If you truly love me Ch. 02: Sophie

*****

LIZ SIDLED UP to my desk. "Any ideas what's bugging Holly?"

"No. Why?"

"She's snapping and snarling at everyone and if she slams one of her drawers one more time I think her desk may very well fall apart. She even went off at Ronnie and she never does that. Those two are as thick as thieves."

Internally, I smiled. Externally, I looked concerned. "Do you think its bad news for the company? Everything's okay, isn't it? Financially, I mean."

"It's not the company. It's rock solid. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think its problems on the home front. Though, whether with David or her daughter, Caitlyn, I'm not sure. Ronnie's in with her right now."

Ronnie, I knew, was her gay cousin. He was a graphic artist and responsible for our book covers and promotional material. I hadn't had much to do with him thus far but I wondered if I'd find an ally in him. Would he be in favour of his cousin exploring her sexuality, or would he counsel her to remain true to hubby-dearest?

"It's probably nothing," I reassured Liz. "A spat with either hubby or daughter."

Liz agreed but didn't look convinced.

"Okay, best get back to work."

"Yeah. Me too. I have to get the first edit of this manuscript done today and back to the author and, as good a storyteller as he is, he can't spell for shit."

We both laughed.

Once Liz left my office I sat and pondered, deciding to visit Holly when Liz went out for lunch. Hopefully, her cousin would have left by then and I could find out what had caused her foul mood and halt any backtracking she might be doing.

I found it hard to concentrate and kept looking at my wristwatch only to find mere minutes had passed, not hours. Time was dragging. My lack of focus annoyed me; normally that wasn't an issue as I was quite skilled at compartmentalising my work and private life. I hated to admit it but Holly Preston had gotten under my skin. My need to have her, to lure her away from her marriage, was consuming me. I wanted her as I'd never wanted another woman in my entire life.

*****

I LET MYSELF into Holly's office without knocking. She was so busy pacing she didn't hear my approach until I was halfway across the room. She turned, her face a mask of anger, but upon seeing it was me her expression softened.

As soon as I was within arm's reach I grabbed her hand. "What's wrong, Holly?"

That was all the prompting she needed. It all spilled out of her; her argument with David, his demand that she fire me, his continuing refusal to allow her to explore her sexuality. It all poured out of her, many phrases repeated, the name Laura Hartley got thrown around, or rather was spat out. Her frustration was so intense it had its own presence.

"He equated my situation, our situation, with that tart, Laura Hartley."

At my blank look, Holly explained.

"She was David's secretary. Had the biggest crush on him. Kept throwing herself at him. Even in front of me, so I had David sack her. How dare he suggest what I'm going through has anything at all to do with some bitch in heat trying to seduce my husband."

I smiled reassuringly. David was right, of course, I was trying to seduce his wife.

Holly pulled her hand from mine and recommenced pacing. I let her go, recognising her anger demanded movement.

She sneered, imitating her husband, "If I said I needed to fuck a twenty-two year old, that it was important to me to see her bouncing up and down on my dick, that I had a powerful urge to have her suck my cock dry, would you be accommodating? Would you be saying, 'Go ahead, David, explore your needs with my blessing.'

How fucking dare he suggest him screwing some chick half his age is anything like my need to explore my bisexuality."

I wondered how close her words were to the truth. Had David actually said them? I decided to take a gamble.

"What if you gave him permission to do that? Give him permission to have a fling as a kind of trade off—"

I got no further.

"No!" Holly shrieked. "No fucking way!"

Internally, I sighed, disappointed. So much for that idea. Externally, I looked contrite.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought if it got you what you wanted..." I trailed off, seed planted.

"No. No way," she repeated. "What if he liked sex with some young itty bitty thing better than with me? I could lose my husband."

I said nothing, merely nodded understandingly. It was hard not to laugh at her hypocrisy. The human capacity for self-deceit never ceased to amaze me. Holly wasn't about to risk her husband developing feelings for another woman but was in total denial that her attraction to and feelings for me were any threat to him. She couldn't see what he clearly saw as plain as day. I was a threat. A huge threat. As-big-as-they-come-threat.

"Why is he being so obstinate? He's never been so stubborn about something I wanted before? What can I do?" she moaned. "How can I make him see?"

