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Throughout the ceremony Emily can feel Andy’s eyes on her. Studying her, scrutinizing her, devouring her. Surreptious glances that nobody else would catch, but which Emily feels on her body like a physical manifestation of her hands. Those brown eyes covet all the carefully exposed skin. Her attention is not unwanted, after all the bare skin was all deliberately displayed, but it still makes heat rise in her cheeks. Emily both wants to preen beneath her gaze and melt into a puddle at her feet. Whenever their eyes meet accidentally, blue eyes quickly stray away to pick at nonexistent pieces of lint on the immaculate black fabric. Her hands tremble and twitch nervously like she is about to be caught doing something she shouldn’t.
It seems however that Benji who is standing next to her is none the wiser. Perhaps he is so captivated by the austere ceremony. Perhaps he is simply bored. Perhaps he is distracted by all the people that cast glances in their direction, relishing their jealousy. (His possessiveness makes Emily’s skin crawl. So why then does she not feel the same about Andy’s eyes that seem to want to consume every inch of her body?)
This ceremony can’t end quickly enough, Emily thinks. She needs to clear her head. So the moment it is socially acceptable to slip away from the gathering of people, she excuses herself and dashes off to one of the numerous private restrooms. She quickly gets inside and locks the door behind her, letting out a sigh of relief. She wets a paper towel and dabs away the beads of sweat that have gathered on her neck. Her eyes take in the sight of herself in the mirror, flustered and needy for something. No, not something, someone.
As if her mind has conjured her from thin air, Emily hears a soft but deliberate knock at the door. It is quickly followed by Andy’s concerned voice, “Are you okay, Emily? You got out of there very quickly, so I got worried.”
Emily’s hands hold on to the side of the sink like it is the only thing holding her up. She turns towards the door, leaning more of her weight against the sink. She takes a deep breath to slow her racing heart before clearing her throat, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Andrea, don’t worry.”
There is a pause, a suspended moment in time where nobody says anything. And as Emily is wont to do in situations such as that, she begins to overthink everything. Thoughts racing through her mind at a million miles a minute.
She wonders if she made it all up, if it was all in her head. The same way she must have imagined that they were becoming friends all those years ago. (An unanswered call, silence that lingered, the wounds of her insecurities festering and rotting.) Perhaps Andy was not looking at her at all, perhaps Emily simply wanted to feel desired. She refuses to linger on the fact that she only wanted her eyes on her.
But then her anxieties are relieved by Andy speaking in a low voice, words softened to a whisper like she is admitting to a secret. She asks, “Can you let me in?”
Emily stares at the door for a long moment, uncomprehending, blinking once and then again. Her hands tighten around the porcelain edge of the sink which she is still leaning against. She needs to answer, to make a decision. It has already been too long, Andy will not have missed her moment of hesitation. Emily knows she should refuse, she should. She does not know what will happen, but she can feel something lingering on the edge of her awareness. A certainty reinforced by the tension in the air that makes her gut coil tighter.
Then without thinking, she witnesses from somewhere far away as her hand reaches out to unlock the door. Like it is not even part of her body. The loud click is the only thing she can hear while the beating of her heart drowns out all other sound.
Slowly, almost unsure now this new road has opened up to her, the door creaks open and Andy peeks around the wooden surface that separated them before. She slips inside and throws the door closed behind her with a finality that makes Emily’s heart skip a beat. She leans back against the door and they stare at each other. No words are exchanged and all the tumult from outside the door is muffled. Pure silence in this pocket of space that seems to have been created just for them. Their eyes are locked across the short distance of that restroom, waiting, suspended in time.
Andy cocks her head and raises a brow, asking some silent question that Emily does not have an answer for. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with the rapid pattering of her heart. She feels the blush in her cheeks grow worse again as the room seems to heat up around them.
While her mind does not know what it wants, her heart has always chosen its own path. Emily nods at her. Andy’s hand reaches back to lock them inside the room. This liminal space where nothing seems to matter. Not the twenty years they spent apart, not the people they have become, not the partners that will be hurt by their actions.
Andy takes a hesitant step forward before tentatively placing her hands on Emily’s hips. She can feel her strong grip through the black fabric. Emily’s hands release the edge of the sink as Andy guides over to one of the blank walls. Emily’s back hits the cold hard surface of the tile. It shocks the breath right out of her.
This time there is no mistaking her desire. No imagination necessary for the brazen way Andy’s eyes drag down her body at a languid pace. The brown of those eyes has been drowned out by black-filled pools of desire.
“You look way too good,” Andy’s voice sounds hoarse with want. “It is making my head spin. I haven’t been able to think clearly since you walked into the room.”
The meaning of her words as well as the tone in which she shares her wanton desire makes a spark of desire shoot down Emily’s spine. It makes her core tighten, fluttering around nothing. Not recognizing her own thoughts, barely in charge of her feelings, Emily pushes them to the point of no return, “Then why think at all?”
