“I’m not sure where she went,” Willow said as she paced around her dark apartment. “Sorry, Mitchell.”
Faith’s husband replied, “But you said you thought she was going shopping? The stores would have been closed for a while, wouldn’t they?”
She screwed her lips tight, thinking for a second. “She… must have gone out to a movie with a friend after. She said she might do that. Probably why she’s not answering her phone.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Mitchell said, still sounding unsure but a bit less anxious.
“It might be a late show,” she added for good measure.
He sighed. “If she calls, can you text me or something?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” she replied. “I’m sure she’d call you first, though.”
“Yeah, well, just in case.”
“Sure. Have a good night, Mitchell,” Willow said and hung up.
She heaved a heavy, loud sigh in the dark then rubbed her temples with her palms. Goddammit, Faith, she thought. A sourness turned in her gut from just speculating what her sister was up to.
She fired off a text to her: “Call Mitchell.” She was tempted to say more, ask more, accuse her of more, but left it at that.
Returning to her bedroom, she set aside her phone and sipped her glass of wine –her third in the past hour– as she settled into her lounge chair facing the window. She still couldn’t shake her suspicions about Faith. It’d actually been something that had been gnawing at her for a while, but she was reluctant to broach.
Faith had always been the more free-spirited of the two McCarthy sisters. It kind of surprised Willow when she had announced she was going to marry Mitchell, tie herself down to one man. It pleased their mother, of course, but it wasn’t as if Faith ever went out of her way to satiate her mom’s expectations. No, in the end, though Willow felt guilty to think it, Faith probably got married on a whimsical lark. It was something to experience.
She begrudgingly envied her older sister’s more liberated nature, particularly with men. Though she seemed to careen from one perilous situation to the next, she always managed to reel it in, keeping everything under control just enough that she didn’t fall off the precipice of her recklessness.
Willow, though, always dreaded a reckoning even if Faith didn’t. And while her older sister’s seemingly spontaneous leap into marriage had almost inspired her to do the same with Dan –a good, safe man– she feared that personal reckoning.
She finished her wine and continued to stew in her seat, feeling a bit flushed and restless. She watched as the glow of moonlight through the window cast a shimmering white, elongated rhombus on her carpet. It was as if it was creeping across the darkness towards her, and she curled her bare toes back.
A swell of anticipation slowly gurgled within her. There were still traces of dread there, lingering thoughts questioning her judgement, but they were giving way to other temptations, other urges. She was practically willing it to happen at this point.
The sound of a cell phone ringing rewarded her expectations.
Opening her nightstand drawer, she picked up the crimson cell phone and answered. “Hello?”
“Good evening,” the man said. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hmm. Me neither,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of our call the other day. It ended abruptly.”
Willow reminded herself that she noticed he hadn’t hung up immediately after their conversation was interrupted by Dana. She wondered how much he had heard, what he had gleaned from it.
“A colleague of mine stopped by my desk,” she explained.
“It’s another benefit of mine to be able to work alone,” he said. “At least it’s the weekend now. I take it you’re home at the moment?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So no interruptions, then.”
Willow hesitated, struck by how normal their conversation sounded as if acquaintances were just chatting.
“I was quite enjoying our conversation the other day,” he said.
She scoffed quietly, shaking her head. She bet he did.
“I didn’t intend to end it with such a crude remark,” he conceded, “but admittedly, I just got caught up in my imagination. Was I close?”
“To what?”
“In my description of you?”
If he meant how restless, how uncomfortable, how aroused she felt at that moment…
She smirked and said, “It’s your imagination. I thought there was no way we could be wrong?”
There was a pregnant pause on the other end. Finally, he laughed quietly and said, “Very good.” He sounded proud of her.
As the moonlight continued to crawl towards her feet, Willow stared out the window into the night, gazing at the night as if were some clean black sheet of paper tempting her to sketch an image upon it. She spoke hesitantly, “I… I want to try again.”
She could almost picture him nodding and smiling.
“Of course,” he said. “If I may ask you to do something for me first?”
“Do what?”
“I’m standing by my window. I’d like you to join me.”
Her brows pinched. “You want me to stand… in front of my window?”
“Yes. Please. Keep the curtains or blinds open.”
Willow rubbed the back of her neck and drew her hand down to her throat where she fiddled with her crucifix. Finally, she stood up, walked barefoot through the moonlight on her floor and stopped a couple of feet from her window. It framed her from her thighs to above her head.
“Okay,” she said.
