IF YOU TRULY LOVE ME: Chapter 02 Sophie’s Words

AS I SIPPED my wine, a nice Shiraz from the Hunter Valley region, I did a leisurely look around at my new colleagues. The company appeared to be just as the lovely Holly Prescott had described at my initial interview: a relatively small boutique publishing outfit that fostered a family feel. The fact they’d organized a small welcome party for me that included the spouses and significant others of the employees backed up her claim.

I had a good feeling about my move. There wasn’t much of an increase in salary, but the cost of living in a regional city was markedly less than that of Melbourne so at the end of the day I’d have more dollars left in my pocket. It was also situated in a prime location—only an hour or two from Sydney. For me, it meant weekend trips to check out the Sydney night life without the hassle of having to deal with the regular weekday commuting nightmares associated with living in a large city.

And, if I was being honest, the delectable owner of the firm was an added incentive to make the move.

I looked with curiosity at the husband of my new boss.

David Prescott.

I watched him place his order with the barman at the makeshift bar they’d set up. He wore his confidence like a second skin, as easily as he did the perfectly cut white shirt hanging from his broad shoulders. And why wouldn’t he? Nature had blessed him in more ways than one.

She’d given him a full head of hair the colour of light oak, not fair, but not light brown either. The overhead lighting picked up the blond streaks. I ventured they were gained naturally rather than artfully placed there by some talented colourist. He wore it brushed back from his forehead. At his temples a smattering of grey, but, as was often the case with men, it added a touch of distinction.

His height lent him an air of authority, as did the ease of his movements; he was clearly in decent shape. Definitely no paunch or love handles were in evidence. A man to give most girls hearts a little flutter if you were into sexy older men.

Not me.

I loathed him on sight. He was everything I despised about men.

He turned with two glasses of wine in hand and I followed his progress across the room. His journey ended with his wife. His beautiful wife.

Holly Prescott.

Now that I was definitely into.

He smiled down at her, stooping to kiss her nose as she tilted her face up, returning his smile. He handed her one of the glasses before wrapping an arm around her waist and joining in her conversation with someone I had yet to be introduced to.

I had to admit she was the perfect foil for him. They looked good together. Her blonde hair complemented her husband’s. It hung like a curtain four or five inches beyond her shoulders. It was sleek in the way that I suspected meant Holly Prescott had made good use of her straightening iron for the evening. She was average height. Five-five, maybe five-six, and with the type of curves that could turn to fat if the owner wasn’t vigilant. She was vigilant. I’d love to see her naked to see just how vigilant.

Her dress was white, matching her husband’s shirt, and I wondered if she’d colour-coordinated their outfits for the evening. Was she one of those wives, like my sister, who chose her husband’s clothes for him? Thank God, I was a lesbian and didn’t have to do shit like that for some stupid guy who had no colour or dress sense. I’d always wondered at men who allowed their spouses to take over in that manner. Was it laziness? Or were they truly as incapable as their wives seemed to think they were in making a decent choice of shirt?

Holly Prescott was older than my previous lovers, but that didn’t stop me from acknowledging she’d be considered by most women, as well as men, as a good mix of sexy and elegant. The neckline of her dress dipped low enough to advertise the fact she could compete with any other set of boobs in the room, yet was also high enough to broadcast she had the good taste not to. The same could be said of both the length and fit of her dress—short and tight enough to let the viewer know she was no stranger to exercise, yet long and loose enough not to be slutty. Girl-next-door meets seductress.

“You’re wasting your time checking him out, sweetie.”

I turned to face the speaker and merely quirked an eyebrow. No need to advertise the fact it was Holly I was checking out; not her husband.

“Liz,” she said, thrusting a hand in my direction. At my blank look she smiled understandingly. “I’m Holly’s PA. We spoke on the phone.”

I returned her smile, thankful she’d reintroduced herself to me as I had indeed forgotten her name and where she fit in.

“Well, you know who I am.” I laughed. “Newbie editor and clearly terrible with names.”

Liz chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you keep it straight in our authors’ novels! And new jobs; there’s always a lot to take in.”

I nodded, my gaze sliding back to the Prescotts.

