I still I do not own Suits.

"What are you wearing?" Any trace of desire had evaporated and she was back to upbeat with an edge. It was like she had flipped a switch. How did she do that?

"Wh-what am I wearing?" Mike stuttered trying to re-group.

"You know what I wish you were wearing? The navy blue suit and tie you had on at work today. I love you in that suit, and I really love that skinny navy and burgundy tie."

Harvey could tease him all he wanted about not wearing "grown-up ties," but in that moment Mike decided he just might wear skinny ties for the rest of his life.

"Uh-h, actually, I fell asleep on the couch looking over some files. I still have the shirt and tie on. I loosened the tie, though. The jacket's hanging on a kitchen chair." he lied. Actually he had gone to bed in a wife-beater and boxers like he did every night, but if she wanted him in that suit, he'd play along.

"Uh-huh." She sounded skeptical, like she might even know he was lying, but obviously she didn't care and she continued, "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you... what?"

"What I'm wearing."

It was the point of no return. He could either ask the question or end the call. If he asked her what she was wearing this was probably going to go somewhere that would make working together awkward. It might be a good awkward but it might be a very bad awkward just as easily. He weighed his options in a split-second and responded as she had wanted, "So, you know what I'm wearing, Rachel. What are you wearing?"

"Honestly, practically nothing." she giggled a little nervously. "It's a little outfit I picked up a couple of weeks ago when I thought I might need it. But then... I didn't. Need it, that is." She stopped and a little sigh escaped. He hoped she was imagining why she bought it and not why she hadn't needed it. "I thought I'd try it on tonight after my shower, because after I had lotioned up, well, all over, I didn't want to put on anything that would stick to the lotion, you know?"

He closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from groaning. He couldn't stop thinking of her slathering lotion all over that unbelievably perfect body. She wanted him to think of it, right? or she wouldn't have said it quite that way, right?

"So I thought of this outfit and then I thought, if my evening with Jim Drugan was any indication, I probably wasn't going to need it anytime soon. I thought I'd try it on, just for me. Do you know what I mean, Mike?" and she was back - all sultry and sexy. How did she do that?

He swallowed and tried to get his voice under control before he answered, "I think I might." He thought, I hope I do, but continued into the phone, "Do you, maybe, want to tell me what it looks like?" He tried to keep the need out of his voice, because, God help him, he really wanted to know what the lingerie she had bought with him in mind looked like.

"I'd love to tell you Michael," she began. "Well, first there's this sheer black chiffon shortie robe. It's got lace inserts at the shoulders and these gorgeous full sleeves that tie with a black ribbon right under my elbows. They were showing it with a little baby doll gown with a matching black lace bodice, but I didn't buy that because it was satin and not chiffon so it wasn't sheer and, well, I wanted it to be sheer - not transparent - but the other word that's like that," she paused trying to think of the word.

"Translucent?" he offered.

"Yeah, 'trans-LU-scent.' How did I know you'd know what I meant? Oh, that's right, you read the dictionary once didn't you, so you know all the words, don't you?"

He decided that was another question it might be better to let pass.

"Anyway back to what I'm wearing," she continued. "So instead of the baby doll I just bought these little black lace boy shorts. They're the size I usually buy, but I think they must run small because they kind of ride up in the back, a lot, and, well - pardon my French - my ass is kind of hanging out." She laughed in an almost conspiratorial way, it might have been a giggle at any other time, but it was way too sexy to be called anything as girlish as a giggle right now. "I know because I looked in the mirror and my ass is definitely hanging out. I pulled 'em back down, but when I walked across the room they just rode right back up again. That's kind of funny, huh? They feel wonderful, though. The lace is so soft and stretchy, and laying here, I can feel how soft the chenille of my couch is right on my... uh... well, right through the robe. Do you know what it feels like?"

She wasn't even waiting for a response, this was a monologue being performed with him in mind and he was sitting back and just appreciating the hell out of it. While he was listening he pushed himself up from the floor and onto his bed. He laid there looking at the ceiling envisioning her. "It feels, well, deliciously naughty." She paused, "no 'naughty's' not quite the right word. Wanton. It feels wanton. Is that the right word?"

"Well, it certainly could work in situation you've described."

"Good, that's what I was hoping. Thank you, Mr. Merriam-Webster. Did I mention that the robe had a little ribbon tie that went right under my, uh... Well, it tied right under my, um-m-m... right there, but, I cut the ribbons off, because I didn't want it tied shut in the front. I wanted it open, almost 'inviting,' you might say."

Mike's closed his eyes. His mind reeled as he thought of the invitation being issued and imagined his hands accepting it, sliding underneath the thin veil of black chiffon to fondle Rachel's breasts, stroking her nipples until they became hard under his touch. He opened his eyes with a jerk as her voice called him back to the conversation...

"The only thing left was a pair of shoes so I went to the shoe department at Bloomies and walked right up the most attractive salesman there and told him I needed a pair of FM shoes. You know what FM shoes are don't you, Mike? Can you guess what color I got them in?" Rachel asked.

