Along for the Ride (4 page)

It was her own embarrassment that made Lauren pull away and slip out of Rafi’s arms, into the luxurious warmth of the car. She had no right to the comfort of that embrace; they were not lovers but two people who’d taken nearly indecent pleasure from a brief union the week before.

And, God forgive her, she couldn’t wait to do it again.

“You have a destination in mind?” Rafi repeated his query as he slid in beside her. “No, wait. Let me choose.”

“Yes,” said Lauren. Of course he would choose. It was his eyes she saw through when they drove now, the city taking on color and depth she’d never noticed. No longer did she think of Rafi as too young—it was impossible, given his effortless desire to lead, to treat her like a cherished woman. What boy could accomplish that? None that she had ever known.

“I have the perfect place, you see, for a day such as today.”

Rafi casually rested one hand on Lauren’s knee; even through the thick wool of her coat, she felt his strength, his heat.

“What sort of day will today be?” asked Lauren breathlessly, emboldened.

“The first day of spring, of course. Even Chicago must pay attention now; winter has come to an end. We should have a brilliant sunrise,” he added, just as the sky split into a wide pink swath over the skyline. “I am going to take you to the proper place for spring. A garden.”

Before long Lauren guessed where they were going. As the sleek car sped north through the sleeping suburbs, she realized that they were heading to the Botanic Gardens. She marveled at his insight. No one went there until the growing season was well underway, which meant June; the stubby broken stalks of winter did not inspire a following. People stayed inside.

“There is something to see every day,” Rafi said, as though reading her thoughts. His fingers moved lightly on the cloth of her coat, but she felt his touch as though it was on bare skin. Already she throbbed with desire for him; Lauren longed to guide his hand within the folds of her clothes, let him trace paths in the depths of her pleasure as he drove. The image gave her such a rush of sensation that she had to shift and straighten in the seat.

Rafi took no notice, but continued tracing circles on her knee.

“I think there will be something extraordinary to see today, no?”

“It won’t be open,” Lauren protested. “How will we get in?”

Rafi smiled broadly, glancing her way and winking.

“For a man in my profession, that is rarely an obstacle,” he said. “You get to know alternate routes. For every problem, there is a solution, if you look carefully.”

And sure enough, he turned off before the main gated entrance, following a labyrinthine path through the outbuildings of the park, coming to a stop in a tiny lot backing up to the Visitor’s Center.

“We have time,” Rafi said, “before the staff will wish to claim their parking spaces.”

Time for what, Lauren wondered, but any thoughts of repeating last week’s front-seat tryst were cut short as Rafi came around and offered his arm to help her from the car.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but it did seem warmer now, though only half an hour had passed since she emerged from her apartment into the chilly air. Lauren unbuttoned her coat, letting the breeze in and hoping it might cool some of her wanton longing.

She linked her arm through his offered elbow, and they set out on the curving walks, quickly losing themselves in the tall clumps and stands of the winter garden.

“Last week was…” Lauren began.

She meant to say that it was new to her, that she’d never done anything like it before. She had, in fact, never slept with a man before the fourth date, a rule that despite its arbitrariness had served her well, she thought.

Until now.

“It was amazing,” Rafi finished. “Lauren, you are an incredible lover. You have been in my mind all week.”

“But how…” Lauren trailed off, striving to find the words to express her doubts. “I am not a skilled lover. And I'm not strong, not flexible. You gave me pleasure. I did nothing. I just—”
Lay there
, she thought, drinking in every touch, every taste of him. As he’d rocked against her, she’d held on desperately, aching to feel every bit of him, but it was his rhythm she clung to. “I gave nothing.”

“Lauren.” His voice was sharp. He stopped abruptly, spinning her to face him. Far off she could hear the sounds of the expressway; at her feet a few dried leaves scuttled past. “You think I speak of acrobatic skill when I describe your lovemaking? You think I expect you to contort yourself into elaborate positions?”

Lauren flushed at the intensity of his stare. As always, when he was provoked, his eyes sparked brilliantly, and she reacted hungrily.