“Forget it. I can verify the guy is a straight arrow—as straight as they come.”

“He wouldn’t be the first, aah, straight arrow to take a walk on the dark side.”

She laughed, nodding. “True, but not David. That man adores his wife. Its kind of sickening, actually.”

“How so?”

“Oh the usual. He’s a one woman man if ever I saw one—spoils her, never says a bad word about her, always buys her the most thoughtful and romantic gifts. And he never looks at other women even though more than a few have tried to catch his eye.”

“Perhaps they used the wrong seduction technique.”

Liz laughed again. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Let’s just say I can confirm the, aah, spark is alive and well between that pair. Now, if you want to hook up with a gorgeous looking guy ask Holly for Warren’s number. Looks like Ben—that’s him over there.” She indicated a tall, brown-haired man on the other side of the room. “Ben’s Holly’s brother and David’s business partner, and Warren looks just like him, only younger. More your age.” Seeing my expression she laughed. “Sadly, too young for me.”

“So why not go for Ben?”

“Oh, you could. You’d certainly be right up his alley, but Ben is a player. Changes girlfriends as often as I have hot dinners.”

I laughed. “Ï see.”

Listening to Holly’s secretary it was clear to see she thought the Prescotts the perfect couple and David Prescott the perfect man. Internally, I smiled. Neither perception deterred me. In fact, the challenge only made Holly Prescott all the more attractive to me. David Prescott wouldn’t be the first man to lose his wife to me. Probably wouldn’t be the last either.

I chuckled. “For the record, Liz, I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

*****

I LOOKED AT the retreating figure thoughtfully. Interesting. Very interesting. Only three weeks into my new job and unless I was very much mistaken, loved-up-Holly-Prescott had just checked me out. I looked down at my cleavage revealed in the V of my tailored white shirt and smiled. I reached into the V and cup of my lacey white bra, adjusting the puppies to sit higher. Satisfied, I moved my hands down to my hips, smoothing my skirt.

Holly didn’t know it, but I’d been checking her out too as she reapplied her lipstick. Difference was years of practice made my perusal far subtler than hers.

Holly’s charms sparked a gentle throb between my thighs. I thought about going into one of the toilet stalls and having a little me-time. A quick glance at my wristwatch blasted that idea out of the water. Damn, no time. Not even if I was quick. It wouldn’t pay to be late for a production meeting.

“Down, Kitty,” I whispered to my tingling pussy and then chuckled at myself for talking to my vagina as if it were a person. “Time for play later.”

*****

HOLLY PRESCOTT, I decided, was in denial about her sexuality. Perhaps, like so many of the older generation, she’d suppressed it and tried to fit into the nice, neat little square box society dictated.

In the gay world you heard about it all the time; men and women in their forties, fifties and even older, suddenly unable to keep up the façade any longer, coming out, and leaving long term marriages.

Holly would be another such statistic. I’d help her, give her the strength and motivation to free herself of her self-imposed chains. Pulling the rug out from under the likes of David Prescott would merely be a bonus.

God, how I hated him. Him and men like him. Men like my father. He—they—represented everything I loathed about the male of the species. So certain of their right to rule. So sure that whatever they were doing was more important than what their woman was doing. That they were in charge. How often had I heard my father say he “let” my mother do this that or the other? Too many times. As if she needed his permission. Other than a few years as a stay-at-home until me and my siblings had reached school age she’d worked. Had a career of her own and contributed just as much to their assets. She was as smart and capable as him. More so.

Wherever I looked the prejudice, the subjugation, profilerated. My last job a case in point. Gerry Taggart started the same time as me, held the same title with the equivalent responsibilities and yet he was paid more than me, despite my doing the better job. And when a position further up the totem pole became available who got the promotion? Gerry, of course. They even upped his salary above that of the woman he replaced.

Why the hell did they think the dangly things between their legs automatically accorded them more rights than a woman? Made them smarter? Superior? Gave them the last word?

Men. Fuck them all. Idiots. Most of them were stupid. I mean, what else could you be when you let something less than ten percent of your body height or weight do your thinking for you?

Yes, by getting Holly Prescott to act on her feelings I’d be doing her a favour. After all, didn’t The Bard say To thine own self be true?