“Why indeed…” Andy intones, a smirk creeping into the edges of her upturned mouth.
Her lips look so kissable in that moment, but Emily refrains. Kissing feels too romantic, too intimate. This is casual, merely a mutual moment of insanity to satisfy a craving. So she lets the mesh veil that still covers her face act like an impenetrable separation. Their faces are so close, but their lips don’t touch. Andy is on that side of the mesh veil and Emily is on this side, untouchable. Except in the way that one of Andy’s hands begins creeping beneath the pleats of the black skirt. So short – perhaps too short – offering such easy access. (Emily doesn’t know what she thought would happen. Maybe secretly she knew that this was what she wanted to happen, what she hoped would happen with Andy there. Perhaps that is why she sought her in that room full of people. Her subconscious knew before she did.)
Emily lets her legs fall open, relaxing the muscles of her thighs, giving Andy’s hand the space it needs. Andy takes up the space greedily. Sure fingers reaching up to begin rubbing at her through panties that are already soaked through with desire. Emily lets out a trembling breath, her arms tightening around Andy’s shoulders. Light presses of fingertips, interchanged with just a hint of short nails running over the lace. Her fingers avoid her clit, left neglected and burning with need. Having lingered long enough, Andy’s fingers eagerly push the lace aside to touch her cunt without the impeding fabric. She lazily but diligently strokes through the wet heat. Her fingers feel too familiar, too skilled. (She has done this before, Emily surmises. She feels an ugly sense of jealousy spark in her body.)
“Need you inside,” Emily utters the words like a demand.
A demand that Andy is only too willing to follow. She complies by slipping two fingers inside, finding no resistance along the way. She moves them in and out, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down until the dragging sensation is almost torturous. When she pulls her fingers out she drags them along her front wall, scratching an itch that Emily didn’t even know existed. Touching all the places inside her that nobody has ever bothered to map or explore.
Their foreheads are pressed together, making Emily pant against her lips. When she moans a little too loud, Andy shushes her immediately. It makes her feel depraved, fucking a woman while her partner is waiting just beyond that door, fucking anybody at a funeral for Christ’s sake. This isn’t like her. She has always had immaculate control, has always been able to contain this ugly twisting lust. Desire like this makes it feel like she is sinning. The worst part of all is that she wants to keep doing it over and over and over again. She has never felt better, never felt more free, never felt more like herself in her entire life than she does in this moment. Her thoughts feel overwhelming, too much of an admission of weakness. Emily no longer wants to think, needs to just be consumed by her.
She wraps one leg high around Andy’s waist and wraps her hand around a chunk of brown tresses as she tells her, “Add another one.”
Andy nods with their foreheads still pressed together, their eyes locked in a battle of wills that feels too intense. As promised she adds a third finger and the stretch sets Emily’s teeth on edge. She clenches her jaw shut to trap the sounds of ardor inside. That is a battle she wins, but with regards to their staring contest she has to concede defeat as her eyes flutter shut at the additional intrusion that feels oh so good.
Andy keeps pumping her fingers inside, setting a punishing unabating pace. Then as if she can perfectly deduce every minute signal that her body gives off, her thumb begins circling her clit in time with the thrusts of her other fingers.
“You feel so good wrapped around me,” Andy praises.
The words affect her more than she wants to let on. Emily moans softly, biting down on her lip to try to contain it. But her body can’t lie as her walls flutter and tighten around Andy’s fingers, pulling them further in like she can keep her inside forever.
Their unspoken agreement about the lack of kissing still stands and so Andy begins to move down, pressing kisses down her neck instead. She licks at the drops of sweat that have gathered on her skin in all of the crevices and the follows beneath her collarbones. Her tongue follows the trails that sweat has carved into her skin, running down between her cleavage until her lips meet the black clasps that hold the dress together. Brown eyes cast a glance upwards as she seductively begins to make her way up again, licking and sucking at the pristine skin of her breasts and collarbones. Emily’s breathing gets stuck in her throat at the mix of sensations and sights that steadily push her towards the edge.
With one final twist of her wrist, one forceful swipe of her thumb over her clit and one glance at desirous brown eyes, Emily reaches her climax with a moan she can’t contain. Andy keeps working her through her orgasm, extending her pleasure with the steady rhythm of her hand. But her other hand snaps up instantly to cover her mouth and muffle the sounds that spill from her lips.
“I would love nothing more than to listen to you fall apart,” Andy offers apologetically. Adding in a sultry whisper, “Alas there are people outside that can hear you as well and I would rather covet all these sounds for my pleasure alone.”
Emily feels every muscle in her body slacken as her orgasm washes over her, pleasure racing through her body as it drags her. Her head drops back against the wall and her eyes drift shut. She tries to get her breathing back under control, heaving as she is with gasping breaths as if she just ran a marathon. After a few minutes she feels Andy extract her fingers from inside her. It feels like a loss. She clenches down around nothing as fabric snaps uncomfortably back into place, covering up the wet mess beneath. Emily lets her arms drop from around her shoulders and back to her side, pressing sweaty hands against the cool tile to try to center herself. She takes deep breaths as her heart slows back to a normal pace.
