Work Text:
——Present.
You open your eyes as you feel the bed shift and creak to find her rolling over and standing up. Sandra grabs her button-down shirt and tugs it on again before taking one cigarette out of the pack from the bedside table and places it between her lips. Your chest rises and collapses, sweat slowly cooling on your skin.
“Hm?” You ask, even though you know her habits by now. This is the second time you’ve slept together.
“Going to smoke” Sandra murmurs and lights her cig with a smile. She stands by the balcony door, opens it, and puffs out a small cloud.
You watch her for a moment and then close your eyes contentedly. You’ll be sore for a day or two but you don’t mind. In fact, you welcome the sensation. As you lie in your sheets and feel the breeze from outside your apartment wash over your bare body, your mind begins to drift as the ghost of Sandra’s touch lingers on your skin. You shudder.
—— Past.
The first time you slept with her wasn’t exactly unexpected or unpredictable.
You had just been broken up with by your girlfriend of a year, and decided to throw yourself head first back into your work. You needed the distraction, and your career as an illustrator and book cover designer would gladly provide that.
Despite your efforts, you weren’t a famous artist, but work came your way. Most of the time some lesser known author’s publishing company would contact you, and hire you to design a book cover for the next forgotten novel on a casual reader’s shelf. The day you got an email mentioning Sandra Voyter’s instantly recognizable name, the gears in your mind began to turn.
You were familiar with that name. She’s been in the game for a while now, and has been quite successful in Europe at least. Especially France, England, and Germany. You’ve definitely picked up a book or two of hers at a bookshop.
Her publisher set up a meeting for the two of you later that week, and since that day, she’s become a fixture in your life.
The night before your meeting you researched her mercilessly, familiarizing yourself with the nooks and crannies of her body of work, previous collaborators, and her current expedition in translations for German weeklies. You also learned a little about her personal life, though not much other than that she was born and raised in Germany, she’s married, and she has a child. And if you lingered on the photos tab on google, who could blame you? Research was research. Her author’s headshots stared back at you as you scrolled endlessly. By the end of the night you came to two conclusions: 1. Sandra Voyter had a beautiful face and 2. You were looking forward to meeting her.
The day of your meeting met you with nerves. If you ended up striking a deal with her, she’d be your most successful author by far, and that made you anxious. You were excited of that prospect no doubt, but it was also a big deal, and you couldn’t mess this up. Also, you had to admit, she was quite the attractive woman.
The restaurant in Grenoble you met at for a late lunch was something between casual and just the slightest bit of fancy, and when you walked in she was already sitting at a table waiting for you.
“Hi, Miss Voyter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You greet her and join her at the small table.
“Hello, thanks for meeting with me” She greets you in return, her German accent automatically charming you greatly.
A waiter comes over and she orders a white wine for the table. You smile. For some reason, this pleased you. You’ve barely said two words to her yet there was something about her that was unique, and assertive.
Sandra quickly began talking about work.
“At the current moment I’m not writing a new novel. Yes, I have some ideas I’m considering, but they’re just ideas.” She smiles. “They haven’t been thought through. Not developed, you know?”
You nod and pour yourself and Sandra some wine as soon as the waiter setsit down on the table. You take a sip of the wine as you follow along.
She thanks you for the wine. “I’m currently working on German translations, but my publisher and I felt it was necessary to create a new partnership with an illustrator for future novels.”
You like the way she speaks, the way her German accent provides every word with a melody of formality. She’s cut and dry.
“Yes, I understand that.” You answer. “I’d be happy to collaborate with you. I’m sure you’ve seen my portfolio I’ve sent to your publisher?”
She takes a sip of her wine and nods. “Your work is lovely. I cannot draw but I can tell you this.”
You blush slightly and attempt to cool your face off with drinking another sip of wine.
“Thank you, Miss Voyter.”
“Please, call me Sandra.” She notices the redness that’s come to your cheeks and something twinkles in her eye.
“Okay… Sandra.” You test the name out and then smile. “So, what happened to your past designer?”
“She left the industry.” She clears her throat. “But I also find that a change of pace is needed. It’s hard to find someone new, but ultimately necessary.”
“I agree.” You quickly follow up. Smiling you say, “And I’d be very grateful to be that someone new, if you’d have me.” You curse yourself inwardly, realizing how your words sound a bit more intimate than intended.
“I’m definitely considering it” she grins and takes another sip of her white.