*****

SEDUCING HOLLY PRESCOTT was proving easier than I’d imagined. The woman was so ripe for plucking she might as well have been a late-summer peach.

A lingering touch, a few well-timed compliments and appreciative looks and she’d been practically gagging for me to kiss her. And hadn’t that first kiss been sweet. She’d been like a starving woman let loose on an all-you-can-eat buffet.

And she’d come back for seconds.

And thirds.

Yes, definitely an over-ripe peach.

She was, however, balking at taking it to the next level. She let me touch those pretty tits of hers through her clothing and even rub her needy snatch through her trousers. She’d squirmed and panted but when I had her on the edge of climaxing she’d pulled away, gasping something about not being able to cheat on her husband.

Not cheat? What did she think the kissing and groping was? A game of Twister?

Christ, I hope she’s not going to suggest we have a threesome. Hopefully, David Prescott isn’t a cliché and into watching two women getting it on.

I shuddered, remembering another wife who I’d lusted after. Her husband couldn’t get enough of watching me dine on his wife’s shaved pussy. Couldn’t get enough of seeing me make her come again and again, harder and longer than he ever had. At first, I’d liked showing off my superior skills, her groans and pleas for me to never stop served to rub his shortcomings in his face, but in the end I hated it. She’d be howling and clutching my face to her snatch, beside herself with pleasure, and he’d shove me out the way so he could ram his dick into her still spasming cunt. Arsehole made me feel like the warm-up act.

No. Not again. When I got Holly Prescott naked it would be just her and me and maybe my strap-on.

“*****

MORNING HOLLY,” I said, closing her office door behind me.

“Morning, Sophie.”

I crossed the room, enjoying her blush and subtle squirm. I walked around her desk, leaning over her, and placed a manuscript before her, making sure my breasts rubbed against her arm. She didn’t adjust her position. Nor did she move away when I remained hovering over her, our heads almost touching, my breath fanning over her neck as I spoke quietly about an issue with the manuscript. In fact, she tilted her head to give me better access.

I obliged her. The fragrance of her shampoo mixed with her perfume and natural body scent. It was intoxicating. I slowly trailed soft, moist kisses from behind her ear all the way down her throat. She leaned back, her breasts pressing against the fabric of her blouse. I hid my smile with more kisses when she reached and undid two of the buttons, freeing her lace-clad tits to my fingers and tongue.

While kissing along the edge of her bra on one side, I scooped the other breast out. Her nipple was as hard as a rock even before I twirled it between my finger and thumb. I swapped sides, gently tugging on her erect nipple with my teeth while I exposed her other breast.

And then I went to town, leaning over her, alternating between nibbling on and wetting her nipples and blowing on them with rolling them between my fingers and thumbs. She moaned and panted, thrusting her chest up for more. She looked so wanton, arched and begging for my touch.

She slid down her seat, her skirt riding up to expose lacy knickers. I smiled; they were damp. I didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity. Wetting my fingers in my mouth, I slid my hand under the top of her panties, making sure I kept her on edge with my attentions to her breasts. I wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to call a halt to proceedings again. Not this time.

I needn’t have bothered with lubricating my fingers with saliva; she was dripping wet. I coated my fingers in her juices and quickly found her clitoris. It was swollen and needy. It wouldn’t take much to tip her over the edge.

The previous time I’d gotten her this close I’d started talking dirty to her, asking her if she wanted it. That had brought her to her senses. I didn’t make the same mistake this time. I kept busy on her throat, lightly trailing my tongue from her ear down to her breast, all the while twirling and squeezing the other nipple. As impatient as I was to see her come on my fingers, I made myself take my time, circling her clit, merely brushing it with my fingers until she was groaning and humping urgently against my hand as best she could.

And then she had her legs on the desk. I braced myself against the back of her chair to prevent it from moving backward. She splayed her thighs, exposing her slit, now a deep, rosy pink, suffused with blood and need.

Holly moaned, her breasts at war with her cunt as to who should get my attentions. Each greedily lifted and pushed into my hands.

I needed to keep her feeling not thinking and so I favoured her cunt, circling her clit, slowly speeding up.

