Love and Other Bugs

3: Relaxation

I drifted up the stairs, taking it slow to minimize the throbbing in my legs. My closet, like the rest of the house, was somewhat devoid of color. Eric's black suits and white dress shirts neatly hung across from my linen-based lineup that predominantly consisted of varying shades of beige and off-white.

I selected a bold choice of khaki-colored linen pants, and a white cotton shirt that was backless, other than a casual knot tied at the waistline. Rather than pin my hair out of my face with my usual claw-clip, I unearthed a green and pink floral scarf I'd bought on a whim while out shopping with Lorraine, taming my wavy chestnut hair into a high ponytail.

After a quick once-over in the mirror I tottered my way back down the stairs and over to the porch window in the living room. Our backyard was like a landscape painting, or a retouched stock photo from a calendar. The sparse clouds casting prominent shadows across the vibrant, fresh cut grass. Manicured hedges, abundant flora and a saltwater pool surrounded by intricate stone tile-work.

Regardless of the stunning scene, I'd spent most of my time in the last year sprawled on the couch a few feet away from this same window. Endless afternoons of reality television, siestas and scrolling social media. Restricting myself to one bag of low-fat popcorn so it would remain special, since it was the highlight of my afternoon.

I swung open the patio door and stepped out onto the deck. It was hotter out than I had been expecting, even though Silas had told me the temperature not ten minutes ago. The air was thick and a touch humid, a ray of sun peeking through the clouds, warming the skin of my exposed arms.

"I recently finished mowing." Silas stepped out onto the deck behind me. "You will want to put a blanket down, so the grass clippings don't irritate your skin."

He already had a knit blanket folded in his arms, along with my e-reader and canister of spray-on sunblock. He was always one step ahead of me, anticipating my needs, I didn't know if I would ever get used to it.

"Thank you."

He followed me to the middle of the yard, laying out the blanket for me in a sunny patch near the pool, handing me my reader and the sunblock. I considered inviting him to stay and keep me company, but I wasn't sure what he would do besides sit in silence while I read. He didn't read, at least not books, he had access to an entire internet database in his head. I knew he would've replied with a polite refusal regardless, there was always work to do and he didn't understand the concept of 'relaxation'.

"I have downloaded the new book onto your e-reader. Let me know if there's anything else you need, Mrs. Foster." With that he turned and headed towards the house.

I gave myself a once-over with the sunblock and got comfortable, laying on my stomach with my ankles locked, and I spent the better part of the afternoon lazing in the light autumn breeze. The book Silas had recommended captured my attention and held it for hours. The only anchor I had to reality was heat of the sun on my skin, prompting me to roll over and change positions every so often. There was no denying my disappointment when I checked my phone to see I only had a few hours until my party.

My legs still ached as I gathered my things and headed inside to clean up. In my absence, Silas had adorned the entire first floor with simple, tasteful decorations. A bouquet of white balloons stood near the foyer, gold ribbons draped on the otherwise empty white walls and doorways. An enormous banner hung above the mantle, stating in large print, "Happy Birthday Maura".

He glanced up from the plate of food he was preparing in the kitchen to give me a kind smile. "I took advantage of the time you were outside to decorate for your party. I hope that's alright, I know you don't like surprises."

"It's alright, this is nice. Thank you." I set my things down on the couch, keeping only my reader, and heading for the stairs.

"Are you enjoying the book?" He asked, as I started up the steps.

"I love it."

I ran myself a bath and reasoned I could read a few more chapters, letting the steaming water soothe my muscles before it was time to get ready for my party. The novel was about a young artist named Lucas, who falls for a journalist named Beth. It was a bit different than the books I usually read, where the male lead would dominate his female counterpart. In this book, he worshipped her. He wrote poems for her, admired her and expressed his feelings for her with vulnerable honesty. The intimate scenes so far had consisted of him aiming to please her, finding his own pleasure in watching her experience ecstasy.

Something about the gentle way he touched her, and the profound effect her whispered words and sensual touch had on him, was bracing. Even the dirtiest smut I could recall reading hadn't made me feel this earnestly aroused. I delved deeper into the tub, the hot water lapping at the sensitive skin beneath my breasts.

The words on the screen painted clear images in my mind, sending throbbing waves of longing down my body. The steam from the bathwater clung to my skin, forming droplets that trailed down my neck, every nerve in my body becoming hyperaware. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, tracing my free hand down my body and dipping it into the water between my legs.

My feet planted on the tub floor, my knees breaching the surface of the water as I spread my thighs apart. I caressed my palm up and down the outside of my vulva, applying gentle pressure, my hips lifting off the ground moving in time with my strokes. My eyes were locked on the text in front of me, but I didn't see the words, I saw Lucas. His muscular, nude body laid out between my legs, his face buried inside me, licking and sucking.

I slipped a finger between my labia, sliding it into the slick, wet heat inside. I brushed against my clit, lifting my hips with an involuntary thrust as my arousal reached a desperate new level. I rubbed faster, harder, the sound of the water splashing against my exposed thighs almost drowning out my breathless gasps.

The imaginary Lucas between my legs gripped my thighs, hungry for my sex, and eager for my impending euphoria. I closed my eyes as I approached orgasm, my fingers strumming fast and hard. I dropped my e-book to the floor, where it landed on the bath mat with a soft thud, reaching up to tangle my fingers in my hair.

"Oh God." I moaned, my hips bucking as waves of pleasure went through my body.

The climax subsided faster than I'd hoped, leaving me a trembling, boneless mess. By the time Silas came up to check on me, the bathwater had gone cold. All the bubbles had deflated, and my toes were wrinkled prunes, but I hadn't found the strength to move. He knocked twice, snapping me out of my stupor. I plucked my e-reader up off the floor, slid the shower curtain closed around me and told him to come in.

I held my breath as he entered, wondering if he could smell my arousal hanging in the air. I comforted myself with the though that regardless of whether or not he was capable of smelling, he wouldn't recognize the scent of an aroused woman. Would he?

"Can I get something clean for you to wear, Mrs. Foster?" I could hear him gathering my discarded clothes from the floor.

"Yes, thank you. I'm awful at picking nice outfits."

"Alright. What is your preference of style for this evening? Elegant? Comfortable? Extravagant?"

"Let's go with... elegant." I turned on my reader, examining to make sure I hadn't damaged it, "Or as close to elegant as you can get me."

"I'll lay something out."

Silas was better at coordinating outfits than I could ever dream of being. I hadn't instructed him to learn about women's fashion, so it was obvious Lorraine had gotten him started in that area for me. She was the only person besides my husband who ever saw my outfits.

I drained the tub and flipped on the shower, giving my body and hair a quick scrub. I wrapped myself up in a towel, avoiding eye contact with the pale, flushed woman in the mirror as I left the bathroom. On the duvet, lay a black, velvet, body con dress I vaguely recognized from the back of my closet. My mouth scrunched up to one side as I sized it up, trying to imagine it clinging to my body in a flattering way, unable to do so.

"Well. It's my own fault," I resigned, picking it up and undoing the zipper, "I should have said comfortable."