What I felt like doing was telling her to tell him to screw himself, that her body was her own and she'd do with it what she liked. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her neck softly.

"Just keep working on him, my peach. Once he sees your feelings and needs aren't going to change, he'll come around. If he truly loves you, he'll give you what you need to be happy."

I didn't really believe my words, but they made me look supportive until I could come up with a way for Holly to be with me that she could live with.

*****

IN THE END, David Prescott saved me the trouble of coming up with a scheme. The idiot issued Holly with an ultimatum. Her or me. You have a week to decide. Then the fool left town for a week.

Sure, he made her promise to have no contact with either of us, supposedly so neither of us could influence her, and both he and Holly may well have had good intentions of following that request.

I, however, did not.

I didn't feel bound by David Precott's instructions. I was willing to fight dirty. All was fair in love and war, after all. And both ends of that spectrum applied to me. I was in love with Holly Prescott and at war with her husband for her heart.

As much as I wanted to gallop to Holly's house as soon as her husband drove off, I waited. Played the game. I teased and tempted her with loving texts, telling her how much she was missed, how the office wasn't the same without her presence, how I was thinking of her. In truth, they were as much a torture for me as I suspect they were for Holly.

On Friday afternoon I invented a problem with the manuscript I was working on. There was a genuine issue, just not one of a magnitude I couldn't solve on my own.

As I approached the house, I slowed, pulling in to park one hundred metres down the road. It was my first time to the house. I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. It was all soaring angles and expanses of glass. The timber gave it warmth. For all its modernity it fit easily, naturally, into the river parkland setting.

I sighed and drove the remainder of the way to Holly's, pulling to the kerb beside her driveway. Being a good architect didn't make David Prescott a good man, a good husband, nor even, a worthy adversary.

And it didn't change the fact that Holly Prescott wanted a chance to explore her sexuality. With me.

I turned off the ignition and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. After a patting of my hair I was ready.

I pressed the doorbell then smoothed my dress while I waited. I was surprised to feel a flutter of nerves in my belly and with every second that Holly took to answer the door my nerves multiplied. Perhaps she was out. Perhaps visiting friends.

And then she was standing before me looking impossibly sexy. The shift she was wearing was light, loose, and short. Her legs were bare and her hair loose. It was the first time I'd seen her dressed so casually. I liked it.

"Hey, Holly," I smiled.

Holly's initial welcoming smile morphed into a look of doubt and concern.

"Hey, Sophie."

I lifted the folder containing the manuscript. "Can I come in? I'd like your input on Richard Hennessy's latest novel."

"Can it wait until Monday? You know I promised David I wouldn't see you for this week and that's not up until Sunday night when he gets home from Sydney."

"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't wait. I've missed you so much. This whole manuscript issue is just an excuse." I hung my head. I think I surprised myself as much as Holly with my confession.

"Oh god, no need to get upset. Come in."

Holly stepped aside. Anticipation zinged through my veins. Tonight I would have her. At last.

Holly led me into the kitchen. It was open plan. The whole kitchen, dining and living areas under one soaring cathedral ceiling. It was tastefully decorated and furnished. Stylish but warm and welcoming. I placed the manuscript on the kitchen bench and perched on one of the barstools.

"Red or white?" Holly asked as she grabbed a couple of wine glasses.

"Red, please."

I watched as she poured us both a glass of wine. She was nervous. I could tell because her hand was shaking. Knowing I was the cause, a part of me basked in the glory of the power I had over her. The other part wanted to reach out to hold and reassure she'd be okay for the very same reason.

She passed me one glass while taking a sip from the other. She leaned with her back against the sink.

"You shouldn't be here. I promised David. I gave him my word."

Holly spoke quietly, sadly, but retained good eye contact and despite her words I could tell she was pleased to see me.

"Sorry, my peach. I couldn't wait. And I was worried about you. About David issuing you an ultimatum. It's so unfair."

Holly nodded. "I think so too. I've told him again and again I will never leave him and he knows that that you understand that. I don't know why he's being so obstinate."

I tried to ignore the twang of pain her words invoked. For a brief moment I felt like running away. For the first time in my life I feared I might be in over my head.

