The Stonemason and the Lady (Dear Editor Book 2)

by Emily Sharpe

  "Never mind. Maybe I'm on edge because Eric's gone. He says it's nothing to worry about too."

  The two finished, paid their bills, and chatted happily as they walked back to work. Neither of them had much planned for the weekend, other than a yoga class for Jessica and a determination to sleep late for Donna. They decided to catch a movie the next evening. "I'm working a few hours in the afternoon, though," Donna said.

  "Right, your part-time gig," Jessica said. "I could pick you up there, if you want."

  Donna grinned. Won't you be surprised! "Sure! Come at six, and I'll give you the ten-cent tour."

  Saturday evening, when Jessica pulled up to the address Donna had given her, she thought her GPS must have made an error. What the what? Although there were plenty of cars in the parking lot, the building appeared to be deserted. She called Donna's cell. "I must've written it down wrong or something," she said. "I'm here, but this can't be it."

  There was a giggle at the other end. "Hang on, I'll see if you're outside." In few seconds, Donna stepped out the front door and waved to Jessica. "Come on in!"

  Jessica couldn't get over the change from exterior to interior. While the building looked all but abandoned from the parking lot, as soon as she walked in the door, she knew this was a thriving business. Behind a counter, was a little desk area, a couch, a few chairs. All the furnishings were sleek, modern and black. The lighting was dimmer than usual, the walls painted a dark red. She recognized the lobby from Donna's article. "Wow," she said. "This is the club you wrote about. What exactly is it that you do here? Or shouldn't I ask?"

  Donna grabbed her purse from behind the counter. "Mostly, I just man the front door and check people in and out. It's a club—people pay by the month or year, come as often as they want to, stay as long as they want, within reason, of course. Fees go toward upkeep, new equipment. Cleanliness is a top priority, that, and privacy." She lowered her voice. "Insurance, of course. Definitely not advertising, though."

  Jessica said nothing. A secret club that a lot of people, apparently, knew about. She'd had no idea that business was so good for the club, however. "So… couples only?"

  Donna shrugged. "I think most of the members are couples, but there are single folks, too. Madame X—the owner, that's what they call her, anyway—has a website and a chat room, so members hook up there with someone they find who has… mutual interests. An elite few hook up with her."

  "Whatever floats your boat, I suppose," Jessica said breezily. "Are any of the rooms open, so I can see one?"

  They walked down the hallway. "It's early still, so there are some vacant. There are six rooms… that I know of. There may be more, but those would be private for Madame X." She lowered her voice. "She may even live here, for all I know. I never asked, but there's a locked door that may lead to an apartment. I've seen her come from that direction first thing in the morning. Here we are—"

  Jessica drew in a breath. She'd always considered herself sexually adventurous, but this room obviously took it to a whole different level. "Is that for…" Her voice trailed off. A black metal contraption, a sort of swing set with chains and straps, occupied the middle of the room. She tried to imagine how one would get into the seat and what kind of positions would be possible.

  "Indeed. There's another one hanging from the ceiling," Donna said, pointing overhead. She watched Jessica's face with amusement as she explained the various gizmos around the room. "The rooms are soundproof, so you'd never know from outside what's going on inside. There are panic buttons, of course, in case of emergencies, but I've never heard of them being used."

  "Sometimes if I'm here just a few hours, I don't even see anyone at all," she continued, walking around the room. "They've checked in before I arrive and don't leave before my shift ends. Otherwise, I go in and get the room ready for the next folks. It all gets cleaned, equipment put back. Some people bring their own things, though. The more, um, intimate items."

  Jessica put her hands up to the sides of her head and popped her fingers open. "Mind. Blown. I mean, I read your article, but all of this… it just didn't register." She pointed to a slender padded bench with an open headrest, more chains and restraints. The bench was slanted and looked immanently adjustable. She envisioned herself on it, face down, hands and ankles bound, Worth standing behind her, taking her. She cleared her throat and looked at her watch. "We'll be late for the movie if we don't leave now."

