Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  Lifting her arm, he held it outward and swept his mouth across her forearm, his breath hot and moist against her skin. Nerves popped and sizzled. She didn’t know how to respond. Should she sit? Should she watch? Should she try and kiss him back? Venturing further, the blond of his head crossed over the bend of her elbow and came perilously close to her breast. Sydney knew in an instant that should he detour over the silky fabric of her top, it would prove no obstacle to the soaking wet of his mouth. She moaned inwardly...and how wonderful it would feel. But instead, he lingered over her bicep, taunting her with patience.

  He raised up to inches away and murmured, “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” she said, mildly embarrassed by her quick reply.

  “Me, too,” he said. Wrapping her arm around his neck, he scooted closer, slid an arm around her waist and positioned himself so that his body was fully against hers. There was no space between them now. Pinned within the steel line of his thighs, the solid angle of his chest and shoulders, she yearned for him to kiss her again. Instead, he nuzzled his nose against her cheek. It was a move she found sweet and affectionate, yet strong and sexy. Easing his face into the crux of her neck and shoulder, he burrowed in, pulled her far knee over his thigh and slid his hand down and over the round of her calf. “Very smooth,” he said into her neck.

  Shallow breaths erupted into a giggle. As though she’d show up with anything but for a first date. Or was it their second? It felt like the first because it was the first time he had picked her up, but technically, she guessed it was their second. Or third. Lunch rolled into the mix and she couldn’t recall how many times they’d been together.

  Clay slid his hand back up to the now raised skirt hem and Sydney tensed. He fiddled with the hem, grazed over the rear of her thigh. When she didn’t protest, he snuck his fingers beneath the material. Her downy flesh turned raging inferno. He moved back and forth in a subtle tease and whispered close to her ear, “How do you feel?”

  Like I can’t breathe.

  “You okay?” he feathered the words over her skin.

  A column of tingles shot in both directions as she nodded.

  “Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” Based on where things were going, she could only imagine. “I want to see you. See what you’re wearing under this skirt.” He kissed her full on the mouth, snaked his fingers along the line of her hem, skimmed the back of her thighs. She thought he might push his way in, but he didn’t, as if purposely causing her to linger in doubt.

  And she pulsated with want.

  Clay leaned back on the couch, pulling her with him. Wearing only a thong, she visualized the sight she must be, completely exposed for his touch. Nothing prevented Clay from an unimpeded touch. Ripples of sensation thundered through her loins. Drawing her face to his for another satiny kiss, he ran a hand over the curve of her rear and sighed. “Watching you play volleyball that first day, I knew it was all over.”

  The skimpy uniform. The gawk factor. Charlie’s image popped into her mind’s eye and she flushed it away just as quickly. He had no business here.

  “It’s perfect. Even better in a thong.” He fingered the vertical band and asked, “Did you wear them for me?”

  They were her underwear of choice, man or no man. But the fact that he was feeling them—caressing them—made her squirm. “If you’d like to think so, then yes.”

  He replied with a wicked grin. “Oh you taunt me, Ms. Flores.” Abandoning her rear, he moved her back to his side and placed his mouth beneath her ear. “I want to feel you melt beneath my fingers. Stroke you until you beg me to stop.” His hot tongue licked the lobe of her ear. “Then I want to run my tongue over you, your entire body.”

  She closed her eyes and envisioned him doing just that. The relief it would bring…the release... She ached for it. Low in her belly, she yearned for him to plunge forward, take her right now, right here. Clay muttered something into her chin, his lips creating a soft hum of vibration, but it was nothing she could understand. She only knew her skirt was up, her panties available for the taking.

  Would he? Would he run his fingers over her, dip inside and discover exactly what his nearness did to her?

