by Kinsley Gibb
She stiffened.
They hadn’t made love.
This was sex between two consenting adults.
Her attempt at happily ever after had been a disaster. This, whatever this was, was her very own sexual revolution. She was sowing her wild oats and making up for lost time. Not falling in love. Love was for idiots with ideals left, her mother’s favorite motto and one she’d mentioned many times before.
She’d been conventional before, been the good girl, but this time wasn’t about convention. Her mother would keel over if she ever found out. This time was all about Anabelle and the expertise Derek offered.
Simple as that.
There would be no happily ever after. No emotional attachment. If she let emotion come into play, he’d be embarrassed for her vulnerability and she’d be mortified.
She pushed his hands away and finished the task on her own, ignoring the questioning look he sent her. He shrugged and grabbed a fluffy, white towel to wrap around her.
“Why so quiet?”
“No reason.” There was no need to discuss unimportant things like emotions.
He pecked her on the nose. “I’ll start dinner and we’ll watch the parade, hmmm?”
He walked away and she followed at a slower pace. She glanced back at the shower, feeling like she’d missed a sensual opportunity. He hadn’t wanted to linger and she wasn’t certain how to initiate matters yet but maybe it was time to take the lead.
She entered the kitchen, mulling over possible lesson plans. Her teacher might not like her revised lesson plans, but this was her sexual revolution, wasn’t it?
The rowdy crowd below held an assortment of crazy ass people in various states of inebriation. The night was dark, the weather clear and Anabelle stood with Derek on his balcony, watching the antics.
A lusty pirate held a wench over his arm and kissed her in front of a cheering crowd. The lady took exception to the treatment and beaned the pirate with his plastic cutlass. The crowd roared with laughter but unfazed, the pirate grinned and bowed with a flourish.
Anabelle’s husky laughter danced across his skin and his groin tightened. Emotions didn’t want to dissect hovered on the periphery of his conscious but he pushed them back and pulled her against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and tightened his arms, enjoying the sight of her breast plumping over his arms. The contrast between her pale cleavage and his tanned forearms clear even under the low light. Music blared from an electric float while revelers threw beads and candy. This was the adult part of Halloween Sugar Bay enjoyed.
He felt her relax into his embrace and he wondered if the wine she’d consumed at dinner had anything to do with her mood. Minutes later, the brush of her bottom against his groin took him from semi to hard in seconds. He glanced at her but she looked absorbed in the parade so probably hadn’t realized what she’d unintentionally done.
He shook his head.
It wasn’t her fault he remained in a half aroused state in her presence. But still, he didn’t need additional temptation so he shifted his hips and left space between them.
The Sugar Bay Chamber of Commerce float rolled by and Mayor Thomas waved to the crowd. Anabelle waved back. In her enthusiasm, she brushed against him again.
Damn.
She was killing his good intentions and if she didn’t cut it out, he’d lift her skirt here and now. He squeezed her in warning.
She looked back and smiled. His heart skipped and he knew he wore a shit-eating grin because the wicked look in her flushed face told him she’d known exactly what she’d done.
“Naughty.” He chuckled. “I like it.”
She faced forward and he crowded her against the railing, slipping a hand under her skirt to touch her smooth, hot skin. Slowly he moved higher, lifting the skirt from behind.
He encountered a silky thong. “Nice,” he said into her ear and lifted the string aside. He rubbed along the seam, moving his finger forward.
Her head rolled back and she moaned.
“Keep your attention forward,” he whispered. “No one can see.”
He worked his fingers against the apex of her thighs where she dripped with excitement. There he played, sliding his fingers in and out, glancing around the bundle of nerves that controlled her pleasure. Her hips rocked back and forth, he knew where she wanted him but he liked teasing her.
“Spread your legs.”
She obeyed and he went back to playtime. He brushed the underside of her breast and she shuddered. He loved how responsive she was so he tweaked her nipple and was rewarded with a moan.
To the world below, they looked like an embracing couple swaying to the music, but with every brush against her flesh, she shuddered, moaned and rubbed against his cock, leaving him in a painful state.
He pressed forward. No longer swaying to the music, their new rhythm was geared along a different pace where he flicked, rubbed and caressed until she fell apart in his arms with a drawn out moan. Tomorrow he’d find badges of her sexual satisfaction in the crescent shaped indents she left on his skin but he continued to stroke her until she came down from her orgasm.
“Shit.” He groaned into her hair. “It wasn't supposed to get out of hand. I’m sorry.” If the crowd bothered to look up, they'd see a different sort of show. The thought of being featured on a viral X-rated video clip forced him to step away even though his body screamed for him to finish.
“Do you really want to see the rest of the parade?”
“No,” she said, still out of breath from her release.
He exhaled in a rush. “Good. If we make it onto YouTube, my sisters will never let me live it down.”
He pulled her behind the green wall and she followed, laughing. The lush wall held vertically climbing vines and plants that created privacy, separating them from prying eyes, while muting the sounds of the crowds.