  Did the AC go off? Without realizing it, she had started fanning herself.

  Donna giggled. "Ready when you are. Let me text M and tell her I'm leaving." When they were outside, Donna locked one of the locks on the door; there were others she ignored. "Members have keys to this one," she explained. "During hours, they can let themselves in—but not to the rooms themselves. Only M and people like me have keys to keep everyone else out when the club's closed."

  Jessica shook her head as they walked to her car. "It sounds like the system works smoothly," she said as they got in. "But good lord, that trapeze thing."

  Unnoticed in a car, a man watched the women as they came out of the building. Whistling softly, he held up an expensive camera and snapped a series of photos. "Are those two a couple? Stranger things have happened," he mused out loud. There could be another explanation, of course, but the photo might come in handy. If nothing else, he would add it to his growing collection.

  He looked around the parking lot. He was alone, now that the women had driven off. No one could see inside his van. He scanned through the digital images on his camera until he found a good one of the blonde. His timing had been perfect. Unaware he was watching, she had bent over in a skirt. The fabric was tight over her buttocks, with shapely legs coming down. Oh, to have my hands between those. And this…

  Lance Glover unzipped his pants and let his fantasy take flight.

  10

  Christmas Approaches

  Chet Henderson watched his bride hang ornaments on the little tabletop tree. She had convinced him that it would be better to have a small tree so there was more room for people on Christmas. They'd invited their nearest neighbors to meet the family in the afternoon, and they had no idea how many might show up.

  Chet studied Carol as she studied the tree, carefully choosing the best spot for each trinket. Their first Christmas together, blending ornaments from their two separate lives before—it was important. Carol had spent weeks at Layla's, but for now, she was all his. Light through the window reflected off the gray in her chestnut hair, giving her an aura. "Time for a break, love."

  Carol looked at the boxes of ornaments. "But there's still a lot—" Catching his eye, she understood instantly and smiled. "Oh. That kind of break." She hung the ornament in her hand and then sat down on his lap, snuggling against his broad chest. She unbuttoned several of the buttons on his shirt and played with the generous gray hair she found as she lifted her face for his kiss.

  "I sure did miss you," he said softly.

  "I can tell. You've been quite amorous since my return." She thought of their weekend at Keith and Layla's. "And here, we don't have to endure a twin bed!"

  Chet laughed. "Yes, that was unacceptable." Attempts had been made with humorous results, but finally they had spread a blanket on the carpet and made love on the floor between the two twin beds in the guest room. When his son had knocked on the door the next morning, he'd come right in and laughed at the sight.

  "Where there's a will there's a way, you always told me," Keith said. "I'm glad the accommodations were not too restrictive for you newlyweds."

  Still entwined beneath the bedspread Carol had yanked off one of the beds, the couple only smiled at him. "Nothing to be embarrassed about," Chet had said later. "Keith's the one who barged in."

  But now, a comfortable king-size bed awaited. Jessica had been a little concerned that the reason for the king was so they could each have their own space—she desperately wanted her mother to be happy. When she'd said as much, Carol had put her fears to rest. "Don't worry, swe
etie. We sleep in the middle. And use the rest of the space for other activities."

  Arm in arm, the two walked into the bedroom. "Undress for me?" Chet asked.

  It never ceased to amaze Carol. She and Greg had had a wonderful marriage; his death two years before had been devastating. It had taken her a year before she even considered involvement with another man to be the remotest possibility, but once Chet had asked her to dinner the first time, that was "all she wrote" as Greg would've said. Even then, she had lacked the imagination to envision another relationship as passionate as the one she'd enjoyed with Greg—perhaps even more passionate. She shook her head at the thought, and Chet mistook it for a denial.

  "No?" Ironically, his thoughts had run along the same lines as Carol's, watching her trim the tree. His and Angie's marriage had not had the spark Carol and Greg's had had, but they were friendly and mostly compatible. Their union had produced two terrific children, but Angie had never enjoyed the physical aspect as much as he had. It had overshadowed his own pleasure to a significant degree. He had wanted so badly to please his wife, but what pleased her most was infrequency, not a new position.

