by E. J. Noyes
Ms. Graham waved off my apologies when I rushed across my foyer and unlocked my front door. “Sorry, I meant to tell them to let you come right up.” On tiptoes with a hand on her shoulder, I kissed her cheek.
“It’s fine. Though it was a little weird to have someone assist me with taking an elevator.”
I grinned. “All part of the service, ma’am. I’ll let them know you’re to be let up without calling from now on.” The door closed behind us, locking itself again with a soft click.
She nodded, biting her lower lip on a smile. With a barely perceptible turn of her head, she glanced around like she was trying not to be too obvious. My house style was to have no style, which according to my stylist was a style. How stylish of me.
I loved my floor to ceiling glass windows, distressed reclaimed hardwood floors and mezzanine sleeping area. The space was a mismatch of retro furniture pieces I’d found in my weekends trawling garage sales or antique stores. My walls were full of art and photographs, and I’m the first to admit that the general vibe of my penthouse was clean but disorganized. I knew where everything was, and that was…just sitting everywhere.
My cleaning lady had learned long ago to dust around the piles of books on the bedside table and floor beside my bed. She ignored plastic wrapped dry cleaning that had stopped to rest over the back of my couches, or the couch-robes as Mama called them. Laundry I left in the dryer was folded then piled neatly on my bed, where it usually stayed for a few days until I got around to putting it away. Only my office was spotless, everything orderly and always set in its rightful place.
I made a vague gesture. “Feel free to look around, or I can give you the tour. It’s fairly standard. My sleeping area is up top.” I pointed toward the glass paneling that bordered the top level. “Down here are guest rooms, kitchen, great room, atrium, office etcetera.”
“You have the whole top floor of the building?”
I opened a section of the door leading out to my balcony. “Mhmm. Just under five thousand squares. Four downstairs and one up. And then almost two thousand for the balcony. Kind of wasted for just me,” I admitted.
She pointed to the covered hot tub overlooking the Hudson. “Do you use that much?”
“Only when I have company.”
Audrey flashed me a knowing smirk and leaned her forearms on the railing. “Wow. Nice view.”
I shrugged and plucked a dead leaf off one of my plants. “It’s okay. I’d rather the ocean.”
“You’re too hard to please.”
I laughed. “Actually, it’s more that I’m rarely home at a time to just sit out here and enjoy it. At least with the ocean I’d get the great smell.” She didn’t move when I stood beside her, close enough that I could smell lotion and the clean scent of her shampoo. I’d pick those over ocean any day. “If you remember, I’m actually quite easy to please.”
Audrey pushed her sunglasses up to rest atop her head. “I do remember that.”
Dangerously close to restarting something we’d finished only hours earlier, I took a step backward. “Give me a few minutes? I kind of passed out when I got home and haven’t even showered. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure, and no thanks. I’m good.”
I leaned over, kissed her cheek and left her on the balcony while I went to take a quick shower, brush my teeth and change. My contacts were well past feeling like a handful of glass in my eyes, so I took them out and slipped my glasses on.
Audrey had moved to the kitchen in my absence and she pounced as soon as I came back. “You wear glasses?”
“Is that a problem? Do you only sleep with women who have perfect vision? Because I can get Lasik, you know,” I teased.
“Not at all. It’s incredibly hot, like a very sexy secretary.”
“Don’t get too used to it. I hate them but I’m so tired that I don’t think I could keep my contacts in, even if I used a tube of KY.”
“Do you even have KY? You are the moistest woman I know.”
“Really? That word?” I wrinkled my nose. “It was a figure of speech.”
“Dampest? Most lubricious?” She stepped closer, hands seeking places they’d left only hours before. “Wet. Hot.”
I groaned. “You’re going to put the brakes on going out for brunch if you keep talking like that.”
Her lips met my neck, hands slid to cup my ass. “I think I need to check the situation so I can come up with the perfect adjective.”
A low purr built at the back of my throat. “A fine idea.” I reached up to take my glasses off but Audrey stopped me.
