What Lucy Wants (Mosaic)

by Davis, Kirsten S.

  MOSAIC

  What Lucy Wants

  By

  Kirsten S. Davis

  This is going to be a complete waste of time.

  Yet Lucy still stepped into the red underwear she’d bought with Alice that morning. A new place had opened at The Hub, and she simply had to give it the once over, even going as far as buying this sexy little number. Lacy yet tasteful, see-through yet subtle. Lucy had never been one for things like leather and suspenders. Crotchless? Please.

  No, this was more her style. Matching scarlet under wear with just enough transparency to show her wide nipples and recently shaven mound. John would be for a treat tonight.

  If she could lure him away from that goddamn computer.

  Alice thought she had problems. Her husband played rugby, and often she’d complain that he’d spent too long at the bar drinking it up with his teammates. A very drunken Jeremy would stagger home, all hands and throbbing cock.

  “I mean, I do love it in a way,” Alice had told her that morning over coffee. “The beer makes him so beastly, you know? I like to lie there and let him just…do me. The beer though. God, his breath stinks and it makes him snore all night.”

  Yes, Alice thought she had problem because her muscle-bound rugby player like to give it to her when he’d had a drink.

  Lucy studied her reflection in the mirror.

  “Try being married to John,” she muttered, adjusting the bra straps of her new purchase. She pulled on her dressing gown and tied the sash. For all his faults, John wasn’t stupid. She had to be sneaky with her plan of attack.

  She opened the door to their bedroom and poked out her head. From the living room, she heard the occasional tap of a key. Predictably, he hadn’t moved in the last hour.

  It had been exciting at first, being the wife of a published crime writer. John’s first novel, The Lockdown, was snatched up by a small press and following a little cult success, his follow up, a gritty urban thriller called Smack, had garnered a contract from Harper. The life of a successful writer isn’t all book release parties and movie deals, but it did allow some slack with the finances.

  More importantly, it made John happy. At ten years his junior, Lucy sometimes felt that gap was a gaping chasm. She was nearly thirty-five, and while well aware she wasn’t a teenager anymore Lucy refused to jump into middle age quite so soon. Alice gave her some of her youthful spirit back, always the more eager and adventurous of the two friends, but John? His success had put a spring back into his step, and for a few months, things had been like the early days. Both were happy, and the taste of fame had boosted John’s libido. Sundays would be spent in bed, fooling around until at least the afternoon. There was life in the old dog yet.

  Now Lucy just had to find it again.

  She walked through the bedroom and hallway and into the lounge.

  John had his desk and computer set up in there because he liked being close to the fire and enjoyed watching the news on the flat panel should any interesting, and inspiring, crime stories be reported.

  He sat at his desk chair, pondering the screen of words before him. A quick word change here. Delete a comma there. Writing appeared to be such a boring endeavour, like watching someone play computer chess.

  John didn’t even look up.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “A coffee would be nice,” he said. “Goddamn! What’s wrong with me? I know where the story’s going and what my character is meant to be doing…but it just doesn’t gel. It’s…flat. No one’s going to want to read this, let alone buy the rights.”

  Lucy slowly loosened the sash, not all the way so that he’d notice, but hopefully enough for it to naturally unravel. This had to catch him off-guard. She wanted to raise his dick, not his suspicions.

  How long has it been?

  Lucy walked over; long strides helping to open the gown. She lingered behind his chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. She caressed the firm muscle underneath. Her husband made the time to stay trim at least.

  “It’ll come, sweetie. I know you have it in you. They don’t hand out awards to just anyone, you know.”

  John kept his one and only award on a shelf over the tv . The Pen and Dagger Award for Best First Novel. Attached to a plaque were a set of silver handcuffs. John often joked about putting his agent in them and demanding a bigger cut on foreign rights.

  “I know the story’s there,” he said, stroking Lucy’s hand. “I wish I could turn it on and off though.”

  I know exactly how you feel, Lucy thought.

  A sly hook of her finger and the sash fell completely loose, and her gown opened, revealing her sexy red underwear. The exposure, knowing that she was showing John her all, made her skin tingle. Already her nipples started to grow stiff. Hopefully her husband would notice and give them some much needed attention.

  She imagined his eager lips sucking in a mouthful, probing the nipple with his tongue, digging his teeth into the skin. She’d reach down and free him from his jeans and stroke him stiff.

  Come on, John, she thought. Turn around.

  With him sitting, Lucy thought he might smell her lust and she stepped closer, bringing her sex close to his face. Perhaps, she wondered, crotchless panties might have been the way to go…

  John sighed and sat back. “I don’t know…”

  “Then give it a rest,” suggested Lucy. “Have an early night.” She licked her lips. “Come to bed.”

  She reached up with her hand ran a fingertip across the firm nub that poked against the cup of her expensive new bra. She shivered in response to her own touch.

  Come on, John.

  “I…I’d better not. I promised I’d have this new novel at least halfway done by the end of the week.”

  He still hasn’t even looked at me. Releasing John’s shoulder, she quickly pulled her gown closed and tied the sash.

