Notes/Spoilers: Need to Know never happened. Anything else is fair game. Special thanks to a wonderful beta, Patty.
I feel good. Beyond good, really; great, in fact. For the first time since 9/11, I’m facing a weekend free of encumbrances. Even Mother, bless her heart, is out of town. Not that I would normally mind spending time with her. But this weekend is just for me.
Even the rest of today is suddenly, gloriously, free. My one stop, at JAG Ops, went smoothly. Although, I probably have to stop spending so much time there. No one even glared at me. I’ve become a fixture, I guess. My afternoon appointment was cancelled, so I’m footloose and fancy free until Monday morning. Well, not really free; I’ve got plenty of normal stuff to do this weekend. Maybe I’ll get some of the errands out of the way today, which would free up some time tomorrow.
First on my list is the bank. I have CD’s to roll over, and other things that I’ve put off for too long. That takes over an hour, and I’m really glad that I did it today. Next I need to go to the dry cleaners. I really liked the one I had in Alexandria, but it was stupid to continue to drive all that way. Six months ago, I decided I hated the commute from Alexandria to Langley, plus there was the little matter of an Iranian professor suddenly deciding he needed to sell his plush digs in Fairfax just to move next door to me. I couldn’t take the chance. I sold my place and moved to a townhouse in Georgetown. Two weeks later, I ran into Sarah MacKenzie outside of Starbucks. Since then, we’ve run into each other a couple of times. She was the person who recommended this dry cleaners.
I’m the only person in the establishment besides the young girl behind the counter. She’s smiling and talking on the phone. Terrific. She’s probably gabbing with a girlfriend or worse, a boyfriend. I eavesdrop, ready to call her on it.
"Let me see if they’re done, Colonel."
Well, at least she’s doing business. She gives me a brief, conciliatory smile that I have no choice but to return. Behind her, there are rows of plastic-protected clothes. There are more dress whites, Army and Navy blues, and Marine green than civilian suits. Some hotshot aide probably needs his mess dress. I let my mind wonder, and I replay the scene of me leaving JAG Ops earlier today.
As AJ had followed me out of his office, I’d looked around across the bullpen. Sarah MacKenzie had been deep in conversation with Lauren Singer; their faces, in profile. "Jesus, AJ," I’d said softly. "You’re really working your people hard. Mac looks like she’s just gone through a Parris Island obstacle course."
I hadn’t expected an answer, so I’d been surprised when I’d heard his grunt of agreement. "Not Parris Island, Paris France...without the sightseeing."
"Oh, yeah. The Anderson Case. Another feather in the caps of Superman and Lois Lane."
"Be sure and use that analogy the next time you see her, Webb."
Hell, I like to live dangerously. I’d started to walk up to her, thinking I’d invite her to lunch, only to hear, "Shake a leg, jarhead!" Her partner’s voice had boomed across the bullpen. "We’re due in court in five!" Her face had contorted in exhaustion, but she’d squared her shoulders, given Singer a parting shot, and hurried down the hallway.
I snap back to the present as the girl behind the counter checks her computer and returns to her phone conversation. "Colonel MacKenzie?"
Can’t be! I keep the shock from my face.
"Yes, ma’am," the girl continues, "they’re ready. Six uniforms." She listens for a moment and a look of consternation furrows her young forehead. "Oh, Colonel, I’m really sorry. No, we’re closing early tonight. It’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. No. Five o’clock. Yes, ma’am. Seven tomorrow morning. I’m really sorry." She hangs up the phone, gives me a good look, then glances back down at the phone. "Oh. You’re Mr. Webb, right?"
Sarah had brought me here the first time, and the young woman had been on duty then. I’m good with names, but I’m always pleased when a local merchant remembers me. "Hello, Jennifer."
"Wow. That’s weird. I was just talking to Colonel MacKenzie. Man, I wish there was something I could do for her. She sounded really tired."