“Please… please,” she panted, her hair making a rustling sound against the back of the chair as she turned her head this way and that.

Her humping against my hand sped up. It was time. Time to finish her off.

That’s it, my peach. Come for me.

“Oh god. Oh god.” Her cunt flooded.  She looked beautiful. A beautiful mess.

Holly slumped into the chair. She looked sexy. Sexy and slutty with her hair mussed and her blouse open, breasts exposed. Her skirt up around her waist and her legs relaxed and open on her desk. She’d lost one shoe during our interlude.

Gently, mindful of possible regrets, I adjusted her panties and lowered her legs one at a time to the floor. I swivelled her chair to face me and, with a final kiss and tender squeeze to each, returned her breasts to their lacy prison. Holly was like putty in my hands, offering no resistence or assistance. She looked half asleep. I dropped to my knees before her and raised the hand I’d used on her cunt to my face. I kept my movements languid. Sensual. One by one I sucked on each finger. I saw something spark in Holly’s eyes and internally smiled. If I wanted I could have her again immediately.

I wanted. Oh boy, did I want, but I restrained myself. Next time we’d both be naked and I’d get to drink direct from the fountain.

*****

HALF AN HOUR had passed since I made Holly Prescott come on my fingers. I lifted my hand to my face. I could still smell her on my fingertips. My own crotch was throbbing demandingly but Kitty would just have to wait. I needed to consolidate my gains with Holly first.

For the second time that morning I knocked on her office door.

“Come in,” she called. Her voice sounded its usual self.

I approached the desk, seating myself opposite and opened the discussion on the manuscript I’d brought in earlier. To listen to us you’d never guess I’d had her at my mercy less than an hour earlier.

Once I had the direction I needed regarding the manuscript out the way, I leaned back and brought my hand to my face. I sniffed delicately, my gaze on her face.

“You smell so good, Holly. And you taste even better.”

Holly whimpered. She literally whimpered. I so had her exactly where I wanted her.

“I need you, baby. I need you naked and under my tongue.”

“I can’t,”she moaned. “David won’t let me.”

 “Do you need his permission?”

Holly nodded, clearly miserable. “I can’t cheat on him.”

I refrained from pointing out I’d had her charms on display and her coming on my fingers less than an hour earlier. Let her keep her self-delusion if it got me what I wanted.

“Have you actually asked him?”

“Yes. I’ve tried everything—abstinence, food, sex, begging. I thought he was on the brink of allowing me to explore but then he upped and said no. Said you’d come between us.”

“I don’t want to come between you and your husband,” I lied. “I just want to be the one you explore your bi-side with. I just want you to do that with someone who cares about you and will look after you.”

“I know. That’s what I told David. I said you were no threat.”

“I’m not. We’ll have to convince him. It’s cruel to deny you something you need to explore in order to feel happy and whole.”

Another nod from Holly, her eyes begging me for more reassurance. More rationalisation.

“How can you ever be truly happy and content when there is a whole aspect of yourself that you’re denied knowing?”

“I know! It’s driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about it. ” Holly blushed, dropping her gaze. “About you. I want you so bad.”

“No more than I want you. We’ll have to just keep working on David. When he sees how important it is to you and that its not going away, surely, he’ll agree.”

I said ‘we’ but we both knew she’d have to be the one to get him to agree. Personally, I didn’t want him to. I wanted her to come to me without his permission. I wanted to take her from him, to have her choose me over him.

“If he truly loves me he would give me this.”

“Yes.” I nodded in agreement. “If he truly loves you your happiness and wellbeing would be his priority. He’s being selfish and insecure by denying you something you need. He should trust in your love. He should get over his pride and ego and support you through your sexual journey.”

And so the conversation went on. Holly looking for justification and my giving it to her. Me planting seeds of discord, Holly watering them.

*****

LIZ SIDLED UP to my desk. “Any ideas what’s bugging Holly?”

“No. Why?”

“She’s snapping and snarling at everyone and if she slams one of her drawers one more time I think her desk may very well fall apart. She even went off at Ronnie and she never does that. Those two are as thick as thieves.”