  “Hey hun…” said John, a playful tone creeping into his voice. “If you really wanted to help me out…”

  Lucy smiled and raised an eyebrow. Naughty John! He’d known all along.

  “Oh yeah?” she said, matching his tease. “What is it you need help with?”

  “If you could make that coffee? I can at least crack this chapter out.” He sighed again and returned to tapping the keys. “Looks like I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

  ***

  “So what happened then?” Alice picked up her glass of Chardonnay and took a sip.

  The café was quiet around them, with a bored-looking waitress struggling to stay awake behind the counter of cakes and biscuits. After last night’s non-event, Lucy had needed cheering up. No one could do that like Alice and her mad exploits. After a quick phone call, they’d met down at The Hub, and sat in the window of The Harbour Bistro, half a bottle of wine already gone between them.

  “Well,” said Lucy, “John gets in such intense moods when it comes to his writing. I’ve always wanted a…how can I put this…taste of that passion…”

  Alice wiggled her eyebrows and flashed her mischievous grin. “Go on.”

  “So I let my gown fall to the floor and pulled his chair back. He was surprised and a bit annoyed at first, until he saw what I was wearing! But I didn’t want to get in the way of his beloved novel. I was on my hands and knees in seconds, halfway under the desk. I was amazed he could continue to write around my head, the way it was pumping up and down.”

  Alice laughed. “Fuck, you did that?”

  The smile fell from Lucy’s face. “No. Would have liked to though. I just went to bed.” She shrugged. “Read a bit and watched a Downton.”

  Alice finished what remained in her glass and reached for the bottle. “Probably for the best though, eh? If you’d m
issed any and he’d cum all over his keyboard, he would have been pissed.”

  They looked in each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

  Alice poured herself a wine and topped up Lucy’s without having to ask. They’d both caught taxis into town. This was going to be an all day job.

  “At least one of us is in a good mood,” said Lucy and thanked her friend, taking a drink. The wine was deliciously cold and she fingered the condensation on the side of the glass. “I take it Jeremy returned home last night in a merry mood?”

  Alice pursed her lips and glanced upwards. “Jeremy’s away for the week. Didn’t I tell you? The team’s on tour.”

  “No,” said Lucy. “You didn’t! But you should’ve. You could’ve stayed at our place. No fun being all alone in that big house of yours.”

  “It’s not too bad. Besides, Jeremy felt so bad leaving me on my lonesome for a week, he said I should treat myself. What kind of loving wife would I be if I didn’t take him up on such a generous offer? Have you seen these shoes.”

  Lucy had, and they were very nice shoes.

  “That’s not all,” Alice continued. “You seen that place down near the park? Looks like a hippy shack with the sign out the front?”

  Lucy frowned. “Yeah, but I haven’t given it much attention. Some kind of alternative therapy centre? Crystals and auras and all that shit?”

  Alice nodded. “I thought so too until I went in. My regular masseuse is away on holiday – Barbados, the lucky prick – and with my new found power to spoil myself, I fancied a bit of pampering, so I gave it a shot.”

  “And?” said Lucy.

  Alice grinned. “You should go. Take your mind off this whole John business, that’s for sure. Oh, look at him…”

  A tall, well-built man in a suit with short Clark Kent hair was ordering at the counter. The waitress had certainly woken up and had become all flickering eyelashes and pouty lips.

  Having Alice distracted gave Lucy a moment to think this over. Alice had always been the adventurous one. In fact, even after hearing a few of her best friends exploits with Jeremy and many sex-filled stories from her time at university, studying creative writing and drama of all things, Lucy had the feeling she hadn’t heard the full story of Alice’s exploits. While she hungered for more, wanting to know the depths and extremes to which her friend was filling to succumb, she also feared it a little, worried that once she learned, their relationship would change for the worse.

  Despite her misgivings and the almost teasing way Alice was keeping the facts to herself, Lucy trusted her. Plus it had been months since her last massage. A massage, nail appointment and possibly more wine here at the Harbour Bistro, watching the people walk by and the boats sail in, sounded like a fantastic way to spend the day.

  ***

  It certainly was a hippy shack. A wind chime hung on the front deck, and in the warm weather, the door had been opened and replaced with a bead curtain. Rest and Relaxation, the sign read. Natural and Spiritual Therapy.

  This is going to be awful. A shame she’d told Alice she intended to go through with it. She hadn’t the nerve to back down as her friend would surely want to discuss it when they met up for more drinks later.

  With a deep breath and thankful for the lingering alcoholic buzz, Lucy walked up the few steps, pulled the bead curtain aside and entered the small foyer.

  The interior proved a stark difference to the outside. The reception area resembled a doctor’s office rather than the sixties chill out room Lucy had been expecting. They had plastic chairs and magazines, not bean bags and bongs. Behind the immaculate white counter sat a man in his late twenties, long black dreadlocks tied back neatly. He glanced at Lucy over his hipster glasses.

  “Good afternoon,” he said with a friendly smile. “How may I help you?”

  Lucy approached the counter and the receptionist stood to meet her at eye level. He was not as skinny as she’d first thought. His body was tight with lean muscle and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Wearing white shorts and a polo shirt, he reminded Lucy of a personal trainer she once had.