  Encircling her arms around him, she immersed herself in the feel of him, the prominent muscles of his back. Shudders of delight poured through her as he brushed his lips over cheek, nibbled her lower lip, then slid his lips back and forth across hers. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the soft layers of hair, enfolded his head within her arms. Clay kissed her cheek, the line of her jaw. Ducked down to lick the curve of her throat, then back up, sucking her ear lobe fully into his mouth. Her breasts throbbed in response. She wanted to tear the clothes from her chest so he could suck the knot from her nipples—

  She gasped. Her eyes burst open as he grabbed hold of her head and tore into her with everything he had. She kissed back as hard and deep as she could, but it was like they couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t get inside each other quickly enough, deep enough. Abruptly, he pulled back. Clay held her face inches away and steadied his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I want you so bad right now I could...”

  Gazing up at him, need straddled the calm of restraint. Clay was patient, a gentleman—none of which he resembled at the moment—but he was also a hot-blooded man, the rock of his desire unmistakable against her thigh. She nodded. Yes. Sydney wanted to feel him inside her. Needed it.

  Clay’s smile slipped into his eyes first, then spread across his face until pleasure pulled his mouth into the most incredibly sexy grin she had ever seen. But it was the element of naughty mischief that warned he was preparing to subject her to lascivious deeds.

  Sydney’s heart hammered. Locked within the frame of his body, she realized she couldn’t move. What exactly did he have in store for her?

  But his manner softened. He brushed his hands over her hair, moved it from her neck and shoulders. He tracked the line of her collarbone, her shoulder, then slowly made his way to her front. Her chest. A shock of gooseflesh scurried across her skin. Clay didn’t touch her breasts. He lingered in the space just above her tank top. She held her breath as she watched him stare at her chest, caress her with the pad of his fingers then a light brush of his fingernails. “Your skin is incredibly soft.” He touched her lips. “And you’re a good kisser.”

  “I have a good partner.”

  Drawing his fingers up and across her cheekbone he replied softly, “I like the sound of that.”

  So did she.

  Clay tickled the tendrils of hair encircling her ear and lowering his gaze to her mouth, his eyes seemed to take on a serene quality. His breathing had slowed, his features stilled. She waited for him to dip his head down, but he didn’t. He simply stared. If the man was trying to make her cry “uncle” he was doing a damned good job.

  “Do you know how attracted I am to you?”

  If his compliments were any indication, she had an idea.

  “I want to explore every inch of you…” his expression suddenly blazed, “with my tongue.”

  She gulped. He cupped her chin and kissed her tenderly, a stark contrast to the need burning hot and fluid in his eyes—and between her thighs. As though reading her mind, he dropped a hand to her hip. Roaming a bit over and between her legs, he separated them and went straight for her panties. He idly rubbed her mound, sending hot waves of thrill straight to her core. Sydney closed her eyes and relaxed into him. She wanted to submerge herself in the pleasure of his touch, the wanton way he lingered and played. Nestling his head against hers, Clay gingerly moved his fingertips over and around her. “You feel nice,” he murmured through her hair.

  Sydney knew if he asked, she’d spread her legs wide open, right now, right here. She’d let Clay do whatever he wanted. His hand paused and he spoke in a guttural whisper, “Can I taste you?”

  Her toes curled.

  The ring of his phone stopped her c
old.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Clay paused, surprised by the sound of his phone. He reached for it as though it were a foreign object and pressed the answer button. “Hello?” Concern rippled across his features. “I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and turned to her.

  Her heart pounded. “What is it?”

  “Q isn’t feeling well.”

  Stunned, she asked, “Is he sick?”

  “Don’t know. Coach says it’s his stomach.”

  Sydney hated the faraway gaze that seized hold of him. She tried to pull him back, to bridge the gap between the moments leading up to the call and the harsh reality where he now stood. “Could it be a case of the nerves?”

  “Could be.” He dragged his gaze back to hers. “But Q’s never gotten sick over nerves.”

  “Maybe it’s because these are national events,” she offered, mindful that their bodies were practically entwined.

  “Maybe.” He tried to smile but fell miserably short. “Listen, I’m really sorry...” He cast a gaze about her living room and mumbled, “but I have to go.”

  “Of course.” Instinctively she pulled her leg from his and tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Your son needs you. You have to go.”

  “Thanks for understanding.” He managed a weak smile. “It makes it easier to tear myself away from you.”

