“OVER THE PAST week, I’ve taught you how to exploit your best assets. Showed you how to make your man crave you emotionally, just as much as he does physically. I’ve even taught you how to stroke his fragile ego. That was the first phase of our program, and if you feel that was teetering on the threshold of your sexual tolerance, I suggest you leave now. Now, it’s time to kick it up a notch.”
I walk up to one of the housewives on the first row, not really seeing her at all, and help her to her feet. I don’t even look at her face as my hands find the pins in her tightly wound updo, quickly releasing a cascade of golden blonde, wavy locks. Next, my fingers trace the shell of her ears, down her jaw until they rest on the string of pearls kissing her collarbone.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” I say, close enough that my lips graze her ear.
“No,” she squeaks. She’s lying. Fucking lying is all they’ve seemed to master. Fine. Time to call her bluff. A devious smirk on my lips, my fingers find the top buttons of her blouse. Her green eyes widen as I pop the top one, revealing more of her smooth skin.
“How about now? Does this make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” she replies, matching my raspy tone. Her eyes slide shut, and she releases a whine from her slender throat.
“What’s your name?” I ask, undoing the second button. She gasps as it falls open, revealing the top of her cleavage.
“Shayla. Shayla Adkins,” she relays, panting. Of course, I already knew that. Shayla Dawn Adkins, married to George Adkins, Jr., heir of a popular weight loss program that most of these women swear by. Her husband, affectionately known as Georgie, is also gay. And he sent her to me with the intent of going away for an extended vacation with his best friend/personal trainer, Arturo. Needless to say, there is nothing I can teach Shayla that will make her what her husband desires unless she makes a trip to Thailand and starts calling herself Sherman. And the sad part is, she’s completely clueless. She believes the bullshit he feeds her about being too stressed out at work to make love to her. She’s even proud of his dedication for spending countless hours “training” at the gym. Poor girl is as naïve as a baby lamb in a den of wolves.
“Shayla.” I step in so close that our bodies meet, her heat melding with mine. She sucks in a breath. “Shayla, do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Silence falls around us, and not even the sounds of heated breaths or the distant clattering of dishes from the kitchen can be heard. Just the muted rustling of fabric slipping over another ivory button fills the space, coupled with Shayla’s shallow panting.
My index finger falls on the front clasp of Shayla’s white lace bra, and she stops breathing altogether. I rake my fingers over the delicate fabric, toying with her, making her ache for what comes next. She lifts her head and gazes at me through long lashes, begging with those blue eyes. How long has it been since a man touched her? How long has it been since she felt desired?
“Seduction,” I breathe, and I feel her shiver under my touch. I pull open her blouse just a bit more, exposing her chaste lingerie. A hiss slips through her teeth as I splay a hand on her bare chest. “It lies in the sway of your hips when you walk. The light, breathy tone of your voice. The way your hair whispers across smooth skin. The way you’re looking up at me through your eyelashes right now, eyes hooded and smoldering.” I barely caress the shell of her bra and she quivers, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. “Seduction, Shayla. I’m going to teach you how to seduce me, just as I have seduced you.”
In the next breath, I’m a foot away from her, yet my eyes are still locked on her angelic white lace bra. “Your bra is…cute. Practical. But it’s not seductive.”
I look around the room, addressing all of the ladies. “And I can bet money that each of you are wearing similar undergarments. Which is why you all have an assignment. In order to be seductive, you need to be confident. And that’s something that can’t be taught. It needs to come from within. So for today’s exercise, we’re going to do something a little different. You’ll all go back to your rooms and change into something a bit more…seductive. You’ll find that your suite has been stocked with lingerie from Agent Provocateur, and not a stitch considered sensible or practical. I want sexy, ladies. I want suburban slut. Housewife meets whore. Sell it. Make me believe it. Own it.”
“You want us to strut around in lingerie?” asks the matronly Maryanne Carrington, pulling her cardigan closed.