  John had never found out about the particular brand of work out she’d indulged in. Once he’d even complimented the trainer, saying he’d done a good job. If only he’d known that the trainer’s cream was still seeping out of his wife…

  Lucy cleared her throat, banishing the images. There’d be none of that here.

  “Hello,” she said, returning the receptionist’s warm greeting. “I was hoping to make an appointment. My friend gave you the highest of recommendations.”

  “Certainly, madam.”

  Madam? Well that makes me feel old…

  “When’s good for you?”

  “Gee…I don’t know.” She laughed. “This is kind of a spare of the moment thing. To be honest, if I made a booking for a few days’ time, I dare say something will come up and I won’t make it…so…I’m sorry for wasting your time. What I get for going with a whim, I suppose!”

  “I don’t believe in whims,” said the man. “Something brought you here today. Why not listen to your body, your heart, yeah? I have so many clients walk through my door and get cold feet. They listen to their brain too much.” He checked the large diary that lay open before him. No technology here. “Our next client is at three. That gives you plenty of time if you want a session.”

  Lucy checked her watch. It was slightly after two. Plenty of time to enjoy a nice long massage. If was anything like Alice had described…

  “You’ll feel mellow as fuck, Luce, I promise,” her friend had told her as they’d left the bistro. “His hands…they’re the only way to get high legally.”

  “What the hell,” she said, coming back to the present. “I’ll listen to my heart, right?”

  “Okay then,” said the man. He took down a few details and escorted her through the door at the side of the counter. It led into a small changing room with another door on the opposite side.

  “Have you had this kind of therapy before?” he said.

  “What? This?” Lucy placed her handbag on a chair. “Yes. Plenty of times.”

  “Okay then. In the cupboard are robes and towels, whichever you prefer. When you’re ready, just pop through this door here and we can make a start. I’ll just go and prepare things.”

  He stepped through, and Lucy enjoyed the smell she’d been expecting: incense and rich oils.

  After he had left the small room, Lucy locked both doors and began to strip. Kicking off her heels, she shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Her blouse followed, each opened button revealing more of her pale skin. She spread the fabric wide and stared down in shock.

  “Ah shit. Why don’t you think, Lucy?”

  She still wore her new sexy underwear from the night before. After her disappointment with John, she’d gone straight to bed, and this morning had quickly dressed, eaten and left the house to look around the shops before meeting Alice. Some of her friends, Alice definitely, liked to have their massages nude, loving the feel of a masseur’s firm touch and knowing that a flimsy piece of towel was the only thing between them. Lucy had never done such a thing and didn’t intend to now!

  He won’t see it, she thought, quickly pulling off her blouse and tugging her jeans down her legs. Wary of the lacy straps, she added he bra to the growing pile of clothes. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her body and looked in the dress mirror.

  She could have been completely nude under the towel. She could also be wearing a swimming costume. The masseur would never know that she only wore her sexy new knickers.

  A little more confident that things were back to normal and she’d avoided an embarrassing scene (but what a story for Alice later!), Lucy unlocked the door and slipped into the next room.

  The man stood by a unit that contained a sink, stereo and various bottles of dark and golden liquids. He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

  “Just hop up onto the table and lie on your front please, Luc
y. I’ll begin in a moment.” He pressed play on the stereo, and the room filled with calming tones and sounds of nature.

  “Wait…you’re doing this?” she said. “You’re the masseuse?”

  He shook his head. “Not quite. I’m a therapist. My medical degree is on display in reception if you don’t believe me. Let me guess—” He gave his long dreadlocks a tug. “I don’t look like a doctor, right?”

  “No kidding,” said Lucy and climbed up on the table. What the hell, she’d had worse with their hands all over her in the past.

  “Well I don’t think of myself as a doctor,” he said, drizzling oil into his palm. He replaced the bottle and rubbed the thick, amber liquid between his hands. “My name’s Heath. Not Dr. Heath or anything like that. Just Heath. I hope to cure the body and the soul so I stay away from the more traditional medicinal titles. But you’ll know all about that if you’ve had a few sessions of this kind of therapy. Better to keep the atmosphere relaxed and informal.”

  Lucy nodded and settled down. A massage was a massage. Some might see it as therapy, but for her this was sheer indulgence. Someone finally giving her body some attention.

  “Listen to me chatting away,” said Heath. “I’m sure you’re keen to get started and we are a little pushed for time...”

  Lucy closed her eyes, and over the tranquil sounds from the stereo, listened to his footsteps pass by.

  “Listen to my voice,” said Heath, his voice now lowered to barely a whisper, “and let yourself unwind.”

  Lucy nearly flinched from his first touch: he’d grabbed her foot.

  “Just relax,” he said, gently lifting her leg so that it bent at the knee and her bare toes pointed at the ceiling. He applied a firm pressure to the middle of her foot with his thumb.

  Lucy sighed. She wasn’t into guys touching her feet, but Heath seemed to know which nerves endings to rub. Still, she moved her other leg in closer to save the therapist a glimpse under her towel.

  Heath spent a few minutes working on her foot before lowering the leg and turning his attention to her calf. He kneaded with both thumbs, firmly up and softly down.