To Those Who Wait

She sat very still in the afternoon room, staring out the balcony windows. The green leaves fluttered lazily in the warm wind. Red flowers drooped over the iron railing, their petals fluttering down into the street below. She watched, raptly; she heard the slow sounds drifting upward: cars, laughter, shouts, flits of conversations- spiraling, the heels of a woman- clicking softly toward something.

Nothing about the afternoon calmed her. Not the lazy, gold sun or the warm air or the familiar smell of 5 o'clock espresso shots from the café below. She sat still and tense, tight as harp strings. Waiting.

Cassie's eyes, clear green amber, were always slightly red, slightly bloodshot—as if she'd been up too late or reading too long or was somewhere close to tears. The truth was, she liked them that way. Sometimes she even rouged the edges in red liner—though she never told anyone. She liked to let people think she was a little more desperate than she really was. She liked to keep her strengths hidden, pushed away for some reason—some reason she didn't understand. But then how many of us understand—she often wondered.

She raised her hand absently, running her middle finger lightly over her bottom lip. Her eyes were riveted to the scene below. Where were they? How much longer? Had they stopped somewhere on the way? She hated thinking about them alone together. About what they might be doing to each other. About how far. . . . She wanted to watch every look that passed between them. Witness every touch. And yet the idea that they were somewhere doing something to each other made her somehow more alert, more excited, provocative visions of alleys, black skirts being pushed higher, flooding her mind.

A memory suddenly came back to her. That night a year ago on the lawn behind Heeley's house. Stephen had leaned forward suddenly, grabbing Heeley's hair, pulling her toward him, kissing her. And she had watched the two of them—Heeley's surprised struggling giving way to his lips. When they moved away from each other, Heeley's eyes had glistened, stray tears, and she glanced over at her with a coy, almost shy look. "Now kiss Cass, Stephen," Heeley had said still watching her with that dark, glistening gaze. . . .and then his warm hand on the back of her neck, the dark night air—

Cassie shook her head, a dark curl falling into her eyes, bringing her back to the present. Slightly annoyed at herself, she tore her eyes from the street. She picked up the lighter from the table next to her chair and lit three of the thick, wax candles sitting there. It would be dark soon enough.

A sudden movement drew her attention back. Her heart stopped, then began beating painfully again as she saw Heeley round the corner. She wore a white shirt, a short black skirt, black stockings, and strappy platform shoes—just as Cassie had imagined. Heeley's wavy hair glowed gold in the last rays of sun and her red lips were cocked into a smile as she said something to Stephen. He laughed and put his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her closer to him, he whispered something into her ear.

Cassie stood up, sweeping the magazines off the pink satin quilt onto the floor. She turned on the fringed lamp by the bed and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. Burning pink rosé sliding down her throat, she fitted the cork back into the green glass bottle, and the door swung open. Heeley's low rough voice flowed through the room somehow filling Cassie with a sense of calm. That sense of calm that had been missing all through these hours.

"Well, I think it sounds like a good idea. Let's ask Cassie what she thinks." Cassie stepped out of the kitchen holding the glass of rosé to her lips.

"Ask me what?" She took another strong sip. Stephen glanced at her, sending shivers down her spine. He tossed his black hat into the chair by the door and sat down on the couch, kicking his legs up on the coffee table.

"Heeley here has the idea that we should play a little game tonight," he said, looking at her again, this time watching her more closely. She looked at Heeley, taking in her smooth skin, her flushed cheeks—they had definitely been fooling around.

"Well, I just thought," Heeley said in that low, breathy voice, "that it was time we. . .um, you know, push our limits." She came toward Cassie. Taking the glass of wine from her hands, she reached up smoothing back a stray curl from Cassie's cheek. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it?" she said, bringing the glass to her lips.

"Maybe," Cassie said, a sculpted black brow rising slightly. "What does this little game entail?"

"Oo, that's good," she said, taking another sip of the wine. "You want a glass, Stephen?" He just looked at her. "Well," she continued, "I. . .uh. . .made a trip to the store the other day."

Cassie crossed the room and sat on the bed. She had gotten home from her job at the café a few hours ago. She'd pulled off her short grey dress as soon as she walked in, leaving it in a heap near the door. She still wore the black slip, black stockings, and tall black boots.

"And what did you get at the store," Cassie said as she leaned back onto her arms. Heeley glanced at Stephen.

"Well, go on, show her," he said, a note of laughter in his voice. Heeley walked over to her black bag. She bent down giving both Cassie and Stephen a clear view of her deep cleavage as she reached into its depths. She stood up pulling out a pair of glinting silver handcuffs.

"These," she said, ". . .for starters." She held them up letting the cuffs dangle off her index finger. Cassie couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, drawing the corner of her mouth up suggestively.

"For starters?" she laughed.

"Yeah," Heeley sat down on the couch, leaving a distance between Stephen and herself. She shot Cassie a sudden dark glance. "So? What do you think?"

