"You have GOT to be fucking kidding me"…growls Tracy in a 30 year pent up huff.
"Just don't answer it",. Says Monica breathlessly, not wanting this symphony of touch to end. She pulls Tracy in, finding her mouth once more, eager, delirious, and afraid this will lead to second thoughts on either end, if it stops
Ding dong, reverberates, metallic, echoed, and icy.
"SHIT,..shit shit SHIT!" Tracy is beside herself, but someone, considering the events of the day, HAS to see who that is.
She grabs Monica's jaw, fixing her with a glazed stare "This is NOT over, not by a long shot." and bolts to the door in a hurried blur of black silk.
Monica is left to herself. This is sobering, reflective, and hard. "Alan", her wits scream, "Oh my God what am I doing" she says out loud at a shaky whisper.
Bringing her fingers to her lips, closing her eyes, reliving that kiss, how Tracy's tongue felt in her mouth, her fingertips on her skin, then coming to her senses, she pulls her blouse closed, and a tear crests her lower lid, and slips down her cheek
An epiphany crashes down on Monica. This woman, "Tracy God-damned Quartermaine" was the source of so many sleepless nights, insults, and injury. She was the bane of Monica's existence, and the thorn in her side.
Tracy was the never ending source of frustration that was always the precursor to the thousands of feuds, and snide remarks bantered back and forth over the years.
"Tracy God Damned Quartermaine" was also the only woman she ever craved.
Deeply rooted, buried, and hidden from others, yet always scratching the surface like nails from the inside of her skin.
Monica's head scrambled to see, smell, and feel everything again that had happened only moments ago.
The truth of what is playing out was suddenly as evident as the ache between her legs.
There were no more breaks on this, no rhyme or reason to stop. No one left to hurt, no one left to betray, and it scared her to death.
In that second of thought, another notion was hatched. That was, why Tracy hadn't returned yet?
Monica was gripped with confusion and fear at that lofty question that loomed overhead.
She had waited over 30 years, watching in silent need.
She had studied Tracy like the secreted voyeur. Monica had been fascinated for years at Tracy's very definitive style. How could one not be taken with her casual, yet calculating ways, her deep intelligence and cunning, matched only by her lack of censorship or apology?
Her moods were filed into Monica's mental rolodex. Not that Tracy was predictable, that was hardly the case, but Monica knew her, knew her thresholds, her line in the sand, and her breaking point.
She knew that this woman never did anything small, half hearted or half assed. Things made sense to Tracy, and those in her path, in her world, either went along, or were left burning beside the road.
Life to Tracy was to be wrestled, harnessed and brought to its knees with no excuses. Life was a mission, to be executed with strength, wits, and the end result was to never touch the damning poison of remorse or regret.
It was her world after all to do with as she pleased.
There were no rules except for her own.
She knew no matter what Tracy felt, be it anger, love, revenge, hunger, angst or abhorrence; it was felt deeply, and fiercely.
Monica danced warily in the light cast by Tracy's spectrum over the years, even though her facets were sharp as the razors edge.
Now? Here and now, Monica was just begging to feel the cool blades enter her skin.
Even as she rounds the foyer crazed, Tracy stops short, a chill careens through her. A finger length away from the knob, she stops and pulls herself too, before she opens the door.
The cold evening air hits her damp flesh and raises goose bumps on her arms.
"Ms Quartermaine. I want to convey my deepest sympathy and condolence regarding your brother. I hate to intrude at this time, but I believe this is your purse? It was found in the church"
Tracy's head spun into a million different directions, and she fought hard to not snap with utter annoyance.
The reality of Alan being gone was crushing yes.
Though not seen for what it was, Tracy did have a soul. But this intrusion over a purse was just too much.
As the solemn pleasantries were exchanged, her thoughts wandered to Monica's kiss, soft, warm, and so inviting. She wanted that kiss beyond reason at this point.
As these images flooded her, warping the moment, her heart began to thrum in her ears.
Ms. Quartermaine? Asked the man at the door timidly, and Tracy wondered if he had noticed her face flush crimson.
Snapping back to the moment, she thanked Lloyd, and closed the door but did not rush back to Monica.
This was Tracy's moment. She set this into motion, and was not going to give up the road, the journey or the destination to anyone. She smiled to herself, and the look of a warrior in the throws of conquest crept behind her eyes deepening their hue to Midnight Lapis, and setting her perfect teeth into a feral smile..
She waited and contemplated what was going on in Monica head. Was she breathless and hunger struck as her? Was she nervous?
Was she wet?
The last thought caused Tracy to close her eyes, and inhale deep, letting her hands brush languidly over her own breasts, causing a slight tense grunt as they passed over sensitive nubs.
Tracy was not a woman to lose her cool, or appear anxious about anything, no matter how the pull to run back into the other room was agonizingly strong.
Monica had been a formidable foe through out there intermingled lives. She could hold her own with the family, and fit in well.
Like the grout between shower tiles, she thought quizzically to herself.
But now, this was an entirely different animal. Not one single double take, stuttered word, or casual breath, to capture her scent, when she was close was missed by Tracy.
She enjoyed immensely the fact she rattled Monica. And she shook her tree every chance she got.
How she would bend a bit further in Monica's direction picking the newspaper up from the coffee table, revealing just a hint of her negligee under a not so tightly wrapped robe every Sunday morning.
Or lulling a piece if ice on the bottom of a drained tumbler with a provocative finger, only to slip it into her mouth for that last taste before the refill.
Oh how Monica would jump when she slipped silent into a room where she was alone. She could get so close to Monica that she could smell her, before Monica would whirl around with a start, red faced, and stammering.
She knew Monica's buttons,, alllllll of them. Pushing them until it erupted into a Classic Quartermaine tiff was the ultimate foreplay.
Tracy was smiling to herself as her own realizations clicked.
"Oh my this is going to be too much fun" she grinned wickedly
She averted her eyes to the ceiling and pulled in a heavy breath, and expelled it with equal austerity.
"Composure Tracy" she said to herself, smoothing the sides of her robe with her palms, "Composure"
She had a plan. A very clear plan almost scripted for the big screen. And entrance if you will to raise Monica's lust to a frenzy.
Tracy suddenly felt drunk with the powers of seduction.