Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(40)

I still have the things, but they signify nothing. What was once travel research is now just a few periodicals with pretty pictures in them. What was a gift is now just alcohol waiting to be drunk. The calendar of planned days is now just paper filled with useless scribbles.

Perhaps the list of potential clients is still useful. After all, I’m pretty sure I’m right about Dave. He won’t talk to Freeland. Maybe he was never going to. I don’t think he can face the shame any more than I can. Asha is powerless without Dave’s cooperation. Evil bitch that she is, she’ll probably find somebody more vulnerable to torture. Tom will get himself in line in time, after he sees that I have everything under control. . . .

. . . except for Robert. I don’t have him under control. And of course I don’t want to control him, but his unpredictability is unnerving. Perhaps I won’t have time to approach new clients. Maybe he’ll give me more and increasingly time-consuming assignments to fill up my days. He could keep me tied to him with ropes made of numbers and mergers.

I’ve draped Robert’s shirt over a dining room chair but I go and pick it up again. I have nightshirts that are more comfortable than this. Later tonight, when I get tired, I’ll change into one of them. He won’t see me in the shirt, so there’s no real need to wear it.

Put it on as soon as you get home. Think of me.

My hand goes to the scarf around my neck and I carefully pull it off, drop it on the table . . . a table not so unlike the one at Dave’s house.

I do it only because my house is warm. I don’t need the scarf. I don’t need the jacket, either. I pull that off as well, drape it over another chair.

Think of me.

I had been laid out for him like a feast, right there on Dave’s table. He had run his hands over my body, kissed me, tasted me. . . .

. . . as soon as you get home. Think of me.

I unbutton my blouse. I’m alone here. It doesn’t matter.

He had pinched my nipples, made them reach out for him. My hand goes to my bra.

Wear nothing else, just my shirt.

The bra falls to the floor and he’s there. I feel him in the air, hear him in the stillness; I hold the shirt to my face, breathe in the cologne so that now all my senses are engaged.

I can touch you with a thought.

Is he thinking of me now? Is that what I’m sensing? Him, reaching across the distance with a fantasy, like some warlock in a fairy tale? I pull off my belt, drape it over my jacket; my fingers fumble with the buttons that hold my slacks to my waist. He guides me, instructs me, compels me to go further.

Wear just my shirt, nothing else. Think of me.

I remove my pants; my panties are next; I clutch his shirt in my hand.

. . . even when I’m nowhere near you I’m inside of you. I can touch you with a thought.

I feel the throbbing between my legs. Slowly I loosen my grip on the cotton fabric, slip in one arm, then the other. The fabric is light, almost teasing against my skin. Goose bumps rise all over my body. Outside I hear the wind knocking at my windows, clamoring for entry.

. . . even when I’m nowhere near you I’m inside of you.

I feel a jolt of electricity, a small spasm. I reach out for the back of the chair for support. My breathing is irregular. It’s just cotton, just the trace of cologne, just the Santa Ana winds clearing away the haze, encouraging the fire.

Think of me.

I close my eyes, try to regain my composure. There are things I’m supposed to pack, a loss I’m supposed to mourn. This isn’t right. It’s crazy. He’s not here.

I can touch you with a thought . . . think of me.

I lower myself onto the chair, finger the fabric; I can feel him caressing the insides of my thighs, kissing my shoulder. I don’t touch myself. I don’t need to.

I can touch you with a thought.

His teeth graze my neck, his hands run down to the small of my back. I slide down farther in my chair, part my legs just enough. His tongue flicks back and forth against my clit, and I let out a tiny gasp as I writhe in my chair, running my hands up and down his shirt.

Even when I’m nowhere near you I’m inside of you.

I feel him enter me; my muscles contract as I lose myself in the ghostly fantasy. The wind quietly howls and I part my lips tasting the energy that’s in the air. He surrounds me, overwhelms me.

Think of me.

I feel myself on the cusp of losing control. There’s an aching inside of me that’s both erotic and torturous. It seems impossible that I could orgasm without the help of my hands, without his physical presence. But Robert is so much more than the flesh, blood, and muscles that compose him. He’s a force, a phenomenon. He’s power and intrigue, enticement and danger. He licks the hollow of my throat, strokes my thigh.