He pressed her against the adjacent concrete wall, still warm from the daytime heat and leaned into her. Their hips pressed together and she grinned. He shook his head. While he was in agony, she looked pleased with herself.
“What?” he said against her lips before he took a sip from them.
“Nothing.”
He bit her lower lip and she gasped.
“It's not nothing.” He pulled back and watched her. Had she decided to change the terms? He wanted her to give them a chance. They were only a day into the month long time frame and he felt a sense of urgency, a need for her to give in to him, to be his, for more than a month.
He brushed his lips against hers. Her eyes were dark with desire. He wondered if she knew her hazel colored eyes turned a smoky green when she was aroused. She licked her lips and he wanted to nibble them. Damn, she had the most kissable lips, plump on the bottom. It begged to be nipped now and again.
"I wanted a chance to play today,” she said and he reared back.
Fuck. So that was what the teasing earlier was about, she was testing her power. Initiating sex play was one thing, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle her completely taking control. As it was, he was already on edge.
She squinted at him and he grinned. He could see she wasn’t happy with his delayed response. She looked cute as hell when she was irritated with him but decided against telling her. She didn't need any more advantages.
“Here’s the thing, Anabelle. As the resident expert, I have to be in charge so you can fully understand the possibilities between a man and a woman, so I don’t think—“
“Stuff it, Derek.”
Their gazes battled, neither blinked.
Finally he sighed and stepped back. He lifted his arms in surrender. There hadn’t really been a choice, Anabelle looked mutinous and he sure as hell didn’t want her practicing on anyone else.
He was glad he’d braced himself because when she lowered her body and focused on his zipper, she was fierce.
“Have mercy,” he muttered, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, when she released him and opened her mouth to take
him inside.
But she didn’t have any.
Not for him.
Not today.
Chapter 11
The hint of Chanel no. 5 signaled impending doom but the Versace bag that was slammed down next to her served as confirmation.
Anabelle bit back an unfeminine word and reached for her allergy medication. “Hello Mother.” In the next few minutes, her eyes would itch and water and she wanted to be prepared.
The French fragrance had been Claire Broussard’s signature scent for as far back as Anabelle could remember. She had no idea why her mother preferred it to all else but then again it was a perfect fit for her mother's personality, expensive and cloying. Sort of like the wisteria vine in her neighbor’s yard, glorious once a year, but otherwise a pervasive and annoying pain that took over everything in sight.
“Anabelle.”
Cool gray eyes assessed her and she fought the need to squirm. Claire had a specific way of staring that encouraged confessions before you sinned, made you stutter and question every decision you once considered correct.
To be honest, Claire Broussard was scary.
She hadn’t always been that way but time and circumstance had changed all that.
There’d been a time when Claire had been warm and loving. Anabelle had the photos to prove it and since she’d had to sneak them from her mother, they remained hidden. She had suspicions they would disappear because her mother didn’t like being reminded of those times.
Physically, Claire looked perfect. Everything was as it should be, from a bold stroke of plum colored lipstick, to a sharply angled bob that tamed the mahogany brown hair that was the same color as Anabelle’s.
Charlie once remarked that Claire was a mash up of Cruella DeVille and Endora from the classic Bewitched. Every Halloween Charlie convinced all who would listen that Claire was a witch in hiding, never alluding whether Claire was a good or a bad witch, just that she was a witch because Claire had the uncanny ability to sense things. Maybe she’d heard about the sexy halter dress Anabelle had chosen for her cousin’s wedding?
“What are you doing here?” Her dad lived by the motto…the best defense was a good offense. So, she went with that.
“Where else would I be?” Her mother’s tone was very Southern and Anabelle winced. In her experience, the more distinct her mother’s southern accent was, the more trouble Anabelle was in.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Aunt Lorraine on your Grand European Holiday?”
“I cut it short. The first couple of ruins were interesting but after weeks’ worth of them, they started to blend so I made the executive decision to ditch those two and come home early.”
“I don’t get it. Who comes home early from a European vacation?”
“I heard some disturbing news and I couldn’t rest until I found out the truth.”
Dread slithered down Anabelle’s back. She hoped the disturbing news her mother was concerned about had something to do with the sexy dress that was a daring stretch for her, but she had a bad, bad feeling it wasn’t.
The luscious smell of coffee hit her when she opened the glass doors. She stood at the entrance, took a moment to inhale the aromatic yumminess. Heaven must smell like Starbuck’s and a bakery. Coffee and tea drinkers loitered the coffee shop. Some nibbled on pastries and drank their brew, while others crammed tiny tables with their laptops and used the free Internet.
Guilt was a powerful motivator and her mother fully utilized her power. Childbirth must give women magical powers of manipulation and persuasion? As in the more painful, the more effective their guilt trips.
So instead of watching Netflix at home while doing laundry, she was meeting a guy she’d never met before to please her mother. Fifteen minutes should be enough and would satisfy her sense of guilt.
The ‘Master of Manipulation’ had said Ethan wore glasses.