"And who are they for?" still watching Heeley with a hint of amusement.

"You," Stephen said suddenly serious. Deep lightning seemed to course through her body then, as her clear green gaze locked with his. Her breath suddenly quickened, conflicting emotions crashing in on her.

Her right eye brow rose again, "Why me?" she asked in her best imitation of indifference.

His eyes narrowed slightly. He stood up and crossed the room towards her. His gaze moved from hers down to the tips of her boots and back up again. "You don't think you'd like it?" he said softly, coming to a stop in front of where she sat on the bed.

Looking up at him, the pupils of her eyes slowly widened as if he were blocking the light. She could feel her nipples rubbing against the satin of her slip, her breath coming faster. He grabbed her by the arms suddenly and pulled her up.

"I think you would," he said quietly, his voice with a new intensity. He moved against her, holding her tight, pressing his hips against hers. She could feel the sudden heat of him, the heat of his erection. His hands moved to her back, her ass, pulling her harder against him. "Is this what you wear when you're all alone, Cassandra?" She winced, in confusion or longing, as his lips came to her neck, kissing then biting. Was this happening? So quickly? So easily? When just moments ago she was anxious about losing them. . .to each other. "Is it?" he said more harshly, shaking her slightly.

"Y-yes," she breathed. She started in surprise when she heard Heeley's voice just behind her on the bed.

"Now is the time to say no, Cass," Heeley leaned in licking her earlobe. "Now," she pulled it into her mouth, sucking, then letting go, "or never." Stephen had pulled back from her. They were on either side of her. Waiting.

Cassie didn't meet either of their eyes. "I won't say no," she said gently. Stephen stepped away, taking off his coat, his shoes, his belt. Heeley kneeled in front of her, unzipping, pulling off her tall boots. They both moved away from her then. The air in the room snapped. Night had fallen. The three candles burned in the dark balcony window. Cassie stood up and took a sip of wine. When she moved the glass from her lips, Heeley was there, taking it from her. Stephen whirled her around and pushed her roughly back onto the bed. He hovered over her, his dark eyes burning into hers.

"My pretty little Cassandra," he breathed, "What should we call you tonight?" His tone was intimidating, both amused and cruel. He pinned her wrists on either side of her, pushing his knee down between her thighs, and she closed her eyes, arching backward, the place between her legs hot, wet. He smelled like he always did, warm and sweet like dark caramel. God, she remembered the years of distance, of watching him from across the room, of waiting for any moment with him, for this moment with him.

"We should call her Slut," Heeley said, her voice low and hard. Cassie turned, trying to blink the haze of want from her eyes, to look at Heeley standing by the bed. Heeley scanned her slowly, her chin cocked sideways, a wicked grin on her red lips. "Because that's what she is. She's a fucking slut." Cassie felt her heart start to pound. The whole situation still seemed almost confusing to her. Was this a joke? She wasn't entirely sure—but Stephen's arousal was definitely genuine, and the look in Heeley's eyes told her she intended to enjoy herself.

Stephen moved off of Cassie as Heeley came to the bed. She held a black sash with white edge stitching. She leaned forward, her sinful eyes turning to slits, as she kissed Cassie with her red lips. They tasted like strawberries and rosé. Cassie's breath quivered. And suddenly the black sash was over her mouth. Heeley gagged her, tying the sash tightly behind her dark curls, while Stephen hand cuffed her left wrist to the bed post. They had two sets, the other Heeley used on her right.

Apprehension and anticipation warred through Cassie as she watched Stephen take off his pants, boxers and shirt. When he was naked and glowing almost bronze in the flamelight, he approached her again, running his hands up her legs, slowly dragging up her black slip. She wore a lace garter belt holding up her stockings and no panties. She bent her knees up protectively.

"Just what I thought," he said, his voice low. "You were right, Heel. She is our little slut. What should we do with our little slut?"

Heeley reached forward, turning Stephen's face toward her with a finger beneath his chin. "Actually," she looked from his eyes to his lips and back again, "I want to watch." Her eyes looked almost black as she stared at him meaningfully. "I want to watch you fuck her." For a moment he just stared at her. Then he brought his hand up and pushed her backward, his erection throbbing, quivering.

"On the couch, bitch," he said, looking back to Cassie with an errant smile, "Watch us." His eyes flicked up Cassie's body, stopping on her anxious green gaze. "Put your knees down," he said, the smile gone from his voice. She hesitated.

"I said do it!" He slapped her lightly across the face. "Don't make me ask you again." He pulled the black gag down suddenly. Before she could react, his hand closed around her neck pushing her head back, coming close to her. He grabbed her lower lip with his teeth, pulling it, letting it go. "Show me how a slut behaves," came his dark murmur. He paused, staring at her intently, then pulled the gag tightly back up. Without once looking away from his eyes, she lowered her shaking knees.