Internally, I smiled. Externally, I looked concerned. “Do you think its bad news for the company? Everything’s okay, isn’t it? Financially, I mean.”

“It’s not the company. It’s rock solid. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think its problems on the home front. Though, whether with David or her daughter, Caitlyn, I’m not sure. Ronnie’s in with her right now.”

Ronnie, I knew, was her gay cousin. He was a graphic artist and responsible for our book covers and promotional material. I hadn’t had much to do with him thus far but I wondered if I’d find an ally in him. Would he be in favour of his cousin exploring her sexuality, or would he counsel her to remain true to hubby-dearest?

“It’s probably nothing,” I reassured Liz. “A spat with either hubby or daughter.”

Liz agreed but didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, best get back to work.”

“Yeah. Me too. I have to get the first edit of this manuscript done today and back to the author and, as good a storyteller as he is, he can’t spell for shit.”

We both laughed.

Once Liz left my office I sat and pondered, deciding to visit Holly when Liz went out for lunch. Hopefully, her cousin would have left by then and I could find out what had caused her foul mood and halt any backtracking she might be doing.

I found it hard to concentrate and kept looking at my wristwatch only to find mere minutes had passed, not hours. Time was dragging. My lack of focus annoyed me; normally that wasn’t an issue as I was quite skilled at compartmentalising my work and private life. I hated to admit it but Holly Prescott had gotten under my skin. My need to have her, to lure her away from her marriage, was consuming me. I wanted her as I’d never wanted another woman in my entire life.

*****

I LET MYSELF into Holly’s office without knocking. She was so busy pacing she didn’t hear my approach until I was halfway across the room. She turned, her face a mask of anger, but upon seeing it was me her expression softened.

As soon as I was within arm’s reach I grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong, Holly?”

That was all the prompting she needed. It all spilled out of her; her argument with David, his demand that she fire me, his continuing refusal to allow her to explore her sexuality. It all poured out of her, many phrases repeated, the name Laura Hartley got thrown around, or rather was spat out. Her frustration was so intense it had its own presence.

“He equated my situation, our situation, with that tart, Laura Hartley.”

At my blank look, Holly explained.

“She was David’s secretary. Had the biggest crush on him. Kept throwing herself at him. Even in front of me, so I had David sack her. How dare he suggest what I’m going through has anything at all to do with some bitch in heat trying to seduce my husband.”

I smiled reassuringly. David was right, of course, I was trying to seduce his wife.

Holly pulled her hand from mine and recommenced pacing. I let her go, recognising her anger demanded movement.

She sneered, imitating her husband, “If I said I needed to fuck a twenty-two year old, that it was important to me to see her bouncing up and down on my dick, that I had a powerful urge to have her suck my cock dry, would you be accommodating? Would you be saying, ‘Go ahead, David, explore your needs with my blessing.’

How fucking dare he suggest him screwing some chick half his age is anything like my need to explore my bisexuality.”

I wondered how close her words were to the truth. Had David actually said them? I decided to take a gamble.

“What if you gave him permission to do that? Give him permission to have a fling as a kind of trade off—”

I got no further.

“No!” Holly shrieked. “No fucking way!”

Internally, I sighed, disappointed. So much for that idea. Externally, I looked contrite.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just thought if it got you what you wanted…” I trailed off, seed planted.

“No. No way,” she repeated. “What if he liked sex with some young itty bitty thing better than with me? I could lose my husband.”

I said nothing, merely nodded understandingly. It was hard not to laugh at her hypocrisy. The human capacity for self-deceit never ceased to amaze me. Holly wasn’t about to risk her husband developing feelings for another woman but was in total denial that her attraction to and feelings for me were any threat to him. She couldn’t see what he clearly saw as plain as day. I was a threat. A huge threat. As-big-as-they-come-threat.

“Why is he being so obstinate? He’s never been so stubborn about something I wanted before? What can I do?” she moaned. “How can I make him see?”

What I felt like doing was telling her to tell him to screw himself, that her body was her own and she’d do with it what she liked. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her neck softly.

“Just keep working on him, my peach. Once he sees your feelings and needs aren’t going to change, he’ll come around. If he truly loves you, he’ll give you what you need to be happy.”

