Danny. It’d been through too many hands to retain his scent. Reading it again,
she traced her finger over the indentations. Bold strokes, no hesitation, firm,
commanding. Another ripple wiggled down her spine and nestled in her crotch.
Blinking back tears, she shook her head clear and looped her
purse and tote bag over her forearm. A twist of the key killed the engine as
she shouldered open the car door. Desert breeze slithered up her sundress,
instantly drying everything in its path. Hannah pitied the poor newcomers who
still insisted on wearing heels and hose to work. She’d give them one summer
before they downgraded to cool sundresses and sandals. Common sense won out
over fashion statements every time.
She twisted the drip irrigation system on the rose bushes.
Maybe she’d spend some time in the garden rather than parked in front of the
TV. Peace settled around her. Then she opened her front door and saw the
message light blinking on their answering machine. Twenty-nine messages.
One for every palm tree this town got its name from.
The irony didn’t chase away her dread. The temptation to
delete them overwhelmed her. Worry that one of them might be important made her
press the Play button.
“You won’t believe what that motherf—”
Hannah stabbed delete. She’d heard enough bitching for one
day. She tossed her purse and bag onto the couch, the mail on the coffee table
and strode toward the kitchen while one complaint after the other blasted from
the machine—some tearful, some raging, some with kids screaming in the
background. In other words, a continuation of her day.
I should have checked the caller ID log first.
Opting for chilled white zinfandel over the merlot, she
uncorked the bottle, filled her biggest wineglass—Danny called it her wine
tumbler—and walked back to the living room with bottle and glass. A press of
the delete key rid her of all messages. For extra measure, Hannah turned the
ringer off. Clutching Danny’s letter once more, she sank into the comfort of
the long sofa, kicked off her shoes and stretched out. Often he’d sit on the
other end and they’d tuck their legs against each other’s. The thought made her
smile and cranked up her juices once more. A sip of wine did little to cool the
heat bathing her body. She tucked the cold wine bottle between her thighs.
“Bet you could cool me down real quick,” she told the
letter. Then she laughed. “No, we’d only make more heat.”
There were times they’d barely get across the threshold
before Danny had her bent over the sofa, his fingers working her clit as he
pounded his cock into her body. Their version of stress relief—hot, hard and quick.
Then they’d spill the details of their day to each other over dinner.
“Screw it. He’ll just get two letters today, or maybe one
really long one.”
Hannah snagged her purse with her bare toe and pulled it up.
Pen and notepad were within easy grasp. Another sip of wine, a click of the
pen…
Hi honey,
Boy, you wouldn’t believe the day I had. If I have to
listen to one more person bitch—
Her hand froze on the word. Thoughts screeched to a halt.
Wasn’t that exactly what she was doing to him—bitching? He got it from all
sides every day too. It wasn’t like being at home where they could go at each
other like over-caffeinated jackrabbits. Where was the stress relief for either
of them? What did she really want him to know? What did he really want to hear?
Hannah wadded the page and tossed it aside. She drummed the
pen against her knee, took another sip of wine, squeezed her thighs around the
bottle, then smiled.
My heart, my love, my soul mate,
How many days has it been since I uttered those words to
you? A minute seems too long without you hearing them. I love when you’re
clutched in my arms, your cock in so deep it’s kissing the back of my
bellybutton. It softens slowly as sweat bathes us in the afterglow of pure sex,
pure love, soulmating. How
she traced her finger over the indentations. Bold strokes, no hesitation, firm,
commanding. Another ripple wiggled down her spine and nestled in her crotch.
Blinking back tears, she shook her head clear and looped her
purse and tote bag over her forearm. A twist of the key killed the engine as
she shouldered open the car door. Desert breeze slithered up her sundress,
instantly drying everything in its path. Hannah pitied the poor newcomers who
still insisted on wearing heels and hose to work. She’d give them one summer
before they downgraded to cool sundresses and sandals. Common sense won out
over fashion statements every time.
She twisted the drip irrigation system on the rose bushes.
Maybe she’d spend some time in the garden rather than parked in front of the
TV. Peace settled around her. Then she opened her front door and saw the
message light blinking on their answering machine. Twenty-nine messages.
One for every palm tree this town got its name from.
The irony didn’t chase away her dread. The temptation to
delete them overwhelmed her. Worry that one of them might be important made her
press the Play button.
“You won’t believe what that motherf—”
Hannah stabbed delete. She’d heard enough bitching for one
day. She tossed her purse and bag onto the couch, the mail on the coffee table
and strode toward the kitchen while one complaint after the other blasted from
the machine—some tearful, some raging, some with kids screaming in the
background. In other words, a continuation of her day.
I should have checked the caller ID log first.
Opting for chilled white zinfandel over the merlot, she
uncorked the bottle, filled her biggest wineglass—Danny called it her wine
tumbler—and walked back to the living room with bottle and glass. A press of
the delete key rid her of all messages. For extra measure, Hannah turned the
ringer off. Clutching Danny’s letter once more, she sank into the comfort of
the long sofa, kicked off her shoes and stretched out. Often he’d sit on the
other end and they’d tuck their legs against each other’s. The thought made her
smile and cranked up her juices once more. A sip of wine did little to cool the
heat bathing her body. She tucked the cold wine bottle between her thighs.
“Bet you could cool me down real quick,” she told the
letter. Then she laughed. “No, we’d only make more heat.”
There were times they’d barely get across the threshold
before Danny had her bent over the sofa, his fingers working her clit as he
pounded his cock into her body. Their version of stress relief—hot, hard and quick.
Then they’d spill the details of their day to each other over dinner.
“Screw it. He’ll just get two letters today, or maybe one
really long one.”
Hannah snagged her purse with her bare toe and pulled it up.
Pen and notepad were within easy grasp. Another sip of wine, a click of the
pen…
Hi honey,
Boy, you wouldn’t believe the day I had. If I have to
listen to one more person bitch—
Her hand froze on the word. Thoughts screeched to a halt.
Wasn’t that exactly what she was doing to him—bitching? He got it from all
sides every day too. It wasn’t like being at home where they could go at each
other like over-caffeinated jackrabbits. Where was the stress relief for either
of them? What did she really want him to know? What did he really want to hear?
Hannah wadded the page and tossed it aside. She drummed the
pen against her knee, took another sip of wine, squeezed her thighs around the
bottle, then smiled.
My heart, my love, my soul mate,
How many days has it been since I uttered those words to
you? A minute seems too long without you hearing them. I love when you’re
clutched in my arms, your cock in so deep it’s kissing the back of my
bellybutton. It softens slowly as sweat bathes us in the afterglow of pure sex,
pure love, soulmating. How
Similar Books
