Turning her back to the room, Jane jogged into the living area and stood before the antique side table, staring at the drawer.

“No!” she told herself, perching delicately on the arm of a chair. “It’s not right.” She paced around the sofa before returning, drawn to the drawer where Maura had placed her writing journal. She knew the doctor kept a diary and she knew where she kept it, in the back of her underwear drawer. “It’s not like I’m reading that.” She whispered into the room. “This is probably just a medical study or something.” She knew she was trying hard to justify what she knew she was about to do. Pulling the drawer open, she felt a pang of guilt as she lifted the journal from its place. “I’ll just look at the first page.” She said to no one.

Opening the large journal, the first page read like a book dedication.

For Jane

Maura’s eloquent hand had crafted the words on the first page of the book and Jane grinned. It wasn’t wrong to read something that was for you. Turning the page slowly, she sat on the edge of the armchair, glancing down the hallway for any sign of Maura before returning her attention to the half page Maura had written before she’d interrupted her.

I have this hunger, an ever growing need that only you can satisfy. My entire body is starving, malnourished and in need. Its food, its one all saving, complete craving is you.

My skin yearns to feel your touch, every inch needs to feel your fingertips, the whispering graze, so full of promise that, as yet is denied to me. In your absence, the wind carries your voice, barely heard but containing everything I need to know. I hear your words promising me the world, telling me how you will feed my body’s hunger and how you yearn to feel me under your fingers.  My skin jumps with excitement, knowing what is to come, the delights that lay in store as your soft fingers brush gently across my neck, sending shivers of icy excitement through me.

I long to feel you tease me, for your perfect fingers to barely brush my nipples and feed my desire for you. I see your face in my dreams, your eyes full of mischief as you run your hands over me, your fingers, having painfully teased my nipples and controlled their ever increasing hardness, slip so gently over my stomach, hinting at where you know I want you but ignoring my wetness, preferring instead to continue this delightful torture. My body sings, its song played only for you in notes only you can understand. I can feel your nails grazing my inner thigh as you lick your lips hungrily. I can see in your eyes how much you want this torture to end, to bury your lips and tongue in my hot, wet core. You don’t and it kills me.

Jane gulped loudly, her body reacting involuntarily to the words on the page. She could feel the flush in her face and the familiar ache between her legs. Closing the journal, she returned it to the drawer and sat heavily on the sofa, her hand coming to rest between her legs. Looking back over her shoulder, her left hand slid into her shorts, the wetness she found there came as no surprise.

“Oh Maura.”