I didn’t really believe my words, but they made me look supportive until I could come up with a way for Holly to be with me that she could live with.

*****

IN THE END, David Prescott saved me the trouble of coming up with a scheme. The idiot issued Holly with an ultimatum. Her or me. You have a week to decide. Then the fool left town for a week.

Sure, he made her promise to have no contact with either of us, supposedly so neither of us could influence her, and both he and Holly may well have had good intentions of following that request.

I, however, did not.

I didn’t feel bound by David Precott’s instructions. I was willing to fight dirty. All was fair in love and war, after all. And both ends of that spectrum applied to me. I was in love with Holly Prescott and at war with her husband for her heart.

As much as I wanted to gallop to Holly’s house as soon as her husband drove off, I waited. Played the game. I teased and tempted her with loving texts, telling her how much she was missed, how the office wasn’t the same without her presence, how I was thinking of her. In truth, they were as much a torture for me as I suspect they were for Holly.

On Friday afternoon I invented a problem with the manuscript I was working on. There was a genuine issue, just not one of a magnitude I couldn’t solve on my own.

As I approached the house, I slowed, pulling in to park one hundred metres down the road. It was my first time to the house. I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. It was all soaring angles and expanses of glass. The timber gave it warmth. For all its modernity it fit easily, naturally, into the river parkland setting.

I sighed and drove the remainder of the way to Holly’s, pulling to the kerb beside her driveway. Being a good architect didn’t make David Prescott a good man, a good husband, nor even, a worthy adversary.

And it didn’t change the fact that Holly Prescott wanted a chance to explore her sexuality. With me.

I turned off the ignition and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. After a patting of my hair I was ready.

I pressed the doorbell then smoothed my dress while I waited. I was surprised to feel a flutter of nerves in my belly and with every second that Holly took to answer the door my nerves multiplied. Perhaps she was out. Perhaps visiting friends.

And then she was standing before me looking impossibly sexy. The shift she was wearing was light, loose, and short. Her legs were bare and her hair loose. It was the first time I’d seen her dressed so casually. I liked it.

“Hey, Holly,” I smiled.

Holly’s initial welcoming smile morphed into a look of doubt and concern.

“Hey, Sophie.”

I lifted the folder containing the manuscript. “Can I come in? I’d like your input on Richard Hennessy’s latest novel.”

“Can it wait until Monday? You know I promised David I wouldn’t see you for this week and that’s not up until Sunday night when he gets home from Sydney.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait. I’ve missed you so much. This whole manuscript issue is just an excuse.” I hung my head. I think I surprised myself as much as Holly with my confession.

“Oh god, no need to get upset. Come in.”

Holly stepped aside. Anticipation zinged through my veins. Tonight I would have her. At last.

Holly led me into the kitchen. It was open plan. The whole kitchen, dining and living areas under one soaring cathedral ceiling. It was tastefully decorated and furnished. Stylish but warm and welcoming. I placed the manuscript on the kitchen bench and perched on one of the barstools.

“Red or white?” Holly asked as she grabbed a couple of wine glasses.

“Red, please.”

I watched as she poured us both a glass of wine. She was nervous. I could tell because her hand was shaking. Knowing I was the cause, a part of me basked in the glory of the power I had over her. The other part wanted to reach out to hold and reassure she’d be okay for the very same reason.

She passed me one glass while taking a sip from the other. She leaned with her back against the sink.

“You shouldn’t be here. I promised David. I gave him my word.”

Holly spoke quietly, sadly, but retained good eye contact and despite her words I could tell she was pleased to see me.

“Sorry, my peach. I couldn’t wait. And I was worried about you. About David issuing you an ultimatum. It’s so unfair.”

Holly nodded. “I think so too. I’ve told him again and again I will never leave him and he knows that that you understand that. I don’t know why he’s being so obstinate.”

I tried to ignore the twang of pain her words invoked. For a brief moment I felt like running away. For the first time in my life I feared I might be in over my head.

But then I looked at her; she was so seductive yet vulnerable and knew I had to have her. No matter the cost. I’d give her a taste of what she’d been missing all these years and she’d soon change her mind about needing to stay in the state of holy matrimony with David Prescott.

