by Sylvie Kaye
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Her Sinful Secret
ISBN # 978-0-85715-562-7
©Copyright Sylvie Kaye 2011
Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright May 2011
Edited by Sue Swift
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
HER SINFUL SECRET
Sylvie Kaye
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Jello: Kraft Foods
Jag, Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited
Velcro: VELCRO USA Inc.
Members Only: Aris Industries
TV Guide: TV Guide Magazine Group Inc.
Chapter One
Being a widow sucked.
Head in hand, Wendy Reed doodled a sketch of a huge, aroused dick on one of the lunchroom paper napkins. Admiring her handiwork, she licked her lips and sighed.
Not that she’d seen much of Fred’s dick the past years before he’d keeled over on the seventeenth hole with a heart attack.
She crumpled the napkin, tossed the pencil and sipped her coffee, glancing around the empty lunchroom at Reed’s, the upscale car dealership in northeast Pennsylvania she now owned alone.
Scraping back her chair, she went to rinse her coffee mug at the lunchroom sink. Face it—after two long years, she was lonely and horny. She yearned for human contact. A hug, a cuddle, someone to scratch her back.
And because she was wishing, she yearned for long-forgotten passion. After having companionship with very little sex for years, if she had to choose right now, she’d jump at the sex. Hard, torrid, slam-your-butt-against-the-wall sex.
As she turned to leave, Marsha from the parts department and Grace, one of the car salespersons, strode through the doorway.
“I’m telling you, online dating’s the easiest way to meet and screen men.” Grace was pert and in her twenties, as was Marsha.
“Maybe you should try it out, too, Wendy.” Marsha tended to say whatever popped into her head, even to the boss. Although a little too nosy at times, for the most part she was harmless and a hard worker.
Wendy looked to Grace for help with her coworker.
Grace raised her hand, palm outward. “I swear by SafeFixUp dot com. Seriously.”
As Grace explained the ins and outs of computer dating to Marsha, Wendy eventually skipped out on them and headed home.
In no time, she‘d changed and reclined on the couch in her rumpled cotton pyjamas, eating a chocolate bar, feeling her thighs spread with each bite. Doodled note papers littered the coffee table with sketches of dishes of ice cream and pans of pizza from the TV commercials. And penises, drawn from fading memory or recent dreams that seemed to get wetter and hornier each night.
Fighting off a case of hypochondria while the spokesman for some medication reiterated a list of symptoms, she tuned in the news.
Another awful carjacking of an expensive, luxury car. She shivered at the thought and clicked the remote again. Another commercial. SafeFixUp.com.
The online dating site Grace swore by. Wendy sat up.
“Find the perfect companion at any age. Forty is the new thirty,” the announcer claimed. “All our clients are thoroughly screened.”
A guarantee of no axe murderers was a plus. Licking the chocolate from her fingers, she glanced over at her laptop.
Should she? Dare she?
It couldn’t hurt to browse. See what the hoopla was about. Grace at the dealership couldn’t say enough about it. Not that Wendy would tell her or anyone. Certainly not her son. This would be her sinful secret. And far less fattening than the dark chocolate she craved.
After logging on and signing up at a nominal fee, she entered her information. Location: Pykes City, northeast Pennsylvania. Height, five-foot-seven. Weight, she lied. Hair colour, blonde, when her roots were done and her stray greys covered. Eyes, blue. Age…
She paused. Oh, what the hell, why lie? Forty-two.
She typed in the kind of man she was seeking. Strong, tall, assured. A gentleman. Passionate. Great smile and a tight booty. She shrugged. Why not? It was her wish list. She admired men who sported what she referred to as a bubble butt. Round, firm, squeezable.
Just thinking about it made her flesh prickle. She hit Send and stripped off her PJs on the way upstairs, hoping she’d recharged her vibrator.
It took two days before she received an email back. She soothed her ego with the assurance that SafeFixUp had been security checking prospective date-mates for ‘priors’ during the time lapse. Her tummy fluttered with anticipation as she opened the email.
Max Kanton. Outgoing, responsible and self-employed in finance. Picture attached.
She opened the attachment. He looked hot. Thick dark hair, smoky dark eyes, square jaw, ruggedly handsome. Her throat went dry and her heart thumped. He looked young. As her pulse baselined, she read further. He was thirty-two, and too young for her.
But who knew how recent his photo was? In the lunchroom Grace had cautioned Marsha. “Don’t think guys don’t lie about their ages. The ones that do will send younger, slimmer, more muscled photos than the actual man who shows up to meet you.”
Wendy stared at the picture, crossing her fingers and toes that it was outdated by about ten years.