If I’m good with names, I’m better with instant plans. "She’s been out of the country," I say, even as I’m trying to talk some sense to myself.
"Yeah," Jennifer whispers. "She’s really been busy lately."
"It’s hard," I agree. "You know we’re friends, right?"
"Yeah. She asked about you, once. Wanted to know if you were still using us."
Now that’s a surprise. But it fits in with my plan. "Tell you what… why don’t you give me her uniforms, and I’ll drop them off when I see her later tonight?"
She considers it, and I think she’s going to say she can’t. But Harmon Rabb isn’t the only guy in DC who can pour on the charm. I give Jennifer the smile I give Mother when I really want to get out of one of her charity functions. It seldom works on Mother anymore, but Jennifer hasn’t been around me enough to know better.
Thirty minutes later, I picked the lock on Sarah’s door and step inside her apartment. My plan is simple. I’m just going to put her dry cleaning down and leave. Do her a favor, and gently jerk her chain by having her wonder who’d do such a thing. I just hope Jennifer doesn’t have a pang of conscious and call Sarah to tell her what she did.
I put the clothes on the back of her couch and slowly gaze around Sarah’s sanctuary. It even smells like she hasn’t been around for a long time.
I glance down and can’t help the bark of laughter. She’s scrawled ‘CLEAN ME!!!!!’ in the dust on the coffee table. I’m not sure how long she’s been gone this time, but if I remember correctly, the mess in Paris was in the papers for over a month. Damn. At least I have a cleaning woman.
I wander around her place, checking for other signs. She obviously started to at least think about cleaning: there’s a bucket full of various cleaners, sprays and rags. Picking up the Pledge ™ and a dust rag, I quickly swipe the coffee table. One thing leads to another and the next thing I know, my stomach is growling. My watch shows me it’s 3:33. I hope she has something in the fridge.
As I carry remains of the contents of her vegetable bin down to the trash, I wonder if I should file an Environmental Impact Statement. Whatever had been in there had turned to a greenish-gray liquefied mush. She has nothing fit to eat. It’ll take her forever to shop on a Friday night. I have no idea what she needs — besides a good dinner tonight. However, if she’s anything like me, she won’t want to go out if she’s as tired as she looked earlier today. Maybe I’ll just pop down to the market on the next street and get her something to tide her over.
:: :: :: ::
I stand in the middle of the kitchen. Dinner, a fairly simple beef stew, is slow cooking in the oven. The aroma of the herbs I used fills the air, and I look around at my handiwork. She’s going to be so surprised. I’m betting that, with her workload, that she won’t be home for another hour. I’ll leave a cryptic note telling her when the stew will be done.
Then it hits me. I look around in horror. What the hell was I thinking? She’s going to think she’s being stalked again. Great! Wonderful! I’m a real idiot. Okay. I’ll sign the note. Tell her that I...that I was channeling Felix Unger and I couldn’t stand the thought of her apartment looking this way? How do I explain to her, hell, to myself, how a simple desire to do a good deed got so out of hand? Maybe I can figure out something that needs checking on in Russia. Whatever. I waver between turning off the oven and fleeing, and sitting down to face the music.
The decision is taken from me as I hear her key in the door. I stand in her kitchen, unable to move.
"What the...Hello?"
Oh, man, she’s going to kick my ass. Taking a deep breath, I step out into her living room. "Hi?"
She stares at me for a long time, and I can see she thinks she must be sleeping. "Clay?"
I shrug.
"What?" She looks around the place, carefully checking everything that I’ve done in the past four hours. She takes a deep whiff of the cooking stew, and I realize that, if I live through this, it will be because of the food. "You move in without telling me?" I swear, I can’t tell if she’s truly confused, pissed, or perhaps even a bit amused.
"Uhm...no...I’d have mentioned it this morning if I had."
"Huh?"
"I was at JAG this morning."
"You were?"
