Want It Bad: A Kinky Romance

by Melinda DuChamp

  She didn’t have to close her eyes to imagine herself tied to Jake’s bed. It was all she could think of, all she could feel. Having him tie her, lick her, push the toy deep inside, deliciously cruel.

  How long had that woman been bound? An hour? Two? Three? What other perverted things had Jake done to her while she begged, helpless, for release? What perverted things was he doing now?

  Carla’s orgasm built strongly, then overtook her with a shudder. Clenching her hand between her thighs, she kept moving her finger as long as she could stand it, mouth open but not making a sound.

  And then it was over.

  Chest heaving, she zipped her pants, fumbling with the button, then slid down to sit on the floor and tried not to cry.

  She’d been wrong to spy on Jake.

  Wrong to stay and watch.

  Wrong to masturbate to what she’d seen, like some deviant peeping tom, unable to control herself.

  The shame washing over her was full-body. And even worse than shame was the empty need still pulsing in her core. She wanted to strip off her clothing. She wanted another orgasm. She wanted to keep touching herself.

  Carla thought of the Hitachi vibrator Janet had given her. Upstairs in her underwear drawer.

  How would it feel if she were bound, legs wide apart, and Jake pressed that against her? What if, at the same time, he took her nipples in his rough hands, twisting and pulling, his hot mouth on her neck and…

  Stop it!

  Carla shook her head, blowing out a deep breath. She picked herself up, marched into the kitchen, and splashed cold water on her face. It cooled her cheeks and messed up her makeup and hair, but did little to control her ardor. After patting her skin dry with a towel, she sat at her dinette table and tried to focus on the most unsexy things she could.

  Tax returns.

  Baseball.

  Pizza.

  Sailing.

  Most people thought sailing was invigorating, a great way to enjoy the outdoors. But when Carla had been a girl, she’d fallen off a boat in Puget Sound while spending the weekend with her dad. The idea of being trapped on a boat, waves tossing her up and down, water on all sides, made her shiver.

  It also helped quench the fire in her loins. The memory of thrashing in the Sound was enough to make her feel decidedly unsexy.

  In control of herself, Carla wondered what she should do next. Jake was still supposed to come by for a beer. He’d seen her. No doubt he’d confront her.

  Or would he? Maybe he was just as embarrassed as Carla was. Maybe they could both avoid talking about it.

  Or maybe a better idea was to just drop the beer off at his door with a note thanking him for his help, but explaining that she wasn’t feeling well. Then all she had to do was avoid him for the rest of their lives, and everything would be fine.

  And what if he still came over at eight o’clock?

  Simple. Carla wouldn’t answer the door.

  Problem solved.

  Feeling like this plan might actually work, Carla grabbed the other four beers from her refrigerator, replaced the two she’d removed previously, and then pulled a piece of paper from her desktop printer.

  JAKE,

  THANK YOU FOR FIXING MY TIRE, AND MAILBOX. I’M NOT FEELING WELL TONIGHT, SO I HAVE TO CANCEL, BUT HERE IS THE BEER I PROMISED.

  YOUR NEIGHBOR, CARLA

  Perfect. She folded the letter and tucked it into the six pack container, and then headed for the door—

  —and stopped herself.

  What if Jake opened the door right when she was leaving the beer? Carla would die from embarrassment.

  Maybe leave it on his back porch?

  No. He might not see it, and would still come over at eight.

  Carla frowned. How could she walk into court to face some of the most high-powered corporate attorneys in the country, but lack the courage to run over to the house next door and drop off a six pack?

  “I’m braver than that,” she said to herself. Then Carla left her house, set on proving it.

  The walk seemed a lot longer this time, even though she moved at a brisk pace. Carla kept her eyes centered on the front door.

  If it opens, I’ll wave and say hello.

  If it opens, I’ll wave and say hello.