What to do? Before she could chicken out, she scanned a flattering picture of herself from her cousin’s wedding. The snapshot wasn’t too close up and was perfectly angled to show off her best feature, her legs. She attached it to the email and hit Send.
Within the hour, she had her reply. He wanted to meet.
Chapter Two
Curiosity brought Wendy to the cosy Italian restaurant and a table reserved for Max Kanton. She was twenty minutes early and he hadn’t arrived yet.
Even though they’d emailed back and forth the past week, and he’d seemed witty and intelligent, her stomach jittered. Suppose he really was only thirty-two. To calm herself, she doodled a sketch on the wine list of the flickering candle in its angled holder. Her palms dampened, so she wiped them on her linen napkin, tossed the pen back into her purse and sipped ice water to keep her vocal chords from drying up with sudden panic as the hour ticked closer.
“Wendy.” A male voice, deep and low, vibrated through her.
She looked up. Wow. He was hotter and more gorgeous than his picture. Doubt flooded her with little hope that he was older than he claimed. She didn’t know if she could handle a ten-year age difference, although her pulse, fluttering with immediate interest, thought it was no problem.
She inhaled him
as his masculine presence surrounded her. He smelt faintly of a woodsy, musky cologne. Sexy, desirable, thrilling. He was dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt, well-tailored. His belt and shoes were expensive leather.
When he touched her shoulder, a shiver skittered across her flesh. His fingers were long and warm and lingering. Hunger seeped through to her core. It had been a long time since she’d desired a man who was real and within touching distance. Carnal memories flooded her veins with throbbing heat.
“You’re beautiful.” His delicious voice thrummed through her again.
She hadn’t heard those words in ages. When pressed, Fred might’ve said she looked nice.
‘So are you’ didn’t seem an appropriate response so she murmured, “Thank you.” He removed his hand and she ached to have him touch her again. In many places. Dark, wet ones which hadn’t been touched by a man in so long memory failed her.
He sat across from her and signalled the waiter. “Should we order wine to settle our nerves?”
Young, handsome, athletic build. What did he have to be nervous about?
“It might take a whole bottle to settle mine,” she said in all honesty. “I’m rusty at dating.”
“I’ll be gentle if you will.” He winked.
And her heart flipped at the insinuation. Her body screamed to do him, while her mind warned she was robbing the cradle. But a few glasses of wine should numb her mind.
“Red or white, sweet or dry?” he asked as the server arrived.
“You choose.” Living alone had made her indifferent to what she drank or ate. “I’m easily pleased.”
“I hope not.” His eyes raked over her face, settling on her mouth.
She felt her lips pulse, ready to be kissed. No, ravaged. With lots of sucking and licking and nibbling. She swallowed a sigh.
He ordered Soave. Once the waiter returned, decanted the wine and left, Max lifted his glass. “To an exciting evening.” He smiled, his teeth white and even, his mouth firm and full and enticing.
While their glasses clinked, her crotch moistened and her clit swelled, eager to get to the exciting part of the evening. Lust was apparently ageless. She met his sleepy-lidded, sexy gaze and her pussy clenched with want.
As she sipped the white wine, he studied her over the rim of her glass. “Tell me, Wendy, what kind of man are you attracted to?”
“Fred, my husband, was a man’s man. He played golf with his buddies several times a week.” Soon as the words were out, she realised Max meant now, not then.
“I don’t play golf.” His lips curled upward at the corners, good-naturedly.
She smiled back, wanting to kiss those corners. “It’s not a deal breaker.”
“Is there something that is?”
“Nothing comes to mind.” She shrugged, unsure what to say next. She really was out of practice when it came to flirting.
“Tell me about you?”
“I…we purchased a car dealership ten years ago, and Fred became a salesman while the economics of the business and our personal finances fell on to me. Now, I’m alone and still running things.” She fingered the stem of her glass, recognising how dull it sounded and how tiresome it was to be the one always in charge.
“Ever wish you could let go? Let your guard down and let someone else take care of you, even if just for one evening?” His tone was soft and seductive, wrapping around her insides like a silken thread and drawing her to him.
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes briefly, savouring the notion. “I’d love to relinquish control.”
When she opened her eyes and they connected with his dark, alluring ones, she understood what he meant. Sexual control. Her stomach clutched, but not with fear, with titillation.
* * * *
Max couldn’t take his eyes off Wendy’s.
In the candlelight, hers had darkened to an enticing shade of blue. She licked her lips, her pink tongue contrasting with the deep rose of her lipstick, which had stained the rim of her wineglass. He was sorely tempted to touch his tongue to the brim, just to sample a taste of her.
He restrained himself. Later. Then, if he got lucky, he’d taste more than her mouth. Her lush breasts, outlined by the black silk of her dress, teased him from across the table. Their graceful sway whenever she lifted her glass or heaved a breathy sigh sent shockwaves to his dick.
