You and Rebecca return to the cottage in Tisbury. Rebecca grew up here and inherited the cottage when her parents passed away. You met her when you were in town counselling a high-profile client on a business merger. One night, he invited you to dinner at his home and Rebecca was there… You hit it off straight away. She’s a remarkable woman. An accomplished artist, her work is in demand all over the country. You didn’t plan what happened. It was just a fun, easy time. A year and a half later, things are still fun and easy.
Dinner at the Italian restaurant was quiet and intimate. But now, you’re glad you’re home. A fearsome storm is blowing across the island. Thunder rumbles in the sky and great forks of lightening electrify the air. The wind howls, the trees shake, and the rain beats down in a tempest.
You follow Rebecca to the bedroom. Her long dark hair sweeps gently across her shoulders as she walks. The belt at her middle defines her small waist. The folds in her dress fall over slender hips.
In the bedroom, flashes of lightning intermittently flood the room through curtains that are not yet drawn. When it strikes, it permeates the vanity mirror opposite the window, staining it, and for a few moments the glass shines like pure silver radiating an extraordinary glow throughout the room. It’s charged and otherworldly, and heightens all of your senses.
You need no other light.
You press in close to her from behind. You slide your fingers slowly down the fabric of her sleeves. You bend your head and inhale the essence of her before pressing your lips to the back of her neck. The scent of her drives you wild.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she says, “when your wife answered your phone. I was so shocked to hear her voice instead of yours, I just hung up.”
“Shhh….” you whisper.
She loosens her belt and lets it fall to the floor.
You tug on the zipper at the back of her dress and slide the fabric from her shoulders.
Her porcelain skin is beguiling.
She turns to face you, slips the dress down over her hips.
You catch your breath.
You cannot wait for the pleasure of her.
Martha's Vineyard, 10:17 p.m.