Month of Sundays (17 page)

Griffin gasped, her fingers raking through Rachel’s hair. “God, Rachel, do you have any idea what you do to me?” she asked in an urgent whisper.

Rachel reached down and rubbed her free hand between Griffin’s slick folds, coating her fingers in the evidence of her arousal. “The same thing you do to me?”

On the sound system, Diana Krall’s smooth jazz piano gave way to a driving blues guitar. A woman’s rich, earthy voice joined the instrument in a sensuous game of call-and-response, evoking images in Rachel’s mind of sweaty bodies grinding against each other on the darkened dance floor of a long-ago Delta nightclub. She felt the sinuous rhythm wrap around her. Guide her. Propel her forward.

Griffin’s back arched as Rachel rubbed her thumb across her swollen clit. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Eat faster,” she urged her through gritted teeth.

At a loss for a snappy comeback, Rachel did as she was told, inhaling the three pieces of California roll in what felt like record time.

“Come here.”

Griffin untied the sash, spread the kimono open, and pulled Rachel to her. Rachel covered Griffin’s body with hers. The kimono covered them both, the cool silk smoothly gliding across their overheated skin.

Griffin ground against Rachel’s thigh. Rachel could tell by Griffin’s insistent thrusts she was already dangerously close to the edge. The thought caused a flash flood between her legs.

“What do you want?” she asked as she painted Griffin’s body with kisses. “How do you want me to take you?”

“I want to taste you while you make me come.”

Her words—and the sexy rasp in her voice—made Rachel even wetter.

Rachel shrugged off the robe and changed positions, burying her face in Griffin’s warm, wet center while Griffin lifted her head to drink from her.

Beyond words, beyond manners, beyond everything but desire, Rachel licked and sucked until her face was covered with nectar.

Griffin came first, her body shuddering so violently she nearly bucked Rachel off her. Her ecstatic moans vibrated against Rachel’s clit, sending her hurtling to her own earth-shattering orgasm.

Rachel rolled off and collapsed on the bed, her chest heaving, her body coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

Griffin lay next to her and wrapped her long limbs around her. “I think I like Japan,” she whispered. “Can we go there every week?”

“Yes, please.”

Griffin rolled Rachel onto her back. “My turn.”

She slid her palms over Rachel’s nipples, garnering their immediate attention. Rachel groaned when Griffin’s lips replaced her hands. She groaned even louder when Griffin took her nipple into her mouth, grazing the sensitive tissue with her teeth. She laved Rachel’s breasts with her tongue then pulled away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just want to look at you.”

Her eyes roamed across Rachel’s body. Up her legs, past her curvy hips, over her slightly rounded belly. They lingered on Rachel’s breasts before coming to rest on her face.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

This time, Rachel didn’t argue with her. She hooked her arms around Griffin’s neck and drew her to her. Their breasts touched then flattened as their bodies pressed against each other.

Rachel drew Griffin’s lower lip into her mouth and gently sucked. Griffin gasped as Rachel worshiped her mouth with her tongue.

Griffin’s hand slipped between their bodies and slid down Rachel’s stomach. Her searching fingers found Rachel’s clit. Rachel bucked against her hand. Then her hips began to move in slow circles, matching the movement of Griffin’s fingers as they teased her to greater and greater heights. Griffin massaged her clit until Rachel begged for release. “Now. Please take me now.”

She slipped two fingers inside. Rachel’s howls of pleasure were music to her ears.

“Stop,” Rachel rasped after Griffin took her over the edge the third time. Or was it the fourth?

Griffin grinned. “Had enough?”

“Not even close.” Rachel kissed her long and hard. “I’m just getting started.”

“If I’m going to have enough energy for the next round, I must have food.”

Griffin gave her a quick kiss, then changed her mind and returned for a lingering one. She slid her leg between Rachel’s as her fingers sank into the small of Rachel’s back. She felt Rachel opening up to her, beckoning her body to meld with hers. Again. She groaned in displeasure when Rachel broke the kiss.

“If you don’t get out of here,” Rachel said, giving her a slap on the ass, “the only thing you’re going to eat is me.”

Griffin licked her lips. “Sounds good to me.” She kissed Rachel on the tip of her nose. “Be right back.”

She loosely wrapped the kimono around her and padded to the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later and carefully placed a loaded food tray on the bed. The bottle of Bollinger Rachel had bought for New Year’s Eve rested in the center of the tray. Next to it were two champagne flutes, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a plate filled with several pieces of toasted wheat bread topped with salted slices of avocado. She placed a strawberry in the bottom of each flute and slowly filled the glasses with champagne.

“To us.” She gently touched her glass to Rachel’s.

“To us.”

Griffin closed her eyes as the champagne slid down her throat. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. Second best. She could smell Rachel on her fingers. Taste her on her tongue.
Talk about nectar of the gods.

“Was it worth the wait?” Rachel asked after Griffin lowered her glass.

“The champagne or making love with you?” She laughed when her question made Rachel blush. “I’d have to say both were definitely worth the weeks of anticipation.”

She took Rachel’s empty glass and set the equally empty food tray on the floor. Then she laid Rachel down on the tangled sheets.

“Ready for the next round?”

Rachel opened her legs as Griffin positioned herself in between. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I knew you were getting some.” Etta pulled Rachel’s collar aside to get a better look at the hickey on the side of her neck. “And I don’t even have to ask if it’s good. I can tell by the look on your face that it is. You go, girl.”

Jane echoed Etta’s sentiments after she and Rachel finished their yoga class. Rachel hadn’t mastered the practice, but she had progressed enough that she no longer needed one-on-one attention. And the increased flexibility certainly came in handy.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jane said, “but keep in mind I was the one who brought you crazy kids together.”

