Give It To Me: Taboo Romance

by Ami Snow

  “I’ve got plans with my boss,” Tiffany smirked. “I hope that’s okay. We can always schedule a rain check.”

  “How about you cancel with your boss and just let me come over and take advantage of that awesome kit you’ve got there.”

  “Hm,” Tiffany mumbled. “I’ll have to give it some thought. Why don’t you kiss me one more time just so I’m sure it’ll be worth it? Being my boss, I’m not sure he’ll be pleased.”

  “I think we should take the risk,” Eric smiled. “Playing hard to get can sometimes be beneficial to any relationship. Your boss is sure to notice. He may even give you a raise.”

  “Oh I have no doubt he’ll give me a raise. It might not benefit my finances much but I can bet I’ll be more relaxed when he’s done.”

  “Alright,” Eric teased. “Keep your plans, I’ll be sure to be on time.”

  “Good,” Tiffany said, grabbing his tie and bringing his smiling mouth back down for another soul smashing kiss. By noon she was steeped in paperwork for some ventures that Eric was looking into. Mondays were for Eric’s personal business and Tiffany took a renewed interest in the things Eric took time to care about. Had she ever really wondered at his generosity? If so she’d been an idiot. Going back a few months, Tiffany realized that nearly half of his paycheck went to charity. She wasn’t sure if he gave every two weeks as he got paid or if he did it in lump sums every few months, but either way, Eric Mathis was a very giving man with a big heart. She wondered how a woman like Cynthia could give him up.

  “I need to see my husband immediately!” came a voice from a woman standing in front of Tiffany’s desk.

  “Certainly Mrs. Mathis,” Tiffany said, keeping her voice even. Tiffany pushed the number one on her intercom and told Eric his wife was here to see him.

  Chapter Five: Dissolutions and Revelations

  “Show her in Ms. Richards,” Eric said, using her more formal name in the presence of his soon to be ex-wife. “Hello Cynthia.” Eric glanced at her, ignoring the urge to look at Tiffany. He didn’t need Cynthia to know about her and make both of their lives a living hell.

  “I need to know what the hell is going on Eric,” Cynthia said before turning to address Tiffany. “You may leave now.” Eric’s jaw clenched, but he kept his facial expression even as he waited for Cynthia to continue.

  “I’m going to assume for time’s sake that you’re referring to the divorce papers you received?”

  “You know damn well that’s what I’m talking about. Where did this hair brained idea come from?”

  “Cynthia, we both know that neither of us is happy in our marriage. We haven’t been together in years. You’ve been involved with whoever and I realized that what we had isn’t salvageable. I’ve come to terms with that fact. I want us both to be happy and I’m convinced we’ll be happier apart than we ever were together.”

  “You can have your divorce Eric,” she spat, daggers firing from her dark and angry hazel eyes. Eric remembered a time when he hadn’t been able to look away from them. He sighed, waiting for her to continue. “But you’ll give me two-thirds of your assets, not fifty percent.”

  “Done,” Eric said, his note of finality apparently shocking Cynthia into silence. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the new paperwork to send to you. If that’s all I have a meeting to get to.”

  Eric grabbed his blazer, his briefcase and his keys and headed out of the office, leaving a stunned Cynthia to slowly follow. He waited patiently for her to catch up before he spoke again. “I’m sorry, if it matters, for the mess of our marriage. I realized a few weeks ago that I wasn’t the husband you needed or deserved. I really do want you to be happy Cyn,” Eric said.

  “Who are you?” she breathed, clearly astounded. “And where did you put my cynical and angry husband?”

  “I’m still the same guy and I’ll probably always struggle with putting my job before my family, but it’s something I’m learning to work on. It was nice to see you Cynthia, I’ll have those papers to you next week.”

  “Thank you Eric,” she said, at a loss to come up with anything else to say. Eric waived as his car pulled away from the curb and as he sat back and sighed, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. In a matter of weeks he’d be free to pursue a whole new life and he had an idea that one young and gorgeous Tiffany Dansbury would be a very integral part of that new life.