“Do you see the moon?” he asked.
Looking up, she replied, “Yes.”
“Good. Perfect. So do I,” he said. She listened to him draw a satisfying breath before he added, “Alright. Please… continue.”
Her wide eyes shifted and refocused on a dark spot in the sky as she continued to play with her crucifix. She could feel the man waiting for her, ready for her as if he had already anticipated her words, her thoughts. She felt his confidence, reading her like an open book.
“Take off your clothes,” she said, her voice hushed.
She could hear the crackle of saliva and a soft breath as his lips parted but with no words escaping past them for a moment. Emboldened by his unexpected pause, she cleared her throat and swallowed hard before adding, “Did… did you hear me?”
“I did.”
“Start with your shirt,” she said, her voice quivering. She felt a tingle in her hands, a light film of perspiration at her fingertips as she rubbed them against her thumb.
She heard a quiet rustling, then he said, “It’s off.”
Her eyes set ahead and unwavering, Willow spoke in shuddering whispers, “The moonlight glows on your skin. I can trace its path down your body, running my finger along your neck, down to your collar, circling back and forth between your rounded shoulders.”
She paused, listening to his breathing, before continuing, “I press my hands on you. Your chest is so smooth, so wide, so clean. It warms my palms as I drag them along your skin, feeling your flat nipples bump under my fingers.”
“Your body is etched with deep lines, smooth curves, long muscles. My fingers explore every inch. There’s no give in your abdomen when I scratch my fingertips along your muscles. Your entire upper body funnels towards the waist of your pants.”
He spoke, a churlish growl in his breathy voice, “Should I take them off?”
She held her tongue between her teeth, the tip just touching the side of her upper lip. “Yes,” she said, riding this sudden tantalizing sense of control as long as she could.
More scuffling sounds. She envisioned his pants slipping off each leg. “Underwear, as well,” she said, picturing her hands pulling his garment down his legs.
As she continued to listen, her hand drifted from her throat to the top of her bosom above the collar of her nightshirt where she skimmed her warm, pale flesh. She dropped it further, pushing at her breasts with her palm, pinching her nipples tenderly, feeling them go taut between her fingertips.
“I’m standing by the window, naked,” he said.
She nodded, her eyes remaining steady though a tremor rippled through almost every other part of her body.
“Do you see me?” he asked.
She nodded again, drawing her hand further down her body till she was grasping at the hem of her nightshirt, clawing it slowly higher and higher along her clenching thighs. Her teeth chattered as she breathed, “I’m taking your cock in my hand.”
“Mmm. How does it feel?”
Her hand reached under her shirt and clutched at the crotch of her panties, digging her fingers into the soft material. “It… it feels heavy. Long,” she whispered through the edge of her mouth, her teeth clenching. “I can… I can feel it harden, the skin going smooth against my touch, the blood pulsing through the veins. The tip is round and thick; it drags and drips against my skimming palm.”
“Are you stroking it?”
“Yes.” She could feel it, the fully erect shaft of his cock sliding through her firm grip, demanding her attention, her desire.
“Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
Willow’s nose tilted upward as her breaths increased and intensified, her chest puffing forward. Her knees shook as her fingers breached the sides of the crotch of her panties and rubbed explicitly at her lips and nub.
“Is this what you see?” he asked. “My cock in your hands?”
“Yes.”
“In your mouth?”
“Yes.”
“Your cunt?”
“Yes.”
“Are you pushing your hips against me? Shoving yourself onto me? Are you fucking me hard?”
Willow’s chin dipped down as she gulped and gasped. Her brows wrinkled upward as she continued to blink and gaze out the window watching everything unfold in her mind’s eye. She choked, “Y-yes…”
“It feels good,” he said, not as a question, but as fact. His insistence was like a leather strap around her throat.
She bit her lip and held it for as long as she could before she finally shuddered and ached longingly, “Yes.”
She clamped her mouth shut, but it was already too late. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to get the image of the man she had created out of her head, but her mind and her swirling, probing fingers were locked in, trapping her in her own desires. He was there with her, naked. His lips were over her mouth, his tongue inside of it. His hands were on her breasts and ass. His cock was in her long, hard, and hot.
As she sank her fingers between her lips, she trembled, mangling groans behind her sealed lips. Continuing to hold the phone at her ear, she heard his heavy breaths, his chuckling groans and growls echoing in her skull.
Vivid, illicit images filled her frenzied mind. The tighter she held her eyes shut, the clearer she could see and feel him holding her, fucking her.