He sat back and picked up one of the candles burning on the table. "Did you light these for me?" She looked at him, unable to keep herself from nodding once. Calmly, he tilted the thick pillar, rotating it, flames flickering through his sable eyes. He moved closer to her, and the flame seemed to hover over her wet, yearning sex. Without glancing up, he tipped the candle slowly, carefully dripping wax onto the space of exposed thigh above her stockings. It flowed quickly, hotly to the inside of her leg. Silver heat coursed through her and her head fell back. She groaned, closing her eyes.

"I know you like it, slut. You've wanted me to burn you before." Her upper arm still sported the small moon-shaped scar. Sometimes she found herself unconsciously running her fingers over it, trying to remember the delicious pain of it. He dripped more wax onto her thigh and tears came to her eyes as she bathed in that all-consuming feeling. She pulled against the cuffs without realizing it, her erect nipples shadowing the black lace slip. That was next.

She felt him rip the thin straps and pull it down her body. He undid the garter easily, like only a man with practice can do, removing the lace belt. He began to roll down one of her stockings and then stopped, his lips coming to her thigh, kissing just above the aching wax. He kissed the other thigh, nipping with his teeth, closer and closer to her hot, swollen cleft. She wanted him. Needed him. Closer. Closer. And then his lips came up, over her stomach to her breasts, the stockings forgotten. She writhed beneath him, and he pushed her back roughly, holding her still. Their eyes caught, for a moment, hers were rung in silver tears. His were black with unsated desire.

He leaned forward taking her nipple into his mouth, ravishing it with his hot tongue, his cool breath. His hand ran up her thigh again, slowly, as he continued to devour her breasts, finally finding the wet folds of her sex. She couldn't help herself—twisting again beneath him— as his fingers, fingers she had longed for, fingers she had kissed, slowly entered her. She moaned behind the gag, unable to scream, Yes. god, yes.

He found the hot pearl tucked there and began, in slow circles, to torture her toward euphoria. Abruptly, he stopped, wrenching a groan from her. His lips, too, left her and he straddled her quivering body. "Now, slut. You'll suck me," his voice was deep and strained. He pulled the gag from her mouth, exposing her lush pink lips. The dark lashes of her eyes closed and then opened again as she felt the cool air on her mouth.

He straightened, positioning himself over her, and she titled her head to take him into her mouth. As she moved, she caught Heeley's eyes behind him on the couch. Heeley had one hand in her open blouse and one between her legs. Her eyes were dark and fevered. Watching Cassie watch her, Heeley silently mouthed the words, "I love you."

Trembles ran through Cassie's body. Her eyes closed and Stephen pushed into her mouth. She sucked him reverently. The taste of his hot skin, the drops of his liquid—all she wanted was more. more. She wanted to take him to oblivion. He groaned as she sucked him deeper. Leaning forward, he grabbed onto the bedpost for support, and she looked up at him—his eyes closed in a grimace of pleasure, his hair falling forward. god.

When he knew he was too close to the edge, he stopped, "Enough, Slut, enough." Finding her breasts again, kneading her. Gliding his fingers over her impossibly hot cleft, his lips found hers kissing her desperately, intensely— a kiss, a forgotten kingdom of intimacy. Her strawberry lips longed for his, deeper, deeper. "Ah, god, slut." Then she felt the head of his erection pressing against her. She arched toward him—she wanted to tell him to enter her—now. Now! Only- her voice was gone, lost in a sea of passion and submission.

But even without words, he knew what she wanted—he wanted it too.

He entered her, slowly. Stretching her tightness, filling her mind with scents of dark caramel and sweat, fitting himself inside her— her pussy, a hothouse flower. He groaned as he pushed into her burning, delicate depths. She tensed against the restraints—the silver cuffs cutting into her wrists.

He started the rhythm then, exquisitely slow at first, moving almost all the way out, waiting, pressing against her, and then gently back in. Back and forth in an amazing display of self-control. A control that finally snapped as he pulled back, catching her eyes darkly, and then slamming, driving into her hard, harder, faster.

A moan broke from her pink lips as she arched her back, raising her hips, helping him deeper inside her.

He was fucking her hard, and yet somehow still tenderly, thoroughly. The way she felt to him—so warm and soft, tight and gorgeous—he was losing himself in her.

"Oh, god," he groaned, "angel." He turned his lips to her ear, "my angel. Oh, god, Cassandra." She cried out, her voice breaking, as his words sent her over the edge. He found her lips again smothering her cry with a kiss, and then his head fell back as he too found that bliss. He came powerfully, feeling her body milking him, rippling around him, still undulating with her own release.

Some minutes later he slowly pulled out of her, kissing her neck, her breasts, the gentle curve beneath them. Cassie raised her head, her dazed eyes on Heeley as Stephen unlocked her cuffed wrists. Heeley's mused hair and flushed cheeks told her what she needed to know.

Freed, she curled on her side, as Stephen spooned her, wrapping his warm arms around her. She looked at Heeley with a sleepy, evocative smile, "So. . .what else is in that bag of yours?"