  If it opens—

  It opened, and Carla sprinted to the side of Jake’s house, almost tripped over a bush, and plastered herself against the wall, hiding from view just as the old woman Jake had been pleasuring walked out, her heels clicking on the front step.

  Carla held her breath and listened.

  “Jake, you were marvelous, as usual.”

  “It’s you, Helen. I can’t control myself around you.”

  “You are such a sweetheart. Can you fit me in next week?”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule. You aren’t the only woman in my life, you know.”

  Check his schedule? How many women was Jake banging? Carla pressed herself back against the siding, willing herself not to sneak a look.

  “My, I can barely walk. My legs are rubbery. Would you mind helping me to the car?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Carla listened to the sound of the Caddy door opening and closing, and the car starting. As it pulled out of Jake’s driveway, Carla ran around to the back of the house, to the tiered deck that led down the pier, and crouched there, her back against the brick privacy fence surrounding it. The last thing she needed was for Jake to see her snooping around twice in the same hour.

  After a minute of waiting, Carla deemed it safe to go back to the front door. But just as she was about to stand up, she heard the patio door open and someone step onto the planks just slightly above.

  Oh no. Not again.

  Carla cringed, concentrating all of her mental energy on shrinking herself down to the size of a bug so she could scurry away. She heard footsteps on the deck, coming her way. Too terrified to move, Carla watched, transfixed, as Jake leaned against the brick wall, his arm draping over the side.

  If he leaned forward a few inches and looked down, he’d see her for sure.

  “Oh, Carla. Carla… Carla… Carla.”

  Shit! He sees me!

  Carla was trying to get enough air into her lungs to apologize, when she heard the sound of a zipper.

  Above her, Jake’s hand gripped the edge of the brick wall. “Oh, Carla. It was so naughty of you to spy on me.”

  He doesn’t see me. He’s thinking about me.

  The only question was what was he thinking?

  Carla remembered too well what she’d been thinking after seeing what she’d seen. But then, she had been the peeper. It was hard to say how—

  She heard him grunt. Much like when he’d been jacking up her car. But different. Deeper. More sensual.

  Another grunt, followed by a gentle slap-slap-slap of skin on skin.

  He’s not jacking up. He’s jacking off!

  “You saw me, Carla. I wish… I wish you could see me now.”

  Heat flushed over her skin, and she realized she wanted the same thing. To see him with his fly open, holding himself, touching himself, com—

  What the hell is wrong with me? When did I become some psychosexual pervert?

  His breathing became labored, the sound of his stroke picking up pace.

  Carla knew she should crawl away. Get the hell out of there. But instead she held her breath, straining to hear him pleasure himself. She was getting wet again, wetter than she’d been when she’d done the same thing just minutes ago, ready for more.

  She stared up at his knuckles, which were turning white from gripping the railing so tightly. Carla considered putting her own hand between her legs to stop the throbbing, but knew if she did she’d never be able to keep quiet.

  She might not be able to keep herself quiet as it was.

  As much as she wanted to hear him finish, to hear his climax, she couldn’t risk him seeing her a second time. Or hearing her.

  Holding her free hand agains
t her hot cheeks, she composed herself, then managed to slink away alongside his house, drop off the beer on the front porch, and run back home fast as her wobbly legs could carry her.

  Once she was in the safety of her house, door locked behind her, she stared at her flushed face in the foyer mirror, the color stretching down her chest and disappearing under her blouse. “What are you doing, Carla? Are you so sexually frustrated that you have to spy on the boy next door? There are laws. You’re a lawyer. Stop it.”

  Then it was back to the sink and more cold water while thinking about falling off boats.

  It took almost ten minutes for Carla’s heart rate to return to normal. She knew she couldn’t stick around the house; there was still a slim chance Jake would drop by. Maybe she could see a movie. Or grab a bite to eat somewhere downtown.

