, I don’t care if this is fantasy or reality.

  14

  Astrid

  Two months later

  I’m having lunch with my agent, and so far, I’ve managed not to stab her with my salad fork. The odds on my willpower lasting all the way to dessert are not good, because she’s trying to let me down gently, and I see her doing it a mile away.

  “It’s a good exhibit,” Isabelle says in a way that clearly translates to it’s a difficult idea, really. “But your expectation for the perfect space is a problem.”

  My expectation. Ha. This is just one show. I have expectations for perfection that make this simple request pale in comparison.

  Or I’m in a terrible, prolonged bad mood that’s coloring everything else. That’s possible.

  I haven’t heard from Brianne in six weeks.

  She’s busy. She’s working a lot, and having fun with the other guides. I darkly imagine her having a slow-build flirtation with someone just like her. Young, sexy, single. This dark figure doesn’t have a gender in my jealous fantasies. I don’t know if it would be worse if he’s a man or a woman, and I try not to let the jealousy take hold either way.

  You’ve done it again. Fallen for someone who doesn’t want what you want. That’s not true, but it’s what my brain tells me just before I fall asleep at night.

  I scowl at my salad, then lift my chin and give my agent a firm but polite smile. This is all I can control right now. This exhibit, which is possible. She needs to understand that. “I can see it. That’s how the photographs need to be displayed. I don’t want them on four walls with a champagne reception in between. It needs to be a climb. Perhaps we can find one of the larger museums who can schedule it further out. I’m not in a rush.”

  “This is no longer the age of name your price, Astrid.” She sighs and lifts one shoulder in a helpless, what-can-you-do gesture that irritates the fuck out of me. Why do I have an agent if she seems to think her job is to break bad news to me? Her job should be to find me good news. “Unless you want to build your own spiral staircase gallery.”

  My hand stops a few inches above my plate. “What?”

  “I mean, that would be—” Her eyes go wide. “No.”

  “Yes.” I nod as I put the fork down. “Yep, that’s what I want.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “It’s too expensive. You know better than to bear the cost of an exhibit yourself. Why expose yourself to that kind of risk?”

  Because what is life without risk? I stand up and drop my napkin on the table. “I have no desire to die a rich woman. I’ll spend the money now, thank you very much. Do you think that’s a bad idea?”

  “I think you’ve been distracted lately.”

  “That’s a yes. You know what, Isabelle? I think the time for us to work together has come to an end. All the best.” I stalk away from the table before she can say anything. I’m sure there will be slick email waiting for me when I get home, accepting in advance an apology for my outburst over lunch.

  That was no artistic tantrum, though. That was a breakthrough.

  I call Marcus as I reach the carpark where I’ve left my truck.

  “I’m calling in that favor,” I tell him when he answers.

  “We have five feet of snow right now. Pretty boring canvas for pictures.”

  “Different request, actually.” I take a deep breath. “I need space in New York City. A lot of space. Five stories in a building where I could do some significant renovations.”

  “I’ll be in New York next week for Thanksgiving. My friend Jake is getting married. I can scout a location. What are you up to?”

  “I want to bring the mountains to the city,” I say in a rush. “One particular mountain. Can you help me?”

  “How long do you need the space?”

  “How does forever sound?”

  15

  Brianne

  The invitation arrives two days before Christmas, when I’ve decided I hate the world and I’m this close to quitting my second job in less than four months because fuck-it-all, I just want to crawl back to Astrid and tell her I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I definitely want to do her.

  You are cordially invited to the opening night reception for

  Climb The Mountain

  a photographic exploration by Astrid Dane

  It’s not until the end of January, but it’s in New York City, just a few hours from me. I’m booking the weekend off work immediately.

  But seriously, how the hell am I going to last that long?

  I call her, making an exception to my rule of leaving her alone. She picks up on the third ring, breathless. “Brianne,” she says. “Hi.”

  I grin. “Hey. I got the invitation.”

  “Oh. Good. Great.”

  My cheeks hurt, that’s how big I’m smiling. “I didn’t realize it would happen this quickly. It’s exciting.”

  “It usually wouldn’t, but I decided to do the exhibit a little differently.”

  “Oh?”

  “Easier to explain in person. So you can come?”

  “I’ll book the entire weekend off.”

  “It’ll be formal, but you can wear whatever you want.”

  “I can find a pretty dress to wear.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Oh, my heart is going to explode. “Okay. Good. Thank you, for thinking of me.”

  There’s a long pause. “I think of you every day.”

  I close my eyes and nod. “Same here.”

  “Do you have holiday plans?”

  “No. I’m working. Busy season.”

  “Right. Are you having fun?”

  I laugh. “No. I’m working hard, and that’s it.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” But she says it like she’s smiling.

  “I miss you, Astrid. Can I say that?”

  “Yes, I think you can. I miss you too. And I can’t wait to see you next month. I’ll have a suite,” She says more softly. “You can stay with me.”

  I stretch out on my small bed in my staff quarters and imagine twisting naked together on a big hotel bed. “I was counting on it.”

  I take the Greyhound into the city. When I arrive at the hotel, there’s a note waiting for me. Astrid’s at the gallery overseeing the final touches, but she’s left me a hotel room key and the address of where to meet her in two hours.


  I head up to her suite, which is outrageous and amazing. I have a long, hot shower, then I blow-dry my hair into a funky, feathered fringe and get dressed.

  It’s cold out, but I still want to look hot. I splurged on a special outfit for tonight. Black, thigh-high boots and a soft, floaty grey dress that ends high on my thighs. Under it I’m wearing tiny black shorts, because it’s cold out and I don’t to flash anyone other than Astrid.

  A bit of mascara and lip gloss finishes the look, and I’m check myself out in the mirror. I look okay. No, I look super hot, I can admit that.

  The boots were worth every penny.

  My hands shake as I tuck the invitation and my room key into a small cross-body bag, then I wrap an over-sized wool scarf around my body and head for the gallery.

  It’s a tall, skinny building sandwiched in the middle of a block. This is the real deal, big-time kind of exhibit, because there’s a fancy metal sign announcing Climb The Mountain mounted above the wide glass doors.

  It’s already busy. There’s a bouncer taking invitations, so I hand mine over, then hold my purse for a quick security check before I’m allowed inside.

  There’s a wall ten feet inside the doors with the title of the exhibit scrawled across it again, in the same typography as the sign outside. Below that is a plaque, and I move closer to read it.

  * * *

  This permanent installation is an endowment of the

  Dane Environmental Education Project

  “DEEP,” a man says out loud beside me, and I spin around. Marcus grins at me. His girlfriend Poppy is on his arm. “A new project Astrid and I have started.”

  I blink at him. “One that can afford a permanent endowment in the middle of New York City?”

  Poppy laughs. “We’ve missed you and your blunt outspokenness, Brianne.”

  “She’s missed you. I’ve been grateful for how quiet it’s been back home,” Marcus says. “Have you seen Astrid yet?”

  I shake my head, my mouth suddenly dry.

  If he knows why my cheeks are turning pink, he doesn’t let on.