“Not right away. But today, you will strut around in front of me. By the end of the course, you’ll be comfortable enough to walk around practically naked on Rodeo Drive while drinking a latte.”
Horrified murmurs resound around the room, yet only one voice has the nerve to speak up. “Don’t you think that’s a little uncalled for? We came here to improve our marriages and our sex lives. Not abandon our morals and become your personal strippers.”
Numbly, I turn my gaze on Allison’s rigid expression, the light in her eyes dimmed by her annoyance. It’s the first time I’ve let myself look at her since last week. Since the day I kicked her out of my home with fallen stars drowning in her eyes.
“Like I said before, Mrs. Carr, if you find my teachings too risqué for you—if you think you don’t need this course—you can leave.”
Ally narrows her eyes into slits yet doesn’t say a word, resolving to wring her hands instead. I lift a brow, challenging her to storm out of this house and my life for good, restoring the carefree, I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that has placated me for almost 30 years. My indifference has always been my safety net. And now…now I’m fighting just to hold onto it.
You reject people before they have a chance to reject you.
My head snaps to Allison as if she had just murmured the words herself. I know it’s just my conscience messing with me. My Jiminy Cricket has a sick, twisted sense of humor.
“So…how is this supposed to work?” Shayla asks, her face still flush and top buttons undone.
“Starting in about half an hour, someone from my staff will come to retrieve you one by one, then lead you to a secluded room. From there, we will have a private session of sorts. I want to gauge both your strengths and weaknesses so I can determine the best way to personally consult you. So…ladies, if you will…” I extend my hand toward the hallway the leads to the staircase. The staff is already lined up, waiting to assist them in any way. Once the last reluctant face disappears from sight, I make a beeline for the kitchen.
“A LITTLE EARLY for a brew, eh, J.D.? Let me guess: Lingerie Day.”
I nod at Riku before tipping back my beer, nearly draining it in just a few gulps. I open the fridge and grab two more, handing him one. A little mid-morning beer never hurt anyone. Hey, it’s five o’clock some where in the world.
Riku pops the top and takes a swig. “Wait a minute. Don’t you usually do that around Week Three?”
I take another big gulp. Holy hell. I’ll be halfway drunk if I don’t get some food in me. “Yeah. But these girls…they need to be shocked. They’re too comfortable. I need to push a bit and see if they actually push back.”
Riku shrugs. “You’re the boss. But don’t be surprised if one of those chicks gets a little fire in them and pushes you right on your ass.”
I turn toward the fridge and immerse myself in a hunt for snacks to hide my expression. If Riku only knew how right he was.
Someone did push back. And now it’s physically impossible to get back up, dust my shit off and walk away.
I pop a few grapes into my mouth to keep from speaking the bitter truth. Then I drain my beer and prepare to give these women what their husband’s hard-earned money paid for.
“BRING IN THE next one.”
I wipe my brow with a handkerchief and take a calming breath. So far, five ladies have been brought to me, all shaking like leaves on their 6-inch hooker heels. But they came. No matter how reluctant they may have been, they came willingly.
Minutes
pass before I hear the telltale signs of stilettos on hardwood. They grow louder, echoing in my head, mimicking the sounds of a ticking time bomb. I know it’s inevitable, and I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m almost immune to the sight of scanty lace stretched over round, full breasts. I’ve seen more than my fair share of thong-clad asses. And every pussy looks good when it’s kissed and caressed by buttery-soft silk.
Still, none of my experiences could have prepared me for the vision that stood in the doorway in the next instant.
Allison steps into the room just far enough for Diane to close the door behind her. She flinches, though she’s trying like hell to remain cool and indifferent to being half naked in front of me. I stay seated, choosing to remain in my safe zone. Standing would only make the urge to rip that goddamn cock-tease of a satin robe off her shoulders, that much stronger.
“So?” she asks, raising a brow.
“So.”
“So…I’m here. Now what?”
I stroke the dust of hair on my chin, contemplating my next move.
