Dominique LeBlanc read the letter in her hand for the twentieth time. She wanted it to be perfect. She wanted her lover, Sergei, to know how she felt about him. She wanted to make sure that the next time Sergei came into her life that it would be for good. Not that there was much chance of that but she felt she could always dream.
Her modest apartment near Montmartre in Paris still smelled of the roses he had brought over just one week ago. They were now wilting on her dining room table, yet the sight of them still reminded her of his breath on her neck, his tender caress, his gentle voice declaring how beautiful she was in comparison to those very roses.
He said he was going to call her from Warsaw in a few days once he got settled. In another two weeks he would be in Rome and a week after that she would have him back for at least a week. He always told her he was a buyer for a company in London. She knew better. He was too secretive. Her guess was that he was some kind of secret agent or a criminal. It didn't matter to her what he really was though. She just desired him for who he was when they were together.
There were other women of course. Dominique wasn't stupid. He never talked about them but she still knew they were around in the various cities he visited. Even the fact that they were in his life didn't affect her desire for him.
Dominique hoped she was better looking than them; more sophisticated. At 35 years of age she had the body of a 21 year old. She was tall and graceful with a trim, comely figure. Her breasts were of average size and only had a little sag from Father Time. The one thing that might have betrayed her age was her face. Sure, it had a beautiful glow to it with smooth skin over her high cheekbones. It was just more mature. She always felt that her green eyes attracted Sergei to her. Her hair might have helped the attraction. It was a light blonde, almost bordering on white. It was thick and full of volume and when relaxed like she was now, it cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulders with elegance. When she went out she often wore it up, which accented her long, graceful neck and shoulders.
Dominique read her letter one last time before placing it in the envelope.
I wait here once again for you and realize that I love you more every time I see you. You know my tears will keep me awake. The longer you're gone I'll hunger and shake. So won't you come close, and hold me tight, with you in my heart, so we can perform the rhythm divine.
With all my love,
Dominique walked to her make up table and grabbed a bottle of her perfume and sprayed a bit of it on the letter. She sealed it with her lips, languishing slightly as she licked it, imagining the envelope was his lips. She had addressed it so he would get the letter in Warsaw. It had always been this way. She always sent him a letter, but never had she said how she loved him. She hoped against all hope that this may bring him back to her. She walked back to the dining room and placed the letter on the dining room table, next to her roses. She crossed to the window and stared out at the busy Paris quarter.
Dominique noticed a jet arcing into the sky. She wondered if Sergei was on that plane. She imagined what it would be like to go with him on that big plane. She wondered what exciting adventures he led when he was away. Was it spies and sophisticated espionage such as breaking into super secret government installations in a foreign land? Was it some huge jewel heist from a seventeenth century museum? Maybe it was just some business deal selling auto parts throughout Europe. Whatever it was, it excited her immensely. Everything about Sergei excited her to her core.
Dominique backed away from the window and pulled off the light satiny nightgown she was wearing. She ran her hands over her naked body, imagining that it was Sergei's hands gently caressing her. A shiver of pleasure cascaded through her body at the thought.
A tear ran down Dominique's soft cheek as she yearned for his muscular arms to draw her in to him and hold her tight. She would give anything in the world to end up in those arms, safe and loved, for the rest of her existence.
Dominique walked to her bedroom, the cold hardwood floors quickening her pace. Her room was simple but cozy. The walls were done in white with pink floral rosemaling near the light oak crown molding at the ceiling. Nearly translucent pink drapes were all that cut her off from the outside world. If the world wanted to gaze upon her at any given time they were more than welcome to. It excited Dominique to think she might be exciting some voyeur with a telescope in another building. In the center of the room, towards the back wall was a basic bed with brass rails. A brass nightstand with a glass table top sat next to her bed. The room was rounded out by an oak door closet and a huge oak dresser.
Dominique sat down on the edge of her bed, relishing the feeling of smoothness from her red satin sheets underneath her bare bottom. She looked at the pillow that Sergei was resting on only hours ago and noticed he had left one of his shirts on it. It was a white button down oxford. She picked up the shirt and took in his scent and sighed. His cologne was heavy on the shirt, but more importantly his essence was still there.
Dominique put the shirt on, but left it unbuttoned. She felt a part of him was on her now and it comforted her. She gently ran her hands up and down her torso again and relished the warmness it created. Her hands moved to the front of her body and over her breasts. She imagined Sergei's big, powerful hands over her breasts, fondling them with the care he would take with a fragile vase.
.... There is more of this story ...