After a long while, the business talk begins to subside. It’s starting to darken outside so the lights in the restaurant begin to glow dimmer, casting everything in a soft orange glow. You two are so caught up in conversation you end up never ordering anything, and instead nurse the bottle of wine. She leans back in her chair a little and narrows her eyes at you over her glass. “Tell me about yourself. You’re American?”
You cringe slightly, your accent being a dead giveaway. “French-American, yes.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“My grandparents immigrated from France to America. However, for college I came back to study in Grenoble. Then I just stayed, much to the dismay of my parents.” You chuckle.
Sandra laughs. “Ah, I see. How long ago was this?”
“About 10 years ago, now.”
“Ah, you’re so young!” She smiles easy.
You chuckle softly and refill your glass. “I guess… Though trying to find success in the art industry has felt like decades upon decades have passed by.”
“I understand that. It’s not a very stable industry. Even writing can be unstable.” At this point of the afternoon, her emotions are beginning to peek through, possibly due to the wine. The comfortability of your conversation has definitely increased. You begin to feel like you can ask her anything.
“Do you like your profession? I don’t think I’ve ever asked any one of my authors that before.”
She sighs deeply, takes a sip, and leans back in her chair. “I love writing. It’s a passion that is an important part of me, and something I’ve found success in. I can express myself easily, there’s comfort in it. And I’ve been doing it for so long” she chuckles. “But as I’ve said, it’s a fickle industry. And financial stability isn’t something that is always certain, even with relative commercial success.” There’s a small frown etched on her face.
You hang onto her every word, but find yourself glancing at her hand resting on the table. You have to fight back a small voice inside of you that’s telling you to reach out and hold it. You barely know her, but you feel oddly emotionally attached already. It’s probably the wine. You’re a bit tipsy. You can feel yourself blush at the realization, and it only furthers when you notice the simple wedding band on her ring finger.
Sandra clears her throat from across the table, and you startle. You match her gaze and she eyes you curiously. “Hm?”
“Sorry.” You chuckle as your face burns under her gaze.
“Where did you go? I thought I lost you there.” She laughs. “Am I boring you?”
“What?” Your eyes widen. “No, no! Definitely not.” You feel your body tensing at her suggestion. Your spine goes rigid.
Damn, you’re going to fuck this opportunity up if you continue like this.
“I’m only teasing,” Sandra giggles, blue eyes sparkling. She can’t stop chuckling, her hand coming to hover over her smirking lips, hiding them from you.
“Oh.” You chuckle nervously and shift in your seat.
“Relax a little. You’re too tense. Want to ask me something?”
You take another sip of your wine, what number glass this is, you’ve lost count.
You clear your throat. “Tell me about you, now. You’re married?”
Sandra raises her eyebrows in surprise. The sparkle in her eyes suddenly begins to dim and she looks down at her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger with her thumb. “Yes, to my husband Samuel.“ The mirth has left her voice and she says this matter of factly. “For twelve years.” You suddenly regret asking.
She looks up again, and suddenly her face begins to regain some of her smile. “We have a son, Daniel.” Sandra grins. You can tell she loves him dearly just through her facial expression.
“Yeah?”
“God, I can’t believe how fast he’s growing up though. Eleven already.” She runs her fingers through her short blonde hair. You smile.
“Do you have photos?” You point to her phone that’s resting on the table.
Sandra lifts her phone and turns it around, showing you her lockscreen. It’s a picture of a young boy with dark hair, his arms around a white and black dog with striking blue eyes.
“That’s him with our dog, Snoop.” She smiles.
“They’re adorable!” You gush brightly as you lean in closer, taking a good look at the photo. You can see the resemblance between Daniel and Sandra.
“Thank you.” She smiles broadly and puts her phone into her pocket.
You can’t help but return her smile. There’s something so charming about her pride in her little family, or, rather, in her son and dog. The faint crinkles around her hooded eyes become more prominent as she grins, and you find yourself staring at her pink lips.
The conversation continues to flow easily, barely any blips besides the very occasional clearing of Sandra’s throat once or twice whenever you begin to zone out, your eyes zoning in on some feature of her face or body. You blush embarrassedly each time.
Eventually, Sandra looks at the sky out the windows before checking her watch. “It’s late. I have to get home. Samuel has been watching the boys all afternoon.” She says this a bit regretfully.