"Yeah. I was going to say ‘Hi,’ but you were going at it with Singer, then Harm called you for court. You looked really tired," I add, as if it explains everything. It does, but she doesn’t know that.
"I am tired, Clay."
Well at least she’s still calling me Clay. I manage a self-deprecating smile.
"Too tired for games! What do you want? If you did all this..." she waves her hand at her apartment, "you must really want something badly."
So much for smiles, and grand gestures. In fact, I’m really hurt that the first thing she thinks is that I’d do all this because I wanted something. I can feel the heat of my embarrassment climbing my cheeks. Then I consider everything I’ve done this afternoon. I shrug again and try and explain. "I guess it kind of got out of hand."
"What got out of hand?" But her anger is gone, and as her eyes light on the pile of clothing on the couch, she gazes into my eyes. "Clay?"
I fumble around for an acceptable lie, but find myself spilling my guts. "You see, after I dropped off a report to AJ, for once, I was done for the day and the weekend. I wanted to get my errands out of the way."
"I’m on your list of errands?" She’s looking at me like I have two heads, and I rather resent the fact that my foray into truth is meeting with such resounding negativity. But then she closes her eyes, and takes a deeper sniff of the stew. "What is that?" she whispers.
"Beef Bourguignon."
"How did you make it? I think there’s a can of Spam in the corner of one of the cabinets. That isn’t Spam I’m smelling."
"Ya think," I say with some flippancy, though her look tells me to not press my luck.
"So you picked up my dry cleaning..."
Before she can work out the appropriate questions for that feat, I quickly explain. "I was there at the cleaners when you called to find out if you could pick your uniforms up tonight." I take a deep breath. "I swear to God, Sarah, all I meant was to do a good deed, drop off the dry cleaning..."
"You picked my lock!" God, she must be tired.
"Yeah, and it’s a really flimsy one, too." Good one, dumbass. No wonder you’re still single.
She shakes her head and finally drops her bulging briefcase to the floor. Pulling off her coat, I see her grimace at the strain on her tired muscles. I’d offer her a back rub, but I’m pretty sure that would tear it. She runs her fingers over the plastic-covered uniforms, takes another long sniff of dinner, and then she begins a real inspection of the place, including running her fingers along her mantel to check for dust. Poking her head inside her bedroom, she takes a moment, and I wonder if they’ll ever find my body.
"I can’t remember the last time the pillow cases matched the sheets." She turns back and I think, I pray, that’s a hint of a smile on her lips. "I don’t think anyone has ever done anything so nice."
Praise the Lord.
Then she ruins it. "You don’t want anything?"
It makes me angry, and not a little sad, that she’d think so little of me. I stomp over to my suit jacket and grab it up. I’m almost at the door when she’s suddenly between it and me.
"Clay? Stop it. I’m just really surprised. Driving home, between trying to stay awake and going over everything I had to get done, I was daydreaming how nice it would be to have a fairy godmother, or house elves, or even a cleaning lady." She looks down at my chest, her lips twitching from the effort not to laugh.
I follow her gaze and can’t keep the groan from escaping my lips. I’d found the apron hanging from a hook in her pantry. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen: black with one of the Stooges, the bald one, with his lips puckered up and ‘Kiss the Chef’ emblazoned across the bottom. "I didn’t want to get the suit dirty," I huff. I try and pull away, but her arm is around my neck and damn, it feels good there.
"You didn’t want to get your suit dirty, but you dusted," she flicks something off my coat, "you vacuumed," her fingers caress my neck, "and you made me the most delicious smelling thing I’ve ever encountered." Our noses are almost touching. I hold my breath. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to kiss Sarah MacKenzie.
It’s a gentle brushing of lips, and it seals a fate that I’ve never seriously contemplated. At least, not while I was awake. "Thank you," she says as she gently pushes me back.
