Free Hot Summer Lust by Juliette Jones

here one or two nights. He travels light.
    I decide to start in here. I clean the bathroom until it’s gleaming. I change the sheets on his bed. I vacuum and dust the windowsills in all the upstairs bedrooms, which there are five of. There’s also a roomy office and a slightly larger second living area. By the time I’m done, it’s after three o’clock. I hadn’t realized it’d gotten so late. I wonder what time Elias will be ba ck and I remember what he said. He was so intense about it: Wait for me. Don’t leave til I get home.
    I promised I’d wait.
    It’s so hot. My hair is damp from sweat and so’s my dress.
    I think about going for a swim but if he comes home and finds me gone, he might think I’ve left for the day.
    So I decide to have a shower instead , to cool off a little. In his shower. I don’t think he’ d mind.
    I take off my dress and hang it over a towel rack next to the window. Then I step into the shower and turn it on. It’s the fanciest shower I’ve ever been in . Tiled in glossy black and white squares . There are nozzles not just overhead but also coming out of the sides of the shower, like a car wash. One d ay, when I get a recording deal, I’m going to have a shower just like this.And a big house with lots of rooms. And a grand piano.
    I pour some shampoo onto my hair and lather it up. As I turn, the nozzles spray little jets out of the sides of the shower; they caress my body in all kinds of crazy places. I can’t help but laugh. Even Elias’s shower is an erotic experience. The water drips down my breasts and off my budded nipples in little rivulets. One of the soft jets hits me right there , between my legs. As I rinse, I let it center there. I start to g et warm, tingling lightly. My intimate petals start to swell and open. God . I gently tilt my hips , letting the warmth build. I touch myself, feeling the silky folds of my body, the tiny hooded nub. I remember what his tongue felt like, licking me there. Sucking on me. I turn and the jet s hits my buttocks, and between them. He even licked me there . His wet, probing fingers pushed into me. I’d never imagined anyone doing that to me. Or how good it would feel, when he put his fingers and his tongue into every part of me.
    The jets are making me a little wild . If I stand her much longer, I’ m going to come. I wonder if it’s possible to die from it: from this strange, sweet kind of longing. I want him so much.
    Then I hear something. Heavy footsteps. The bedroom door slamming.
    Oh, God, he’s here.
    Elias is home.
    He’s walking into the bathroom.
    He opens the door of the shower.
     

 

     
    “You’re number one on the billboard charts. Every song on your latest album has hit the top ten. Both your debut album and your follow-up have gone platinum. You’ve won three Grammys. The song you wrote for the City Lights soundtrack got nominated for an Oscar and the role you played in the movie – as yourself – was greeted with critical acclaim. Both your tours sold out to record crowds . As if that’s not enough, you were voted Sexiest Man of the Year by People magazine and were featured on the cover of the Rolling Stone not once this year, but twice. Tell me, Elias Hayes, where does the magic come from and where can I get some?”
    I’m sitting here in this studio being interviewed by a semi-famous douchebag radio host whose one and only claim to semi-fame is that he’s a semi-famous douchebag radio host.
    I’m in a foul mood.
    And it’s a stupid question. How the fuck am I supposed to answer that?
    It’s his gaffe, not mine, so I wait it out.
    “What’s next?” he says.“Another movie? Another album? Both?”
    “I have another tour coming up, and I’m working on a new album ,” I say. The headlines and the fucking twitterverse will blow up with news about my surliness or some bullshit if I give short, terse answers. I know this. I’ve made that mistake before, more than once. Even so, I can hardly bring