“No. Leave them on. In a few moments, I’m going to need to think of an adjective for myself…” She leaned in to kiss me, but I froze as soon as her lips touched mine. Audrey straightened. “Something wrong?”
Suddenly that document in my office was the only thing I could think about. My mouth worked open and closed until I managed to find the words. “I have to ask you to do something, and it makes me feel really awkward.” Last night she’d said she would sign such a thing but when faced with uncomfortable reality, people often changed their minds.
Her left eyebrow rose. “I’m up for almost anything if you are. I love a little bit of… experimentation.”
Good to know. “It’s not a sex thing. But we can talk about that later. Wait here a minute?” I slipped out of her embrace and went to retrieve the Declaration of Conjugal Relationship that I’d printed before falling asleep. The two pages felt as heavy as bricks.
Wordlessly, I slid it across the kitchen counter to her. Audrey glanced at it, eyes moving back and forth over the title before she picked up the pen. I stood back, stomach fluttering, as she gave the document a cursory read and applied her signature where indicated.
I stared at her name on the page. “You barely even read it.”
The pen bounced then rolled off the edge of the counter. Audrey bent to retrieve it. “I don’t need to.” She was quiet, serious. “I told you last night I’d sign a waiver or whatever if you needed it for HR. I’m not letting a piece of paperwork stop us from enjoying each other, Isabelle.”
“You should have read it,” I said, deliberately monotone as I slipped around to her side.
“Why?”
I bit my lip. “Then you would have seen the clause I added about minimum orgasm quotas for the week.”
“Oh? And what happens if I’m in breach of contract?”
I looped my arms around her neck and kissed the corner of her mouth. “It’s my discretion but I’m thinking a little spanking to keep you in line.” My voice dropped an octave.
“You know when you tell me that, it guarantees I’ll do what I can to break the rules.”
I gently pressed my finger to the crease in her chin. “I’m counting on it.”
She swallowed visibly. “Well then. Before that necessary interruption, I believe we were discussing lubrication.”
Instead of going out, we had each other for brunch, hot and frantic on my couch. Eventually, we ordered in for a late lunch and she left midafternoon after five minutes of shoving me against the wall beside my elevator. The goodbye was a thorough exploration of my mouth, like she’d forgotten how I tasted in the two minutes since she’d kissed me.
Leaning against the wall after she left, I tried to recover. It took me a couple of minutes to calm my fluttering heart and redirect my blood flow from my clitoris to my brain. Despite the number of times I’d come in the past eighteen hours, I still wanted more.
I worked for the rest of the afternoon, fell asleep on the couch around seven and woke up early the next morning to see her again, albeit this time at work. Spending most of the weekend with her hadn’t eased my desire. It had ignited it. Solidified my decision. I needed her body like I needed oxygen.
Just before ten on Monday morning, I climbed into the jet and greeted my pilot. Not by a flicker of emotion or words did she betray that less than twenty-four hours earlier, she was screaming my name as she came in my mouth.
&
nbsp; Flying to Phoenix, I alternated between working and texting her. When we landed, she would open her phone to a barrage of my text messages, each one dirtier than the last. After my meetings were done, I looked at my phone and saw she’d reciprocated. Five long texts, detailing everything she wanted to do to me, and what she wanted in return. Graphic details. I skimmed over the words again, excitement building. I felt like beetles were skittering across my skin.
…bend you over, slip my fingers inside…ride my face, with my tongue buried deep…tasting you…make you scream my name…bite my nipples…your fingers on my clit…
Fuck. My reply was a simple My place ASAP. Audrey gave me a knowing look as I walked past the cockpit and arrived minutes after I got home. For hours we made each other scream in pleasure, doing everything we’d promised in our messages. And then some. She snuck out after I fell asleep, leaving me to wake up alone.
We settled into a routine. We went to one another’s house and fucked, then snuck out to go back to our own place. We screwed on couches, the kitchen floor, in beds, in the hot tub, on the stairs and my balcony. She had me in the shower, on her kitchen table and the floor just inside her door because we couldn’t make it any further.
