She lay down on the bed and nursed the receiver against her face. "Good."
"Abby, nobody knows we're here. I wanted this weekend to be about us, totally." He sounded so serious.
She listened to the background noises of the place he was in, jealous of its claim on him. "This weekend is about us, and I'm here, on your bed."
"I can just picture you," he said quietly. "I'm really glad you came. I'm finished here so I'll be back soon."
She had an image of him striding toward her as she lay on the bed, and gave a purr of approval. "How soon? I'm ready for you now."
She heard him move against the receiver, felt him turn away from the place around him.
Her body pressed harder into the bed. "I want you, Zac." She heard his breathing close to the phone.
"How ready?" he whispered.
His voice betrayed his need for her. She pressed her head back against the pillows.
"I'm getting wetter as we speak...I've been longing for you inside me." As she spoke she quivered inside, as if in confirmation of her own words. It was so poignant that her eyes pricked with a tear. Her breath caught. She realized that the phone at the other end conveyed only the background sounds. "Are you still there?"
"Yes." His voice was husky. "How wet? Touch yourself with your fingers and tell me just how wet you are."
Abby groaned and writhed on the bed, her sandals falling to the floor with a soft thud. Her free hand moved automatically to answer his request, her body throbbing out a joyful response. Her fingers pulled at her skirt, her thighs opening as the skirt rode up.
Her hand stroked over the hot, moist surface of her silk panties. The sensation was sheer torment. "My panties are damp."
"Put your fingers inside."
She slid a finger down one side of the fabric and beneath the material. She felt her moist sex quiver at her own touch and groaned.
"Abby?" he whispered in response to the sounds she was making.
"Zac...please," she murmured, as her fingers thrust inside and rubbed her anxious sex. "Oh I'm so wet, the sound of your voice...knowing you are near...I have wanted you so badly." Her fingers moved but her flesh was throbbing with longing for him. She could hear his breathing against the mouthpiece. She almost felt its heat on her sex, stirring her up even more. She wanted him there.
"I can't...it's torture." She pulled her knees up and drew her hand away. She gripped the phone and closed her eyes tightly. "It's you I want." She listened to his quiet, dense breathing. "I think I'm addicted to you," she whispered.
"Good," he replied, and the line went dead.
She held the receiver to her ear and listened to the hollow echo of her own breathing. Her heart was beating wildly into the void he'd left. She lay back for a moment, then dropped the receiver and coiled across the bed, pressing herself against it as her body moved over the wide surface, absorbing the physical contact. After a few moments she rolled off the bed and paced the room.
How far away was he? How long would it be until he got to her? She ran a hand across the back of her neck and lifted her hair. She was hot and restless and wandered towards the bathroom, peeling her clothes off as she went.
Turning on the ornate brass taps, she listened to the sound of the water plunging in on itself and looked at her naked reflection in the huge mirror. Her skin was luminous in the dark marble cavern. Her hair looked like fire creeping through autumn leaves. Her eyes were bright. She could see the heat of her own desire clearly. Her lips were full and dark with readiness for passion, readiness for Zac. Her hands caressed the outline of her breasts, they were aching. Her whole body ached for him. She turned away and slipped into the bath.
The tub was so deep that the water covered her breasts. Her toes didn't reach the end of the bath and she stretched out, spreading herself in the water. Resting her head back, she looked at the patterned marble of the ceiling. She could see a vague reflection of herself, a white blur that rippled on the dark marble. Holding her breath, she slid down into the water until it covered her face, her hair floating up around her. She listened to her heart pounding in her ears. It was as eager to be with Zac as the rest of her body and it struck her then that love, like blood, coursed through her heart.
When she slid up again and breathed in the warm air of the room, her wet hair clung to her cheeks and neck. It crept close across her shoulders and into points over her breasts, its touch on her skin like that of a lover.
Her skin prickled with awareness. Opening her eyes, she saw Zac standing in the doorway, leaning up against the frame, watching her. He held her skirt and lace camisole in one hand and the other slowly unbuttoned his own shirt. He ran the
leather across his bare chest.
"Still warm," he murmured.
She could see from his expression that he was just as needy as she was.
He dropped the skirt, lifted the lace camisole to his face, his eyes closing at the touch of the lace on his face. She couldn't move or speak, transfixed as she was by his actions. When he looked at her again he hung the camisole over the door handle.
The tap dripped. She blinked.