by Ruby Laska
“It’s all right,” Rafi whispered in her ear. “Trust me.”
Only after he slid in next to her did she realize they were not alone.
“Ms. Sherman,” Rafi said, settling next to her, “I do hope you don’t mind. This is Benito, another driver at the service, and his cousin Alexandro.”
From the front seat, through the open screen that separated the body of the limousine from the front, two men turned and smiled at her. The driver was round-faced and close-shorn, the other man a near replica, dressed in brightly colored cotton shirts, gold chains at their necks.
“Such a coincidence,” Rafi continued. “They are going to Racine also this morning. Alexandro’s mother is in the hospital. Benito needed someone to return his car. I thought…”
Too confused to respond, Lauren merely nodded, then forced herself to speak. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope it’s nothing too serious?”
“A broken ankle,” the man replied. “The doctor says it will heal, but she will need help at home. Her apartment has so many steps.”
“We’ll fix her roof while we are there,” Benito added. His eyes were apologetic, kind. “A little painting, maybe. You know how it is.”
“If you don’t mind, Ms. Sherman, we can help them get there this morning,” Rafi interjected. “I told them you are a long-standing client of mine, and very kind. Otherwise they must wait until tonight.”
“My sister, she cannot leave work until six,” Alexandro said. He, too, seemed chagrined to impose.
“Of course,” Lauren said, projecting an enthusiasm she did not feel. “Of course. It’s no trouble.”
Next to her, Rafi stretched comfortably. “We can relax on the drive, no?”
Lauren turned to him, open-mouthed, in time to see him wink.
The car started, and pulled smoothly away from the curb. Lauren’s head spun with doubts. Racine was nowhere near the airport, was in fact an hour and a half north of the city. Had Rafi done this to ensure that they would not be alone together? But that made no sense—why not just send a substitute driver, if he had wanted to break things off?
Yet that seemed impossible, given the way he had talked to her, made love to her over the phone. Even now he edged closer to her, until she could feel the heat of his body next to her own. Though he looked straight ahead, she could tell he wore a faint hint of a smile, almost roguish.
Making their way through traffic, the men in front began to talk quietly, comfortably. Their soft voices rose and fell, breaking now and then into laughter, ignoring their passengers.
Soon they turned onto the highway, and, sighing comfortably, Rafi eased his hand onto Lauren’s knee.
The move was so unexpected that she nearly jumped, but a glance at Rafi cautioned her to be still. He shook his head slightly, and quirked an eyebrow. If he was asking permission, it was with the certainty that her answer would be yes.
His confidence provoked something inside her. With no warning he had thrust her into this situation, turning her expectations upside down, eroding what little remained of her confidence by bringing strangers into their midst.
“Something I’ve never done before, I believe you said,” Rafi murmured, sliding his hand a little higher on her thigh.
And suddenly she understood. He had done this on purpose. This crazy scenario, this false destination, these other people. Rafi had come up with something new. And while Lauren couldn’t make sense of it, as his fingers caressed the skin of her inner thighs, heat and desire rocketed through her body.
Lauren licked her lips, stared at Rafi’s hand and watched in fascination as he explored the skin of her thigh with seeming leisure. The interior of the limousine was darkened by the tinted windows. The seats, arranged along the length of the car, were plush and comfortable, but Lauren was far from relaxed.
Rafi continued to look ahead, or glance now and then out the window at the drab Midwestern landscape passing by. He appeared uninterested in her as he hummed tunelessly.
His fingers told a different story.
At length they traveled higher and discovered Lauren’s secret. For the first time in her life, she was wearing garters. Her silk hosiery had been an indulgence far beyond her usual sensible underwear, the black garters and matching tiny scrap of a thong from a European shop she’d never before entered.
Lauren had imagined lifting her skirt to reveal these offerings to her lover, when she was ready—not having him discover them this way, when she could neither move nor speak. She wanted to protest, explain.
