by Velvet
“Table for one?” asked the hostess as he approached the ornate mahogany podium.
Jacob straightened his tie. “No. There will be two of us.”
“Would you care to wait for your party at the bar?” she offered.
“No, I prefer to be seated.” He looked around at the richly appointed dining room with its ocher walls and lemon pastel chintz-covered furnishings, and marveled at the sophistication of the interior. Artwork reminiscent of Renoir and Degas, but with brown faces, adorned the walls in gilded frames. The tables were draped in starched pastel-colored linens, with fresh-cut roses in crystal vases as a centerpiece. Lining the far wall were several Art Deco, high-back settees facing each other, serving as cozy booths. “I’d like a booth if possible,” he answered. Knowing how particular Mira could be, she would no doubt prefer a choice booth instead of one of the tables in the middle of the floor.
“Sure, no problem,” the hostess said, walking into the dining room.
Once seated, Jacob took out the debriefing reports from the London board meeting that his associate Nina had prepared. From her written as well as oral report, things had gone according to plan, all except for her tardiness due to an unforeseen traffic jam. Mira would surely belabor the incident, with a lecture on the virtues of time management. Jacob looked at his watch; it was twenty minutes to twelve. He knew from past lunch meetings with Mira that she always arrived fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. He began to fidget, but realized it wasn’t because of the impending lecture, but from the thought of seeing Ms. Rhone. Though she was nearly half his age, he found her extremely attractive. Being married with a child, Jacob realized that he shouldn’t have such thoughts. Naomi had been pressuring him lately to make love to her, but every time he tried, all he could picture was her legs in stirrups and their son coming out of her womb. In his mind, her role had changed, from lover to mother. It had been over a month since they had had sex, and over the past few weeks, he couldn’t stop fantasizing about Mira and those long, lean legs of hers. He often imagined those legs wrapped tightly around his back, while he fucked her over and over again. He could feel the beginning of an erection at the thought of being in between those luscious limbs. Jacob didn’t want to greet Mira with a woody, so he shifted his thoughts back to business. And as if on cue, Mira appeared in the doorway at exactly eleven forty-five. Jacob discreetly watched as she approached the table.
She wore a tailored, chocolate brown blazer that cinched her tiny waist, a brown silk blouse, and a brown tweed skirt that stopped just above the knee, emphasizing her well-defined calves. A pair of brown and black stilettos completed the outfit. Her hair was tied back in her signature chignon, giving her the perfect couture executive look.
“Good afternoon, Mira.” He stood up and greeted her, extending his right hand.
She firmly returned the handshake. “Good afternoon, Jacob.”
He motioned the waitress to the table so they could order quickly. Knowing his overscheduled client, she probably only had forty minutes to spare for lunch before dashing off to yet another appointment.
Mira sat down and, to Jacob’s delight, took off her blazer. He couldn’t help but gaze at her lacy, low-cut bra and ample cleavage exposed through the sheer fabric of the blouse.
She fanned her slender hand across her face. “Is it me, or is it warm in here?”
“Now that you mention it, it is a tad warm,” he lied, and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Actually, the temperature in the restaurant was quite comfortable, but Jacob didn’t want Mira to put her blazer back on and deprive him of a few cheap thrills.
“Would you care for a drink before lunch?” asked the waitress, appearing at their table.
“No, just the menu please,” Mira said as she continued to fan her face.
The waitress handed over a set of menus and began to explain the specials. “This afternoon, we’re serving poached skate, which is a mildly sweet, fleshy fish, topped with a pesto aioli and served with a medley of vegetables. We also have pan-seared tuna served with a creamy asparagus and white cheddar risotto.”
Without pondering the menu, Mira said, “I’ll have the tuna.”
“How would you like that prepared?”
“Medium rare, please.”
The waitress then turned her attention toward Jacob. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll try the skate.”
“Should I bring a bottle of water for the table, or would you prefer tap water?”
