Take Me To Bed. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
with Eric just because it would feel good. And, for once in her life she was going to do something for herself, just because she wanted to.
Steph and Brian were out for the day and Jessica needed an outlet for her new feelings of freedom. She called a rental car company that specialized in sports cars and asked them to deliver a tiny red Alfa Romeo convertible. When the rental agent asked how long she’d be keeping the car, she told them that she had no idea. “Just give me the weekly rate for two weeks and I’ll call a few days before the end of the second week and let you know.” She gave them her credit card number and hung up.
Two hours later, when the man arrived with her car, she drove him back to the agency, then put the convertible top down, pulled the rubber band from her hair and spent the rest of the morning driving around Westchester County. With the radio turned up loud and the wind in her hair, she felt fifteen years younger than her thirty-six years.
She drove to the Bronx Botanical Gardens and wandered the grounds, stopping to smell the flowers. She ate a hot dog at the Old Snuff Mill, then, realizing she was starving, ordered and ate another, this one smothered in sauerkraut and pickle relish. She drove up to the Bear Mountain Bridge, found a place to park at the Westchester end and walked across and back.
On her way home late that afternoon, she stopped at a delicatessen and picked up a pastrami sandwich with cole slaw and Russian dressing and a sour pickle. Back at Steph’s she sat in the kitchen and devoured every bite, washing it all down with three Samuel Adams Dark Beers.
Then she dialed Eric’s number. When she heard his voice, she said, “It’s Jessica.”
“Well, hello,” Eric said, his voice tentative. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“I didn’t expect to call, but I wanted to thank you for last evening.” She told him about the car she’d rented and the day she had spent. “I feel so good, I just had to thank you. It’s like my life is just beginning.”
“I’m so glad to be part of that.”
“I feel a bit awkward, but I wanted to ask when we can get together again.”
“You’re sure you understand everything?” Eric said.
When Eric spoke, Jessica could hear the smile in his voice. “I know that what we did last evening felt wonderful and I want to explore,” she said. “I’ll probably chicken out several times before I see you again, but in my heart of hearts, I know that this is what I want. And, of course, I’ve had three beers and I’m smashed.”
Eric laughed. “I don’t want to take advantage. Are you really drunk?”
“No,” Jessica admitted. “But it’s a good excuse to let go and do what I want.”
“Can I pick you up in half an hour?”
She glanced at the clock. It was 7:30. “I’d like that,” Jessica said, smiling.
“I’ll see you at eight o’clock.”
Jessica hung up the phone and giggled. “I’ve got a date and I know what I’m going to be doing.” Her body sang and her mound throbbed. “Jessica,” she told herself aloud, “you’re a piece of work.”
She took a two-minute shower, then put on a short-sleeved red blouse, a pair of white slacks and white flats. She brushed on a bit of blush, lipstick and left her hair loose. She had just left a note on the kitchen table, telling Steph and Brian that she was out and she didn’t know when she’d be back when she heard Eric ring the doorbell.
Jessica opened the door and Eric filled the opening. He was wearing the same soft jeans he had worn the evening before, this time with a tailored, navy-blue polo shirt.
“Oh Lord,” he said, staring at her, “I feel like a starving man gazing at a gourmet feast.”
“You’re looking at me like I’m the blue-plate special,” she said, squirming.
“Am I embarrassing you?”
“A bit. But I like the way you look at me.” She grabbed her purse and closed the door behind her.
“Can we take your car?” Eric asked. “It’s warm and I’d love to drive with the top down.”
Jessica fumbled in her purse and found the keys. She tossed them to Eric who opened the passenger door for her. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Do something for me,” he said. “Take off your bra.”
Jessica paused for a moment, then turned away from him. She unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra, and wriggled it off. She rebuttoned the blouse, feeling the fabric brush across her erect nipples. She stuffed the bra in her purse, snapped her seat belt, and lay her head back against the headrest.
“Nice,” Eric said. “That belt falls just in the right spot, right between your luscious breasts.” He reached over and traced the belt with his fingers. “Unbutton the blouse so you can feel the wind on your skin.”
Jessica gave him a questioning look. Then she opened the buttons and spread the sides so the red fabric just covered her areolas. The canvas of the seat belt was cold against her bare chest.
“Oh yes,” Eric said. “We’re going to have everything.” He tuned the radio and, as they drove out of the driveway, Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the warm night.
During the five-minute drive to Eric’s house, Jessica closed her eyes and let the sensuality carry her. The wind was cool on her naked skin, the radio mellow. The air smelled sweet, of summer flowers. She was almost disappointed when they drove up the driveway of Eric’s house. As the car stopped, Jessica couldn’t believe the building in front of her. “You designed this?”
“Yes.” The building seemed to be made of rock and glass, lean and low to the ground, almost growing out of the earth. Although the rooms appeared square, each one was at an angle to its neighbor, gently slanting roofs complementing each other. It was a strange harmony of unusual shapes, softened by lots of hundred-year-old maples. “It was an idea of mine that I adapted to this piece of land. You can’t see much from here but there’s a rocky pool with a little waterfall on this side,” he pointed, “and woods in the back. Real woods. We cut down only one tree.”
“I want to see it during the daytime. It must be magnificent.”
His laughter was deep in his throat. “Some say yes and some think it’s ugly. I like it and I’m all that counts.” He ushered Jessica inside, through the darkened living room, up the stairs, through the master bedroom, and into the master bath. He lit a small oil lamp in the corner and began to light candles.
“Oh my,” she said. The room was dominated by a huge two-person tub that nestled in an alcove surrounded by a redwood-and-tile ledge covered with pots of ferns, interspersed with dozens of glass containers of clear oil with wicks floating inside. Eric poured bath oil into the tub and turned on the tap. Then he lit each candle and they both watched as shadows danced and flickered on the walls and ceiling. The scent of greenery with a hint of flowers filled the room. “Lavender,” Jessica whispered.
“Just a wisp, one candle. And, from now on, every time I smell it, I’ll think of you.” He lit the last candle, turned to a wine bucket he had placed beside the tub and picked out the bottle. He lifted Jessica’s right hand, turned it palm up and cupped it in his large hand. Then he poured a tablespoon of cold wine into her palm, leaned down and licked it up with his rough tongue.
Then he filled his palm and held it out to Jessica. She held his hand in hers and slowly licked the wine from his skin. She slid the tip of her tongue down his index finger, then nipped at the tip. She was wanton. She was brazen. She was free.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned as she nibbled on the end of his finger. “I thought you were new at this.”
“I am,” she whispered. “I’m just learning.”
“You learn too well,” Eric said, pulling his hand away. “I want to