She should have asked for more details but she’d be dammed if she would text her mother for information now. She might end up naming her first child Mildred or Bunny or whatever Claire wanted because ‘Mother knew best’.
There should be a law against having one child. It was too much pressure for the poor sucker and she hated it. If she’d had a sibling, there would be another sucker for her mother to manipulate.
If only.
At least three guys with glasses were present. She dismissed the cute guy with the hipster glasses. The orange backpack he had with him screamed college bound and her mother was a stickler for propriety. She might be in the midst of a grand experiment, but she had no plans on making younger men her modus operandi.
The guy with the coke bottle glasses had a goatee and since her mother had a well-known discrimination against facial hair, claiming Tom Selleck was the only man alive that looked better with a mustache rather than without, she dismissed him as well.
That left the last guy and…holy cow.
He sensed her stare and looked up. “Anabelle?”
Good Golly. Her mother didn’t mess around when she played matchmaker.
He stood and revealed a tall frame with a blue button down shirt and tan chinos. The guy was beautiful if you liked the male model type. Fit but without the bulky muscles that made one worry about the dangers of steroids and shrunken testicles…Charlie’s words of wisdom. A hint of stubble accompanied a face that every female in America would love. The fact he was a doctor and hot made her instantly suspicious. She’d been used and abused before and had no desire to be another shield.
“Are you gay?”
He blinked his gray eyes but shook his head.
“A felon?”
He grinned and a dimple appeared. “No.”
“A cross dressing lunatic with a desire to turn me into a skin suit?”
He laughed out loud but when she didn’t join and instead waited for a reply, he stopped. “No,” he said with an almost straight face.
She appreciated his effort.
“Now can we shake hands or are you packing a Taser.”
She sighed, took his extended hand and felt…nothing. Not a zip. Not a zing. Not even a zippity-do-da.
Disgusting.
A good looking, age appropriate, heterosexual guy lands in her lap and her girly parts refused to melt. It was a slap in the face to red-blooded girls everywhere. She’d question her sexuality if she weren’t a panting, drooling mess that stripped naked at the least provocation from one Derek Wheaton.
Physically, Ethan was prime baby making material. He had a good job, was kind to old ladies evidenced by his presence tonight. She should be fist pumping and doing the end zone dance, no doubt about it.
But the fact remained, Anabelle Broussard was a contrary lunatic and maybe more like her mother than she wanted to be.
She shook her head at that depressing thought.
Fifteen minutes never felt so long.
With every downward stroke, Anabelle vented her frustration on the defenseless flank steak she planned for dinner. The fact that it needed to be tenderized was a bonus. The intended fifteen minutes she’d allotted had turned into an hour-long coffee date. Though she felt guilty, she wasn’t sure she should.
Although the master manipulator had insisted she meet Ethan, a part of her wanted to see if another, more suitable man would cure her of her obsession with Derek.
The coffee shop date had morphed into a therapy session. Intuitive guy that he was, Ethan used pastries to coax her into confessing her man troubles. While he listened and she chugged green tea, her phone sounded alerts. A part of her wanted to jump on the phone and check the incoming messages as she’d done since the start of the experiment but another, more prudent part of her wanted to slow down. Each encounter brought with it more intimacy. The man had a way of making her do things. Want things. He was hypnotic that way. She was addicted to him, went to bed thinking about him and woke up feeling the space next to her for him.
It was madness. And she knew, it wouldn’t end well.
She needed dis
tance.
So she’d ignored the texts.
Whack.
The experiment hadn’t made them a couple so she shouldn’t feel guilty for ignoring his text.
They were tutor/student.
Whack.
She should have jumped Ethan. That would have distracted her from her obsession. He was the grown up choice. Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Security. Dependability. Companionship.
The dead meat got another whack.
An image of Derek came to mind. Dark, sexy eyes that stared at her with need and made her feel like the most fascinating creature on earth. Like he felt more than affection, more than lust. It was delusional of course because it wasn’t possible.
Yet when he wrapped his arms around her, his touch both gentle yet strong, she melted. Couldn’t help it. The way he stared into her eyes when they made love. Correction. When they had sex.
Whack.
She’s be wise to remember their agreement.
If she were super smart, she’d stop their deal. Stop before she got more involved.
It had been dangerous to assume she could have sex without emotion. She was more like her mother than she thought. She’d seen firsthand her mother’s devastation and her retreat from the world after her father’s death.
Her phone pinged.
Derek.
Her resolve weakened and she reached for the phone before remembering her dirty hands.
“Let me get that for you.”
She spun, hand on her chest, and tried to calm her pounding heart. “Good grief, Mother. Give a girl some warning next time. You’re like a freaking ninja.”
“I called out but you made so much noise with your pounding, I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“You think?”
“Really, Anabelle. I think the cow is dead. There’s no use in beating it to death again.”
“Funny, mother. I’m trying a Pinterest recipe for Bulgogi,” she said before noticing something was different today. Her eyes weren’t itching or watering. “You’re not wearing perfume today.”
“I’m trying yoga for the first time tonight and decided to forgo perfume to help my search for clarity.”