"You’re welcome." I can’t believe I managed that without smirking or fainting. I long to pull her back into my embrace, but I know how tired she is. "Dinner won’t be ready for about an hour or so. Do you want to take a bath? Or perhaps a quick shower and a nap?" She gives me a glare but I swallow my sharp remonstration. Sure I would like to join her, but if I ever get the chance to make love to Sarah MacKenzie, I want her fully awake. Instead I allow some of my hurt to show. "I’ll wait out here. Or, I can go. All you have to do..."
This time, her kiss is a harder, but just as quick. "Wait, please. It doesn’t seem fair that you should’ve gone to all the trouble to cook such a great meal and not get any."
It’s my turn to glare at her double entendre, even though I’m sure it’s unintentional. However, her answering smile leaves me confused, and not a little breathless. Is she playing some kind of game with me? She sidles around me, rubbing her chest against my arm. "Bath, I think."
I stand there, stunned until her bedroom door closes. Somehow my simple plan has definitely gotten out of hand. I have no idea when, where, or how I lost control of the situation. I should probably go. But I sit on her sofa and...
"Jesus Christ, Clay! You cleaned the toilet!"
I smile and rest my head against the soft cushions. I’m not sure if the smile on my face will leave soon. In the quiet of her now-clean apartment, I finally take a moment to analyze my motives. In much of my work, I seldom get any kind of real closure or satisfaction for a job well done. Often, I have to leave in the middle of a mission, allowing the local operatives to finish and take the glory. And, honestly, it’s not about the glory. I know I’m good at what I do. It’s just that today, I walked into a job that needed to be done. And knew that Sarah would appreciate it, not necessarily because I did it, but because she didn’t have to. That really is thanks enough. The kiss was just gravy.
Sure it was.
I hear water cascade against clean ceramic. It pleases me that she has a clean tub to soak in. I wonder if she’ll use the vanilla or the Satsuma bubble bath that rests on the shelf above her claw foot tub. The sharp citrus smell, which seeps out through the apartment and mingles quite nicely with the rosemary and bay leaf of the stew, answers the question.
I should put on some music. God knows I don’t want to watch the news. I’ll probably see something that I’ll need to fix. Instead, I sit and fantasize. This is very nice. This must be what it feels like to be normal. I quickly chide myself. Neither of us have normal jobs. It’ll do no good to even think about getting used to this. It was just something that got out of hand, and she’s too nice, too appreciative, too tired to call me on it.
I should get up and set the table, but the sounds coming from her bath, the water filling the tub, the gentle sloshing as she moves, is utterly captivating. So captivating that it takes me a while to realize that the water has been running for an awfully long time.
I tense and listen harder. She must’ve left the door to her bath open, because, even through the bedroom door is closed, I can clearly hear that she’s not shut off the water. Oh, hell. She’s probably fallen asleep. The tub is deep, but it’s not particularly long. I’m not afraid that she’ll drown. However, I have no desire to clean up the tiles again. "Sarah?" Well, it wasn’t very loud, but I don’t want to startle her.
I stand up and walk to the door. "Sarah?" I push open the door to the bedroom. I was right.
The door to the bath is standing open. It’s still thirty minutes before the stew will be done. Steam rises from the water. Let her sleep.
Carefully, I make my way to where I can clearly see her in the tub. The citrus scent is overpowering now. She must have dunked her head before resting her neck against the curve of the tub, because her deep chestnut hair glistens with moisture; a few bubbles adorn the strands. The bubbles provide a dense and very deep shield. That’s fine with me. I stand there staring at her as she sleeps.
I’ve always known she was the most beautiful woman I knew, but damn, Sarah MacKenzie asleep, naked, in a claw foot tub will fuel a decade’s worth of wet dreams. The bubbles now threaten to spill over the sides of the tub. I turn away from her face and focus on the controls. Two steps bring me to the chrome. Whatever fear I might have entertained about her drowning is further eased as I see that she has braced one shapely foot against the far end of the tub. Her face and toes are all the skin I can see. Some time ago, she’d had the time to paint her toenails. They sadly need a complete repainting. The image of me painting those nails flits across my mind, and my cock definitely likes the idea.