“God,” she sputtered through her choking breaths, “I can see you.”
The man spoke, “I can see you, too… Willow.”
Suddenly, her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Wh… what?”
Willow blinked as if she was only now aware she was in front of her window, touching herself. Her eyes skittered around checking the empty streets and the darkened windows of buildings across from her, before she stepped away, pulling the curtains shut.
In the dark, she stumbled towards her bed. “You said… you…” she stammered. Then in a flustered panic, she hung up, shut off the phone, then flung it aside to the floor. She glared at it from across the room, her eyes wide and red, her mouth ajar.
He had said her name.
Seated at the edge of her bed, she gazed at the floor as if in a trance as she gripped her crucifix in her hand. Slowly she pushed herself back into bed, curling herself under the covers and closed her eyes knowing sleep wouldn’t find her tonight. The unsettling feeling of the man speaking her name and her warm, moist thighs and crotch lingered till dawn.
–0–
St.Augustine‘s…
“Your skin is like porcelain,” Justin remarked softly as he sketched Willow. “It has such a… purity about it.”
She blinked, each time her eyes moving to another part of the room. Otherwise, the rest of her was motionless as she continued to pose nude before her art teacher.
For over a half-hour, the two of them occupied the studio in relative silence aside from a few abbreviated comments by Justin. For the most part, Willow listened to the sound of her own heartbeats and breaths, and the scratching of his pencil upon the paper.
“You remind me of a blossoming lily, Willow,” he said. “The shape, the length, colour. It’s classic and youthful at the same time.”
Every compliment of her body was another tightening rope around her soul, being pulled, compelled, towards this man. She had never wanted a man’s attention so badly in her young life, and right now, she had it fully and completely. Not just any man, but Justin Valcourt. She didn’t want it to end.
“I’m done,” he said.
Willow relaxed, her body slowly easing from the pose as Justin stood from the stool. As he walked towards her carrying the sketchpad, she stepped down from the platform, covering herself with her hand and arm. Standing close beside him without touching, she looked at his drawings of her.
“This…” she began as she gazed at the flowing lines and shades of pencil etchings, “…this is how you see me?”
Justin smiled and nodded.
“It… it’s beautiful,” she breathed, an icy tingle shuddering up her spine right through her neck.
He continued to nod as he lowered the sketchpad before finally dropping it aside. Turning towards her, he raised his hands to her face and placed them gently against her cheeks, holding her gaze with his. “Yes. Beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful, Willow.”
There was a deliberateness when he spoke her name. Each time he did was another hook digging into her flesh, bending her wants and desires towards him. He was in full control and she didn’t care. She wanted him to say her name the same way over and over.
Willow’s eyes fluttered as her heart began to race. She felt his thumbs caress her skin from her cheeks to her lips which slipped apart as he touched them. Then he moved his hands to the back of her neck and pulled her in close, his head angling, his blue eyes gazing at her open, waiting mouth.
“Willow,” he whispered.
She felt his breath on her lips.
“Justin…” she uttered before he kissed her.
His lips were softer than she had imagined. They were warm, as well, just melting against hers during their prolonged first kiss, both tender yet insistent.
Her hands dropped to her sides as he pulled her in closer, pressing her bare breasts and belly against the man, before tentatively drawing them around his back. Her fingers crawled along his shirt, then dug in, feeling his lean, handsome figure beneath her grip.
Justin skimmed and massaged his talented hands down her bare flesh, along the small of her back, and up and over the curve of her smooth, ripe buttocks. Like his lips his hands were soft, well-kept, but his fingers clawed demandingly at her cheeks leaving red and pink fingernail marks along her alabaster skin.
While they continued to kiss, Willow gasped from the aches swelling from within her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath, especially with the young teacher’s tongue darting into her mouth. When he drew his hand around to her front and dipped his fingers through the quivering pink trench of her pussy, her knees nearly buckled. Feeling the pinch in her face from the twisting tension in her belly, her entire body trembled with excitement and anticipation and she relied more and more on Justin’s body and hands for support.
Willow ached moans into his mouth as he continued to stroke his fingers along her tender lips. She felt his cold, leather shoes against the inside of her bare feet, nudging them and her legs further apart. As he moved forward, he lowered her down slowly until she was lying back on the cold, hard surface of the model platform.
She gasped and gulped her breaths endlessly, gazing over her glowing breasts and twisting belly as she watched Justin kneel down below her. With his hands on her knees, he spread her legs apart. She saw him flash that handsome, boyish smile of his at her once more before moving his mouth down to her already dripping pussy lips.