Before he could respond, Mira said, “Evian, please.”
After the waitress disappeared toward the kitchen, Mira started in, “Jacob, I must say that I was extremely disappointed by Nina’s performance. Her tardiness was—”
“From her reports, the meeting went well,” he cut in, stopping her short, and then continued, “and the board has approved the additional funding for the children’s line, so I don’t see how you could be disappointed.”
“Listen closely, Jacob. I need more than someone who can wield a pointer at a pie chart. I need the complete package.” Her eyes shot him a piercing look. “And frankly, Nina doesn’t possess that quality. She may be smart, but frankly, she’s a bit on the frumpy side. Not that I’m judging, but she could benefit from using some of the products from the FACEZ makeup line, and . . .” She paused for a second, as if trying to decide to keep going with her laundry list of faults. “And her clothes are—how should I say—dated.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a tad harsh on her?” he asked, leaning in within inches of her face. “After all, Mira, she was only a few minutes late and the tardiness had no bearing on the outcome of the meeting. I’ll admit she’s not a fashion plate, but she’s one of my best accountants,” he said in defense of Nina.
“Jacob, I realize that clothes don’t make the person, but they do make a formidable impression. And besides, you know that punctuality is high on my list of attributes.” Mira was a stickler for time. Her mother Rose was always running late. Most mornings Rose would be laid out in bed from a hangover and wouldn’t get Mira to school on time. By the time Mira arrived, the morning would be nearly over, and she would have to play catch-up. Mira hated being tardy. She vowed once she became an adult that she would never be late again in life.
Mira then reached into her briefcase and took out a black appointment book. She flipped through the pages and said, “I suggest you mark your calendar. An emergency board meeting has been scheduled in two weeks, and I expect you to attend. I’m not going through another episode with your lame associate,” she said in no uncertain terms.
Jacob felt like a fifth grader being chastised by an overbearing librarian for returning an overdue book. But at the same time, her directness gave him a sexual charge. He could just envision her barking orders in the bedroom—“Jacob, don’t stop. Jacob, deeper. Jacob, harder. Jacob, fuck me again. Jacob . . .”
“Jacob,” she nearly shouted, pulling him out of his trance, “did you hear what I said?”
Looking directly into her beautiful brown eyes, he responded, “I’ll be at the next meeting.” He eagerly took out an appointment book from his briefcase and marked the date in his calendar. Little did Mira know that Jacob was champing at the bit and couldn’t wait to get her on another continent. London was far enough away that he could put the moves on Mira without the chance of being caught by his wife.
“Good.” She put down her appointment book and took a manila file folder from her briefcase. “Now that we’re guaranteed the funding to expand into the children’s market, I want to earmark every single penny, so we’ll need to schedule another meeting for next week before going to London.”
Mira went down a laundry list of products for the new line. “After we complete the production on Baby FACEZ, I want to focus my attention on updating the adult line.”
“Absolutely.” He nodded in agreement.
They spent the remainder of the lunch discussing the financial projections for the next twelve months. Jacob admired her tenac
ity. She hadn’t even completed the children’s line, and here she was talking about revamping the adult line. “You should think about expanding into Australia,” he suggested.
Mira put her water glass down. “I think that’s a great idea; we could”—she stopped in midsentence, as if having an epiphany—“develop a line of high-end sunscreen products especially designed for the people down under.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. They were on the same wavelength, and he enjoyed brainstorming with such a sharp and sexy woman.
“As well as a specially designed sunblock for children. Our advertising agency can do a model search and find an unknown Aussie as our spokesperson.” Mira’s face was radiant as she began to tick off one idea after the other, until the complete campaign was fleshed out.
“Would you care for dessert?” asked the waitress, interrupting their conversation.
“No, thank you. Just the check, please,” Mira said. “Jacob, this has been a very productive meeting.” She stood to gather her belongings.