“I only meant—”

“What a woman brings to lovemaking—a man who pays attention can know her secrets. So many women bring their bodies and little else. Some bring their expectations, their demands, and even while they are making love you see in their eyes that they are far away, calculating how they can trade for what they want.

“But you, Lauren—” Rafi cupped her face in his hands, the warmth of his touch melting against her. “You love with your heart. Your mind. Your body. When you press against me, I feel your hunger for me, and it makes my own desire soar. Your kisses are guided by what is inside…” He traced a finger down her lapels, circling her breasts, her heart. “That is the most erotic thing of all.”

Lauren felt her breath come in ragged gasps. “You...” she swallowed hard. “You make me want you. You make me want more. I only wish I wasn't so old. I want to be...”

She wanted to be a riveting lover, one worthy of him. A vixen. A temptress.

Immediately she was ashamed of her desires, and tucked her head under his chin, hoping he would not notice the hot surge of blood coloring her face. But even as she rested against the crisp cotton of his white shirt, she inhaled him, the combination of scents that defied detection and drove her crazy.

Rafi slipped his hands inside her coat and circled her waist, drawing her closer. “And so we shall. We shall learn together.”

They walked, Rafi's arm still around her. And they talked. “How did you find this place?” Lauren asked.

“A friend showed it to me.”

“A…woman friend?”

Rafi was silent for a moment. “Yes. I have been blessed with many friends since I arrived in this country. I did not leave relatives, family behind, so you see, it has been a great comfort to find friendship here.”

Lauren felt a stab of jealousy, and wanted to ask if he slept with all the good friends he made. But she chastised herself for the thought. Of course he’d had many lovers; that was how he’d come by his skill. And wasn’t that what she wanted? To drink in this unfamiliar pleasure, take what he offered, salve for the pain of Philip’s rejection? She mustn’t have any illusions of this affair being any more than it was. For Rafi, an older woman must be a novelty, but eventually youth and beauty would draw him back.

Lauren renewed her vow to accept Rafi’s gifts of pleasure, but not to ask for more than was offered. “And, you like the gardens?” she asked, willing her voice to neutrality.

He nodded. “My family once had a garden. I would like to have some land of my own. Not much, a small yard, some shady trees, an herb garden. I will someday have a house here.”

Lauren caught the note of determination, steel-edged, in his casual tone. “You are here…legally?” she inquired, as off-handedly as she could.

Rafi sighed almost imperceptibly. “You must understand, this thing, this citizenship, it is not what you call a black and white issue. One does not wake one day and find oneself an American. One lives for months, for years, in the gray area, working, saving, sacrificing. It is not for the faint-hearted, and that is why even the lucky ones fail.”

“Lucky?”

“Like me. A man with a little money, some friends, the ability to communicate with those in charge. I know what I must do, and I am doing it. I do not complain when my papers are misplaced or a case worker is suddenly transferred and I must begin again with someone new, someone who may know less about the system than I do.”

Lauren felt angry on his behalf and marveled at his patience. “How long?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

Rafi shrugged. “Two more years. Perhaps less, if I am lucky. Or longer if luck is not with me. But I wait. It will happen. And of course,” he added, glancing sideways at her and easing his crooked grin, “there are many fortifications along the way.”

They had come to an area of grasses, a place unfamiliar to Lauren. A stream bubbled through, the ice breaking and floating away in spaces so they could see the surprisingly rapid current below.

A small footbridge crossed the stream, and it was here that they stopped. The grasses, some taller than a man, waved lazily in the breeze. Through their stalks they could see a meadow that sloped away to a distant row of topiary, looking spindly and frail in their winter dormancy.

Lauren rested her elbows on the handrail and gazed at the tableau, lit pale golden by the breaking sun. The pink and scarlet bands had faded, leaving the sky a confection of pastels, with the first rays of the sun streaking across the frost-covered meadow.

Rafi, behind her, took her in his arms, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She shuddered at the sensation, longed for him to kiss her there, and he obliged. He carefully gathered her hair and arranged it to one side, then nuzzled her. The sensation of his beard, shaven just hours before, against her delicate skin was unbelievably sensual, and he sensed her reaction and scraped his chin a little more firmly in the hollow of her neck.