Quickly, I turn off the water.
"Like what you see?" she murmurs.
Busted. I wonder if she wants me to turn around. Will I see invitation? Or derision? I don’t think I can handle either right now. The proof that she’s playing me will hurt too much. She’s too tired to really mean any invitation or to fully appreciate my efforts in that department. So, taking the coward’s way, I straighten but don’t turn around. Instead, remembering where she keeps her towels, I retrieve one and place it on the toilet seat. Still not looking back at her, I go to the door. However, before I pull it shut, I turn my head slightly so she can hear me clearly. "I always have."
I set the table, take the stew from the oven and finish the salad. I suspect that candles would be definitely pushing it, so I just wait, nervously.
The soft terry robe covers her as completely as the bubbles did. The woman that I’ve only allowed myself to consider a colleague and a friend is now my personal Venus. Not that I will admit that to her. Shit. I’m as tongue-tied as I was on my junior prom night. And, Sarah MacKenzie is a HELL of a lot prettier than Mitzy Goldman.
She stands at the table, and I’m really pleased by the look of ravenous awe on her face. "Okay?" I have to ask. She just nods and gingerly sits down at the table.
A huge yawn stretches her face and she quickly covers her mouth. "Sorry," she groans.
"Hey, I know what its like. Eat what you want. Then, get some sleep. I’ll clean up and let myself out." She looks up at me for such a long time, and I just know she’s going to ask me why I did it. However, she just gives a soft smile and digs in.
I swear, she could be sound asleep and still put the food away. Finally, having taken the edge off her hunger a bit, she pauses and demands, "When was the last time you had an entire weekend off?"
It’s certainly not the question I expected, but I give it due consideration. "Four months ago, when I ran into you at Borders."
She considers my answer and groans. "You know, I think I remember that as being the last time I had a whole weekend off, too." She looks back at her briefcase sitting by the door and sighs. "And this weekend isn’t going to be much better." She turns to me, reaches out and takes my hand. "But, whatever little that I have, I have you to thank for it." Tears brim in her eyes. "This was all so sweet."
"My pleasure. I mean it." And in a move that I don’t think I’d try if she weren’t as tired as she is, I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it. I’m rewarded with a smile. But, she still pulls her hand free. Not out of embarrassment, though. I’ve captured her fork hand and she quickly retrieves her utensil to take another bite.
After a few more bites, I pick up the conversational gauntlet. "How was Paris?"
She sighs. "It could have been Bangkok, Moscow, or St. Louis for all I saw of it. Harm had me going over files in the bowels of the police station from dawn until midnight." A look of pure pride lights her face. She taps her chest. "I found the lead. It was worth it." Her eyes tell the rest of the story. It was Harm’s picture that was splashed across the newspapers, and his sound bites that made the airwaves. Why? I don’t know.
"You would’ve been prettier on TV." It’s the best I can come up with.
"Oh, I don’t care. The Admiral knows what happened, and Harm gave me credit whenever he had a chance. But, let’s face it. He tracked down the real criminals. He found the traitor in the French Ministry of Justice." Her voice drops. "And he’s dashing and looks good in his uniform. The public eats it up. Particularly when they do a background on him. He’ll go far."
She stops and studies me. Everyone from border guards to ambassadors has scrutinized me. I’m good at hiding, but it’s like she has a direct line to my soul. I somehow manage not to squirm.
"Can I ask you a question?" She pauses, and before I can answer, she adds, "Without you questioning my motives?"
"I guess.
"While you, the most controlled man I know, were allowing your day to get so out of hand, what were you thinking?" There’s no hint of anything but curiosity in her voice.
I take a long drink from my ice tea, knowing that we both need to hear my answer. Now if I can only come up with one.