“Oh… oh God,” she trembled moments after feeling the touch of his mouth and tongue upon her.
“Mmm, you feel so soft, Willow. So warm right here,” he breathed, his warm breath caressing her before he massaged his lips against her bud, slicking her with his tongue.
She writhed and squirmed her hips side to side, up and down upon the hard platform, pushing against his hands and arms which secured her and kept her pulsing mound within the vicinity of his probing licks and sucks. Her hands flailed, grasping for the edges of the platform for support, all the while her breaths quickened and grew more erratic and sharp. Grinding her teeth together, her back and belly arched upward painfully as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Oo-hh…” she moaned, her teeth chattering, “Unnn.. God!”
Her entire lower body shook uncontrollably, bucking against the art teacher’s probing mouth and tongue. She felt her butt clench and relax repeatedly, reflexively with each pulse of wetness surging within her.
After a moment, she settled back, her strained body seeking comfort on the hard, cold surface. She felt as if she was glowing from a fire within, her pale skin flushed bright pinks and reds. Then, her eyes drifting down towards her open legs, she watched Justin rise between them. He was already unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.
Willow had thought there was nothing that could draw her attention away from his eyes while he looked at her the way he did now. The reveal of his stiffening cock as he pushed down his underwear changed her mind immediately. Every fibre of her being, every thought was suddenly pulled towards the daunting length of muscle between them as he moved over her, prowling up her body.
She gazed up with wide, glassy eyes, the image of the man above her shifting between handsome, attractive, sexy and undeniably desirable. He smiled back at her, then took her hand and brought it down between them. Willow touched his cock briefly and already noted how intimidatingly hard it felt. When he continued to hold her hand steady, she finally took a firm hold of him, wrapping her soft fingers and palm around his length.
“Mmm, feels so good, Willow,” he whispered. “Your hands feel so gentle and delicate.”
As they kissed again, she slowly began to stroke him with her hand. It was so hard, so strong, her initially hesitant pace steadily gave way to a more insistent rhythm, with greedy pumps of her palm. She continued to do so as he angled his mouth down to suckle on her breasts, pinching each nipple between his lips. When he raised his eyes momentarily, she could see that pleased look in them again, reminding her of how much he admired the shape of her body.
Finally, Justin drew himself back up over her. When he took hold of his shaft, Willow steadied herself as best she could, focusing on his face, his eyes, his lips and could already feel his cock thrusting within her even before his tip touched her opening.
She wanted this man. She was ready for him.
Tok! Tok! Tok! There came a sudden rap at the door.
“Janitor!” a husky voice announced from outside the room.
“Oh! Oh, no!” Willow gasped and they both froze except for their heads turning towards the door.
“Shh!” Justin hushed her.
Suddenly, there was a jangling of keys and the sound of someone fumbling with the lock.
“Wait! Wait!” Justin yelled. He slid off from Willow while yanking his pants. “Don’t come in!”
“Is someone in there?” the janitor called.
Willow had already reached a new level of panic while scrabbling for her clothes, nearly falling off the side of the platform.
“It’s Mr Valcourt!” Justin exclaimed. He hurried to the door and leaned his shoulder against it. “We’re still holding a life drawing class in here. There’s a nude model.”
“Still?” the janitor remarked. “It’s kind of late.”
“We’re almost done,” Justin said. “Skip this room for today. I’ll clean up here before I go.”
“Yeah… okay,” the janitor said. The sound of him dragging his garbage bin and mop bucket down the hallway faded.
Willow already had put her kilt back on and was buttoning her shirt by the time Justin turned around from the door.
“Hey. It’s okay, Willow,” he said. “He’s gone. He won’t be back.”
She shook her head as she stared at the floor while she continued to dress. Suddenly, she couldn’t look the man in the eye.
“Willow. Hey, Willow,” he repeated her name, reaching out to her.
“Sorry,” she fretted. “This is wrong. This is so wrong.”
She snatched her sketchbook and bag from the floor. She felt dizzy, almost sick. The whiplash from going from blind lust to panicked embarrassment in a few heartbeats nearly ripped her guts out. In her head, she pleaded for him to stop saying her name.
Justin stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a reassuring rub. He tried to look her in the eyes, but she continued to avoid him. “Look, you just need to settle down, okay?” he insisted. “Relax.”
She just shook her head and pulled back and away. “I want to leave.”