But the low sound Rafi made in his throat—a rumbling almost guttural in its hunger—stilled her anxiety and replaced it with raw need. Rafi slipped two fingers under the lace-covered elastic, tugged gently. He played with the soft band for a while before abandoning it, almost reluctantly, to renew his explorations.
His fingers neared the cleft between her legs, but stopped short. He sank his fingers greedily in her flesh and kneaded, stroked. Lauren caught her breath as he stroked higher, and frantically glanced in front to see if the two men had noticed.
They had not. They talked on, their unfamiliar language almost song-like in its cadence. If they turned in their seats, they would see exactly what was going on, Rafi plundering, Lauren immobilized with need. The mechanism of the limousine’s screen took up some space, it was true, but the opening was still ample to see everything that was going on.
The screen. It could be closed, ensuring their privacy. But of course, that wasn’t part of Rafi’s plan. The presence of witnesses, oblivious as they were, was what he had meant…the thing he hadn’t done before.
It would have been inconceivable to the old Lauren to let a man caress her in public, even semi-concealed as they were. But now she was not only allowing Rafi to touch her, she found herself parting her legs, straining against the taut fabric of her tailored skirt, and praying that he wouldn’t stop.
As if in response to her unspoken plea, Rafi slid his fingers up to her panties, damp and hot with her desire. He traced their scalloped edges, made his way around the tiny triangle, and she heard a ragged breath escape his lips. She turned and met his eyes. They blazed nearly black with heat and longing, and he did not look away as he found the thin ribbon that held the silk in place and twisted it, almost savagely, in his fingers until she heard the faint rip of the fabric.
Still he held her gaze as he tore them again until they came away in his fingers. She felt them slide against her skin and then they were crumpled in his fist. She couldn’t break her stare even when he folded the black silk into a small square and lifted it to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and she thought she saw him tremble slightly.
Lauren glanced again to the front, but the two men took no notice. The unfamiliar sensation of her own nakedness under her clothes was maddening. Rafi tucked the silk into a pocket, then rested his hand on the seat between them. He teased her with a look, an unspoken question; she responded by moving her hips closer to the edge of the seat. She had to have his touch, or she would fly apart.
He did not disappoint her. His fingers glided once more along her thighs, and this time they stopped only to shove her skirt roughly higher, allowing him access. She was exposed now, not only to his touch and to the view of either man who might turn around, but also to the cool air circulating in the car. The sensation was excruciating, the air laving the wet heat of her longing.
In the next second his fingers had found and entered her, gently but boldly. The suddenness of his move shocked her out of her semi-stupor and she startled, but he did not yield, and in seconds she stopped resisting and moved against him. A second finger joined the first, and then his thumb found her nub of pleasure and began circling slowly.
Lauren gasped. She couldn’t help it. She longed to cry out, but the cry strangled in her throat by her sheer will.
“Take your pleasure, Lauren,” Rafi whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Lauren barely heard him at all above the whirring air conditioner and the conversation from the f
ront seat. “Take it, here. I want to watch.”
Lauren let her eyes drift closed, sank a little lower in the seat, and let the sensation wash over her. His skilled touch brought her to the edge and then, magically, he somehow knew exactly when to pull back, teasing her and drawing out her longing until she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
The sound in the car blurred together as Lauren felt tears of frustration wet her lashes. When she could bear it no more she lifted her hips to Rafi’s touch, met his gentle thrusts with her own urgent ones, not caring who might see. She gritted her teeth together, and then she came, sensation shattering her ache until pain and pleasure mixed together and she pressed herself against his palm, taking him as far as she could and drowning willingly in her own thundering gratification.
Dimly she was aware of her skirt being tugged gently into place, of Rafi’s arm supporting her shoulders. She heard him clear his throat.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “the lady has a migraine. I wonder if you would mind closing the screen for her.”
Benito only glanced back briefly before murmuring his assent and then the opaque screen slid noiselessly into place.