“Indeed it has,” he said, watching her put on her blazer. She didn’t button it, so he was able to steal another peek at her enticing cleavage.
Before the waitress came back with the check, Mira had her purse on her shoulder and briefcase in hand. “Thanks for lunch, Jacob. I hate to run, but I have another meeting in an hour.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” He smiled, standing up to get one last glimpse.
“I’ll have my assistant call yours to schedule our next meeting.” And with that said, Mira strutted toward the exit.
Jacob sat back down and watched her disappear out the door. Before settling the bill, he called the waitress over and ordered a slice of boysenberry cheesecake along with a demitasse cup of espresso. Over dessert, he could feel his erection returning as he envisioned unbuttoning Mira’s blouse and unhooking her bra to expose her succulent breast. Smearing cheesecake over her nipples, he would feast on them, as if they were a decadent dessert. “Mira Rhone, I’m going to fuck you three ways to Sunday.” He smiled to himself and slid a forkful of cheesecake into his expectant mouth, all the while fantasizing about Ms. Rhone.
11
“PERFECT,” NAOMI commented to herself as she put the last French tulip in the vase, completing the exquisite floral arrangement of tulips, lilies, and freesias. She looked around the solarium, taking a visual inventory, making sure everything was perfect for today’s book club meeting. The sun was beaming through the leaded triple pane windows, bouncing off the crystal vase and casting a kaleidoscope of color throughout the room. Identical celery-colored chaise lounges were the perfect complement to the ferns and philodendrons that lined the perimeter of the sun-drenched room. She went to the kitchen and retrieved a silver tray filled with crab, tuna, and chicken salads on water crackers. Returning, she placed the tray on the beveled glass cocktail table, then went upstairs to get dressed before the book club members arrived. The minute she stepped into the bedroom, she got an immediate flashback from the night before. Contrary to his usual late hours, her absentee husband had left the office at a decent hour.
* * *
“JACOB,” NAOMI LOOKED up from the novel she was reading, “you’re home early.”
He walked over to the bed without saying a word, then sat on the edge among the myriad of books that were spread across the duvet, and placed a white foam box on the nightstand.
“What’s that?” she asked, referring to the box.
“Cheesecake.” He unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie.
“Since when did you start eating dessert during the week?” she asked, knowing Jacob was weight conscious and rarely indulged in sweets unless it was a special occasion.
Unbuckling his belt, he said in a strange, faraway voice, “It’s not for me.”
Naomi had a confused look on her face. Before she could ask why he had brought the dessert upstairs instead of putting it in the refrigerator, he stood up, slipped out of his pants, and said, “It’s for us.” Then, totally out of character, Jacob straddled her, closed his eyes, and began to massage her breasts, all in one swift move.
Naomi’s nipples hardened beneath the sheer fabric of the nightgown. She was confused and excited at the same time. She couldn’t remember the last time that her husband had initiated sex. She wanted to ask what had gotten him all riled up, but didn’t want to destroy the mood, so she sank back into the down-filled pillows and enjoyed the sensation. Jacob began to suck her nipples through the sheer fabric of the gown.
Suddenly he stopped. “Take that off.”
Naomi quickly slipped the gown over her head and Jacob stared at her breasts like he was seeing them for the first time. He then reached over to the nightstand and picked up the foam box. He took out the cheesecake and smeared the rich creamy dessert all over her breasts. “Jacob, what are you doing?” Naomi was caught totally off guard. He’d never done anything this imaginative before. She was instantly transported to the movie 91/2 Weeks, when Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger were sitting on the kitchen floor in front of an open refrigerator feasting off of each other’s bodies, like love-starved animals.
He didn’t say a word; with his eyes closed, he began sucking her breasts like they were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. After hungrily devouring the cheesecake from her bare skin, he licked remnants of cheesecake from the corners of his mouth.