Holly put her drink down and brought her hands up to her face, muffling her words.

“What am I going to do? I have to make a decision. David is going to want my answer.”

Before I could reply, Holly rushed around the bench and threw herself into my arms. My wine went flying, splashing us both. I looked over her shoulder at the toppled glass and spreading puddle of red. It looked garish against the white concrete benchtop.

“I don’t know what to do,” she wailed. “I’m so torn.”

I had a moment of conscience. It didn’t last long. I stroked her hair, burying my face in her neck and kissing it softly. I had an epiphany; brought on, I think, by her scent and the feel of her body pressed to mine.

She wanted me to take the decision out of her hands.

I could do that for her. I most certainly could do that for my peach.

I looked again at the benchtop. The stain. The metaphor for the life blood leaking out of Holly Prescott’s marriage.

I eased myself off the barstool and gently maoeuvered Holly and I to the lounge, whispering words of comfort the whole time. Once I had her semireclined I resumed my attack on her neck and shoulders.

“You’re so tense. Let me help you,” I whispered between trailing moist kisses along her exposed flesh.

Every time I peeked at her face her eyes were closed. If I had to guess, I’d say she was blocking out reality. Fine by me.

Without protest, I shimmied her dress over her head, revealing her pretty pink bra and knickers. During our last interlude I’d love the way her bra cups had framed her tits. It had been like they were being served up to me on a platter so I did a repeat.

I feasted, making her arch and moan and twine her fingers in my hair. And still she kept her eyes shut. I worked my way down. I grabbed the lacy waistband of her panties and began easing them over her hips. Holly helped, raising her buttocks. Oh yes, my peach wanted me to make her feel better.

And then I was between her athletic thighs. She’d waxed, leaving a cute little rectangle of blonde above her slit. Normally, I’d have lingered, playing with her sweet, soft, bit of fluff but I needed to get my peach over the line and quickly. I needed her sated but eager for more. It was a fine line to tread.

If the way she clenched her thighs about my head was any indication, I trod the path well. Very well. Every groan, every whimper made my heart soar, or more accurately, my kitty zing.

I made her come and come. And come.

Screw oysters, power is the best aphrodisiac. And with each climax I gave Holly I definitely felt more powerful. Powerful and sexy. And drunk on Holly’s pleasure. I diddled my own clit while drinking from her fountain. It felt so good to come with her. I couldn’t wait for the day she’d return the favour, but for now I was happy to worship her.

At some point she led me to what I gathered was a guest room. She didn’t want to make love with me in her marriage bed, the bed she shared with David. I ignored the frisson of fear that I hadn’t done enough, pleased her enough to win her over. I let her sleep, recuperate, and then I woke her with my tongue in her delicious pussy.

That’s how the whole weekend played out. We only left the bed to eat and shower. They were merely interludes in between making my peach arch in want, writhe in ecstasy. I loved hearing her moan my name. I loved hearing her plead for me to finish her off.

It was Sunday afternoon. We were in the shower. Holly looked so sexy with her hair up in a clip, tendrils escaping to curl around her face. I lathered her breasts, her beautiful breasts. Her nipples perked up at my touch. I ran my hand down her side, in for her waist, out for her hip, enjoying the erotic sight of the lather sliding over the swell of her belly. Christ, she was sexy.

“You have to stop, Sophie. We can’t. David will be home soon,” Holly murmured even as she leaned back against me and parted her legs.

I accepted her nonverbal invitation.

“One more time, baby. Come for me one more time,” I whispered licking up her neck and nibbling on the lobe of her ear.

“Oh god,” Holly groaned, rocking her hips on my fingers.

“That’s it, my sweet, juicy peach. Use my fingers. Get what you need.”

Holly came with a cry, sagging in my arms. I held her while she recovered, nuzzling the nape of her neck. I felt euphoric.

We dried and she slipped on a short, silky dressing gown. It was midnight blue and intensified the blue of her eyes. She passed me the green satin robe. The one she’d picked out of her closet for me. The one she said brought out the green in my eyes. I wondered if she liked seeing me in it as much as I loved wearing an item of her clothing.