“Those plants,” he murmured next to her ear, “that they grow into shapes—what are they called?”

“Topiary,” Lauren said, her voice a hoarse gasp.

“Ridiculous, I think.”

He ran his hands up her arms, and slid then under her lapels, easing her coat off of her. To her surprise, she didn’t even feel the chill any more, especially when he folded her coat and laid it on the splintery wood of the rail she rested against, and then surrounded her in his own coat as he held her.

“To train something wild into something so—what is the word?—disciplined. Forcing the buds and branches in directions they do not wish to go. One should not control a living thing’s natural desires. You agree, Lauren?”

Lauren could not manage an answer, for Rafi had begun to move against her, a barely perceptible rhythm pressing his obvious arousal against her buttocks. She longed to meet his subtle attentions and realized that her own body was rocking, practically writhing to feel his touch. His hands found her waist, and gently tugged out the tails of her silk blouse, and then his hands traveled up and found her breasts, kneading and stroking. Lauren felt her nipples harden and respond, and realized that she rocked back against him, longing to feel him between her legs, where her arousal had deepened to a throbbing ache.

“I wish to love you here,” Rafi murmured against her. His lips found her lobe, nibbled gently, and then his tongue traced the shell of her ear.

“But what if someone comes by?”

Rafi gently separated her legs with his knee, and crushed the fabric of her skirt in his hands, easing it up to gather at her waist. She heard the quick release of his belt and the adjustment of his trousers, and then she felt the sudden shock of his hardened length pressing against the fabric of her hosiery, the cleft of her buttocks, as he rubbed himself against her.

All that separated them was the nylon and a tiny patch of cotton, and Lauren could feel her wetness and knew he could feel it too as he gently stroked against her.

“Stop worrying and let me enter you, Lauren,” Rafi whispered, his words breathy and almost harsh.

“Yes,” Lauren managed weakly, leaning against the rail for support, her coat providing some padding for her ribs, which were clad only in the thin silk of her blouse. She put her fingers to the waistband of her hosiery, but his hand covered hers and in a tug whose ferocity spurred her passion even further, slid them down, ripping them in the process.

“I shall buy you new ones,” he muttered, and Lauren impatiently stepped out of first one shoe and then the other. Balancing on one high heel at a time was possible only because Rafi held her so firmly, his hands at her nipples, teasing them through the lace, and his hips pressing against her, nearly lifting her off the ground.

The nylons were tossed impatiently aside, and before Lauren could collect her breath she felt the silky hood of his shaft gliding through the hot slickness. He teased her, slowly drawing back and forth, hesitating at the entrance to her, then easing past.

Frantically Lauren pressed against him. “Oh, please,” she heard herself begging. “Now, Rafi, I need you now.”

And at last he plunged inside, one deft motion accompanied by a low cry of his own.

The sensation of his long, hot length inside her as the brisk air lifted her hair and teased her exposed skin, was indescribable. Vaguely, Lauren was aware of the wind picking up and moving about the grasses, choreographing a dance that seemed to keep time with their loving.

Rafi slid one hand down, cupped her belly and thrust even further inside. Lauren groaned and allowed her weakened knees to part even further. She had never felt as filled, and the sensation was beyond ecstasy.

And then he dipped his hand lower and began to stroke her, gently at first, wetting his fingers in her slickness and sliding them around her hardened nub. He found his rhythm, alternating light teasing strokes with firmer ones, all the while drawing slowly out of her and plunging back, seemingly deeper each time.

Lauren let out a cry of pleasure that sounded like someone else. The breeze lifted the scent of their mingling to her nostrils, tart and smoky at once, and she inhaled deeply.

“I want to hear you,” Rafi spoke into her ear. “I want to make you come, and I want to hear you cry out. Come for me, Lauren.”

And she nearly did, right then, but with his permission to take her pleasure she suddenly needed to take it fully, more fully than she had ever allowed herself to do. She concentrated on the circling waves of pleasure woven by his deft fingers, and on the accelerating thrusts. It pleased her that his breath became more ragged.
She
was doing that to him. Her cries, her body, were bringing him to passion.