  She appreciated the feeble attempt at flirtation when it was clear his brain had already changed channels and moved on. “I think you’ll survive.”

  Clay stood. Sydney stood with him. Clasping her face within his hands, he kissed her softly on the lips. His eyes searched hers. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” She walked him to the door, her body clamoring—demanding—for more of his touch, his mouth, his presence. But she knew it would not come. Not tonight, anyway. She gave him her best smile. “Give Q my best.”

  “I will.”

  “Hope he feels better.”

  “He will. Mild case of the nerves, that’s all.”

  The nerves you discounted only moments ago? But Sydney remained silent on the subject. Rushing to the aid of his son was all that mattered at the moment. The reason why could be hashed out later. Leaning against the doorframe, Sydney watched as Clay hurried down the path to his parents’ car. Respect welled deep within. He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. His son needed him and he was gone. Dropping her hand along the door’s edge, she longed for the same devotion. Someone to be concerned with her welfare the way Clay was concerned with Q’s. Living alone, she had only herself to rely upon. Sure she had friends and family nearby, any of whom she could call in the case of an emergency. But a nervous belly?

  There was no one to hold her hand. Her pathetic performance at opening ceremonies came to mind. Case in point. Who could she go to that would understand her fears? No one. And when she failed, who had been there to pick her up? The answer fell like a sledgehammer. Clay.

  She heard the engine gun to life. The car leapt from the curb. Clay. She tried to purge the burning desire to call him back, the wish that it were she he was racing to help. But trailing his taillights into the night, she knew it wasn’t to be. Clay was going to his son. He was caring for the boy who depended upon him, needed him.

  If only she had given him a hug. A simple hug to let him know she cared and was there for him. Appreciated that he was there for his son. But there was no time. When the red lights of his car disappeared, she closed the door. Like the good father that he was, Clay rushed to his son’s aid. Picking up the near full glasses, she walked into the kitchen, a part of her thoughts still chasing after his car. If only Clay didn’t live so far away. If only he lived here. Then maybe, one day he could be rushing back for her.

  # # #

  Sydney showered early and swung by the pool first thing. She wanted to check on Q, on Clay. After a restless night of crazy dreams filled with making love to Clay, sailing, riding motorcycles along the rocky coastline, picnics in the park by the crash of sea, she wanted to be near him. She had no idea where these dream scenes took place, only that they were vivid. So vivid, she could taste him and smell him, feel the hot muffler of her bike, the salty spray of wind as it blew through their sails. But dreams were funny that way. One minute you’re in one scene, the next minute another, drifting, loving, living on nothing but a whim.

  Swinging open the door to the pool complex, she breezed past the information desk and straight into the open deck. Met by the familiar wet scent of pool chlorine, she looked for signs of Q’s team. Heading for the first group of red T-shirts, she realized it was Oklahoma, not South Carolina. She stopped, looked around, sidestepping a gaggle of youngsters hurrying across the slick surface. Shooting an eye toward their feet, she worried they might slip if they didn’t slow down. The group hurried on and she searched for South Carolina. In the corner, Sydney caught sight of Clay standing on the opposite end of the pool, a line of swimmers splashing by him. Thought she caught sight of him. The man was talking to a very attractive blonde. When he turned, her heart jumped into her throat. It was Clay. But who was she?

  Shrieks of excitement erupted in the stands. The horn sounded. Fans cheered. Another race had come to a finish. But she saw none of it, riveted on Clay and the woman. Her desire to see him shriveled. Was she a parent? A staff member with the Special Olympics? A nurse? Not dressed in short shorts and high heels, she wasn’t. Her snug-fitting halter top was even more revealing, outlining an ample chest and tapered waist.

  Turning away, impulse propelled Sydney to retreat. The sight of Clay and the other woman was jarring. But misgiving gnawed. She was here to check on Q, to make sure he was okay. She stole a quick glance back at Clay and the blonde and thought, did she really want to insert herself between those two? The woman laughed.

  No. The answer was emphatically no. Could she call to check on Q? No. Clay would question why she didn’t stop by in person.

