An Accidental Affair (11 page)

“Which is?”

“I think you know. By now, I think you know what I’m imagining.”

I asked, “Where is Bobby Holland?”

“Filming an indie in Oslo for the next ten days.”

“So you don’t have to rush home.”

“No, I don’t have to rush home.”

Her hand moved across the edge of the bar and touched mine. Our fingers danced over one another’s for a moment. Then we made eye contact. Her face was in a curious rapture, the smell of her perfume soft and inviting. Her nipples were hard.

I reached over and traced my finger around her left nipple, then did the same to the right.

She leaned in and eased her tongue inside my mouth. It was a gentle kiss and just like that I was sober. We ended that first kiss, stared at each other, and then we kissed again.

I was a man who appreciated a woman who knew how to kiss. Most women had tongues, but not many had the skills to use them properly. Too many were either timid or sloppy kissers. Or kissed like they didn’t like kissing, but did it because it was expected, because it was a prelude to getting naked. Regina Baptiste’s tongue was sweet and did a slow dance inside my mouth. She jerked and moaned as we tasted each other, her body sensitive to my touch.

For a moment I kissed her like I was engaged in cunnilingus. She reciprocated by sucking my tongue like she was practicing fellatio. We stopped tasting each other, stopped arousing each other and, gradually let each other go. The sensual kiss ended, her lip gloss making our lips stick for a second, and she smiled like she was surprised, aroused, and anxious.

She whispered, “That handsel was a preview.”

“Nice trailer.”

“The movie is better. Has action, romance, and more than a few happy endings for all.”

“You want to follow me home? Want me to ride with you? Ride with my driver and me? Should I call you a cab? Or should I call us a cab and we move this party to my house?”

“You know that in this town, none of those are the right answers.”

I touched her nose, wiped away a speck of happy powder. She took that as a sign of affection. I was trying to protect her even then. One snapshot of her inebriated and with blow on her nose, one photo online posted at
The Judiciary Report
could damage her career.

She chewed her bottom lip. “This night has to be between us.”

“Understood. Being with a woman as unattractive as you could damage my brand.”

“I had my assistant rent a room under her name and with her charge card. Your secret is safe with me, James Thicke. When I go upstairs, she’ll leave. So give me thirty minutes.”

She whispered her suite number, slid me a room key so I could have access to her private floor, told me to knock when I arrived, winked, stood, adjusted her barely-there dress, picked up her small purse, and walked away, high on cocaine and alcohol, but not one step gave it away. When a woman had on a dress like that, no one cared how she walked. Her breasts jiggled. The dress made it look as if she were naked. That was what men and women noticed. Well, women noticed
the shoes. Men didn’t care, not at the onset, not when the blood was being forced into a direction that made lust rise. The only thing out of place was the nervous smile on her face. She left the bar without waving good-bye, taking confidence, energy, and heat with her. Still I waved, took a breath, sat and held my drink and stared at the clock.

A woman that beautiful was nervous because of me. I felt powerful.

I motioned and Driver came over, stood next to me, crossword in hand.

He put his empty glass on the bar and asked, “Ten-letter word for frenzied or agitated.”

“Unrestrained.”

“Not unrestrained. It’s corybantic. You’re a wordsmith and should know that one.”

“That was my next guess.”

He sat where Regina Baptiste had been and we both looked at the classic movie. It was the end of
Sunset Boulevard
. The writer was gunned down then fell into the pool.

As the credits rolled I told Driver, “You can go. I’ll take a cab home from here.”

“Taxi companies keep records.”

“Good point.”

“Taxi drivers love to talk to the press.”

“That they do.” Driver was protecting Regina Baptiste back then too. “Good looking out.”

“I’ll be in the lobby no later than seven
A.M.
If anything goes wrong tonight, call and I’ll be back within twenty minutes. Otherwise, have a good night and I will see you when I see you.”

Then he folded his crossword in half and left, long quick strides, always looking alert, even when he had been on the clock for over twelve hours and counting.

I paid my tab and left a tip large enough for the bartender to have two hours of amnesia.

I adjusted my suit coat and, once again, I became a rake, a man in search of pleasure.