“I’ll be sure to put an extra lump of coal in your Christmas stocking this year. How’s Colleen?”

Jane grimaced as if Rachel had touched a raw nerve.

“She’s cranky and hormonal. The least little thing happens and she bites my head off. If I bite back, she bursts into tears. I end up feeling like the bad guy either way. If the next six months are anything like the first three, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

“It will all be worth it in the end. Have you picked out names yet?”

“If we have a boy, we’re going to name him Steven. Steven Lambert-Mangano.”

“And if you have a girl?”

“McKenzie. McKenzie Ryan.” Jane lapsed into uncharacteristic giggles. “I’m in love with her already and I haven’t even met her yet. Right now she—or he—is just a tiny speck on an ultrasound.”

Rachel ruffled Jane’s spiky hair, which was still wet from the shower. “You and Colleen are going to make such great moms. And your taste in godmothers is excellent.”

Jane squeezed styling gel into her palm and worked it into her hair. “Do you think I should dye these?” She indicate the patches of gray on her temples. “Colleen thinks they make me look wiser. I think they make me look older. What do you think?”

“Stay away from the shoe polish. You look great.”

“I know,” Jane said with a wink. “I just wanted to hear you say it.” She quickly ran a comb through her hair and pronounced herself ready to leave. “You should come over this weekend. You and your new girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Then what is she?”

Rachel didn’t rightly know. A girlfriend was someone with whom you shared a trip to the movies or the occasional candlelit dinner. A girlfriend was temporary, not permanent. She wanted Griffin to be permanent. What Griffin wanted, however, was still up for debate.

“She’s my tour guide.”

They had traveled through Italy, Greece, Egypt, and Russia before spending three weeks visiting the various provinces of China. On their most recent date, Griffin had formally introduced her to black chicken. The experience was not one she cared to repeat. Griffin had warned her about the meat’s wild flavor, but she wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the gaminess. Eating it was like munching on roadkill.

Note to self: if someone refers to a dish as a delicacy, avoid it like the plague.

As March prepared to give way to April, Thailand loomed. Rachel hoped the trip would offer a return to more recognizable fare. Namely pad thai and chicken satay.

“You didn’t answer my question about getting together this weekend. After your date, of course. I know nothing’s allowed to get in the way of your world tour. What’s on tap this week?”

“This Sunday, we’re going to grab lunch in SoHo and spend the afternoon going to open houses.” When Jane arched an eyebrow, Rachel anticipated her question. “Before you ask, no, we’re not considering moving in together. I told her one of my favorite childhood memories was going to open houses with my parents and seeing how the other half lived. On Sunday, we’re going to re-create the experience by touring some of the multimillion dollar apartments in Manhattan everyone dreams of having but only the very rich can afford.”

“Don’t agents make sure people pre-qualify for those apartments so they can keep lookie-loos like you and me away from the free
hors d’oeuvres
?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen your investment portfolio. Unless you’re sitting on a secret stash I don’t know about, you sure as hell don’t qualify. And if Griffin’s raking in that much money, I might have to change my line of work.”

“After you learn to cook.”

“Minor obstacle. If you still have time for the little people, drop by when you’re done. You can rub Colleen’s baby bump.”

Jane’s excitement was contagious. Like her, Rachel was already in love with the little whippersnapper, too. If she was lucky, maybe she’d give little McKenzie or Steven a playmate one day.

*

The apartments they toured varied widely in terms of design and presentation. There was the three-story industrial chic apartment on Fifth Avenue with the heated indoor pool and glass-walled sunroom. The overdone studio in SoHo that sported so much chintz it looked like it belonged to a seventeenth century French courtesan instead of a thoroughly modern psychologist and his socialite wife. And finally, the two-story loft in Tribeca with gorgeous exposed brick interior walls and a gallery-worthy art collection.

Griffin admired an original Georgia O’Keeffe. The work, one of the artist’s infamous flower paintings, oozed sensuality. “I don’t think the paintings come with the apartment, do you?”

“I doubt it,” Rachel said, “but you could ask.”

Griffin turned away from the painting and surveyed the loft. “Don’t you love this place?”

“Yes, I do, but I hate the price tag. Seven million dollars is too rich for my blood. I can’t imagine having a monthly rent payment that’s nearly as much as my annual salary.”

“You and me both.”

Rachel’s phone rang. Griffin thought she saw Tucker’s number on the caller ID. “Ooh, I’ve been waiting for this call all day. Would you excuse me for a second?”

Rachel found a quiet corner to conduct her conversation. Griffin left her to it. If Rachel had enlisted Tucker’s help, their trip to the beach was taking on a life of its own. Besides, the interruption gave her a chance to make another circuit of the loft. Unless the owners hired her to cater a meal, she didn’t expect to see the place in person again. She wanted to enjoy her stay as long as she could. She headed downstairs to take another look at the gorgeous art.

Dozens of agents and prospective buyers wandered through the impressive space, some redecorating as they went.

“Our china cabinet would look fabulous against that wall,” one couple said.

“Love the brick walls, but these hardwood floors have to go,” another added.

The vintage red oak flooring was one of Griffin’s favorite features. It would be a shame to see it go.
I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

“This is a lovely apartment, don’t you agree?” someone asked.

Griffin turned to face a woman with green eyes and flowing chestnut hair. She was wearing black pants and a form-fitting black sweater. Her accessories—Gucci loafers, Prada belt, and Fendi glasses—would have earned Tucker’s seal of approval.

“It’s an amazing space.”

“Are you thinking of making an offer?”

Griffin grabbed a complimentary glass of white wine off a passing waiter’s tray. “Unfortunately, it’s a bit out of my price range.”