In the end, I shrug. "Really? I’d like to give you an answer, but I can’t. Not beyond a stray thought or two."
She rests her elbows on the tabletop, intertwining her fingers and props her chin up. "Start with those, Clay."
I take a deep breath and try to answer as truthfully as I can. "It just made some weird sense. Or at least, it did at the time. I mean, there I was, with a whole weekend on my hands. I had to be at the grocery store, the cleaners, and the locksmith anyway." Damn. I wasn’t going to mention that last bit.
"Locksmith?"
"Well, it is a flimsy lock. Sarah. The set is in a bag by the couch. I can take it back." Her glare gets me back on track. "I had the time and I knew you didn’t. Why not help a friend?" There. That sounded plausible. Didn’t it?
"Friend?" She says it like she doesn’t know the meaning, at least not when I say it.
"Yeah!" I snap. "Is that too much of a stretch?"
She’s working something out in her head. She looks like she wants to say something. Instead, she stands and reaches for my empty plate. I know better than to insist that I be allowed to wash the dishes. Besides, everything I used for preparation, save for the casserole itself, is already clean and put back where I found it.
Her slightly aggravated sigh floats from the kitchen. "It’s never this clean!" Water fills the sink and dishes, silverware and glasses plop down into the water.
I sit at the table staring at nothing, questioning my own motives now that I have a chance to study them. I didn’t tell her the whole truth. Hell, I just worked it out for myself. I almost groan at the reality. I sure as hell can’t admit it to her.
"It gets really lonely when you have time to actually think about it, doesn’t it, Clay?" Her voice, soft and knowing, cuts through me like a laser. Damn, she can read minds. "Most of the time, particularly now, we have so much to do that, when there’s a lull, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. Enjoying the mundane seems almost traitorous. Taking a moment to stop and smell the roses makes you feel like you should be doing something, anything, to try and make everything right again."
I don’t - can’t - move. She’s right behind me now. The citrus scent of her envelops me. I didn’t know that I was cold until her warmth reaches out to me. Her hand on my shoulder sends a shock through me.
"Yeah." Now there’s a response worthy of a Harvard graduate. I find that’s all I can manage. A lump that threatens to choke me is lodged in my throat. Her lips are close to my ear; her breath tickles and excites me.
"You’ve done so much for me today. Such a simple kindness, yet, I hesitate to ask for another favor."
"Hey, no problem." I do anything up to stealing state secrets for her right now. I’d planned on changing her lock for her. I’m sure that’s what she wants. Or maybe she wants me to change the washer in her sink. I noticed the drip when I was cleaning.
"I could really use a back rub."
I look over at the sofa, expecting to see my sleeping form. I couldn’t have heard her right. "What?"
She tugs at my shoulder until I finally turn to gaze up into her eyes. There’s humor, but also fear in them. Is she afraid of me? Does she think I’ll reject her? The uncertainty on her face reflects the same doubts and indecision I struggle with when dealing with problems outside my professional life.
"I would really like you to stay, Clay." That redefines her intention, and confuses me all the more.
I gulp and nod. Like I’m going to turn down an offer like this? But something inside me reasserts itself. I stand and turn, taking her lightly in my arms, not embracing her, more holding her so I can clearly see her expression. "Why? Why now?" I don’t even bring up the apartment or the errands or the dinner. She has too much class to offer sex in gratitude and I’d never insult her by suggesting she might.
Her shrug is reminiscent of my earlier one. But she has her answer ready. "Why now? You’re here; I’m here. And here makes ever so much more sense than a prison camp in Afghanistan or a stateroom on board the Seahawk."
"Excuse me?" My fingers grip her hips. I don’t know what to think, let alone say.
"That night, before we questioned the prisoners. I lay there on that narrow cot and thought about a lot of things. I was angry at Harm. I knew I was the right person for the mission. I wanted to talk to someone about it. I got up that night and went looking for you."