Rafi gazed, with no small measure of satisfaction, at Lauren’s face. It was flushed with pleasure and exertion. Her eyelids gleamed with the sheen of her effort, and a few strands of her hair clung to her cheek, her parted lips.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her against him and murmur in her ear. Damn it, for some insane reason, he wanted to tell her he loved her when she was like this, vulnerable and satiated and pliant in his arms.
Instead, he chose his words carefully. “Did that please you, Lauren?”
She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “You know it did,” she accused.
“Of course.” He allowed himself a small smile; his little scenario had been successful beyond his hopes. “I could not disappoint you, after all.”
“You certainly didn’t.” Lauren’s eyes widened as she looked at him, and then she reached up a hand and caressed his face, lingering at his lips, rubbing a thumb slowly between them, parting them. “The screen—is it soundproof?”
Rafi raised his eyebrows, caught his breath. “Yes,” he said, “completely.”
“Good,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him, tugging him toward her. He went, willingly, ready to take her full lips in a hungry kiss, but at the last moment she ducked, pressing her face to his throat instead.
“When you…take me that way,” she said, softly, uncertainly, her breath hot against his skin, “it makes me need you. Again, inside me.”
Rafi felt his mouth go dry at her words. He had been prepared to forego his own satisfaction to see her pleasure, but it had been more difficult than he imagined. His engorged shaft strained painfully against his pants.
“Lauren,” he began, kissing her hairline, but she only burrowed closer against him.
“Not…”
He felt her swallow.
“Not gently,” she finally whispered.
Rafi froze, then willed himself to speak. “Ah. I see.”
Her words were not what he expected. Not wanting to betray his shock, he lifted her face to his, and this time she let him. At the last minute, before she joined the embrace, she looked at him, a look full of raw hunger and challenge.
Not gentle. Lauren was a woman of understatement, but Rafi knew to take her at her word. As he tasted her, plunged his tongue ever deeper within her mouth, he gripped her skirt and raked it up to her waist, found his place between her legs. And pressed himself against her.
She answered him with a cry of satisfaction, and then she wrapped her legs around him, tugging him on top of her. The long seat was ample, their privacy ensured.
Lauren thrust against him, a low hum in her throat, and tugged at his waist. Rafi hastened to help her.
“This is new,” he growled at her ear, “but I like it.”
“Hurry,” Lauren moaned. “Hurry, hurry.” She actually pounded a fist against his back, and Rafi realized he’d never been urged on by a woman this way before.
“It is a day of firsts,” he marveled, enjoying the sensation of murmuring into her exertion-dampened hair, allowing it to curl between his lips, nipping at the strands.
But Lauren did not appear to hear. Her hands found his loosened waistband and shoved, hard, and then he felt her hands enclose him, guide him. Before he had a chance to prepare she had pressed him to her cleft and thrust herself against him, managing to take the head of him within her.
He felt her hands taking hold of his hips, and he hesitated no more. Gladly he plunged within her and lingered there for a moment, buried to the hilt within her, blinded with the sensation.
“Yes,” Lauren moaned through clenched teeth. “Like that. Again. Harder.”
She kept up her staccato demands, urging him on, until words gave way to need. He had never before felt free to take his pleasure with a woman without tempering his movements with care, but Lauren stripped him of caution with her urgency. The harder he thrust, the more she demanded, until he joined her guttural cries with his own, the agony of his need mounting to a climax so explosive it shut out all other sensation and he rode the wave blindly, soundlessly, for what seemed like forever before he lowered himself, utterly spent, into her arms.
For a long time he rested there, his breath slowly returning, his fingers twined in her hair. He could feel her heart pound against his cheek.
At last he eased off of her, pulled her to a sitting position, folded her in his arms. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”
“F-for what?” she said, her breath warm against his skin. She fit so well against him, her chin tucked in the hollow of his neck.
“I couldn’t stop. I…lost control.”
Lauren didn’t respond, only ran her fingertips lightly along the buttons of his shirt, her face hidden from view.