Suddenly, a sadness overcomes you. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. Thank you Sandra, for your time. Truly.” you give her a weak smile. You’ve had a lot of fun this afternoon, the most fun you’ve had with someone since your breakup.
“If it’s not obvious already,” Sandra begins as she gets up, putting her coat on, “you’re my new designer.” She grins at you.
You get up quickly. “Really?”
She pushes her chair in and opens her palm in front of you. “Give me your phone. I think it’s necessary for us to exchange numbers, hm?”
“Yes. Definitely.” You quickly scramble to get your phone out and hand it to her, your stomach erupting in butterflies. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s for business. Yet you still can’t help but feel giddy.
After a moment Sandra hands it back to you, smiling. “There. Text me soon, okay? Now, I must really go, have a goodnight…” Then she says your name, in that melody of hers, which has you buzzing.
“Goodnight.”
——
You and Sandra text for two weeks, sending cover ideas for future projects and business details, before she asks you if you’d like to catch up on a second meeting. There’s really nothing to discuss as Sandra has been busy with translating works rather than new novels, but you accept. Never in a million years would you decline.
It’s only been two weeks, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear there’s something flirty in her messages. Her compliments make your ears burn. Every time you receive a text from her you find yourself smiling. Even when you’re busy with other things, with other projects, you find yourself thinking of Sandra Voyter, and glance at your phone eagerly, wishing she’d send you some mundane text message about her day, or something she’s working on, which hasn’t been an uncommon occurrence.
The night she asks, you are sitting in your pajamas, watching a movie, drinking a bottle of something cheap, when your phone dings.
Sandra: “Darling, I’ll be in Grenoble this weekend. Would you like to meet? ”
As you read, your heart flutters at the message. With liquid courage coursing through your veins, you respond a minute later.
You: “Hey Sandra. Sounds great!“
You: “Is my apartment okay? You can witness my ‘studio’ in person lol”
You double text with that silly message to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t aid your heart beating wildly in your chest. You’re about to bleed from gnawing worriedly on your bottom lip.
After 5 agonizing minutes, she responds.
Sandra: “Of course! What’s the address?”
You squeal in response, flopping onto your back, your feet kicking excitedly as they dangle over the arm of the couch.
You know this can’t go anywhere. Sandra Voyter is married, and has a child for god’s sake. But your delusions are stronger than your rationale. She wants to come over!!! And see you again!
You suddenly feel sick to your stomach with nerves. You sit up and take another swig from the bottle.
——
“Hi, Sandra! Come in.” You smile as you open the door for her, welcoming her into your modest apartment.
“Thank you.” Sandra smiles as she walks in. Your eyes rove over her outfit. She’s wearing a coat over a black turtleneck, jeans, and black boots.
You lock the door behind her. “Can I take your coat for you?”
“Yes, sure.” She drops her bag and shrugs out of her coat, handing it over as she steps further into the apartment, taking an appreciative glance around.
“It’s nothing special, I’m sorry to disappoint.” You laugh good-naturedly. “I was thinking we could have some wine. I can cook something if you’d like?” You ask, trying to calm your nerves.
“No, wine is very good.” Sandra smiles, looking over her shoulder at you.
——
It’s late afternoon around an hour later when you find yourself sitting next to Sandra Voyter on the couch, the two of you nursing your glasses of wine as she shows you some writing on her laptop which sits on the coffee table. Dusk is unexpectedly starting to creep overhead. You’ve already given her a short tour of your tiny apartment and shown her some of your artwork in progress, and the previous covers you’ve done that you didn’t put in your portfolio. Now, you’re sitting on the cushion beside her, watching her over the rim of her glass as she reads an excerpt aloud.
You’re most definitely tipsy by now. Perhaps both of you are. You’ve always been a lightweight and you’ve been refilling your glass just to do something to occupy your hands and mind.
Sandra leans back against the cushion and looks over at you. She looks so achingly beautiful in her turtleneck and all you want to do is reach over and pass your fingers through her hair. The wine is making you think dangerous thoughts.
“What is it?” Sandra chuckles.
You tuck your feet underneath you. “Mm nothing. Continue, please.”
“No, I think something is on your mind. Don’t lie to me. Tell me.” The author laughs loosely, taking a sip of wine. She sets the glass of red on the table. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you realize, she isn’t wearing her ring. Your face suddenly feels warm.