"You did?" I try and remember what I was doing, why I hadn’t seen her. "When?"
"It was 0230 hours. I thought for sure you’d be asleep. But I found you outside. You were standing on top of the parapet."
"We didn’t talk that night... did we?" I’m beginning to worry about my sanity now. I can remember in great detail every conversation I’ve ever had with this woman. But that night I spent alone. Thinking. Thinking the dark thoughts that sometimes consume me.
Her hand comes up and brushes across my cheek. "I stood there watching you," she whispers so softly. "I saw you were upset about something." Her look tells me she understands. "Something!" She sighs and leans into my embrace. My arms wrap around her, while her arms snake around my neck. For a moment we take simple comfort in each other. I wonder if we might have come together sooner had it not been for that dark day in September. Her breath is warm against my neck. "You didn’t need to hear what a jerk Harm could be. You know it as well as I. Besides, Harm’s not a jerk. Not really. He’s Harm. He does what he thinks he needs to do and the rest of us better just hold on — or jump free."
She pulls back to let me see her face. "I jumped free that night, Clay. As I stood there, watching you work through your own demons, I made a couple of hard decisions of my own." She gives me a resigned, tired smile. "Of course, the world decided that I needed to wait. After we discovered Atif’s plans, after the suicide, it all seemed so hopeless." She takes a deep breath and her eyes capture mine. "I’m tired of waiting, Clay. I’d like very much for you to come to my bedroom with me."
She wants me. She’s wanted me for a while, and not out of gratitude. She looked for me the night before I saved her life. "I wish now you would’ve come to me that night. I don’t think we would have done anything, but I could’ve used the company." I pause, then think back, sighing deeply. "No. I probably would’ve just worried out loud."
"But that’s okay, too. Damn it, Clay. That’s part of it." Real concern floods her face. "I don’t want you to come to my bed because we’re lonely, or to say thanks for cleaning my house!" She walks away, growing angrier with each step. "I know your favorite phrase is ‘That’s Classified!’" She spins and nails me with her best lawyer’s glare. "But, how often do you use it to just hide behind?"
"Damn, you’re good." I lean against the table, folding my arms across my chest. "It’s been so long, Sarah. Not just sex." My laugh is painful to us both. "Who has time? But today wasn’t about trying to get you to bed. That never occurred to me; I saw how tired you were. It’s been so damned long since I’ve actually connected with a woman. My job really isn’t conducive to any kind of relationship. And now, after all that’s happened, my job is suddenly more than a game of one-upmanship. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised that my cell hasn’t rung, calling me to the latest crisis."
Her eyes soften. She walks back up to me, reaching for my hand. "Come on, Clay. Let’s connect."
Shocked? Hell, yes. Stupid? Not on your life. I might never be able to completely sort through my real motives for doing what I did today. However, there’s no way in hell I’m going to turn down this chance. I let her lead me to her bedroom. The spread has already been folded over the bottom of the bed. She was thinking about this before dinner. I free my hand and turn her around to face me. Drawing her close, my lips find hers. My hands play up and down her arms, gently at first, but as she responds, I grow more impatient. Finally, I tug at the material to expose her shoulders. I transfer my lips to the smooth skin of her neck, and inhale the mingled scents on her body.
She’s not idle. Her nails draw random patterns across my shirt, trailing up to caress my hair then all the way down to my ass.
"Oh, God, you smell good," I moan. I pull back to attack the belt of her robe. She’s tugging at my shirt buttons. I want to tell her to rip it open, but I do have to leave here with some dignity. I plan on returning a great many times. She frees the first couple of button, then with a growl of frustration, she begins clawing at the material, pulling it out of my pants and up my chest. "Here, let me." I step back further and pull the shirt, along with my undershirt, over my head. Mother raised me to be fastidious about my attire, but this is Sarah Mackenzie who wants me. I toss both shirts away, not caring where they land, or if they’ll be wrinkled when I have to put them back on.