She’s just like everyone else. She’s nothing special. Just a paycheck.
I chant it in my head over and over again until it becomes real. Or at least believable.
You’re full of shit. She’s more than that, and you know it. And you hate it.
“Take off your robe,” I say brusquely, trying to silence the voices in my head.
Allison hesitates, still riding the imaginary fence between the doorway and the actual room space. She pulls the robe around her tighter, the drawn satin revealing the curve of her hips. My mouth waters.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me, Ally.” My voice is softer than it should be. Probably softer than she deserves. “Take off your robe…please.”
She doesn’t fight, though I know she wants to. Instead, she takes a breath and clenches her eyes shut. Then slowly, almost painstakingly, her grip loosens on the pinched fabric. Light brown freckles adorn the top of her chest and shoulders. The contrast of those tiny sprinkles against her milky white skin, and that scarlet hair frosting her shoulders, reminds me of a red velvet cupcake. I lick my chops lazily, the urge to feast on her sweetness growing stronger and hotter.
When the robe slips over the bodice of her corset, my head and limbs become disjointed, and all sense of control begins to slip away. I can feel my legs aching to stand, and my hands burning to touch her. To trace the mosaic of cinnamon freckles blessed with the privilege of living on her creamy skin.
Allison looks down as the satin uncovers more of the lace cinching her breasts and waist as if she is seeing it for the very first time. Eyes wide with wonder, it’s as if she’s experiencing this practice in restraint with me, surprised with her own willpower.
The robe drops to the floor, unsheathing the embodiment of heaven in heels. Her lace bustier and panties are winter white, adorned with rose-pink detailing around the cups of her pert breasts. White stocking are hooked by a matching garter belt over long, toned legs.
She’s an angel. My angel with a halo of fire.
Against the bare walls and sparse furnishings, she looks out of place. A woman like her should be surrounded by beauty, immersed in all things soft and gentle.
Not cast into the darkness of tainted desire.
Our eyes find each other, and our mouths part, yet no words are said. There aren’t any. Just indefinable friction filling this space, the electricity so thick that even the surface of her skin seems to glow. She’s effervescent.
“Walk to me,” I command.
Allison takes a few shaky steps toward me before I halt her advances by raising my palm. “Stop.”
Hurt and confusion flashes across her face. “What?”
“Don’t just stalk over here like you’re walking the green mile. Exaggerate the sway of your hips; sashay to me. See how the heels elongate your legs and sculpt your calves? Give me time to appreciate that. Ok? Now, try again.”
She rolls her eyes before a steely determination settles in them. Head held high, she slowly takes a step forward, and something hot descends into my gut, leaving a scorching trail of lust down my spine. Another sinful step, those teal eyes locked on me like a seductive sniper, and the heat twists and radiates into my lap. A third step with those round luscious hips playing peek-a-boo from under the frilly lace of her panties, and I feel like my pants will burst into flames, causing me to jump to my feet and swiftly stride toward her.
I know Allison can read the desperation and urgency in my hungry eyes. I know she notices how my hand shakes as I reach out to tuck a lock of her strawberry mane behind her ear. Yet, no witty remark or snarky joke escapes her. Instead, she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and gently rakes her top teeth over it. Without even thinking, I slowly run my thumb along her mouth, coaxing out that tormenting lip. Ally releases it, and with it still glossy and glistening, my thumb trails her mouth once more.
There is nothing between us now but air, opportunity, and forgotten obligations. I don’t care about it any of it. With one hand gripping her back and the other tracing her lips, all the rules and boundaries just fall away.
To hell with the consequences.
I close my eyes, because touching her and seeing her is just too much to bear. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” I whisper. I don’t expect her to answer, or even hear me for that matter. But I want her to. I need her to.
The angel tumbles down to Earth into my own personal realm of lust, hedonism and shame. With eyes the color of the ocean and her halo of fire burning as bright as the desert sun, she speaks to me. And while she is raw and sullied, tainted by this beautiful hell, her words breathe life into the darkest, loneliest parts of me.