  Maybe she could even dress in one of her old college outfits, like that red leather skirt and the push-up top, hang out at a bar, and let some cute guy take her home. On a whim, Carla went to the nightstand next to the bed and opened the bottom drawer, finding the full box of condoms. She squinted at the expiration date.

  1994.

  Not that she was going to pick some guy up anyway.

  The doorbell rang so loudly, she nearly jumped out of her shoes.

  Oh, no. Jake.

  Carla snuck over to the front door and peeked through the peephole. Jake was there, his face looking a little ruddy, he smiled, blue eyes twinkling, and held up the six pack. “You going to open up?” he said. “This good beer is getting warm.”

  Carla didn’t answer.

  “I know you’re home, Carla. I peeked in your garage. Your car is still here.”

  “You peeked in my garage?” Carla said, somehow finding her spine.

  “You peeked in my window. I figured it’s only fair. And I couldn’t resist. Your car is pretty sexy.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Are we going to talk through the door? Or can we act like adults and discuss this face to face?”

  Carla took a quick look in the foyer mirror, finger-combed her hair, took a deep, calming breath, and opened up.

  No longer in the leather pants, Jake wore jeans and a yellow T-shirt. But he smelled musky with sex. “Thank you for the beer,” Jake said, his eyes twinkling.

  “I was bringing it over and heard noises. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Stare at me while I was going down on Mrs. Gladstone?”

  Carla blushed. And worse, his words conjured the picture in her head once again. “Yes.”

  “No need to be embarrassed by it.”

  Carla put her hands on her hips. “Me? Why should I be embarrassed? You were the one with an old woman tied to your bed.”

  “She isn’t old. She’s only sixty, and in great shape. And why should I be embarrassed? I gave her eight orgasms.”

  “Eight?” Carla squeaked. That was more than she’d had in the past year, including the one she’d just had.

  “Are you letting me in, or do we drink these in your doorway?”

  Carla stepped aside and Jake stepped in.

  “I have a bottle opener in the kitchen,” she said, leading the way. As she fished through her utensil drawer, she caught Jake staring at her ass.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out if you have any curves under that shapeless outfit.”

  “I do,” she said. “And it’s none of your business.”

  Jake winked, like he had when he’d caught her peeping. “Why not? I showed you mine. You can show me yours.”

  “I didn’t see yours. I saw Mrs. Gladstone’s. And I apologize. That was none of my business. When I heard screaming, I thought—”

  “What did you think?”

  Carla blinked. “I’m not sure. That maybe someone needed help.”

  “So you came to help? Mrs. Gladstone wouldn’t have minded. You could have sucked on her nipples while I worked the dildo.”

  Carla was certain she was now a bright shade of red normally only found on stop signs. “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spy on you and your girlfriend.”

  Jake laughed. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend. And a client. I’m an escort, Carla. That’s my job.”

  “You didn’t seem to be escorting her anywhere.”

  “We went to lunch earlier. Afterward, she was horny, and I helped her with that.”

  “Escort? That sounds more like a prostitute. Or a gigolo.”

  “People in my profession prefer the term escort. Or sex worker. Women can get lonely, just like men. I provide a service. I’m safe and clean and fun. My specialty is women with particular tastes.”

  Carla thought of the handcuffs and chains. “Don’t you mean weirdos?”

  “There’s nothing weird about two adults having consensual relations. Mrs. Gladstone, and most of my clients, are submissive. They like to be dominated. Bondage is part of that.”

  “Like 50 Shades of Grey,” Carla said.

  “Not exactly, Carla. I don’t have a Red Room of Pain. I have a dungeon of pleasure. Women have an endless capacity for orgasms, and I listen to their fantasies and try to give them as many as possible. I’m good at my job.”

  “You told me you were an actor.”

  “In a way, I am.”

  “How is a sex worker the same as an actor?”

  Carla regretted the words the moment they left her lips, remembering all the orgasms she’d faked over the years.

