Been working on a new Work-In-Progress called Magic Eights (and a related, as-yet-to-be named tale with “Esme” as the working title). Up now is a very rough draft for teaser Tuesday:
Blowing a frizzy strand of reddish-brown hair from in front of her face, Susanna Walker-Wong tried valiantly to relax into the suds of her bath. Rose and chamomile scents floated into the hot air of the bathroom, which truly was calming, and hot water always soothed away the tension she held in her shoulders. But all these luxurious bubbles and steam didn’t really get to the core of her problem.
She was horny. Despite, or perhaps because of all the stresses in her life, she was ready to burst with the need for someone to touch her. Well, not just someone. It would be really really fabulous if her husband would get a clue and look up from his computer screen long enough to notice her panting after him.
But instead, she took a bath. Really, she shouldn’t be this desperate. It was their eighth anniversary and that morning their son had been taken to his grandparents house where he was likely being spoiled rotten. For lunch, Will had worshipped her thoroughly this morning before taking her out to a sumptuous dinner that they enjoyed and debated like the foodies they were. It should have been perfect, she should have been completely satisfied.
Her career was humming along, though she was only working on contract, part-time, what with Nathan being only four-years-old and just starting pre-school. Yeah, the dishes needed to be done, and there was yardwork that needed to be finished and the floor needed vacuuming. But if she ever finished her entire to do list, she’d be dead, right? She should be completely content.
So, why was she absolutely burning with lust? Every time William breathed, she watched the rise and fall of his chest and wanted to tear off his T-shirt and run her hands over his pecs and lick his nipples until he groaned. She wanted to thread her hands in the blue-black of his unkempt hair and tousle it even more while she pulled his lips to hers. She wanted to knock his laptop on the ground and climb astride him and ride him until he screamed her name and woke up the neighbors in the next condo.
She moved slightly to get her shoulders deeper into the water and relieve the tension there, and the soft rose scent of the bubbles rose up to try and console her, along with the subtle spiciness from her present. She sighed, her hands drifting over her clit, only to retreat quickly to her side when the door swung open.
Will stood in the door for a moment, taking in the soap-obscured view of her naked body and flashing her a brief but devastating grin that still made her heart go pitter-patter like a teenager.
“Hello my water nymph. How do you find your bath? And is that incense I smell?” He turned away from her and to the toilet, nonchalantly taking a piss, while she observed the curve of his ass in the ancient pair of khaki shorts that he wore.
“Bath’s searing hot, just like this nymph likes it. And no, the scent is something Esme sent us for our anniversary.” She looked him up and down. “Care to join me?” Her voice dripped with invitation, but she knew he didn’t share her particular fetish for baths.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s like ninety five in the house, and it’s only going to get hotter. How you can stand to take a hot bath in this weather is beyond my ken!” With a drip and a zip and a quick wash of his hands, he turned back to her, his eyes eating her up and making her throb even more that she had been. With his dark shining eyes carrying that edge of lust and his wicked goatee reminding her how much she liked the drag of his chin against her thighs, she was practically melting with need for him. But she didn’t let it show. Her appetite for him was simply ridiculous after all the years they’d been together, and she’d never been completely comfortable letting it all out. He was everything she could have ever wanted, and she didn’t feel like scaring him off now!
Will seemed to read something in her expression though, and he looked apologetic. “I promise to take a bath and have fun with you when it’s not scorching hot. Besides, I just got a call from work and the server is having a meltdown. I’ve got to log on and fix it before the CFO starts having kittens. Which would be bad, because he’s very allergic to cats.”
Susanna crinkled her brow and blinked. Will always did have a cock-eyed sense of humor. She loved it, and the unexpected twists his brain would occasional make. “But you are supposed to relax this weekend! You’ve been…”
“I know, I’m stressed out and I desperate need to get away from the computer. But I’m an addict, what can I say. And I think I’ve done quite a bit of restorative relaxing.” His eyes flickered over her once again and that lazy lecherous smile appeared, the one that could make her blush like a sixteen year old virgin. “So, let me go off and slay some electronic dragons, or fix some bugs, and I shall return to indulge in all the bounty milady has to offer.” With a wink, he’d turned around and shut the door, leaving her in the swirling steam and foamy water of her bath. All alone.
His parting words had sent all kinds of naughty images tickling her brain, and the minute the door clicked shut her fingers went straight to her clit, rubbing furiously. Her other hand thrust fingers deep as she could get, and though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Will, at least the sweet fast taste of climax took off some of the edge to her lust. Now, she could hope to relax.
Able to almost think clearly once again, Susanna remembered the anniversary present she’d brought in to her bathtime escape. Her best friend from college, the one who’d actually introduced her to Will, had sent another bizarre gift. Esme Morgan never gave her typical presents, like a bottle of nice lotion or a candle or, Lord forbid, a gift certificate. No, Esme was a hippie born in the wrong age, a fan of wicca and broomstick skirts, but one who could not live without her double espresso mocha lattes in the morning. Esme was the best graphic designer she knew, but there was always something mysterious about her, something that only made Susanna love her more. And for her anniversary — Esme never forget a birthday, a holiday or an anniversary– Esme had sent a very heavy box. Inside was something Susanna had sworn was a bowling ball, but it turned out to be something even cornier — a magic eight ball. Well, not the conventional magic eight ball, made up to look like a billard ball with the number eight. No, this was lushly covered in a paisley print in shades of gold and crimson, almost like stylized flames. There was still a number eight, but it was formed from the bodies of two phoenixes curled together.