“And, there is the matter of your own pleasure. You did not get to…”
His voice drifted off and she pressed closer against him.
“But I did,” she objected, her voice uncertain. “When…you did.”
This revelation stunned Rafi again, and he decided to keep quiet. He pulled her a little closer and absently strummed her shoulders, inhaled her scent.
Finally she pulled away and began tugging at her clothes. Rafi followed her lead and zipped his trousers.
Glancing out the window, he discovered that they had actually left the highway for the streets of Racine. They were nearly at their destination. He realized how close they had come to being discovered, but even that revelation could not dampen the euphoria he felt.
He studied Lauren, who had managed to compose herself. She was carefully applying lipstick in a hand mirror, her clothes straightened and aligned, her hair tucked back into place.
No evidence remained of their lovemaking—except for the little piece of black silk in his pocket.
“I hope,” he said gravely, “the course of treatment I recommended will prove beneficial to your migraine.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rafi gazed at the fiery jewels laid out on the counter, and realized he was in over his head.
Granted, the impulse had been a vague one. Emeralds. Green fire, like the depths of her eyes. Beyond that he had no idea.
He had a few pieces of his mother’s jewelry, but it was nothing like what American women wore. The gold was heavy, so pure a man could mark it with his teeth. Nevertheless, he imagined it on Lauren, how it would look against her creamy skin.
Another time, perhaps.
“Earrings are always a good choice.”
The saleswoman was kind. She no doubt assisted bewildered suitors all the time. The store was an expensive one, the best he knew. He had the money, from his savings. But it was risky. Something too fine, too much, would perhaps frighten her away.
More than anything he feared her contempt. The way she lay in his arms after they made love, it was easy to imagine they’d been created for each other
alone. Their breath shared a rhythm, their hands found each other and twined together.
But he knew he did not mean to her what she had come to mean to him. He had proved a suitable distraction, but there were other men, with accomplishments to their name, with silver in their hair to match their platinum credit cards.
“And how does she wear her hair?” the saleswoman prodded gently.
Rafi returned to the present. “Up, sometimes,” he said, motioning clumsily. “But when it is down, it curls, like so, around her face.”
“Ah,” the woman smiled, betraying no judgment of his inept description. “These are classic.”
She lifted from the counter an emerald stone, cut in a many-faceted rectangle, set in simple gold prongs. As she turned it in the light, the stone flashed brilliant rays around the room.
“Yes,” Rafi agreed. “Those. I’ll take them.”
They were beautiful, but it was as much to end this uncomfortable quest as to select the specific earrings that he decided. He counted out bills, leaned against the counter with his arms folded as she wrapped the gift.
It was time to be decisive, he thought, as he left the store and joined the anonymous flow of downtown commuters pouring from high-rise buildings. For better or worse, he had to find out how this affair would end.
#
Lauren had almost stopped hoping when her cell phone rang while she was at work. It was Thursday, after all, and three entire days had passed since the trip to Racine.
She colored. Who was the woman she had become on that ride, demanding and claiming pleasure so selfishly, so insistently?
Rafi had been shocked, it was obvious. And why wouldn’t he be? She’d practically forced herself upon him after he’d already pleasured her, demanded that he make love to her.
But if she were to be honest, it hadn’t been lovemaking she was after. It had only been sex. Raw, animal sex. The thought made her cringe, but what else could she call it? Other, crude, words ran through her mind, and Lauren pressed her palms against her ears as though to drown them out.
There was no denying them, however. She had taken him inside her like an animal in heat, and what was he to make of her behavior? It had been obvious he had not expected it of her. Had he sensed her desperation, the end of a long dry spell, the salve for all those bloodless couplings with Philip? Was it pity that drove him? She knew there was a stereotype, older women longing for one last fling before accepting the onset of matronhood. Maybe she had become that without even realizing it. Was that what passed through his mind afterwards, as he dressed?