  “I give pleasure, Carla. But I don’t take any in return. I’m there for the women. But I don’t have sex for money.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Most of the time, I keep my pants on. And I never orgasm with a client.”

  Now the scene on the porch made sense. After all that sexless time with Mrs. Gladstone, Jake probably needed release.

  Jake took the opener from her, his fingers grazing her knuckles, and then popped open a Kuhnhenn 4d. “Are you joining me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a little surprised right now.”

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Carla. If you’d like me to leave, I will. You have nothing to worry about with me. I try to be as discreet as possible. And I never do anything improper with my neighbors. That… well, that usually ends badly. It’s one of my three rules.”

  Carla found herself shifting from awkward to interested. Besides, as trying as the last hour had been, she could use a beer. She held out a Zombie Dust IPA for Jake to pop open. When he did, she took a swig and asked, “What are the three rules?”

  “You know the first two. I never come with a client. I don’t even take my pants off, except on rare occasions. Two, I don’t accept neighbors as clients. The third is that I don’t fall in love with clients.”

  “What do you charge, if I may ask?” Carla said.

  Jake shot her a glance.

  “Not for me. I’m just curious. I’ve never met a male prost… uh, escort before.”

  “Client covers all the date expenses, plus two hundred dollars an hour. What do you charge?”

  The question took Carla off guard. “Huh?”

  “As a lawyer. You asked me. Isn’t turnabout fair play?”

  “I bill $450 an hour.”

  “Yikes,” Jake said, grinning. “Maybe I should have finished college.”

  “So that dog collar I ran over…”

  “Wasn’t really a dog collar. A few of the ladies are into fetish wear. I have a collection of things to cater to different tastes.”

  Carla took another sip of beer, letting the bitter hops coat her tongue before swallowing. Jake’s ease when it came to talking about this stuff was amazing. All of it seemed so foreign to her. She couldn’t help wonder if Janet knew about fetish wear and pleasure dungeons. “So your clients… only older women?”

  “Yes. I prefer older women. They’re secure with their bodies, financially stable, and know what they want. There are no games with them. And every one of them, down to the last, is a sweethea
rt.”

  “Why don’t you…” Carla let her voice trail off.

  “Go ahead. Finish the thought.”

  “It’s rude.”

  “So is peeking through windows, but I’ve forgiven you for that.”

  “Why don’t you just marry the richest one? I’m guessing any one of your clients would want you all to herself.”

  “I’m not a gold digger, Carla. I’m happy to work for a living. And I have to admit, I like the work. It’s challenging, it’s fun, and every day is different. Settling down with one woman isn’t for me.”

  Carla contained her chin-length waves behind one ear. Typical tomcat. Cute young guy, refusing to settle down, playing the field. His field just happened to be twice his age. Or more.

  She cocked her head and studied him. Yes, Jake was sexy as hell, and more tempting than she wanted to think about. But in the end, he was a guy. And although Carla hadn’t had the kind of sexual experience Janet had, she knew guys. She had his number. And the more he talked, the more his charm was wearing off.

  “So what kind of law do you practice?” He took another pull off the bottle.

  “I handle law suits between companies, mostly. Except the pro bono stuff.”

  He gave her a sexy grin, one side of his mouth curving more than the other. “Did you say pro boner?”

  “Pro bono.” She repeated with a touch of lawyer in her voice. “All attorneys in the United States do at least fifty hours of free legal service per year. Helping the poor, the needy, that kind of thing.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Pro boner work? I mean bono. Pro bono work?”

  “Legal work in general.”

  Carla didn’t have to consider the question very long. “Love it. I’m good at it. It’s challenging. Every day is different.” She tossed a confident smile back his way.

  “Can you talk about your cases?”

  “Depends. If the case is concluded, and I don’t give you any specific information, sure.”

  “Do you have a favorite case?” He raised one brow, something Carla had only seen in the movies.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe there was a bit of actor in him. “You’re going to find it boring,” she said.