“Tell me about you,” she murmured, her voice midnight low and husky. He prepared to tell her some personal sexual preferences when she said, “I read in your profile you’re divorced. What went wrong?”
He chuckled. “You really are rusty at this.”
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks blushed pink.
He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. If it put her at ease to know about his ex, he’d tell her.
“My ex-wife changed. At first, we both had a lust for sex and travel.”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes glinted with curiosity, which he suspected wasn’t merely travel oriented.
“After three years, she wanted to stay at home and make a baby. I didn’t.” He couldn’t, but that was too much information for a first date. He handed her a menu. “Shocked?”
“Not yet.” Her smoky eyes sent him a sexy signal before she opened her menu.
With one look she had his dick dancing. He shifted on his chair and concentrated on pasta dishes. His fingers tightened on the menu until he gained control of his spiking testosterone.
He cleared his throat. “I recommend the cannelloni. It’s the speciality of the house.”
“You must come here often.” She nodded to his unopened menu.
“Mostly alone. I like the slow pace at the end of the day.” But tonight, he wouldn’t mind faster service.
She put down her menu. “Why don’t you order for both of us?”
He grinned. He liked that a lot. He admired a woman who wasn’t afraid to concede to a man’s opinion on occasion. He relished even more one who capitulated in bed.
After he placed their orders, he turned to her. “I was surprised you were as pretty as your picture. I hear most women email ten-year-old snapshots.”
“Going on the premise that men do the same, I counted on you being ten years older.” She straightened the cloth napkin. “How old are you, Max?”
“Old enough.” When she rolled her eyes, he said, “I really am thirty-two and, before you ask, I prefer mature women. They know what they like, say what they mean, and ask for what they want instead of tossing around ambiguous hints.”
She laughed. “I hope I can live up to the hype.”
“I’d bet on it.” His entire stock portfolio. She was smart, witty, had life experience and, if he read her right, a sexual curiosity simmering beneath her sophisticated demeanour he’d kill to explore.
Their dinner arrived and she dug in. He admired a woman with an appetite. It foretold of other appetites to be fed and indulged. His sac tightened at the promise of the night ahead of them.
“I know you like to swim and walk on the beach. You know I like sports and travelling. Is there anything else you’d like to know up front?” He was eager to get the everyday stuff out of the way and open her up to intimate questions, ones involving body parts and positions.
“What kind of car do you drive?” She flicked at her fork tine with her tongue in a most erotic way.
He sucked in a breath, wanting her tongue on him. On the head of his prick, swiping and swirling while he dug his fingers into her hair. The auburn strands looked so damn silky and soft from across the candlelit table.
“I drive a Jag, but I’m open to a trade-in.”
“I’m not looking to sell you a car. I was merely curious.” She shrugged her shoulders in a delicate, feminine shift of skin and bone.
“I’m curious, too.” He lowered his voice and hoped he wasn’t moving too fast for her. But the night was getting later and he was getting hornier with each rise and fall of her chest, each wispy word she uttered, every glance from her captivating blue eyes. “Do you like your sex slow a
nd easy or hard and fast?”
She blinked, tossed her napkin and grabbed her purse.
Fearing he’d gone too far too soon, he reached for her wrist.
She smiled at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He smiled back. “My place or yours?” Taking her elbow, he escorted her from the restaurant.
“Yours. I couldn’t offer you a nightcap at mine. I stopped entertaining once Fred died.”
Outside on the pavement, he asked, “My car or yours?”
“Yours. I took a taxi after hearing about another carjacking on the news this evening.”
Moments later, with Wendy tucked in the passenger seat of his Jag, Max sped uptown.
Chapter Three
Max flipped on one dim lamp. His apartment was furnished with clean lines and sleek furniture in monochromatic shades of brown. As they stood face to face in the marble foyer, soughing quiet breaths, sexual tension mounted. Wendy’s nerves were strung taut with anticipation. Their eye contact felt magnetic, his body heat electric.
“It’s been a while and I’m not sure what to do,” she whispered inches from his mouth.
“Don’t do a thing. I’ll do it all.” Each word caressed her lips. His hands rested on her shoulders, reassuring and inviting at the same time. “Relax and let me make you come. Again and again.”
Again and again. “Can you do that?” She’d been lucky with Fred if she’d got off once.
“Or die trying.”
She stopped herself from melting right there at his feet. She wanted to act as if she was worldly and travelled, with experience to bring to the table, er, the bed…
She had every intention of exploring his bed before the night ended. Who knew when she’d get her hands on such a young, virile man again? Who knew if she’d ever be brave enough again? At the moment age didn’t seem to matter to her. In the light of day, it might be a different story.