At the elevator, I checked my cellular. Still no text message from my first choice.

I’d expected Regina Baptiste to change her mind by the time I had arrived.

Thirty minutes was enough time for a hot woman to cool off or a tipsy woman to have passed out. Or simply come to her senses. Or for Bobby Holland to have magically shown up.

When she opened the door, she looked refreshed; soft music was on the CD player; the lights were down low; and most importantly, she was naked except for her leased high heels and rented diamonds. She was astonishing. I admired her hard work. The public never realized how hard actors worked, how they worked out for hours, trained like athletes to stay in shape, worked sick or well, starved to stay fit, were paranoid about weight, paranoid over looking too human. No one saw how an actress freaked out over gaining two pounds. I knew. I had dated more than a few.

But I don’t think that any could touch what stood before me.

Regina had worked very hard.

She closed the door and stared at me, a wildness in her eyes, her cheekbones prominent, her eyes dark, her breathing heavy, her chest expanding and contracting, causing her breasts to rise and fall. She came to me, her face flushed, craning her neck as her beautiful lips moved toward mine. Her lips touched mine and we were one aroused creature with no beginning and no end. It was a touch that redirected my blood flow as it changed my future.

She said, “Hope you don’t mind the birthday suit. I don’t have any lingerie with me.”

“The birthday suit is nice. It’s easy to take off when the time is right.”

She smiled. “I showered and was about to put on lotion.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Will you do it naked?”

“Sure. I brought my birthday suit with me. But don’t expect me to wear high heels too.”

“You disappoint me, Thicke. I like my men in high heels.”

“In that case, I’ll consult Prince’s shoemaker first thing in the morning.”

She smiled. “You have no idea how nervous I am.”

We reconnected at the lips, then with our tongues, then again with soft kisses. Her nose teased around mine, her breathing erratic, like she was drowning. Her hand rubbed across my crotch and I exhaled fire. Her hand massaged my growing penis and I sucked her lower lip; then I sucked her tongue and kissed her. She moaned. Her soft breasts pressed against my chest. She moved her hand and my erection moved back and forth across the valley between her legs, my body feeling like it had gone mad with passion, and I knew that if I kept it up that I would come in my pants, knew by the way she moaned and took deep breaths and held on that she would eventually come too. We kept grinding, my mouth moving from hers and finding her ear, sucking on her lobe. That was her spot. She couldn’t stand that for long.

We stopped and stared at each other, both of us panting. We were on that road now.

I picked her up and carried her to the king-size bed, laid her down, pulled her high heels away from her feet. She watched me undress. I took in the suite; the wood furnishings bathed in soft tones of peach, mauve, sage, yellow, and beige. There was a spacious living room with a large work area with desk, marble bathrooms, a Jacuzzi tub,
and most importantly of all, Regina Baptiste, naked in my honor. Then I went to the bathroom and took a quick shower, came back to her with my skin damp, and lotioned her from her feet to her neck, lotioned her back, her butt, her breasts, stayed with her breasts as she stared into my eyes, put my nervous hands on her naked body, touched each part of her as if they were separate works of art, not connected into one sculpture. Then I leaned in and kissed her neck, my breathing deep, each exhale a plea for her to not change her mind, a sweet begging for her to not rush me to be inside her.

I looked at her body, looked at every part and whispered, “You’re pulchritudinous.”

“What does that mean, James?”

“It’s a compliment. It’s a compliment that is as deep as I want to be inside you.”

“What are you waiting on?”

“Be patient with me, Regina Baptiste. Be patient and enjoy the moment.”

Her vagina was beautiful. Genteel. Like a subtle kerf on smooth, unblemished skin, and just beyond that moist kerf, just beyond that opening was the most beautiful flower in the world.