He paused before he answered, "Yes, I know what FM shoes are and I'm guessing you got black shoes because everything else was black." He was a little pissed off that she felt compelled to buy them from the best looking guy at Bloomingdales.

"No, not black. They're red! Evan, they guy that sold them to me, told me I needed a pop of color with all the black. Yeah, blood red with long black marabou feathers that bounce in the most fascinating way when I walk across the room."

He imagined that was not all that bounced in a the most fascinating way when she walked across the room in that outfit.

"Evan was gay - I knew he would be," she giggled, "I mean a gorgeous guy like that selling Louboutin's at Bloomie's for a living? He had to be! Anyway, these shoes are so damn hot that they almost straightened him out when I walked across the shoe department!"

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and decided he could stop worrying about Evan, the oh-so-attractive gay shoe salesman at Bloomingdales, and turned his attention back to imagining what those shoes did to her ass when she walked across the shoe department floor.

She continued, "I probably should have dried my hair before I called you, I don't want to fall asleep on wet hair, but, I guess I was just a little too tired. It was either dry my hair or call you," her voice kind of faded away.

He had been aroused since she had whispered her, "Can you guess?" question ten minutes ago. By now he was so hard that he was beginning to worry about blue balls. If he didn't get some kind of relief soon it was a distinct possibility.

Almost as if she was reading his mind, she questioned in a dulcet murmur, "Michael, are you hard for me?"

"God, yes. Rachel, I'm not sure I can take much more. Rachel..."

"Do you know what I'd do to you if I were there with you, right now?"

"Tell me."

"I'd grab you by that gorgeous skinny tie and drag you into the bedroom.'

His only response was a groan.

"I'd pull that skinny tie right up to my neck and check to see if you'd had any Red Bull recently. I'd check very carefully - as thoroughly as necessary to make absolutely sure - and then I'd push you back onto the bed. Do you have your belt on?"

"My... belt? I... uh, I took it off... when I got home," he stuttered. The last word was drawn out into deep-throated moan as he closed his eyes tightly, and imagined her actions.

"Good, because then I'd push you back onto the bed so I could straddle you and I wouldn't want to get my lacey little boy shorts caught when I started to grind. What would you do, Mike?"

Mike's eyes snapped open. He got a turn? "Uh, I think I'd... grab you where that black ribbon isn't anymore and... um... roll you over. I'd end up with my hips next to yours so I could get those god-damn black lace panties off of you then I'd start taking my pants off and, if you had any mercy, you'd help me do it."

She gasped out her desire, "Tell me, Mike. I want to hear it."

"I'd kiss you so hard that your knees would go weak tomorrow when you thought back on it. With one hand I'd explore every part of your perfect body and with the other I'd only touch one spot so you'd be ready, because I've been holding it for so long that when I come into you I'm gonna' come fast and hard and you're gonna' moan because you want it as much as I do."

"Cum for me Mike, I want to hear what it sounds like. I want to remember it."

"Only... if you... cum with me."

"I will," she gasped.

He grabbed his dick and started pumping like a 12-year old with his first copy of Playboy. He had a vision of Rachel stretched out on her couch in that unbelievably sexy little black outfit. He imagined she brought one hand up to move a strand of hair that had fallen into her face and ran her fingers through her gloriously sexy, wet hair. When she lifted her arm, her beautiful breasts were completely exposed and she moved her hand down from her hair to fondle one of the perfect rose-tipped orbs. Her other hand slid into the black lace panties and began rubbing her clit in a way that only Rachel could know Rachel wanted.

He could hear her moaning and was vaguely aware he might be as well, but his every thought was filled with Rachel. Her moans transformed into panting. He pictured her arching her back as one foot slid to the floor. The other knee drew up along the back of the couch so she could get an even more intimate touch - and then she screamed with a pleasure that he wished he had given her.

He ran his thumb over the top of his shaft and felt the half-pain, half pleasure of his climax roar through his body with an intensity that he had never felt before. He yelled out her name and collapsed back onto the bed.

They lay in two different apartments across town from each other listening to each other breathe. They listened as their breathing slowly returned to normal. It may have been 30 seconds or 30 minutes until there was nothing but a contented silence. Mike was feeling drowsy, and wonderful.

Rachel broke the silence, "I miss you, Mike. I know that sounds funny - since we never even got together - but I miss what we might have been." There was that catch in her voice again, "I miss dreaming about it. Good night, Mike," and with what suspiciously sounded like a stifled sob there was a disconnect beep and she was gone.

Oh God, was she crying? "Wait, Rachel! Wait!" he yelled. He realized he was speaking to a dead air. That's not how it was supposed to end!

He sat up in bed and looked down at his phone as if he couldn't believe the call had ended, then quickly went to his contacts list, pulled up her number and dialed it. He had to make this right.

The call went straight to her voice mail. She had turned off her phone.