Shiver

Her notebook was out, yet nothing was coming to mind that was worth putting down. She sighed as her husband walked into the room.

"Something wrong?"

She smiled as he sat next to her and slipped his arm around her. His touch, no matter how light, never failed to register within her body, driving a wave of tingles through her skin. She leaned against him, her small body molding to his. The kids were playing in the other room, and her lips gently played across his ear.

"Feeling lucky sailor?"

Kyle chuckled, and started to rise.

"Let me get the munchkins in bed."

She watched as he padded out of the room, and just a minute later, her three kids came bounding into the room. They each crashed into her, laughing, showering her with affection.

Kyle followed behind, making sure each had kissed her, and started herding the mob off to bed. She rose and stretched out, listening to the kids making their final pleas as Kyle put them all to bed. She climbed into bed, her mind already racing with anticipation.

He ambled into the bedroom, smiling to her as he rounded the bed and walked into the bathroom.

She felt she had a perfect marriage - great kids, a loving and caring husband, good career and friends. Nothing ever felt amiss with Kyle. Her eyes beamed at him as he exited the bathroom and circled the bed, pulling the covers back on his side. She turned away and leaned over the nightstand to flip off the light. Their bed groaned as he crawled into it, and she felt the covers pull slightly from her as he hid himself underneath.

She turned to face him, and saw he was trying to get settled. His touch earlier had made her body warm, and now she was craving that release. Her fingernails grazed across his belly, flirting with the skin there, as they unhurriedly etched lower.

"Do you want something?"

His tone was tired, yet coy, and Miranda knew she would have to hurry. Her fingers pushed past his boxers and grazed over his cock, which was now leisurely filling with blood. Her palm slid down the length, her fingers encompassing him, squeezing gently as he became more aroused. He tilted his head and leaned over to kiss her, when she corrected him.

"Stay right there, baby."

She pushed the covers away and kissed his belly, as her fingers began massaging his growing cock. She closed her hand around his cock, and heard him groan as she did. She brought it out, into her view as her lips lifted from his stomach.

Her tongue flickered gently around the head as her hand dawdled along his shaft. Her lips encircled the head, and she moaned against his silky skin, causing his hips to respond. They gently pushed upwards, trying to fit more of his cock into her mouth. Her lips embraced the head, her tongue flickering over the sensitive ridge, as her hand pumped the shaft below.

Feeling the blood coursing through his veins, she swung her leg across him and slid her hips to his, feeling the tight silky skin of his cock sliding over her velvety folds. His hands against her hips, she closed her eyes and pressed down, their bodies slowly coming together. She gasped softly at the sensation of being opened by him, her muscles contracting and pulsing against him.

Her hair was draped down, gliding over his skin, as she leaned down farther. She felt his groans, and she pressed her body against his, her nipples scraping across his chest, as their hips gently meshed together. Her body was warming from the core outward, slowly building as his cock pumped into her from below.

Her small hands rested against his chest, feeling his heart beating. Her eyes closed and her hands tightened on his skin, her nails raking across his shoulders as her orgasm grew closer. His groans caused her to reflex, and her muscles clamped down upon his cock, trapping it within her as the orgasm tore through her body. She bit down on his shoulder, his skin muffling her cries. Her hips were shuddering and her body heaving on his. She felt the splash of hot semen into her as his cock exploded into her, and groaned, feeling another small wave sweep over her body. She trembled, and let her weight press against him, her skin tingling as she caught her breath.

She was lying against him, enjoying the silence. Her ear was pressed against his chest, and she could hear every beat of his heart, slowing down as they relished the afterglow. She felt his palms sliding over her back, following the curve of her spine down. She smiled to herself, lifting her head, her dreamy eyes smiling into his.

"I love you, Kyle."

His eyes matched hers, and he gently leaned forward, kissing her lips as she slid off him. She fell asleep with her fingers tracing aimless patterns across his chest.

************

It was too bad, really. She sat across from him, watching his every move. Although she was nodding and listening to him, she was really gauging his reactions to her questions. Watching his eyes, his hands: she couldn't help but notice his nervous energy coming to the forefront. It was her job to weed out the pretenders from the contenders for these positions, and she only forwarded the best candidates onto the lead developers. They paid a lot of money for her skills, and she never disappointed the men she worked with.