  ***

  Tiffany closed up her office, shut the lights off in Eric’s as well and locked the main door behind her as she met Stanley, the security guard, downstairs. “Have a good night ma’am,” the elderly gentleman said. Tiffany often wondered if he was fit enough to be a security guard, but the nine millimeter pistol he kept tucked under his shirt gave him a serious advantage if anyone came looking for trouble.

  “Goodnight,” Tiffany returned. She was just about to get into her car when she saw Eric pull up along the curb.

  “Can I interest a beautiful woman in a ride home?”

  “Well I don’t know mister,” she teased. “It depends on what you mean by the words ride and home.”

  Eric laughed. “Get in the car and I’ll not only tell you, but I’ll show you when I get you to your apartment.”

  Tiffany smiled and slid easily into his passenger seat. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss over her fingers. “I missed you while I was gone today.”

  “I missed you to, but I hope that within the next few weeks I’ll be able to amicably settle my divorce. Cynthia agreed to two-thirds of my assets, including selling the house as neither of us wants the reminders that live there. I’m hoping to get at least a million out of it. That will go a little ways to cushioning the blow to my stock portfolio.”

  “Are you concerned that she’ll try to milk you for alimony?”

  “She may, but because I’ve been up front and more than generous with my assets, the judge should understand my not wanting to agree to alimony. I’m hoping Cynthia isn’t stupid enough to bring it up and is satisfied with the huge sum she’ll already be getting. She didn’t used to be a gold digger so hopefully that hasn’t changed.”

  “I hope so, for both our sakes.”

  “Worried for me darling?”

  “Yes,” Tiffany admitted. “And I hope you don’t think it shallow of me, but I like that you’re wealthy. I like that I don’t have to worry when we go out on a date whether or not I’ll have to pay for my part or both of us.”

  “Any man who makes a woman pay is garbage and should be dropped like a hot potato, in my humble opinion.”

  “Humble opinion huh?” Tiffany laughed.

  “Well okay, maybe not very humble, but I believe a man should work for what he has, that he should be able to keep it if he wants to, and that he should respect the woman in his life enough to treat her like a lady.”

  “What is she’s a whore?” Tiffany asked, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Well then, she gets her pay upfront of course,” Eric said, laughing when Tiffany’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re terrible,” she chuckled.

  “Just honest darling, and since I’ve had a run in a time or two with professional working women we’ll call them, I know that they absolutely get their pay up front.”

  “Were you ever disappointed?”

  “Never, although I wasn’t paying them for myself. I had a friend in school who was so afraid of women that he’d get sick just thinking about talking to them. I paid a woman one time to talk to him. Then I paid her to screw him so he’d stop seeing women as an unattainable goal. He eventually got over his nerves and is now married with six children.”

  “Wow!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Six children? He must have learned a thing or two while he was with those women.”

  “I talked to the woman I paid after they’d been together. She said the first night he couldn’t do anything but ejaculate early. She said after about five times of that his body was so worn out that he didn’t have much left. The next mornin
g she apparently took him while he was half awake. She said after that he was like a Casanova in bed. She actually thanked me before I left her room.”

  “Thanked you with words or deeds?” Tiffany couldn’t help asking.

  “Words,” Eric smiled. “I was never big on being with a man’s leftovers.”

  “Ouch,” Tiffany said.

  “I wasn’t talking about you Tiffany,” Eric said, taking her hand in his. “You’re my diamond in the rough and I’m thankful that you’re here with me. A woman who gives herself to multiple men for money is the leftovers I was speaking of. Who knows how many men have had her and money or not she’ll be all used up. A man enjoys a little intrigue in the woman he gets with. He doesn’t want to wonder who had her before him or worry about who’ll have her after he leaves. At least I don’t.”

  “You make good sense Mr. Mathis.”

  “Back to formal names is it?”

  “It was in my gift you bought me,” Tiffany smiled slyly. “I figured I’d try it out and see how much you liked seeing me in my leather and chains. Personally I think it’s going to be so hot!”