Justin ran his fingers through his hair as they stood facing each other. She could tell he was aggravated, and she feared he would explode on her. Instead, after several heavy, long sighs, he placed his hands on his hips and nodded.
“Okay, Willow,” he said, his voice flat, “if that’s what you want. Go.”
She lifted her watery eyes from his feet. His words dropped on her with a thud.
He nodded his chin aside towards the door.
Clutching her bag and her sketchbook, she hurried around him. As she unlocked the door, she paused and looked back. The art teacher had already returned to his desk, rummaging through some papers.
“I’m sorry, Mr Valcourt,” she said, then left the studio.
–0–
Present day…
The Monday afternoon following a restless Sunday spent mulling over the call during the night, Willow sat wearily and distracted in her office cubicle, her head propped up by her hand with her elbow on the desktop. She didn’t know how long she had been staring at the spreadsheet on the monitor, but the figures had all blended together till they were just a mass of pulsing pixels on the screen. It was as if she was trying to make sense of them, figure out what the indistinct images meant to her like inkblots.
A knock on the frame of her cubicle roused her back from her thoughts. Randall stood there and extended his hand, holding a small, paper bag.
“What’s this?” she asked, sounding somewhat groggy. She checked the contents. “A donut?”
Randall nodded. He appeared unusually reserved.
“Not a pastry. Just a normal, simple donut?” Willow asked. She checked the bag again. “It’s not even Boston Cream. It’s just plain.”
Randall shrugged before stepping into her cubicle and leaning on her desk. “Sometimes plain is good. So’s simple and normal.”
She eyed him sceptically. “Who are you and what have you done with Randall?”
Rolling his eyes, he exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s just a donut. Don’t start picking nits for deeper meaning in something as innocent as a round, deep-fried cake with a hole in the middle. Besides, it’s just as bad for you as any other pastry or sticky sweets.”
“Oh, well, thanks for the reminder, ‘mom’,” Willow scoffed.
“Watch it or I’ll start bringing you carrot and celery sticks.”
As she took a bite, Randall continued to regard her silently, arms folded. She frowned at him and, with her mouth full of donut asked, “What?”
“Has he called?”
Willow paused before swallowing. She regretted having told him about the phone conversations she’d been having with the man. Initially, Randall didn’t believe her. Then he was amused. Then he was pensive. Then he was concerned. Then very concerned. All that in the span of their morning coffee break.
Finally, Willow shook her head and said, “I’ve still got the phone turned off.”
“That’s good,” he said with a reaffirming nod, “but why did you even bring it to work with you?”
Willow turned away. “I don’t know. No reason,” she said, feigning an aloof shrug. “It doesn’t matter, though. I’m not turning it on.”
“Do you want me to hold onto it?” Randall offered.
“No. That won’t be necessary,” she jeered with a sardonic eye. The thought of her caller connecting with Randall amused her for about a second. “You know, I’m kind of surprised that you, of all people, are so worried about me over this. What happened to ‘you need more sexual intrigue in your life, Willy’, and ‘don’t settle for Boston Cream donuts, Willy’?”
“I’m concerned because you were obviously concerned when we talked about it this morning,” he replied. “Willy.”
“I thought you would be encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone,” she said.
“He knows your name. He can call you when he wants and you can’t do the same,” Randall pointed out, counting on his fingers. “Maybe he really wasn’t outside your window Saturday night, but who knows? Can you imagine if he does know where you live? He’s in total control here.”
Admittedly, Willow had asked herself the exact same questions even before she hung up on Saturday.
“I’m just thinking about how you would handle something like this,” he said. “What do you want to do? Do you really intend to eventually meet this guy? This stranger who just called you randomly… supposedly randomly… out of the blue who you know nothing about? Then what?”
Willow stared at a corner of her monitor for a moment, the questions echoing in her head. Then she looked up toward Randall, but before she could speak, Dana suddenly entered the department, flanked by two security guards and trailed by a couple of managers. They strode directly into one of the conference rooms but their presence was enough to spook everyone back to their cubicles, including Randall.
“Talk later,” he mouthed and pointed at her before hurrying away.
Alone with her thoughts again and Randall’s last comments lingering in her head, she wasn’t very productive for the next several minutes. She removed her glasses and sat back in her chair while she massaged her forehead with her palms. This was not good. Not good at all.
Finally, she took a deep, cleansing breath, reached into her purse, stood up and walked out of the office with the crimson cell phone.
To be continued…
