Which, I tell myself, I’m going to shake off in the shower, because I don’t have time to be distracted by mirages today. Annie is finally cleared for a light excursion, and she insisted on taking me to a Caravaggio exhibition at the museum.
I’d actually had the dates for the exhibition on my calendar months ago, before I knew I’d be coming to Boston. I’d hoped that I might be able to swing a trip both to see Annie and to see the exhibition, but up until Annie called me, I hadn’t been able to justify breaking away from the gallery. Then she’d called, and I hadn’t imagined that she’d be well enough to go out.
But her doctor cleared her and even encouraged her to get out and do some gentle walking after being in bed for the better part of a week, and it was the first thing Annie suggested. She knows me far too well. I’d asked her if she was sure she was up for it, but she’d promised me that she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t get out of the house.
I turn the water on hot, trying to shake off the lingering bits of the dream, and step under the rainfall spray. The bathroom in this place is half the size of my apartment, and the shower is far nicer. I love my little bathroom in my new apartment, with its vintage black and green and white tile and the antique sink, but the shower is definitely not the nicest thing about it. That’s New York for you.
Without thinking, I reach up, touching my throat where the man’s gloved hand had cupped it in my dream. I couldfeelit so clearly, that buttery swipe of leather against skin, and something throbs in my core at the memory, my body tensing as arousal whips through me.
Fuck.I think longingly of my drawer of toys back at home, and the small bullet vibrator I’d snuck into my bag; the quietest one. I reach down, biting my lip as I give in to the urge to slide two fingers between my folds and rub them over my clit.
I gasp as my fingers make contact. I’msoaked—wetter than I have been in a long time, even with a partner. My hips can't forward into my hand, and I have a sudden image of the man doing something similar, arriving back in his apartment, throbbing with arousal after our sudden meeting, unzipping those tailored suit pants and palming his long, thick cock free.
There’s no way of knowing what he really was carrying around, but in my head, it’s the perfect length, thick enough for a slight stretch, straight, and so hard for me that it’s nearly touching his abdomen. I picture him sliding his fist down it, his eyes closed as he jerks off to the memory of that brief connection, and before long the image morphs into something else: me flat on my back on a leather couch in a Boston high-rise, that gloved hand around my throat as the man leans over me fully clothed still, only his suit jacket off and his cock free of his trousers.
My teeth dig into my lip harder against a whimper of pleasure as my fingers rub faster, my clit pulsing under my touch. I’m more aroused than I realized, and though I haven’t come with only my fingers and no toy in longer than I can remember, I’m going to now. I can feel it, tightening in my core, the pleasure building at the thought of him sliding his cock between my folds where my fingers are now, faster and faster, building up speed, teasing me with what I want so badly while that gloved hand tightens around my throat…
“Ohgod!”I cry out, clapping my free hand over my mouth as I come hard, leaning against the shower wall as my knees nearly buckle from the wave of sensation. It feels so good, crashing over me as I curl my fingers and slide them into me as I clench andflutter in ripples, holding the heel of my hand against my pulsing clit.
It takes me a minute to catch my breath, my body flushed and hot. I blink away the fog of arousal, swallowing hard as I realize I just masturbated to the memory of a stranger I saw for ten seconds on a sidewalk.
It’s no different than thinking about a celebrity,I tell myself as I catch my breath and lean back under the water, mentally trying to calculate how much time I have left to get ready. And it’s not like it hurt anything that I thought about him while I…
Stop thinking about it at all. I try to push him out of my head as I finish my shower, focusing on our outing and the exhibition and where we might grab lunch as I blow dry my hair and get dressed. I throw on a pair of 90s-style black jeans, a lace-print bodysuit, and Docs, then add rose gold hoops, a few of my favorite stacking rings scattered across my fingers, and grab my leather jacket.
Annie is just ahead of me in the hall when I come out, and she pauses, turning around to see me. She’s gorgeous as always in a sky-blue sweater dress and knee-high flat boots, her coppery red hair up in a twist and pearl drop earrings dangling from her ears.
“Ready?” she asks brightly. “I thought we could go to the bakery on our way. I think the baby wants another chocolate croissant.”
“Mhmm.” I laugh, catching up with her. “I thinkyoudo.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” She laughs along with me as we head downstairs and out into the February cold, where a sleek black car is waiting for us. A driver comes around and opens the door, and Annie slides effortlessly inside without a second thought.
It’s not really that different from a taxi, I think as I follow her in, but it still feels odd to me—having a personal driver. Having someone who knows where you’re going and what you’redoing all of the time, escorting you there and back. I don’t miss the black SUV following us, either, and I know it’s some of the Cattaneo family security coming along. I’ve seen them discreetly watching the brownstone, even coming in and out from time to time.
“Isn’t it weird, having personal security?” I ask Annie as the driver pulls away from the house, and she shrugs.
“Not to me. I’ve had it my whole life. My father was wealthy and connected enough to need it, and so is Elio. Leon has been my personal security for as long as I was old enough to need someone to keep an eye on me when I wasn’t at home. It’s normal to me.”
“It feels so claustrophobic.”
“I’m sorry.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “You said that the last time you came to visit, too.”
“No, it’s fine,” I add quickly. I don’t want Annie to feel guilty for what clearly makes her feel safe. “It’s just crazy to me to think that there’s a need for it. That enough people would potentially be dangerous to warrant having men watching your back all the time.”
Something faraway comes into Annie’s eyes for a moment, a shadow that she quickly shakes off. “There are crazy people out there,” she says finally, and then presses her lips together, clearly wanting to drop the subject.
I don’t want to stress her out or make her feel uncomfortable, and I definitely don’t want to cast a pall over the day. By the time we make it to the bakery, the echo of the conversation has vanished, and we both bundle up in our jackets and hurry into the warm, pastry-scented interior.
“Let’s sit and eat,” Annie suggests, clearly craving as much time away from the house as she can get, and we find a small table tucked into a nook by the windows to eat our breakfast: avanilla latte and almond coffee cake for me, chocolate croissant and a decaf white raspberry latte for her.
We sit and chat and enjoy our breakfast, watching the steady stream of people in and out of the bakery, enjoying the quiet peace of the moment. When we’re finished, Annie texts the driver to tell him to meet us outside, and we drive to the Museum of Fine Arts.
I can feel my pulse quickening with anticipation from the moment we step inside. The museum has that soft hush of a sacred space—footsteps whispering on marble, a reverent murmur of voices, the sense that you're in the presence of something that transcends the ordinary world.
We keep to a slow pace, Annie next to me. There’s only the slightest hint of roundness to her belly, but her hand strays to it now and again, and I touch her arm reassuringly. “I know the doctor said it was fine, but if you start to feel off?—”
“I’m good,” Annie promises me, as we step into the first room. “I missed being out around people. I’m not a bed rest kind of girl, that’s for sure. I love being home with Elio, and I love our house, but I thought I was going to start climbing the walls.