Through the haze of the aftermath, she can hear running water from the sink. She opens her eyes to find Andy washing off her hands. Brown eyes meet blue eyes above her shoulder through the reflection in the mirror. Andy smiles at her as she scrubs at the mess on her hand, the mess that she made. Emily bites her lip to stop the self-satisfied smile from creeping onto her face.
When she finishes washing her hands, Andy turns back towards her. Emily can see the wheels begin to turn behind those soulful eyes. Ready to ask questions that Emily does not wish to answer. Foremost among them: What does this mean? What are we doing? What are we?
Emily cuts her off before she can open her mouth. She blurts out, “We shouldn’t have done that.”
Andy blinks at her owlishly, suddenly at a loss for words by Emily’s sudden vehement interruption. She appears hurt by her declaration of just five words. Andy shakes her head, petulantly, determinedly, stubbornly. She insists, “You wanted it.”
Emily opens and closes her mouth a few times before closing her jaw with a click. She swallows thickly, her mouth suddenly dry as reality begins to set in. She wants to turn away from her, but Andy deserves an honest answer. “I did,” Emily admits, though the words almost seem to stick in her throat. She couldn’t deal with the expression of hurt on Andy’s face, couldn’t lie to her. She continues in a regretful whisper, “But we still shouldn’t have done that.”
Andy appears ready to protest, drawing herself up as if to ready herself for battle. But something in Emily’s mien must have stopped her as she seems to deflate in front of her eyes. Her shoulders become round as she shrinks into herself. She casts longing eyes at the door, blinking quickly to try to stop gathering tears from falling. Emily wants to reach out to comfort her, to tell her it will be okay, that she didn’t really mean it, that they can make this work. But the words are all scrambled, they don’t make sense in her mind.
Instead Emily says, “You should go. I will follow in a few minutes.”
Andy simply nods as she refuses to look at her while walking out. She stops at the open door, her hand tightening around the doorknob. Without turning around Andy devastates her with a few choice words, “You really do look beautiful, Emily. And for the record, I don’t regret what we did.”
She steps out of the small room and lets the door slam shut behind her before Emily can reply. If she ever even planned to do so. She feels tongue-tied. Her head falls back against the wall with a loud thunk. Her vision of the ceiling blurs and she rapidly blinks away tears, those blasted tears. (What is she crying for? What gives her the right to cry when this is her fault?) She digs her nails into her palms and takes in sharp breaths trying to calm herself, to ground herself in the reality she created.
After calming herself down, Emily begins to clean herself methodically. Using some wet paper towels, she scrubs at the sticky residue of sweat and spit on her neck and breasts. Then she moves on to wipe viciously at part of the mess between her legs until the skin reddens. She can’t hope to fix the wet mess at her core so she quickly gives up. Instead moving to dab a new paper towel at her face, to cool her burning cheeks. She rummages in her clutch that she had balanced on the sink for make-up products, using them to salvage what she can. Finishing with a spritz of perfume to try to cover up the stench of adultery. Emily looks at the person in the mirror, but she does not see herself. She can’t recognize the person who meets her eyes. She lets out a tired sigh before turning away from the sight.
She walks out in a daze, finding herself suddenly surrounded by people again. She quickly spots Benji talking animatedly to a circle of people that appear to be feigning interest. (Emily can always tell when somebody is putting on a front, when their attention is fake. After all, she herself is an expert at such manipulations.)
Benji looks up at her approach and breaks off his spiel to greet her with a congenial expression, “I was wondering where you were, dear.”
Emily forces herself to smile, it feels wooden and false on her face. She sidles up next to him and he immediately wraps his arm around her. She shifts uncomfortably in his grip. She does not answer, does not engage, does not add to the conversation. She simply stands there like a pretty doll, window dressing as he talks to the people around them. She tunes out his droning voice, thoughts making her drift further and further away from her body.
As if electrified by some unseen force, her eyes snap suddenly across the room to find her. It feels like her eyes are magnetized to always find the one person that her mind, heart and body have never been able to forget in twenty years. Brown eyes meet blue across the vast room full of people, making her feel like they are alone in a crowded room. Andy smiles at her sadly, a look that Emily can’t possibly countenance, empathy she can’t accept. She bites the inside of her cheek and quickly turns away from her.
(It was a mistake. She shouldn’t have done that. She must forget it ever happened. Even though she already wants it to happen again.)
But she knows she can’t forget. Not with the sticky reminder still present between her legs, not with the memory of the shape of her fingers pressed into the most intimate parts of her. Emily knows she can never forget that, can never forget her. (She doesn’t truly want to.) Moreover, she knows she will want to do it again. She wants Andrea Sachs. Has there ever been a more terrifying thought?