A student of human nature, she had already seen enough from this applicant to warrant his resume be dumped in the trashcan. She rose and smiled sweetly.

"Well, Mr. Parker. Everything seems to be in order. We will call you if you make the cut for the second interview."

He smiled, shook her hand, and left quietly. She reclined into the chair, and looked out the window, at the falling snow. There was something so tranquil about that....the virgin white flakes, falling against the window, sluggishly melting as they slid down. She sighed, and heard someone knocking on the door.

"Come in."

It was Benjamin Pyatt, a lead developer, one of the men that trusted her HR skills. He was a good friend of hers, one of the guys that actually sat down with her and taught her what they did.

"Any good ones, Miranda?"

"Sorry Ben. Not a one. In addition to most of them being a bit flaky today, the last one lied pretty poorly on his resume."

He chuckled and gazed out the window. He reflected for a bit, watching the same snowflakes as she was.

"How many more today?"

"None today - it is Tuesday, and I leave early, remember?"

They both smiled. Of all the people that worked with her, only Benjamin knew of her writings and subsequent publishings.

"Ahhhh, yes. How is that going for you?"

"Not bad, although, I have been stuck in a rut lately. My head seems to be empty."

He chuckled again, and rose, still staring out the window.

"Don't worry, I am sure something will pop up. Enjoy your evening."

She watched him walk out, and she took another minute to gaze out her window. Normally such pristine beauty would have filled her head, but she seemed to be blocked. She rose, and languidly stretched. Looking outside one last time, she packed her things up, and headed to her car.

The drive took slightly longer than the normal twenty minutes, with the snow falling. She parked at the small auditorium, and gathering her notebook, made her way to the café across the street.

The wind was brisk, and wound its way through the concrete corridors. Parking her car, she bundled up her parka tightly, and made her way across the parking lot. Opening the door to the café greeted her nostrils with cinnamon and coffee. She smiled warmly as she twisted her way to the counter and the coed behind it.

The young college student took her order and a minute later, her insides were warming to a perfect, steaming hot latte. She took a seat near the large bank of windows, and just watched the people enter the small shop. And still nothing was coming to mind. She looked over the sludge on the street, the grey skies softly spitting snow towards the earth, and her mind was a total blank. Deciding to use the quiet time, she pulled out the latest book she was reading and, adjusting her glasses, she buried herself into it.

"A refill?"

The question brought Miranda from her book, to see the bright smiling face of another coed. She smiled, shaking her head no, and, checking the time, decided to head across the street. Rising, she stretched out, and pulled her coat tightly around her waist, as she gathered her things. The wind had not relented as she quickly crossed the street.

Walking in the door, she was immediately greeted by a whirlwind of questions from two young girls. She truly enjoyed helping others with their poetry, and being a published poet gave her a bit of a fan club.

"Mrs. Wilcox? Can you look at this and tell me what you think?"

"Mrs. Wilcox? My poem from last week is done, what do you think?"

She laughed, enjoying the attention from the youngsters, and quickly apologized.

"Girls, let me get seated and settled, ok?"

They giggled, and ran off to another section of the hall. She watched them run off, probably to spy on boys, and made her way to the front of the seats. Her seat was at the front, and she set her possessions near the chair.

Coming to rest into her chair, she took a minute to gaze around. It was the same crowd. There were some good poets here, but the majority of them were average. She just enjoyed being able to pass her wisdom onto people that did love poetry. It was rewarding to see someone she had helped up on stage, reading their words proudly and the look on their face as the crowd applauded for them. There were always a few scattered new faces.

The two young girls came running back to her, and she smiled as she began reading their work. A couple of quick corrections, and she sent the girls on their way. She turned to see Lauren walking towards their table.

Lauren slid into her seat, and smiled serenely. Her hand was doing its best impersonation of a fan.

"Wait until you see the new talent."

Miranda just smiled and Lauren giggled as the host Charles came up the microphone.