She shivered as if she were afraid of me. I put my hand between her legs and felt how damp she was. Her eyes weren’t closed. She stared into my eyes the entire time. I wasn’t just another man in her bed. She wanted me. She claimed that she was my groupie. I needed that. I licked her breasts and her breathing deepened. I sucked one breast and squeezed the other while I massaged her clit, then slid two fingers inside of her. She was arching her back again, panting, squirming, losing it. Then I backed off, kissed her stomach. She shivered. I slipped my tongue inside her navel, took my tongue to her thighs, sucked her inner thighs, moved my tongue across her vagina, a vagina as wet as a ripe Asian pear, and I paused. This was what a beautiful woman was supposed to taste like. Like mangos and cherries, sugar
apples and sweet dilly. My tongue teased her lips. She sang for me. I dragged my tongue across her vagina again, and again, and again, made her release a soft desperate cry as her back arched, and as I swallowed another taste. I sucked her. She trembled and set free a heated moan, the first sign of her losing control. She held my head, pushed my face deeper, rolled her hips and rode my tongue. Sensuality escaped from her lips as I sucked and licked her inner thigh again. As I licked her, my hands cupped an ass rumored insured by Lloyd’s of London, an ass that looked perfect on screen, and savored her as if she was the sweetest forbidden fruit. I tasted her and she lost control, trembled. Her legs shook like earthquakes were coursing through her body. That time I felt the power of Regina Baptiste’s orgasm. She jerked, sang, and cursed as her legs trembled.

She struggled to breathe and whispered, “What are you doing to me?”

“You want me to stop?”

She tugged at my arms and I eased on top of her, and the legs of a movie star opened for me like it was a gate to my vacation home. I kissed her and she welcomed me inside a brand-new paradise.

She moaned and I did the same. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine.

She smiled. I smiled too.

She whispered, “Oh my God. I’m with James Thicke. I’m actually with you.”

She was tight. Soft. Wet. I rose and fell, measured her, made circles and stirred her, and she moved against me. Her movements were slow, intense, and exquisite. When she had adjusted to me, she became forceful, losing control, then regaining control, her orgasm rising.

“Your strokes…the way you move…so delicious…this doesn’t feel like sex.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Heaven.”

She turned me over on my back, mounted me, and her body became a storm of varying temperaments. She could move like a gentle rain or become a hurricane. She had me rising and falling on her waves. I wondered if she had made all men feel that way.

“Jesus, Jesus. Jesus, James. I’m about to come again.”

Eyes closed tight, mouth opened wide, she moved her head side to side, in pain, in pleasure, in Heaven, sweating as if she were in Hell’s mezzanine, overwhelmed, weighed down by the length of her own orgasm. When she was done, when her body became so sensitive she couldn’t stand to be touched, to be stroked, she panted and eased away from me. I followed her and slid back inside of her, not done, not finished, became intense with her again. She caressed my ass; every time I rose and fell she sang. She hooked her ankles around my calves and moans sounded like we were burning in the sweetest flames. Regina Baptiste cursed and begged for me to come. She said that she wanted to feel me, the man she admired, orgasm.

I worked hard and she struggled, but she kept up with my every stroke.

She whispered, “Look at me, James. I want to look in your eyes while you come.”

Regina Baptiste sweated as if she was suffering. Her body tensed. Her toes curled. Her nails raked my flesh. She trembled. Pulsated. Bit my flesh. I was about to come too. I became rough with her, as man did when he was in those final moments of madness; then I slowed down.

But it felt too good. I was beyond the point of no return. I moved faster, made skin slap. And when I started to pull away, as my heart rate increased, breathing became ragged, muscles tensing, when I had swollen and become engorged and pleasure was about to spew, she held onto me, wailed and kept me deep inside her, pulsating as I thrusted, thrusted, thrusted.

Regina Baptiste kissed my dank neck, licked my skin, and said, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“You okay over there?”

“Could you feel my insides trembling when I came?”

“Like seismic tremors running along a penile fault line.”

“You’re really good. You’re a Vagina Whisperer.”

“I’ve trained a few.”

“It feels like all of the muscles in my body are contracting. I get this huge rush of blood that makes me feel lightheaded. And then my body trembles. I feel like I’m going to pass out and then it hits me, the best feeling in the world. And when it dies down, I can feel the blood flowing back through the rest of my body. Your sexy ass took care of business. Damn, James Thicke made me come. I mean, could you feel me pulsating like I was going crazy?”