  Sydney looked around the pool deck and scraped her brain for something to do—until the woman left Clay’s side. Toilet paper? Water? Surely someone was in desperate need of something that needed to be done this very instant. Yet no one seemed to notice her. Swimmers were holed up with their teams, spectators were focused on the swimmers, volunteers were busy with their duties. The air reeked of chlorine, floors pooled with water. Unable to conjure up a single viable distraction, Sydney found herself drawn back to the woman with Clay.

  Shaking lazy curls from her face, she leaned toward Clay as he pointed at a swimmer, pulling Sydney’s gaze in the direction of his finger. It was the boy that almost beat Q the other day. His neon green goggles were unmistakable. Maybe Clay was telling her about the race.

  But why? Staring like some kind of lurid voyeur, Sydney fingered her credential lanyard and mulled the connection. Why would Clay be revealing these facts to her? Was she new to the events? Was that the other boy’s mother? Her skin prickled with sudden realization. Her hand dropped away. Her mouth fell agape. Oh my God...

  Was that Q’s mother?

  Heartbeats ripped through her chest. But of course—it had to be. Why wouldn’t she come to watch her son in the national games? This was a big deal in his life. And didn’t Clay say she periodically checked in? Had he called her?

  Sydney’s legs dissolved into rubbery nothing. Even from this distance, she could tell the lady was attractive, arms crossed under her chest as though to bump it up for better viewing, appearing to hang on his every word. But she was a beauty pageant girl, wasn’t she? Isn’t that what Clay told her? Sydney stood transfixed by the pair. Calm and casual, he stood by talking to her as though she was a friend—not the woman who cheated on him, deserted his son.

  Then he spotted her. His demeanor stiffened. Clay held her gaze, but he didn’t smile. Angst unraveled in her stomach. Humidity rose to near sauna status. Was he unhappy to see her? Had she inadvertently intruded upon him and his ex? Sydney turned away, but stopped. This was ridiculous. She hugged arms to her body, the plastic edges of her credential pass
biting into her skin. She glanced at nothing or no one in particular. This was insane. She’d come to ask after Q. She’d come to make sure he was okay, see if there was anything she could do.

  But it was obvious he was okay, or they wouldn’t be here this morning. Turning back for a peek, Clay motioned for her to come over. That’s when the woman zeroed in on her. Slowly releasing her arms to her sides, she frowned. It was the instantaneous assessment one woman made of another—only Sydney had made hers first—and the two seemed to share a disappointment. Clay called for her again and this time, with a half-hearted smile.

  But she didn’t want to go. She had no desire to stand side-by-side with that woman. Sydney glanced around her immediate vicinity, her flight instincts flapping at high speed. Did she have a choice? To walk away now would most definitely make her the coward in this encounter—something she was not.

  A young boy hurried by, clutching for the towel falling from his waist. Exuberance emanated from his eyes as he smiled. She tried to return the gesture, but her response quickly lost wind. She wasn’t in the smiling mood. She wasn’t in the visiting mood. But she had no choice. Clay had put her on the spot; do or die. With a deep breath, Sydney steeled her defenses and walked over.

  She didn’t have to stay. She’d ask after Q and profess a busy schedule. Winding her way around a group of dry swimmers, many still wearing blue T-shirts, she circled around the edge of the pool. Careful to stay clear of the volunteer time-keepers at the pool’s end, sweat collided with chlorine in a mixture that rankled her nose as she closed the distance between them. When Clay’s eyes didn’t light up at her approach, a chill sank deep into her bones. Too late for evasion tactics. It was time to say her piece and move on.

  Coming to within feet of them, Sydney found the woman to be stunning, in a flawless sort of way. Her nose was slim and perfectly shaped, her lips were full and painted a shimmery pink. Her hair was straight and shiny, like spun silk falling in large curled waves about her shoulders. Her breasts were large and round, the skin of her chest smooth and tanned. Next to her Clay was dressed casually in khaki shorts and simple red cotton collared shirt, his beads California-cool. She felt the sheen of perspiration form across her forehead. Jealousy sliced her in two. Together they looked like a golden couple straight off the shores of Malibu.