Involuntarily, an image of the pair of us sitting on the balcony sharing juice and feeding each other strawberries popped into my head. It was an image of domestic bliss. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the image.

Holly’s head jerked up, pulling me out of my daydream. Without a word she dashed out of the bathroom. I followed.

“Oh no. He’s here. David’s home.”

I heard the panic at the edge of her words. She looked from me to the window to the door that led to the garage and back again. My euphoria evaporated. It was more like an explosion. One minute it was there, the next it was gone.

“Get dressed, Sophie. Oh god, David can’t find you here. Can’t find you like this.”

I heard the garage door. So did Holly.

“Get dressed! Please, just get dressed.”

Holly turned in a swirl of midnight blue and raced for the door leading to the garage. I followed. My heart was thudding. This was the moment. The moment I’d been waiting for, working toward.

I leaned against the door frame, and watched as Holly stepped toward David’s car then recoiled. I looked toward the car and it took everything I had to hold my position and not run. The man staring at Holly from the driver seat of the vehicle barely resembled David Prescott. The man in the vehicle was feral. His face contorted by rage.

He reversed down the driveway.

I was glad. Relieved. I wanted Holly in one piece, unharmed. I didn’t want any violence.

Holly called his name. I flinched. She called it again. I flinched. A third time. I flinched. As much from hearing the panic in her voice as from anger at knowing why she was panicking.

She ran after him. I wanted to stop her. I hated her for every step she took. I hated seeing her standing in the middle of the road, tears gushing down her face, wailing like a banshee. She looked and sounded like the pathetic heroine from a ‘B’ grade horror flick. In other words, ridiculous. How could she so demean herself? How could she not see she didn’t need David Prescott. She had me.

I watched as she raced toward me, hair and eyes streaming. She rushed past me. I’d have said she didn’t see me but she had to brush by me.

I followed her and, for the first time since arriving, saw the master bedroom. Saw it and wanted to share it with her. And hated that I’d been relegated to the guest bedroom.  

I stood in the doorway while she flew into her walk-in, throwing open drawers.

“Holly, slow down.”

“He drove off. Why did he drive off?”

“He’ll be back.” I tried to sound reassuring. Inside, I was hoping he’d never return. Better yet, maybe he could drive off a cliff.

“No. I don’t know. Did you see his face? Never, not in all the time I’ve known David have I ever seen him look like that. Not at me, not at anyone.”

“He’ll get over it. Just give him some space. I’ll go make us a cup of tea—”

“I don’t want a cup of god-damned tea. I have to go after him. I have to find him. I have to explain.”

“Holly, you’re in no condition to drive. Slow down. Give it twenty minutes and then we can start phoning friends and colleagues and find him.”

Holly sat on the edge of the bed and in an action that eerily mimicked that in the kitchen placed her hands over her bowed face. I could hear her sobs. I could see her shoulders heaving. I wanted to comfort her but at the same time I  resented each and every tear, each and every shudder. I’d supported her emotionally for months. I’d worshipped her body. I’d brought her joy. I’d brought her pleasure and how did she repay me as soon as her shithead husband put in an appearance? She went running after him, feet bare and in her damn dressing gown.

I bit back my resentment and seated myself beside her, wrapping my arms around her. She turned into me.

“Did he see you? He must have seen you? Oh god, he must have. He must have seen you.”

I knew he had but I didn’t want to admit that to her so I made shushing noises and stroked her hair.

I tried to ease her back into a supine position but Holly resisted. Worse, she stiffened and pulled free of my arms.

“You shouldn’t be in here. This is the room I share with David.”

I flinched as if slapped. That’s what it felt like. Like she’d slapped me across the face. I told myself to be patient with her. I reminded myself she’d been married for a long time and from a young age. That coming out was a huge change in life direction for her. It didn’t help with the pain of rejection but it did help me not lash out at her.

I grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let me make you that hot cup of tea. It will calm you and help you organise your thoughts.”

She didn’t protest. I led her out of the room. I gave myself one quick look back and promised myself I’d have her in this room. And soon. And when I did, I’d have her screaming my name, not that of David Prescott.