Big Book of Smut (13 page)

She did her best to avoid contact with her
objet d'envie
throughout the week, and largely succeeded given their busy schedules. Four closings and a slew of showings for a new listing kept her out of the office most of each day. While at her desk, Denise kept the door closed—the agency's standard
Do Not Disturb
protocol. The few times they bumped into one another were brief and didn't leave an opportunity for discussion of anything other than pressing work-related matters.

Denise often wondered how she landed in real estate, given the amount of networking required to be successful. Unlike Jacquí, schmooze really wasn't her strong suit. Her background in interior design with a minor in architecture, however, gave her an eye for property that many lacked. Someday, after she finished her MBA, she hoped to open her own design firm and capitalize on all the reluctant schmoozing.

Late Friday afternoon, as Denise prepared to leave for the weekend, Jacquí dropped by her office to remind her about both the party and the wine she'd agreed to bring. While Denise felt ragged and drawn after a hectic day at the end of a hectic week, Jacquí looked as if she'd just stepped from a salon makeover. Over a few minutes of idle chatter about the party menu, it dawned on her that Jacquí didn't really need the wine. She had simply used it as a hook to ensure her attendance, knowing her ultra-reliable colleague wouldn't renege on a commitment.
Smooth
, Denise admitted to herself.
Very smooth indeed
.

"See you at eight-ish. I've got a million and one things to do before then." With a twinkle of her French manicured fingertips, Jacquí was gone.

As Denise straightened her desk and shut down her computer, she wondered if she had enough time to shop for something fresh and new to wear to the party. At the same time, she chastised herself for even considering it. Impulsively, she paged a delivery service and met the courier in the parking garage. Offering one bottle of the dry white as a tip, she instructed him to deliver the rest to the posh apartment on 65
th
street.

That commitment satisfied, Denise could now bail on the party without guilt if she chose. The maneuver bought her some measure of calm, knowing she had an out. She took her time on the evening commute and, once home, unwound with a glass of merlot and a single bong hit. The combination provided the perfect mood adjustment. Both mellow and self-confident, she shed her work attire and dove into her closet.

"Come as I am, eh? We'll just see about that." She pulled a short denim skirt from its hanger, followed by a soft, white blouse. While it was tempting to throw on sweats and a T-shirt, Denise compromised with a more presentable form of comfort and hoped that the other guests would be similarly attired. She knew better than to expect Jacquí to look anything less than perfect, regardless of what she wore. No use even trying to compare.

Fueled by the wine and the weed, Denise deftly wove her waist-length hair into a loose braid and slipped her bare feet into a pair of well-worn penny loafers. The macramé belt was an afterthought, but it blended well. She set out on foot and empty-handed, planning to hail a cab when she tired of walking. The evening was as comfortable as her attire, and she covered almost ten city blocks before her feet began to protest the lack of socks.

Her nerves resurfaced when the taxi pulled to a stop in front of Jacquí's building. She resisted the urge to stop in the lobby's restroom to primp, instead moving directly to the elevators. Seventeenth floor. Not quite penthouse level, but well above the city streets.

The walk down the hallway to Jacquí's apartment seemed unnaturally long, distorted by anxiety. Denise felt as if she was stepping into a social situation that would make her feel even more awkward and inadequate, hob-knobbing with the upper echelons of beauty and success.

Strains of classical music seeped through the door of 17-C, which opened just as she lifted her hand to ring the doorbell. Jacquí stood there grinning. Barefoot, in torn jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, she reminded Denise of a cast member from the movie
Flashdance
… only sexier. Her hair, worn up during the work day, rested on her bare shoulders in soft waves.

"When the wine showed up by courier, I figured you'd be a no show. I'm glad you're here. C'mon in." She threw open the heavy door and gestured. "You're the first one here. Make yourself comfy. Can I get you something to drink?"

Stepping inside, she looked around in awe. Creamy white carpet stretched in every direction. Eclectic décor screamed of expense coupled with a non-conformist's taste. Denise kicked off her shoes before leaving the tiled entry for the warm, snowy landscape. That earned a smile from Jacquí, whose toenails sparkled with a fuchsia polish that matched her fingernails and lips.

"You like? I did it all myself—against the advice of…well, of damned near everyone. It's not like me to be so rebellious, but I love this space. It's my haven. Know what I mean? Here, let me show you around. Can I get you something to drink?"

It took Denise a moment to realize that she was referring to her interior decorating rather than the fuchsia cosmetics. The aimless chatter seemed out of character for the typically-composed beauty, which made her wonder what Jacquí was trying to conceal. She followed her down the hallway, only half listening to her ramble about where each piece of artwork or furniture originated.

Miro on this wall, Manet on that. Even a Henry Moore piece, albeit a small replica, on the ledge over the marble garden tub. She knew the art of which she spoke, too. It wasn't merely name-dropping. Jacquí understood every element of the design of her condo and its contents. Not only that, but she clearly wanted Denise to appreciate it.

"There's no one else coming tonight, is there?" The clarity leapt at Denise, impulsive but fully formed. She just…knew.

Jacquí turned. Her mouth hung open as if stunned by the accuracy of a gypsy's fortune. The expression told Denise all she need to know.

"I'll be going now," she murmured, shaking her head as she turned toward the door.

Silence followed her. As heavy as the mask of tomorrow's humiliation, it curved around her body and molded itself to her frame. Denise took a deep breath and willed her feet to move, to take her away from the embarrassment of being played for a fool.

