She returned from lunch prepared for an afternoon of hard work. As Lauren sat down at her desk to review the new manuscripts, she noticed the envelope sitting square in the middle of the blotter. Her name written in calligraphy and the word "Personal" on the lower right hand corner hinted at the sender's identity....
It was not a good time to open the letter. There were immediate editorial and publication deadlines. Too many people would be wandering into her office through the afternoon. Yes, she could close her door for immediate temporary privacy. Better to let the anticipation build she thought. She propped the envelope up against her computer monitor and went to work.
Through the day she found herself looking down at it, wondering what awaited within the tight folds. She smirked and went back to work. Occasionally she would glimpse down to confirm it was still there, look at her watch in anticipation, her eagerness slowly overtaking self discipline and patience. She had to keep reminding herself that 5:30 PM was just around the corner.
Alas, the moment arrived. Most had left the office. She closed the door, just to ensure anyone who was lingering would not interrupt her. Reaching for the envelope, the telephone rang. "Dam it," she thought concerned it was a west coast client calling her after hours ignorant of her east coast time. She dutifully answered the call. "Lauren," her said with a smile to her voice, masking her impatience and annoyance.
She fondled the envelope as they spoke. The sharp edges and corners playing on her fingertips, drawing the better of her attention as she twirled it around in contemplation. The conversation was lasting longer than expected. She ended it as soon as possible.
Lauren appreciated the sender's dedication and efforts- from the hours spent writing, the small tasks of personalizing the envelope and delivering it, the attention paid to the detail of waiting for her to go for lunch so it could be left a waiting surprise when she returned. All carefully premeditated acts for her benefit. With great care she broke the seal holding the flap and a flowery scent emerged. She removed the contents, unfolded the paper and read:
"Standing on the train station platform scanning the crowd, I search for you coming out of one of the cars. It is frigid tonight but I am oblivious to the cold as I anticipate your arrival. I spy you walking towards me, your luggage in tow, your eyes darting back and forth looking for me. Then our eyes meet from afar, a smile breaks across your face and your hair bounces as you heighten your pace relieved that we found each other in this foreign place.
A long slow warm kiss in the cold precedes any conversation.We stash ourselves away in a taxicab and traverse Quebec head to our hotel retreat. We should not be doing this- we have obligations to others. We have been fortunate nobody has suspected. We sit in boring meetings and glance at each other across the conference table as others prattle on, Our eyes catch and we must look away to avoid arousing suspicions for fear the lust in our eyes will betray us. Prior liaisons have consisting of sporadic clandestine moments of gentle kisses and nothing more, moments intermittently separated by weeks and months at a time. We are deprived by circumstance. Finally, now, many miles from home, we are together.
You lean back against me, huddling from the cold, and wisps of your subtle perfume coax my attention. Your legs cross and the lower part of the long wool overcoat parts, revealing a stocking clad knee and black boots. I want to touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. We are both cocooned in layers of clothing and it is near impossible... I lust your touch and cannot stop thinking of your exposed knee.
The ride is short. We sit in silence, jubilant that the moment is finally upon us, each wondering what it will be like. Bounding from the cab, our cases rolling behind us, we enter the hotel to register. I wonder if our desires are discernible. The desk clerk senses our polite impatience. She must suspect something. A bell hop guides us to our room. He is fleet of foot and quick to leave us alone. He must know too.
Our coats come off and not a word is spoken. The moment speaks for us.We embrace, tilt our heads and finally kiss in the first moment of pure privacy. Our hands roam, quenching our thirst for prolonged physical contact free of the pressures of constrained time. Slowly they wander- fingers softly graze cheeks, stroke behind ears and run through hair- tactile confirmation that this is all finally real. It is a deeply passionate kiss, the kind which slowly builds from sweet gentle exploration to deep breaths, dancing tongues then gnashing teeth. And then it is broken, not because we are done but because we need to catch our breath and start over again, slowly building it up from one level heightening to the next, reveling in the heat of forbidden lust about to turn into a burning flame.
I feel your tender feminine form as we press together, your arms over my big shoulders and around my neck, hands playing where they chose to roam. I grab your ass, caress its fine shape and bring you closer. You sigh as you are pulled into me. My hands fumble to release the buttons holding the skirt to your waist. As I succeed, it falls to the floor. You unknott my tie, slowly pull it through the shirt collar and then remove the suit jacket from my shoulders. It drops to the ground behind me. Slowly you unbutton my shirt, drizzling kisses on my chest until the garment is removed.