  “I can’t wait,” Eric said, pulling into her parking space. He walked her inside and barely shut her door before she had him up against it, her hot mouth plundering his. Within minutes their clothes were strewn on the floor in a trail that led to her bedroom. He barely had time to notice that he’d stepped into a dominant woman’s domain. When her door shut he watched with hungry eyes as she slid into the dominatrix outfit he’d bought her. When she cuffed his hands to her headboard and almost immediately started sucking his cock, Eric knew that his love affair with BDSM was just beginning. He hoped for Tiffany’s sake that she was up for learning much more about bondage, dominance and submission. He may even stick his big toe in the masochism part, although he already knew Tiffany wasn’t a huge fan. Still the idea of this sort of lifestyle was intriguing and a massive turn on.

  As Eric’s body began to respond to Tiffany’s wet stimulation all he could do was hope that she’d give him a reprieve after every session, because the way she was working him over left little room for losing control.

  THE END

  Teasing My Dad’s Best Friend

  TABOO ROMANCE

  By: Amanda Bolton

  Teasing My Dad’s Best Friend

  Chapter One –

  The sweet, soothing fragrance of fresh-baked pastries wafted through the air from the bakery stall in the far corner of the subway station. A full-figured young woman with stylishly choppy, layered hair and neon-pink butterfly frames wandered down the grimy staircase of the brightly lit entrance. Winona Rockwell wrinkled her nose as she reached the foot of the steps, peeling a soggy newspaper clipping off the thin heel of her ballet flat. She peered around at the vaguely familiar setting, running her fingers through the lilac ombre ends of her hair. She clicked her tongue in irritation, the strands of her hair snagging around the oversized pink tourmaline of her ring.

  'Damn,' Winona wondered, 'That must've been some party last night. Worst hangover ever – well, except I don't feel even a little bit buzzed – just confused as all hell.'

  The doubtful whispers in her head intensified as she craned her neck upwards, her eyes darting searchingly for signage or any other indicants to her whereabouts. The vaulted ceilings of the subway station were paved with a mesmerizing basket weave pattern of glossy, kashmir-gold tiles. Winona frowned at the endless maze of golden tiles that lined the walls, her eyes widening as she scanned the walls for posters and advertisements. The massive advertisement light boards that usually boasted heavily-photoshopped images of women with impossibly immaculate make-up and realtor promotions with toothy, wide-grinned suit types in cliché poses, were completely blank. The pillars were free of distasteful graffiti and stacks of crumpled, sticky flyers, instead, blank frames perched neatly across the walls.

  'Well, that's not weird at all,' thought Winona, cocking an eyebrow.

  A chill crept up Winona's spine as she slowly spun towards the crowd amassing in the station, hoping to spot a friendly, approachable face. The subway patrons pouring in and out the flight of steps were eerily quiet, some with hands tucked in their pockets, others mechanically sipping from their foam cups, and the rest with the tips of their noses kissing the screens of their phones. Winona sensed the haunting lack of scattered chatter, her toes curling against the padding of her flats. The sound of their shuffling footsteps seemed to be slowly coming into sync.

  “Mommy, can we get some donuts from that bakery down there? I want two with strawberry sprinkles.”

  Winona gasped, clutching the scoop neck of her blouse. A little girl with bouncing, soft-black pigtails appeared next to her, seemingly out of nowhere. Winona narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the little girl's pink, tea-length tulle dress, the ballet flats on the child's feet a miniature version of the one on her own. The little girl was faceless, her features clouded in a stunning halo of light. Winona's bottom lip quavered, tilting her head to the side.

  “Emily?”

  “What, Mommy? You're being weird.”

  Winona crouched down in front of the child, brushing the back of her hand against the girl's cheek, the light engulfing her fingers. Winona looked her up and down, flashing her a wobbling, watery smile.

  “Look at you,” Winona breathed, her eyes gleaming with pride, “You're so big now.”

  “That's cause I'm this many now,” chirped Emily in reply, thrusting five wiggling fingers into Winona's face.