"Please," Jacquí whispered. Her voice echoed in the corridor. "Stay. I'm sorry for…"

"For
what
exactly? You're sorry for luring me here under false pretenses?" Denise spun and stepped toward Jacquí, her shoulders squared and mind blazing. "You think you can just jerk people around this way? Make them do your bidding 'cause you're so fucking perfect? Well, cross me off your list of acolytes, Ms. Manceaux. I don't play that way."

Jacquí sighed, but she stood her ground with a defiant expression on her face. Denise fought the urge to slap it, to make her feel the sting of anger that threatened to escape its bounds. Her hands twitched at her side.

"I just wanted…" Jacquí reached out, her fingers brushing Denise's forearm. The touch sparked the release of pent-up emotion, and Denise wrenched her arm away, unintentionally catching the underside of Jacquí's chin with the back of her hand. She watched in shock as Jacquí's head snapped back, colliding with the wall.

Before she could speak, though, Jacquí righted herself and shook it off. She looked sideways at Denise, eyes narrowed, and snarled. "Go if you're going. I won't try to stop you."

"Why?"

"Why?" Jacquí rolled her eyes. "Because even though this is my house, and even though I invited you here, I can still be charged with battery. Because we work in the same office. Because…"

"No. Why the
dinner slash housewarming party
story? Why the elaborate ruse?"

Sighing, Jacquí slumped against the wall. "I didn't lie about the party, y'know. I just… um…exaggerated the number of guests."

"Why?"

"Would you have come otherwise?"

Denise shook her head, not as a negative reply, but at Jacquí's misunderstanding. "No, why
me
? What do you want from me?"

A small frown line formed at the bridge of Jacquí's aquiline nose as she appeared to weigh her words. Finally, she opted instead to act. The feather-light kiss caught Denise completely by surprise.

"You, of course," Jacquí whispered when she pulled away. "I want
you
. I've been trying to get your attention for months."

Of all the things Jacquí could have said, that had to be the last thing Denise expected to hear. It was so far outside the scope of her thoughts that it took several moments for it to register. Her body responded well before her mind, fueling her anger and adding another dimension to her sense of betrayal. When the shock released her vocal cords, she howled with incredulous laughter.

It soon had her doubled over, holding her stomach and gasping for breath. Each time she thought she'd gotten it under control, the improbability of the situation would bubble up and the giggles would again erupt. It wasn't until Denise saw the hurt expression on Jacquí's face that she was able to stem her laughter.

"I'm sorry." She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her hands. "It's just that…well,
you
wanting
me
…when you can have anyone you choose…male
or
female…is just…too…rich." In spite of her resolve, some residual chuckles punctuated her speech.

Jacquí pushed off the wall and stormed past. "Fuck you," she called over her shoulder. Making a bee-line for the front door, she threw it open. "I think you should leave now."

Denise crossed the distance in a few long strides and slammed the door closed a bit more forcefully than intended. Its impact rattled the umbrella stand and knocked over the vase of fresh flowers on the small table nearby, but she barely noticed. "I don't think so," she growled, pinning Jacquí to the door with her body. "You think you want me, eh? We're gonna get past perfect and find out."

The intensity of their first real kiss surprised Denise with its bruising ardor. She tasted blood but couldn't tell if it was hers or Jacquí's, and she sucked hard on those fuchsia lips while her fingers wove through the loose blonde locks.

Parting the taller woman's legs, she pressed her bare thigh against Jacquí's sex, eliciting a moan that vibrated on Denise's tongue. The heat emanating from the worn, threadbare denim caused a reciprocal reaction between her legs, and Denise felt the crotch of her thong grow wet.

The harder she pushed, the more enthusiastically Jacquí responded.

"Manipulative bitch," Denise spoke into her mouth. "You play people to get what you want. I see it all the time at work. In return, they get to bask in your divine presence for a little while. You turn that megawatt smile on them, make their knees weak. Didn't work with me, did it? That had to bug the fuck out of you.

"If you want me, you're gonna have learn to be a lot more direct about your desires." She took a step back and reached for the hem of Jacquí's sweatshirt, whipping it over her head in one swift movement.

Jacquí brought her arms down and crossed them over her breasts, eyes blazing.

"Hands at your sides. Now."

Denise didn't miss the tiny smirk that teased the corner of Jacquí's mouth as she complied, and she vowed to give the woman far more than she bargained for. Taking her time, she studied Jacquí's breasts. Perfect, of course. Comfortable handfuls of firm flesh topped with slightly oval, tea-stained nipples that puckered so invitingly. Denise's hands again twitched, but for an entirely different reason.

"Yes, they're gorgeous." Denise confirmed the challenge in Jacquí's eyes. "But you already know that. Touch them."

Jacquí nodded.

"No, not me.
You
. Put your hands on your tits. Show me how you want me to touch them. Show me how you touch them when you think of me."

Her expression went from one of confident defiance to one of apprehension.

"You must not want me as much as you claim, then. Get out of my way. I'll be going."

One fear must've overridden the other, for Jacquí's hands slowly traveled up her body to cup her breasts. She paused there, fingertips poised over her hardened nipples. Denise held her gaze until those fingertips began to pinch and Jacquí's eyes fluttered closed.

When she stopped and opened her eyes, Denise prodded. "Keep going. Your hands are mine. Show me…and don't stop unless I tell you to."

Jacquí leaned against the door and resumed teasing her nipples. Her eyes again closed and her mouth dropped open as the sensations intensified. Fighting the urge to take over, Denise snuck around the corner and grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room. As quietly as she could, not wanting to interrupt Jacquí's focus, she parked the chair about five feet from the door and straddled it, arms folded atop its back and chin resting on her forearms. She knew when Jacquí opened her eyes, she'd have an unobstructed view of her wet panties.