“Exactly what you taught me.”
Reality rushes in, throttling me into an icy-cold pool of awareness.
I’m touching another man’s wife.
I almost kissed another man’s wife.
I want to fuck another man’s wife.
Thinking it– letting it linger on the edges of your conscience– is one thing. But admitting it? Knowing that shit for a fact, so much so that it damn near hurts not to be near her? To anticipate every glance and sigh as if they drive my very existence?
This is madness.
I step away from her and keep stepping away until I am at the door. And even as I watch as pain dims the light in her eyes, I know that I have to leave. Because if I don’t, I’ll make good on every one of my unspoken admissions.
SHADES OF PINK smear the cloudless sky as the sun sinks into the shadowy depths of the horizon. I watch it in wonder, almost overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. People see the desert as lifeless, dry and desolate. I see peace, stillness and freedom.
I hear her approach, but I don’t move, still watching as pink fades into the darkest of blues, allowing the stars to reemerge and shine. I imagine them twinkling in her teal eyes as she smiles. I’m just too afraid to look at her and see it for myself.
The slap of her sandals stops at the lounger beside me, and she takes a breath before sitting down. We don’t speak. We don’t have to. The stars speak for us.
“What do you see up there?” she whispers after several minutes. We’re bathed in darkness now, aside from the muted light coming from the main house.
“Space.”
Ally snickers. “Wow. Such a profound observation, Mr. Drake.”
I turn my head just in time to see her throw her head back and laugh, the sound so pure and unexpected that I find myself smiling.
“Not space-space. Not like the “final frontier” or some shit like that. But space…room to breathe. To grow. To dream.”
“Mmmm.” The sound is throaty and erotic as hell. “Poetic.”
It is poetic for me, and I instantly regret my words. Seems like I can’t stop the word vomit when I’m with her. There’s just something about Ally that distracts me just enough to forget myself, beckoning my truth like a siren’s call. I just want to tell her…everything.
&nb
sp; Maybe we were friends in a past life. Or lovers.
“Why did you leave me this afternoon?” she finally asks. I knew it was coming, yet the words still feel like nails on a chalkboard.
“I had to.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I was distracted. And when I’m distracted, I can’t do my job.”
She frowns, and turns to her side, her front completely facing me. “You were distracted…by me?”
“Yes.”
She hums a response but doesn’t press for more. Instead she jumps to her feet, her sandals slapping against the pavement. “Hey, are you hungry?”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. You weren’t at dinner. I figured you must be hungry.”
I shake my head. Sharing a beer or a bowl of ice cream is one thing, but breaking bread with the woman would be just asking for trouble. And I’m fairing just fine in that department on my own, fuck you very much.
“I’m good.”
Ally takes a step forward, close enough for me to see the floral pattern of her sundress from the corner of my eye. “Did you eat dinner?”
“No.” I peer at her just in time to see her roll her eyes.
“Well, I want to eat something. And you’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?” She flutters those dark auburn lashes, and her eyes grow as large and round as the moon.
“What about your ice cream?” I don’t tell her that I already polished off that carton and had to send out for more.
“Nah. I need real food. I’m hungry.”
“How are you hungry? Wasn’t dinner a couple hours ago?” I let my gaze sweep her slight frame, wondering where the hell she packs away all those daily bowls of ice cream. To society’s standards, Allison would be considered skinny, maybe even a bit understated. Her breasts aren’t naturally large or inflated with mounds of silicone or saline. Her ass is pert and small, just large enough to fit in my palms. And her hips are narrow, yet shapely and feminine.
Allison is a real woman. She isn’t pumped full of filler or snatched and pulled to the point that she can’t breathe. She’s comfortable in her skin, and that makes me all the more intrigued by her, and confused by her reasons for being here. Women as confident as her shouldn’t give two flying fucks about being subservient sex slaves to douche-canoe little shits like Evan Carr.
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