It was also vaguely useful, in that it contained a scented oil that emitted a lush vanilla and cardamom odor when it was turned, along with a rich heavy scent that Susanna couldn’t identify but loved. That was why she’d taken it into the bath. She was almost out of her favorite bubble bath, and so the scent would add to her little hedonistic haven. Shaking the suds from her hands, she picked up the ball, contemplating the weight of it in her hands, the slight shimmer of its lacquered surface, and the hint of spicy scent. Not even forming a question, she turned it over and in the red tinted window the die floated lazily to rest in the window.
Wishing never hurt anybody.
Susanna laughed, a bright sound that echoed in the humid confines of the green and white bathroom. If she had a wish, a selfish wish, not health and happiness for her son or world peace or something like that, what would she wish for?
Wealth wasn’t interesting, and she doubted she’d ever be willing to give herself over to her microbiology work enough to merit a Nobel. The things that flickered through her brain were so much more mundane. An empty sink and all the dishes washed. A nice home-cooked dinner on a weeknight. The tiny garden she tried to maintain in the front of their condo not being quite so riotously overgrown. More time to play. More time for Will to take her hard over the arm of the sofa, his cock driving deep into her and making her see stars on every stroke. For Will to let her take care of him for once, letting her rock his world and being selfish in his pleasure instead of always, always concentrating on her until she felt like she wasn’t doing enough. And maybe trying a few new things in a bedroom. She wasn’t dissatisfied, but she’d been with Will for over a decade, and routine could get a bit — routine. There was still a lot of sexual landscape to explore.
She smiled into her bubbles and tipped the ball over again, filling the air with the scent of cardamom and vanilla. Once more back to the enigmatic little window, and the multi-sided prognosticating die floated to the top, declaring:
Your wish is granted.
Once again her laugh rang out, her amusement at the mundane contents of her wishes battling with the absurdity of wishing at all. She set down the ball on the wide edge of the tub and then decided to live dangerous and forget keeping her hair dry. She plunged under the soapy water, feeling the caress of warmth all around her. The water seemed suddenly to pulse with life, brushing her in a caress that was instantly arousing. All the aching need that she had thought to banish with her playtime in the bath returned threefold. Oh damn it to hell! She held her breathe for another moment, but finally she needed air.
When she emerged, wet and breathless, the suds slipping over her skin, she heard noise outside. Lots of noise. What the hell was Will up to? Didn’t he claim to have work to do?
She climbed out of the tub and the rush of air over her skin was lovely and cooling and she tingled with need. She grit her teeth, determined to ignore it. Maybe a dry technical journal?
After a towel dry with the super plush terrycloth she indulged in, her hair was efficiently wrapped up in a towel and she donned the terribly ugly but comfy maroon silk robe that her mother had gotten her for Christmas last year. Why her mother got her freckled, red-haired daughter things in such colors, Susanna never understood. Still, it was short enough that Will liked to admire her legs and the August heat was such that she would really rather have worn nothing at all. One of the benefits of taking a searing hot bath in August, was that it fooled her body into thinking that the air was cool, at least for a little while. Then she’d simply retreat into the air conditioning of the bedroom and curl up with a book or a technical manual and try not to stare beseechingly at Will to come and fuck her some more.
She sighed softly and opened the door, determined to find out the source of all the commotion outside.
The hot, humid air of the bathroom gave way to the hot, stuffy air of the hallway. It wasn’t supposed to get this hot in San Francisco! It was supposed to be foggy and overcast and sweater weather in the middle of “summer”. It was not supposed to be hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. She cursed the weather gods and the condo complex’s rules that only allowed them to put an air conditioner in the bedroom. She would have followed Will into the bedroom and tried not to think about jumping his bones, but Will must be in the kitchen give all the noise. Given how much he hated the heat, that seemed very unusual.
Sure enough, Will was right there, in the kitchen, in the midst of cooking one of his incredibly intricate meals. Practically naked, except for his apron. And, Will was right there, in the kitchen, standing at the sink and scrubbing away at a mountain of pan. Again, almost bare, except for an apron and apparently boxer-brief that cupped his great ass with TLC.
Soapy water dripped on to the kitchen room floor from the overloaded sink and the scent of sautéed garlic wafted up into the air as she stared at the men in her kitchen. Two men. Both completely, familiar. Her husband, and what appeared to be his twin. Unless Will and his family had been hiding something from her for years.
“I’m dreaming. I fell asleep in the tub and I’m about to drown any second.”
Will…Wills…oh hell, both of them looked up at her with a smile. One said, “Hi, sweetheart!”
And the other, “Are you parboiled enough yet?”
Susanna was pretty sure that if she had been the fainting type, she would have collapsed. As it was she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and slumped into it, not noticing that her robe gapped open invitingly.