  “I've missed you –”

  “I've missed you too, Mommy, but there's no time for that now! We've gotta get to the bakery before they close!”

  “Alright, alright – strawberry sprinkles actually do sound pretty good.”

  Emily wrapped both of her small hands around Winona's wrist and began to yank her towards the opposite direction. Winona peeked behind her shoulder at the bakery in confusion.

  “I thought you wanted donuts –”

  “Right but the ones I want are this way, Mommy!”

  The intense, sharp whistling of an approaching train shrilled through the air, shattering the silence. Winona's mouth dropped open, squinting into the terrifying throng of commuters milling towards her. She tightened her grip around Emily's hand and maneuvered them through the scowling, angst-ridden faces of pierced teens; unpleasant, sneering businessmen; and the puckered, unamused faces of tall youths in thick, wayfarer glasses and bright-colored pants two sizes too small. Winona sucked in her stomach as she shrank them up against the wall, the overwhelming rush hour mob shoving past them. Her chest swelled, the creases of her palms perspiring as she firmed her grasp around Emily's hand.

  “Mommy, I'm scared –”

  “Don't be – I'm right here,” Winona managed, her throat closing up.

  The herd of commuters seemed to be multiplying quickly, flocking in from the steps of the entrance. Winona looked to her right, the gush of hurtling wind from the approaching silvery blur of the subway train whipping her hair against her face. She yelped, Emily's fingers slipping out from the clammy cusps of her hands. Winona's chest swelled, the hammering palpitations of her erratic heartbeat ringing in her ears as she merged into the crowd. She clawed helplessly at the frighteningly firm, nudging shoulders, Emily's startled, high-pitched cries floating further into the distance.

  Three chimes sounded, signaling the closing of the train doors. A brief flurry of Emily's taffy-pink dress caught Winona's eye, disappearing behind the legs of a portly, pinstriped-suited man with a bowler hat as he elbowed his way through the doors, the metallic clunk of the doors shutting behind him. Winona's blood ran cold in her veins.

  “EMILY!”

  The spattering of commuters who were unable to embark the train began seceding, shambling to the side, allowing Winona to scurry up to the closed doors. She pounded her fists against the subway windows, elongating her neck as she peered inside. A pair of short, black pigtails bobbed up and down frantically amidst the crude, su
ffocating mass congregated inside the vehicle.

  “EMILY! STOP! My daughter's in there – let me in!”

  The wheels sputtered to life, hissing as it started up on the tracks. Winona ran alongside the train, her chest heaving as the vehicle gradually gained speed, vanishing into the tunnel. She crumbled to the ground, the bullets of her tears tainting the rouge on her cheeks. She looked around desperately, clinging onto the ankle of an alarmed middle-aged man in a train conductor's uniform.

  “Please – you need to help me – my daughter's on that train, I don't – I can't lose her again.”

  The man leaned towards her, his gold-rimmed frames sliding down the bridge of his nose. He curled his lip as he studied her wordlessly for a few moments, finally parting his lips. His mouth distorted, stretching inhumanely wide, the ringing sounds of a telephone pealing out the pitch-black space.

  Winona's eyelids fluttered open, blindly reaching towards the blaring house phone on her bedside table. She tugged on the pull chain of her lampshade, a dim, reddish glow radiating the large space of her bedroom. She clicked on the “call” button, and slammed back down onto her mattress, bundling herself under her velvety cotton covers.

  “Hello?” Winona whispered groggily into the receiver, knuckling her temples in circular motions.

  “Winona, honey? Were you asleep? Sorry, I can call back another time –”

  “It's fine, Dad,” yawned Winona, stretching her left arm over her head, “What's up?”

  “You better sit down for this –”

  “I'm swaddled in my sheets, laying in bed. I think I'll be fine. So what's going on, Dad? What's got you all excited?”

  “You remember that application you sent in to Channel 8 News to shadow one of the anchors –”

  “You mean the only thing I've been able to talk about for the past couple of weeks?” Winona interjected playfully, “Of course, Dad. What –”