But then I looked at her; she was so seductive yet vulnerable and knew I had to have her. No matter the cost. I'd give her a taste of what she'd been missing all these years and she'd soon change her mind about needing to stay in the state of holy matrimony with David Prescott.

Holly put her drink down and brought her hands up to her face, muffling her words.

"What am I going to do? I have to make a decision. David is going to want my answer."

Before I could reply, Holly rushed around the bench and threw herself into my arms. My wine went flying, splashing us both. I looked over her shoulder at the toppled glass and spreading puddle of red. It looked garish against the white concrete benchtop.

"I don't know what to do," she wailed. "I'm so torn."

I had a moment of conscience. It didn't last long. I stroked her hair, burying my face in her neck and kissing it softly. I had an epiphany; brought on, I think, by her scent and the feel of her body pressed to mine.

She wanted me to take the decision out of her hands.

I could do that for her. I most certainly could do that for my peach.

I looked again at the benchtop. The stain. The metaphor for the life blood leaking out of Holly Prescott's marriage.

I eased myself off the barstool and gently maoeuvered Holly and I to the lounge, whispering words of comfort the whole time. Once I had her semireclined I resumed my attack on her neck and shoulders.

"You're so tense. Let me help you," I whispered between trailing moist kisses along her exposed flesh.

Every time I peeked at her face her eyes were closed. If I had to guess, I'd say she was blocking out reality. Fine by me.

Without protest, I shimmied her dress over her head, revealing her pretty pink bra and knickers. During our last interlude I'd love the way her bra cups had framed her tits. It had been like they were being served up to me on a platter so I did a repeat.

I feasted, making her arch and moan and twine her fingers in my hair. And still she kept her eyes shut. I worked my way down. I grabbed the lacy waistband of her panties and began easing them over her hips. Holly helped, raising her buttocks. Oh yes, my peach wanted me to make her feel better.

And then I was between her athletic thighs. She'd waxed, leaving a cute little rectangle of blonde above her slit. Normally, I'd have lingered, playing with her sweet, soft bit of fluff but I needed to get my peach over the line and quickly. I needed her sated but eager for more. It was a fine line to tread.

If the way she clenched her thighs about my head was any indication, I trod the path well. Very well. Every groan, every whimper made my heart soar, or more accurately, my kitty zing.

I made her come and come. And come.

Screw oysters, power is the best aphrodisiac. And with each climax I gave Holly I definitely felt more powerful. Powerful and sexy. And drunk on Holly's pleasure. I diddled my own clit while drinking from her fountain. It felt so good to come with her. I couldn't wait for the day she'd return the favour, but for now I was happy to worship her.

At some point she led me to what I gathered was a guest room. She didn't want to make love with me in her marriage bed, the bed she shared with David. I ignored the frisson of fear that I hadn't done enough, pleased her enough to win her over. I let her sleep, recuperate, and then I woke her with my tongue in her delicious pussy.

That's how the whole weekend played out. We only left the bed to eat and shower. They were merely interludes in between making my peach arch in want, writhe in ecstasy. I loved hearing her moan my name. I loved hearing her plead for me to finish her off.

It was Sunday afternoon. We were in the shower. Holly looked so sexy with her hair up in a clip, tendrils escaping to curl around her face. I lathered her breasts, her beautiful breasts. Her nipples perked up at my touch. I ran my hand down her side, in for her waist, out for her hip, enjoying the erotic sight of the lather sliding over the swell of her belly. Christ, she was sexy.

"You have to stop, Sophie. We can't. David will be home soon," Holly murmured even as she leaned back against me and parted her legs.

I accepted her nonverbal invitation.

"One more time, baby. Come for me one more time," I whispered licking up her neck and nibbling on the lobe of her ear.

"Oh god," Holly groaned, rocking her hips on my fingers.

"That's it, my sweet, juicy peach. Use my fingers. Get what you need."

Holly came with a cry, sagging in my arms. I held her while she recovered, nuzzling the nape of her neck. I felt euphoric.

We dried and she slipped on a short, silky dressing gown. It was midnight blue and intensified the blue of her eyes. She passed me the green satin robe. The one she'd picked out of her closet for me. The one she said brought out the green in my eyes. I wondered if she liked seeing me in it as much as I loved wearing an item of her clothing.