  He had adapted, appreciating their history together, mourning her death. But this. This woman. She came from a different mold. And they were both in their sixties! Does this ever happen? When he'd said that to Carol, she had simply said, "I think it's supposed to be this way. It just rarely is."

  Carol smiled and winked at him now. "Not no, silly. Yes. Of course, yes." As she spoke, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She pulled off the sweatpants she'd kept on after their morning walk in the brisk December air. Her shoes had been left just inside the door, but she pulled her socks off now. He blinked lazily as he watched her, intent on every move.

  For a few seconds, Carol stood motionless, making room for his anticipation. When he opened his mouth just a fraction, she'd know to proceed. Some things shouldn't be rushed. There. Carol reached behind her back with both hands and unhooked her bra—not a lacy, sexy bra for walking and tree decorating, but a sensible white thing that had seen better days. Chet did not seem to mind at all as her ample breasts broke free.

  A little shyly, Carol looked downward as she wriggled out of equally sensible white cotton panties. She'd never been one for what she considered "big girl" panties, but these were merely functional, nothing fancy. She knew, though, that despite the extras—a few extra pounds, some stretchmarks and wrinkles around her eyes, a bit of cellulite—in Chet's opinion, she was everything he wanted in a woman. She smiled directly at him, confident and secure, almost daring him to just sit there when she stood naked, just out of reach.

  "Do you know what I love the most about your body?" he asked softly.

  Carol bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. She cupped her breasts with her hands, pressing them into a younger, perkier version. "These?"

  He shook his head slowly.

  She giggled and dropped her hands to her waist, spinning around before bending over slightly with her hands on her buttocks. "These?"

  "Uh-uh."

  Carol rolled her eyes, enjoying the moment every bit as much as her husband. What woman wouldn't enjoy feeling adored and cherished? She made a show of thinking deeply before slowly running her hands down to the salt-and-pepper triangle that, as surely as an X on a treasure map, marked the spot. "This? Is this what you love the most?" she whispered.

  He surprised her by once again shaking his head in the negative before moving to her, embracing her. "What I love the most about your body is everything… and the fact that it's yours. And the fact that it's mine."

  Retired though he was, Chet still worked out at the fire department gym. Scooping her up in his arms, he laid her gently on the bed. When he lay down beside her, he let out a sigh of contentment. "Maybe we should just take a little nap instead," he murmured.

  Carol snorted as she laid a hand on his jeans. "Absolutely not. Not with that big thing wanting to get out." Giggling, she undid his zipper so he could shimmy out of his jeans and boxers. When he was nude, she reached across him for a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand.

  When they'd first been intimate, Chet had—he admitted later—felt he'd let her down because she needed "lube", but she had convinced him it was an age thing, not a desire thing. She squirted a few drops into her hand and warmed it with the other before lovingly applying it to his erection. Once he knew this only enhanced her eventual pleasure, they included it in their foreplay.

  Sometimes, he insisted on lubricating her instead, either by caressing her "lady parts" as he called them, or by using his mouth and tongue to get her wet. Other times, her body decided it was still a teenager after all, and as they played around, his cock slipped in easily, surprising them both. "Well!" he'd say with a touch of pride. "That was easy!"

  Today, he caressed her back and teased her breasts as she massaged the slippery warming fluid over the head of his penis and down the sides. Carol gripped him harder and then whispered, "Turn over, Chief."

  He faced her as she rested her leg on his hip and guided his cock into her body. The moment of union—the joining, the oneness—was always such bliss for her. They lay still for a few seconds, just enjoying their closeness. Then Chet kissed her long and completely, their tongues playing, becoming joined by mouths just as they were below. Without losing either connection, they rolled over so that Chet was on top as he began to move, slowly at first, then more quickly. "Mmm. Oh yes, yes," Carol groaned softly.

  He slowed again, concentrating on Carol. In answer, she grabbed his buttocks tightly, pulling him in more deeply.