Now that they had finished dessert, Naomi was ready for the main course. She was completely moist and wanted to feel the length of her husband’s penis inside of her wet canal. Reaching down, she found the rim of his underwear and began to massage the tip of his manhood.
Suddenly his eyes popped opened, as if he were coming out of a trance. He looked at her and said, “Stop, Naomi.”
But she didn’t stop until her hand was completely inside of his shorts and she had a firm grip on his cock. Instead of his dick growing at her touch, it began to slowly deflate, which didn’t make sense to her. She could remember a time when she could make him ejaculate from one of her famous hand jobs; now her hand wasn’t even close to doing the job.
He pulled away, and slightly raised his voice. “Naomi. Please. Stop.”
“Stop!” she shouted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You come in here, smear cheesecake all over my titties, and suck on my nipples like a newborn starving for breast milk. Now you want to stop! You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said again, totally sexually frustrated at this point.
“Calm down, Naomi,” he said, lowering his voice, trying to defuse the situation.
“I’ll calm down, after you fuck me!” she demanded. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m tired’ bullshit, ’cause it’s getting old.”
“Come here.” He pulled her close to his chest. “It’s not that I don’t want to make love to you; just let me relax a minute and let the blood flow back down where it belongs. Licking your breasts made me so excited that I nearly came. Now I’m going to need some time to regroup,” he said. Jacob’s explanation was just another excuse not to make love to his wife. The truth was that he was envisioning feasting on Mira’s titties, but the moment he opened his eyes and saw Naomi’s face, his libido plummeted like a fighter pilot going down in flames.
Naomi wanted more than a warm embrace, but she reluctantly leaned back into him anyway, hoping that the spark that lit his fire when he walked into the room would reignite so that they could make love.
Jacob seemed to feel the frustration coursing through his wife’s body and began rocking her back and forth until her shoulders relaxed. Before long, she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke the next morning, the tenseness in her body was gone and so was Jacob. Once again, he had escaped like Houdini.
THE BELL RANG, bringing Naomi back to the present. She tried to hook the clasp on her pearl necklace, but couldn’t find the catch. The doorbell rang again, and she put the necklace back in the jewelry box instead of tackling the tiny clasp. She quickly brushed her hair and rushed downstairs to answer the door.
“So, you are home? What took you so long? I was just about to leave,” said an irritated Kennedy.
“Sorry. I was trying to fasten my pearl necklace, but the clasp is so intricate that I couldn’t hook it by myself.”
Kennedy stepped into the foyer. “Yeah, those things can be tricky. I bought a necklace in Nigeria that has a tiny clasp, so I just slip it over my head. Am I the first one here?” she asked.
“Yep, Susan isn’t here yet,” Naomi said, leading the way to the solarium.
“When is she ever on time?” Kennedy hissed.
Susan was a single mom whom Naomi had met at parents’ night at Noah’s school. As they each waited their turn to speak with the teacher, Naomi noticed she and Susan were reading the same novel. After striking up a conversation, she discovered that Susan was an avid reader, as well as the mother of Noah’s friend Simon. At that time, the book club was down to two people, so Naomi invited her to join. Initially, Susan was the ideal member, recommending bestsellers and sparking engaging commentary. But lately, her commitment had begun to wane.
“Give her a break, Ken. She just started a new job. Susan used to be the first one here and the last one to leave.” Switching gears, Naomi asked, “Do you want a Bellini?”
“I’d love one.”
“Come on in the kitchen while I mix up a batch.”
Naomi opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of champagne and a bottle of fresh peach nectar. “So, tell me. Did you see your mystery guy on your last trip?”
“Yeah, I saw him.” Kennedy plopped her body onto one of the bar stools at the counter island.
Taking a pitcher out of the cabinet, Naomi asked, “What’s his name again?”
“Nigel Charles,” Kennedy answered unenthusiastically.
Pouring the champagne and nectar into the pitcher, she asked, “So you gonna keep me in suspense or tell me what happened on the flight?”