Involuntarily, an image of the pair of us sitting on the balcony sharing juice and feeding each other strawberries popped into my head. It was an image of domestic bliss. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the image.

Holly's head jerked up, pulling me out of my daydream. Without a word she dashed out of the bathroom. I followed.

"Oh no. He's here. David's home."

I heard the panic at the edge of her words. She looked from me to the window to the door that led to the garage and back again. My euphoria evaporated. It was more like an explosion. One minute it was there, the next it was gone.

"Get dressed, Sophie. Oh god, David can't find you here. Can't find you like this."

I heard the garage door. So did Holly.

"Get dressed! Please, just get dressed."

Holly turned in a swirl of midnight blue and raced for the door leading to the garage. I followed. My heart was thudding. This was the moment. The moment I'd been waiting for, working toward.

I leaned against the door frame, and watched as Holly stepped toward David's car then recoiled. I looked toward the car and it took everything I had to hold my position and not run. The man staring at Holly from the driver seat of the vehicle barely resembled David Prescott. The man in the vehicle was feral. His face contorted by rage.

He reversed down the driveway.

I was glad. Relieved. I wanted Holly in one piece, unharmed. I didn't want any violence.

Holly called his name. I flinched. She called it again. I flinched. A third time. I flinched. As much from hearing the panic in her voice as from anger at knowing why she was panicking.

She ran after him. I wanted to stop her. I hated her for every step she took. I hated seeing her standing in the middle of the road, tears gushing down her face, wailing like a banshee. She looked and sounded like the pathetic heroine from a 'B' grade horror flick. In other words, ridiculous. How could she so demean herself? How could she not see she didn't need David Prescott. She had me.

I watched as she raced toward me, hair and eyes streaming. She rushed past me. I'd have said she didn't see me but she had to brush by me.

I followed her and, for the first time since arriving, saw the master bedroom. Saw it and wanted to share it with her. And hated that I'd been relegated to the guest bedroom.

I stood in the doorway while she flew into her walk-in, throwing open drawers.

"Holly, slow down."

"He drove off. Why did he drive off?"

"He'll be back." I tried to sound reassuring. Inside, I was hoping he'd never return. Better yet, maybe he could drive off a cliff.

"No. I don't know. Did you see his face? Never, not in all the time I've known David have I ever seen him look like that. Not at me, not at anyone."

"He'll get over it. Just give him some space. I'll go make us a cup of tea—"

"I don't want a cup of god-damned tea. I have to go after him. I have to find him. I have to explain."

"Holly, you're in no condition to drive. Slow down. Give it twenty minutes and then we can start phoning friends and colleagues and find him."

Holly sat on the edge of the bed and in an action that eerily mimicked that in the kitchen placed her hands over her bowed face. I could hear her sobs. I could see her shoulders heaving. I wanted to comfort her but at the same time I resented each and every tear, each and every shudder. I'd supported her emotionally for months. I'd worshipped her body. I'd brought her joy. I'd brought her pleasure and how did she repay me as soon as her shithead husband put in an appearance? She went running after him, feet bare and in her damn dressing gown.

I bit back my resentment and seated myself beside her, wrapping my arms around her. She turned into me.

"Did he see you? He must have seen you? Oh god, he must have. He must have seen you."

I knew he had but I didn't want to admit that to her so I made shushing noises and stroked her hair.

I tried to ease her back into a supine position but Holly resisted. Worse, she stiffened and pulled free of my arms.

"You shouldn't be in here. This is the room I share with David."

I flinched as if slapped. That's what it felt like. Like she'd slapped me across the face. I told myself to be patient with her. I reminded myself she'd been married for a long time and from a young age. That coming out was a huge change in life direction for her. It didn't help with the pain of rejection but it did help me not lash out at her.

I grabbed her hand. "Come on. Let me make you that hot cup of tea. It will calm you and help you organise your thoughts."

She didn't protest. I led her out of the room. I gave myself one quick look back and promised myself I'd have her in this room. And soon. And when I did, I'd have her screaming my name, not that of David Prescott.