  Chet bent down, kissing her neck, her chest, nipping at her nipples as Carol gripped even harder. Her legs wrapped around him as her hands grabbed his head, forcing him to kiss her on the mouth as she arched her back and let out a moan of ecstasy. Only then did Chet thrust hard and fast, reaching his own climax within seconds. His face grimaced in concentration as he uttered a deep moan of release, relaxed with a sigh and then raised himself off, elbows straight, so he could look at her. "You are so beautiful," he said.

  "You're just saying that because I put out," she teased, obviously pleased.

  "That's right," he said as he bent down to kiss her. "I tell that to all the soon-to-be grandmothers who spread their legs for me."

  That gave Carol the giggles, silent giggles making her whole body shake. Chet wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "Oh I like that. Keep shaking and I may just feel the earth move again."

  Instead, Carol pinched both of his butt cheeks.

  "Ow!" he cried. "Okay, you little vixen, now you've done it." With one smooth movement, Chet was off her, pulling her onto his stomach where he trapped her feet. "You've been a naughty girl." He spanked her lightly with one hand a few times and then pulled her higher by both arms so that her breasts were above his face. Chuckling, he took first one nipple in his mouth, biting it gently, and then the other before laying Carol back on the bed. His gaze moved swiftly up and down her curves. "If we don't stop now, you're going to have to endure me again."

  Carol laughed. "It was your idea!" Chet got up and dressed quickly as she did the same. They embraced, still feeling the heat of their lovemaking. A lingering, wet kiss and Carol pushed him away. "If we don't stop now, you're going to have to endure me again."

  Her phone rang from where she'd left it in the living room, and she ran to answer it. "Keith? What's wrong?"

  Several miles away, Worth and Jessica wrapped presents and enjoyed homemade eggnog. "I love this time of year," Jessica said as she filled out a tag for Worth's mother Molly. She smiled across the table to him. "And I love signing things 'Worth and Jessica'. It's still hard for me to believe."

  "I know! This time last year, we settled for phone calls and not much else. Now we're Mr. and Mrs. Worth Vincent. I never get tired of saying it," Worth replied. He held up a gift card to Baby Gap. "Now whoever could this be for?"

  Jessica chuckled as she wrapped the delicate wool scarf for her mother she'd bought w
hile shopping for her wedding dress in Paris. Molly had set the whole trip up—a wedding gift from her and her current love interest Fred. "Layla's feeling very well, and the doctor says she and baby are both doing well, but she's getting antsy. Cabin fever. Almost a month of bed rest, poor thing, and another to go."

  Worth got up to refill their glasses. "Her sister's coming soon, isn't she?"

  "Already here, which is good news for Mom and Chet." She gave Worth a knowing look. "Great news for Mom and Chet."

  Worth grinned as he handed her more eggnog and sat again. "Those two." He reached for one of her hands to squeeze. "I hope that when we're their age, we still enjoy each other as much as they seem to. Do you think that's possible?"

  Jessica returned the squeeze. "We found each other under almost impossible circumstances, solved multiple murders, cleared your name and got married, all within one year's time. I think anything's possible." She thought again of Layla and breathed a quick prayer for her safety and that of her baby. I hope a baby for Worth is possible. He never thought he'd find love, much less have a family.

  Her phone rang on the table. "Hey, Mom. We were just talking about you," Jessica answered brightly.

  "Layla's gone into labor. We're on our way to the hospital now."

  11

  Christmas in Florida

  "You've got to be kidding me, Roy," Eric said as he met the driver in front of the Steins' mansion. Instead of the Lincoln Town Car that had picked him up at the airport in November, apparently they were taking a stretch limo to fetch Donna.

  Although the Asian man's name was actually Hiroya, he'd instructed Eric to use his nickname. A slender man, with short black hair, he wore his chauffeur's "uniform"—a neat black suit with white shirt and black tie and a black cap. "Mr. Stein insisted. Said you have been gone from your new wife too long for the Town Car."