The regular poets spoke first, including Miranda. She smiled serenely to the group, as Charles introduced her. Her poem was a soulful rendition of a true love, and a night they spent together. As always, her work garnered a lot of applause, and she blushed as she returned to her seat. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and found someone was staring at her. She smiled, and to her surprise, he returned it, and went back to scribbling on his notepad. She felt a quick chill pass through her bones as she sat in her seat.

As the evening wore on, she kept feeling a slight chill in the air. It was completely random, like a vent just deciding to blow icy air against her body. Her glancing around the room revealed nothing. Some of the people were listening, some writing, but nothing really stuck out against the chill.

************

The parade of poets was through, and Miranda was gathering her things. Lauren had wasted no time, and was talking to one of the new poets. His name was Dean, and he was definitely Lauren's type. As she bent to pick up her purse, she felt someone growing close. Rising, she looked up to see Dean standing in front of her. A slight smile crossed his lips.

"Hi, Lauren told me your name was Miranda?"

She nodded, as she rose to her full height, which was still way under his eyes.

"My name is Dean. Dean McAlister."

He chuckled softly, as she began to look confused.

"Miranda Wilcox, right? The Miranda Wilcox, from Poetry Swap?"

She allowed herself to blush. Her work had been out there for a while, and she did have a couple of published collected works.

"Yes, that is me."

"Wow. I must say it is an honor to meet you. I have long admired your work."

"Well, thank you. It is always nice to know that people are reading and enjoying it."

"That I did. And still do, for that matter."

Her cheeks conceded to another flush of red. She smiled and looked into his eyes. Her mind flitted back to her last vacation. The waters of the Pacific were not as blue as what she was gazing into.

"I would love to discuss poetry with you sometime."

She smiled again, and nodded.

"That would be great. I am here pretty much every Tuesday."

His smile was contagious and she watched him walk away. Lauren came up behind her, and admonished her.

"Don't look at him like that."

Both women laughed to themselves, and walked to their cars together.

She drove home in silence, and slipped into the house. Even though the weather was mild, she felt a chill sweep over her bones. The trees were not blowing around, the wind not rustling the leaves. And still the chill pushed through her skin.

Inside didn't seem much better. A quilt was wrapped tightly about her, and she still couldn't seem to shake the chill.

"Feeling ok?"

Kyle's words seem to jolt her out of her daydreams.

"Just have the chills."

"Are you ok? Getting sick?"

"No. No, I feel fine. I just have a chill.....that's all."

Later that night, after kissing her children goodnight, she lay down against her sleeping husband. She slid her arms around his body, and slowly drifted off.

She awoke suddenly, in the middle of the night. She rolled over, and glanced at the clock. 2:00 AM. Muttering to herself, she began to rise, when she felt that chill sweep across her skin.

She peeked over to the door, and saw it was open. She told herself that was not right - their bedroom door was never left open. Glancing over, she saw Kyle was still asleep. She began to remove the heavy down comforter from her body.

Walking to the door, she was stunned to see a light on downstairs. Her voice creaked softly in the dead silence of the night.

"Kyle?"

He responded by shifting and rolling over. Sighing, she trudged down the steps.

Reaching the kitchen, she looked around, and nothing changed. The light switch beckoned her hand, and as she turned to flick the switch, she heard someone breathe.

She turned and saw a figure silhouetted in the dining room. Her breath caught in her throat as he began walking towards her. For some reason, she didn't run away screaming. Her insides were churning, turning into liquid as he grew closer. She saw his face as she stepped into the light. It took a minute, but she finally recognized the face as Dean's.

Her head swirled as those eyes gazed into hers. Her eyes felt imprisoned, and held by his. Her breath seemed long and ragged, her chest rising and falling with each one. His eyes pored into her, and she felt that familiar chill seeping back into her bones. She felt that she had to look away, but she couldn't, and he kept growing closer.

He finally blinked, and she was able to look away, and take a deep breath. She closed her eyes, afraid to look into his eyes again. She felt him growing nearer. His breath caressing her throat, his fingers so very close to her skin. Her eyes flew open, to find no one there. She heard a soft laugh, barely audible over the silent noise of the house.

