Page 65 of The Woman in 3B
I had silenced my phone earlier, but the vibrating function was still active. I pulled my phone from my front right jean pocket. A series of text messages, all from the same person, filled my phone’s screen.
June has a piano recital tomorrow if you’re able to make it.
The following texts provided the time and location of the performance along with her typical passive aggressive guilt trip.
I felt Anissa press closer. “Another girlfriend texting you?”
Her use of the word ‘another’ was unexpected. Did that mean she considered herself my girlfriend?
“No. It’s my sister, Dawn,” I said, holding out my phone as proof. “My niece has a piano recital tomorrow.”
“Cute. Are we going?”
I looked up sharply from my phone. “You really want to go to a seven-year-old’s piano recital? It’s going to be, like, ‘Hot Cross Buns’ on repeat.”
Anissa pursed her lips. “No. But I want to spend more time with you. And you shouldn’t have to decide between spending time with your family or spending time with the person you’re dating.”
My throat involuntarily tightened. “I didn’t realize we were at that point.”
“What point would that be?”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re going to make me say it?”
A ghost of a smile reached her lips. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Don’t be coy,” I complained. “Like, is this a real relationship? Are we exclusive?” I nearly choked on the question.
“I hardly have time to date you,” she breezed, maddeningly casual. “How could I possibly juggle multiple girls?”
“That’s not a real answer,” I sourly protested.
Instead of giving me the direct answer I desired, Anissa grabbed my hand and toyed with my fingers, mine pale in comparison to her golden skin tone. Our fingers clasped together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She turned our enjoined hands over so mine was on top. She stroked her fingertips over the top of my hand in quiet contemplation. Her touch was light and soothing. I felt rough and unpolished.
“I really need a manicure,” I complained. I started to wiggle my hand free from hers, but she only tightened her grip.
“I like your hands,” she said simply. “I like what they do to me.”
Our heads were already close; I didn’t have to lean in too far to bring our mouths together. Our lips barely touched at first, brushing slowly and tentatively against each other. Her tongue peeked out between her parted lips and slid across my bottom lip. I sucked on the tip of her tongue and pulled it more fully into my mouth.
I felt the bite of her hipbones when she rolled on top of me. I sank my hands into her thick, luscious hair as the kiss deepened and intensified. She held me by the front belt loops of my jeans and periodically tugged up. I groaned into her open mouth each time the inseam of my jeans dug into me, pressing the denim material tight against my clit.
She dropped hot, wet kisses to the side of my neck and her solid knee found its way between my jean-clad thighs. I groaned again, this time in frustration. The pencil skirts I wore as part of my work uniform were more constricting than jeans, but they at least had easier access.
She tugged at the dumb knot I’d tied at the center of my stomach to retrofit my extra-large, giveaway t-shirt until it unraveled. The way she was moving her hips and pressing her upper knee between my thighs would have me unraveling as well. The extra loose t-shirt, unlike my skinny jeans, gave her license to roam. Her hands moved beneath the excessive material as she continued to lick and suck on my exposed neck. I desperately wanted her mouth tasting more intimate areas.
She slid her palms up my stomach until they rested on the padded cups of my bra. I arched my back, thrusting my breasts into her hands. Her fingertips curled around the tops of the demi-cups and I hissed at the feeling of her warm fingers brushing against my more sensitive flesh.
I heard a quiet, constant chime coming from somewhere in my room. I paused my movements to listen to the noise. It took a moment before I recognized the sound as Anissa’s cellphone ringing in her back pocket.
She heard it, too. “That’s probably the pizza,” she mumbled into my neck.
I huffed in protest at the bad timing. I was hungry, but I really didn’t want to stop kissing her.
Anissa removed her hands from my t-shirt and fished her phone out of the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans. “Hello,” she answered the call.
I was tempted to distract her from the phone call with my mouth and hands, but I remained motionless beneath her in case the caller wasn’t actually the pizza place.
She grinned down at me, her dimples making another appearance. Her hair fell around both of our faces, hiding us as if in our own secret lair. “Yep, you found the place,” she confirmed with the caller. “I’ll be right down.”