You wrench your gaze away from her hands and meet her eyes. Even behind the mirth, you can tell they’re watching you.
“Nothing, seriously!” You giggle. “I just like listening to you read. And your writing is superb. But you know that already.” You rest your chin against your fist, gazing at her, your elbow propped up on your thigh.
“Thanks, darling. You’re right, that’s what critics say,” She waves her hand dismissively. “But it’s nicer to hear it from you.”
Your whole body is buzzing, your stomach flipping at Sandra’s use of ‘darling’.
“Of course.” You reply. Your nerves are going crazy again. There’s a thick tension in the room and you aren’t sure if it would be wise to address it. You decide to pretend to ignore it.
Sandra continues to stare at you and then shifts, angling her body towards you.
You swear she’s moved just the slightest bit closer.
“You have pretty eyes.”
Sandra’s eyes widen, eyebrows raising amusedly at your compliment.
Mortified, you splutter, trying to make an excuse. “Sorry- I- sorry,” you laugh embarrassedly. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to say that. Just keep reading.” You cover your face, pressing into your skin. Your hand pulls downwards, practically clawing at your reddening cheeks. You just want to disappear.
“Don’t apologize.” You feel a hand on your knee. You peek up at Sandra, the blonde a few inches closer. You startle.
“I just can’t shut up.” You murmur.
Sandra shakes her head, tsk-ing. “I don’t want that.” She smirks.
She removes her hand from your knee and for a split second you miss the contact. But then it lands on the side of your face, holding it gently.
“Oh.”
“Don’t you want to know what I want?”
Sandra whispers, her accent providing a husky edge to her voice. Her eyes begin to trace over your features, staring from your eyes, making their way lower. They settle onto your lips, watching as you moisten them. Her thumb begins a similar descent, beginning from your cheek, coming to trace below your lip and landing on your chin. She cradles your jaw with her solid hand.
You can barely respond, letting out little more than a sound as you nod.
Sandra Voyter leans in closer, and you inhale shakily. Finally, her lips press against yours in an aching kiss. As your mouths move together your hand comes to rest on her shoulder, the fabric of her sweater gliding underneath your fingers before they tangle into her hair.
Sandra kisses you hungrily, incessantly, and you follow her pace eagerly. You part your lips wider and her tongue slips into your mouth, exploring. As your tongues glide against one another’s you taste the tartness of the wine in her mouth, intoxicating you.
You moan as she pulls you in closer, one hand resting on your waist, the other in your hair. Time feels as if it has stopped.
Eventually, you part from the kiss, panting, your chest heaving ever so slightly.
“Fuck... um… fuck.” Your eyes widen in panic as the realization of what you’ve two done hits you like a ton of bricks. “But you’re married…”
Sandra looks at you, a blush tinting her cheeks. Her hair is just the slightest bit askew. She pats her lap, a silent request for you to sit atop her.
You know you should stop, but the kiss felt so good. You haven’t been with a woman, let alone kissed anyone, since your ex. And the invitation is just so tempting. Against your better judgement, you shift and swing your leg over to sit on Sandra’s lap, straddling her.
“Good girl. There we go…” Her hands go to rest on your hips, her right hand then snaking underneath your sweater, inching up against the bare skin of your back. You shudder.
Sandra leans in closer, looking into your eyes.
She continues. “What I want is to have sex. But no strings attached. Nothing more. Is that okay?”
You hesitate, but the desire building in your core wins, and you nod. “Yes.”
“It won’t affect the business aspect. It’s just a matter of need.”
She gently nudges her nose against yours, tilting her head just slightly.
“Okay…” This is such a bad idea. You gulp. “Deal.”
And with that, she kisses you again, her warm lips caressing yours.
—— Present.
Your eyes open again, the sound of rustling clothes snapping you out of your reverie.
Sandra’s completely dressed once more and you mourn the naked expanse of her pale skin.
“I have to get going.” She smiles, collecting her things.
You sit up, returning her smile weakly. You remember the promise you made all those weeks ago. No strings attached. How stupid you were. You suddenly don’t want her to go.
“I have to get a few things for dinner for Daniel. And get some writing work done, too.” Sandra fixes her hair in the mirror and then grabs her boots.
“Sandra.”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to write about me? Put me in your book?” You grin playfully.
Sandra pauses before she passes through the doorway from bedroom to living room. She turns to look at you.
“Maybe my next novel.” She smiles.