The second week after we’d agreed to our casual sexual thing, she asked me one night if I wanted her to bring dinner around. It was late, I’d hardly eaten all day, I agreed. She arrived with sushi. We adjusted the routine. She cooked at either of our houses, or we’d arrive with takeout. Then we fucked.
We got to really know one another. I learned how long to finger her for before going down on her for maximum explosive effect. She discovered quickly that when I’m shitty about work I like it rough, to be flipped over and entered from behind with teeth hard in my skin, but when I’m tired I like it gentle and sweet. I became attuned to the sound she makes at the exact moment before she starts to come. She realized just how much I loved to be picked up and held against a wall, and the exact pressure to use on my nipples to drive me toward an earth-shattering climax. Together we tested each other’s toys.
I learned to compartmentalize, figuring out how to talk to her when she was working without feeling like I might slip up and give us away. As the days went by, I became less frightened of Mark finding out. He seemed oblivious, apparently satisfied that his speech had had the intended effect and I’d moved my attentions elsewhere. Not quite, buddy. Nowhere near it.
Donna in HR had nodded her understanding when I’d delivered the signed waiver weeks ago and asked her not to inform Mark of its existence. He didn’t need to know every intimate detail of my life. More than that, I didn’t want him to treat Audrey differently simply because we were casual bedmates.
The word casual was starting to feel a whole lot less appealing.
* * *
Saturday morning, Audrey left my place sometime between one and five without me noticing. Though I couldn’t pin down exactly why, I felt strangely off-balance when Penny arrived to take me grocery shopping before lunch. Whenever I needed to go to the store, she always insisted on accompanying me and would liaise with me and adjust her finishing time accordingly. I’d learned via the company grapevine that she’d basically forbidden any of the other drivers to take me.
Wandering through the aisles of Whole Foods together, I imagined we looked fairly odd. Me in faded weekend jeans and worn Lacoste sneakers, hair unbrushed and pulled back messily, glasses on. Her in suit and tie pushing my cart around, insisting on lifting anything heavier than two pounds. People always stared, probably trying to figure which celebrity I was, out with my tall female bodyguard.
Pen was ex-Army and looked it too. I sure as shit wouldn’t mess with her. She was imposing but underneath her usually sternly-set features and stiff bearing, she was kind and sweet and fiercely loyal. Though her job was only to drive me, I was sure if need be, she’d take someone out for me. And no doubt love every moment.
We talked about missing football season, our shared love, and Penny stacked bottles of wine and gin into the cart. She smiled knowingly when I asked her to grab two different cases of beer as well. Audrey sometimes liked beer.
I picked out vegetables, choosing only the best and dropping them into the sacks Pen held. “Got plans for the rest of the weekend?” After she’d dropped me off, Pen would be done with her shift, passing the baton to William.
Her smile was broad. “It’s our thirtieth anniversary.”
I brushed my fingers over her bicep. “Oh geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I felt awful that she was working. “Congratulations, Pen. I’m really happy for you.”
She mentioned her partner, Loretta, on the odd occasion but was mostly reserved about her private life. I almost asked if she had any plans for marriage, but stopped myself. That was a little too personal. I fished in my purse for my phone and made a note to mark the date for next year so she wouldn’t have to work. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking her to dinner and a show.” She seemed obscenely pleased with herself.
“But the Yankees are playing!” If football was Penny’s true love, baseball was her religion.
“I know. We’ll record it.” Penny smiled down at me. “Sometimes you have to compromise. That’s part of what makes things work, Ms. Rhodes.”
I leaned against the cart. “So that’s the secret? Compromise.”
Pen nodded slowly. “Yes indeed. Along with honesty and trust.”
On the drive back to my place, I was quiet and Penny let me be. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said, though it felt silly to be comparing the advice of a woman celebrating thirty years of partnership to the casual thing Audrey and I had.