She trudged back up the steps, and tried to sleep. When sleep finally came, it was restless. She tossed and turned, afraid of his infiltrating her dreams again. But, he didn't show.

The rest of the week passed fairly quickly. Miranda would get little cold spells from time to time, but they seem to quickly pass, and she was resigned to not let them bother her.

************

Tuesday was upon her and she had nothing new. She was sifting through old notebooks trying to find something to read. Her mini-writer's block was really starting to affect her. As she sat at her table, she heard Lauren laughing. She turned to see her and Dean chatting against the wall. Their body posture indicated some heavy flirting going on. She chuckled to herself, and set her mind to finding something to read.

As the reading started, she felt that odd chill yet again. It was enough to force her arms to curl near her body. She visibly frowned and glanced around the room. Most of the writers were listening to the current poet, except for one of the new ones. She recognized him as Dean. He happened to glance up at her, and she froze, as he smiled at her. Caught looking at him, she felt a flash of heat course through her.

The heat slowly dissipated, when he went back to his writing. And that chill returned.

The reading was another good evening. Miranda decided not to read, instead helping some others with their work. The highlight was Dean, reading a piece called Night. He drew a nice ovation from the crowd, and smiled softly at Miranda as he made his way down.

As she packed up her things, Lauren came walking over. She had that smirk of one that is about start some trouble. She pulled Miranda aside, almost giggling with anticipation.

"Hey...come with me. A bunch of us are heading over to Rapscallion's for a drink. I don't want to be the only femme."

"Ohh, Lauren, it is kind of late."

"Come on. Just fifteen minutes."

Her smile was contagious, and Miranda nodded.

"Fifteen minutes."

She pulled open the heavy wood door to Rapscallion's and went inside. A young blonde girl politely asked about her party, and then guided her to the back.

She followed the hostess through the maze of tables, and finally saw them.

There were nine poets crammed around a small table. True to form, Lauren was the only woman, at least until now. She waved gaudily as Miranda made her way to the table. There were not any seats available, and she felt a pang of complete insecurity, but only for a second, as Dean rose.

"Here, sit here..."

He had backed away from his chair, and offered it to her.

She almost flushed, and slowly took it. His hands looped over the back, and gently slid it into the table for her. He leaned against the wall behind them all, and simply waited for a chair nearby to become available.

The talk was always about poetry, be it inspiration, or writing styles. Here, Miranda was at her best. There wasn't a subject she didn't know about, and she felt more confident talking about things she had intimate knowledge of.

As the night grew deeper, some of the others had gradually left, leaving only Dean, Lauren and herself. Lauren excused herself for a moment, leaving the two alone as she went to the restroom.

Dean smiled coyly, and chuckled.

"At last, alone with you."

Miranda flushed, and rolled her eyes, trying to remain in control.

"Like you have been waiting for this all night."

"As a matter of fact, I have. Although, I could listen to you talk about poetry all night long."

Miranda blushed fiercely, and dropped her eyes, and quickly changed the subject.

The two talked about a lot of small things....family, friends, careers. She found out that he was thirty years old and fairly secure financially. He made a nice amount of money during the late 1990's during the dot com explosion, and he invested carefully, saving a great deal that he poured into his own consulting firm. He had once been engaged, and called it off, and had remained a careful bachelor.

During the talk, Miranda applied her professional eye to him, using the years of her human resources experience to gauge him. Whereas she had always thought her husband was manly, Dean had a rugged look to him. A former college athlete, he did stay in shape. He was lightly tanned, and had an easy-going smile and attitude about him, but his eyes were a very dark blue, and hypnotizing. His manners were that of the professional athletes she had seen visit hospitals - his stance and mannerisms said he could deal with anything, yet, sitting here, she felt he was acting like a teddy bear. He was content to play coy with her on many subjects, taking every opportunity to flirt with her. She had always thought she was not a good flirt, but she was enjoying herself immensely.

He had a backpack sitting near his chair. Smiling at her, he reached down and extracted a manila envelope from the pack.