She gives me a wicked smile and, the next thing I know, she’s standing there completely naked. Her breasts are firm and her nipples hard. My hands, which had been pulling my belt open, freeze. In fact, I can’t move. I just stare at her, hoping she sees the adoration in my eyes and not just the lust.
Her laugh is musical. "You do like what you see."
"Oh, yeah." I have no conscious thought of actually doing it, but I manage to finish undressing. Now, both of us naked, we stand for a moment, considering each other. She takes a step, and the rest is a blur. My lips find hers again, and we tumble to the bed.
I try to be gentle as I touch her, but she’s having none of it. "Harder, Clay!" She fists my cock, and it feels so good I can barely breathe. As we lose ourselves in heated lust, my mouth finds her breasts and I feed there for a while: nipping, kissing, lapping, pinching, until she’s nearly incoherent. We roll around on the bed, first one, then the other gaining the upper hand.
Finally, I pin her to the bed, my hands on her shoulders, gazing down into her eyes. I have no idea where I find the presence to ask but, thank God, she has a box of condoms in her nightstand.
"I hope the date is okay. They’ve been there since Mic left." Later, I’ll take the time to be pleased that she’s been as celibate as I’ve been lately. Now, I need to be inside her. She wants it as badly as I do, because she becomes impatient with my progress in getting the damned thing out of the wrapper. Grabbing it, she rips it open. We both grow very still as she gently rolls the rubber over my cock. "Nice, Clay. Very nice," she purrs. She wraps her arms around my neck to draw me closer.
I’m trembling as my cock finds her entrance. She’s so wet. "There’s so much I want to make you feel, Sarah." Our eyes lock as I begin to fill her. "God! You’re so tight!" I gasp. "So hot!" She turns her head and begins to suck the sweat from my arm. Her teeth scrape my skin. Even with the rubber covering me, I can feel her walls caressing my cock. "Sarah!" I demand her attention. Her eyes are glazed as I cover her with my body. She brings her head up to meet me, and our lips fuse as our bodies join completely.
I try to hold off some of my weight. My lips bury in her neck as her hips swivel underneath mine.
"Fuck me hard, Clay."
I damn near come without any further stimulation. Pushing off her, I give her what she demands.
I’m thrusting, pounding into her, trying to watch her reaction. But, male physiology is notorious, and my own need for pleasure is now becoming too demanding to ignore. The heat of her body, her panting pleas, and her heels locked at the small of my back, all join with the delicious vice around my cock to drive me to the most intense orgasm of my life.
When I open my eyes, I find myself on my side, facing her. Our heads share the same pillow. She has the most satisfied smile on her face. I hope to hell that means it was a least half as good for her as it was for me. I’m deeply ashamed that I don’t know for sure, and silently vow to make certain the next time. Her brown eyes sparkle in the dim light. "Wow. I’ve never had that effect on a man before."
"Sorry, if..."
Her smile grows, letting me know that she reads me like a book, but she tosses me a bone. "Of course, I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life."
I pull her to me and give her a chaste kiss. "I really do have all kinds of tricks up my sleeve, Sarah. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet." She kisses me back, letting her tongue slip into my mouth. Her skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat; her scent is wonderfully alluring. "Come and share my shower?" she purrs when we finally part again.
After quickly cleaning up, we climb back into bed. She snuggles into my embrace and sighs contentedly.
"You know," I whisper, "Tomorrow, if you want, I’ll buy you breakfast, and, we can go check out the new exhibit at the National Museum of Women in the Arts." Okay, it’s a shameless ploy but I wouldn’t mind seeing Photographs of Women by Women, especially if Sarah’s there with me.
"Sounds nice, although..." Her eyes flutter shut for a moment. I hold my breath, anxious about what she’s going to say, worried that she’ll fall asleep. Then those gorgeous brown eyes nail me. "I kind of hope things get out of hand again."
~~~~Fini~~~~