Penny took all my groceries up to my penthouse, using a dolly that was in the car for that very purpose. Once everything was in the kitchen, I said goodbye, asked her to give Loretta my best and started unpacking.
When Steph and I were together and she lived here, she cooked because she had time and liked to feel like a housewife. I guess years of having house staff waiting on you would make you yearn to just make a meal for yourself. When she left me, I made dinner maybe one night a month and existed on Lean Cuisine and takeout salad or sushi. The fridge dwindled to olives, pickles and four different kinds of mustard. Pantry stock was crackers and pistachios.
Since Audrey, my fridge and pantry had changed. I bought few frozen meals and more raw ingredients. I’d cooked once and she’d laughingly requested that I never do it again—my lack of culinary skills was a huge bugbear for Mama, but a teasing point for Audrey. Snacks Audrey liked sat with snacks I liked. Her choc chip cookie dough ice cream lived in the freezer with my salted caramel fudge swirl. Beer nestled alongside wine and champagne.
I could have moved the beer to the bar area in my den to live with gin and mixers but I liked seeing it when I opened my fridge. The reminder of her in my life. A few days ago, I’d noticed gin and bottles of tonic in her fridge. Cucumbers for garnish. I’d never told her that’s what I liked, but she seemed to know. She always seemed to know.
After working at home for the rest of the day, I arrived at Audrey’s place for our usual dinner-and-sex-night Saturday. She had a movie playing and casually asked if I minded if she kept it on. I didn’t. We watched Netflix as we ate dinner, then we fell into bed. The routine was tweaked again. If we were home or in a hotel out of town, we’d eat dinner and watch a movie. Then we’d fuck.
Along the way, when I watched her scrawl notes for herself, I discovered she had atrocious handwriting. She learned how much I hated rom-coms and that I had a slightly age-inappropriate crush on Kristen Stewart.
And I got an inkling that maybe, just maybe, she wanted more from all of this when my period arrived perfectly on schedule—I’d always been diligent about being on time—a few weeks after our first movie night. She had been due to come over after work. I’d meant to send her a text during the day, let her know I was out of commission for a short while. Meant to but was so busy I forgot. There was no point in her c
oming over. Of course she wouldn’t want to if there was no sex.
Half-asleep in the car being driven home, a text message landed. Let me know when you’re home.
Ah shit. I tapped out an evasive response. Sorry, was going to call. Need 5/6 days…
Her response was almost immediate. Oh. Gotcha.
After a few minutes, another message came through. I could bring dinner over? Watch a movie?
We’d stopped outside my building, but I made no attempt to collect my things. I was stuck, staring at her message, trying to work it out. Come over, have dinner and watch a movie. No sex. My fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against the back of my phone case. Why would she want to come over without the prospect of getting laid?
The car door opened. “Ms. Rhodes?”
“Right. Sorry.” I caught William’s eye and smiled my apology for keeping him waiting.
He escorted me to the door. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Rhodes.”
“Thanks. You too.”
I waved to Carl as I stepped into the elevator—he knew by now that I didn’t need an escort—and juggled bags so I could press the button for my penthouse. Just dinner and a movie. The sort of thing friends would do. Were we friends? I gave in and called her.
Audrey answered after the first ring. “Iz. Hi.”
I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through my body at hearing her voice. “Hey, how are you?”
“Delightful. You?”
I stepped out of the elevator into my lobby, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder. “I’m fine. Uh, you really want to come over?”
“I do. How to Train Your Dragon Two is on Netflix and your TV is bigger than mine.”
I smiled at her adorable childish enthusiasm. “I never saw the first one.”
Audrey gasped. “Isabelle! I can’t believe you said that. I’ve got it on DVD. I’ll bring it over.”
Two movies and dinner. No sex. I felt like I should be more bothered by it, by the breaking of rules. The thought of sitting on my couch and mindlessly watching television with someone, with her, pleased me more than I cared to admit. “Well, all right then.”