Syria's Seduction: A New Adult Introduction to the Boudoir Sessions

by Starla Cole

Syria smoothed her skirt as she stood by the door of her Pontiac. She didn’t bother parking around the corner like she normally might have, to avoid embarrassment over the old car, as Anthony had walked her to it back at the park.

  Her mother had thankfully been out when she dashed home, showered, and fussed about what to wear. This wasn’t a date, technically, just a thank you. But he hadn’t been forced to take her, right? So he at least could bear her company, even if he wasn’t truly interested.

  Jennifer had used so many exclamation marks in her text messages about the date that they hadn’t fit on one screen. She and Syria often lamented the lack of dates for either of them, wondering if their mixed-race looks were the reason, or they were just that unapproachable. Syria was so relieved to find someone who understood this fear.

  Anthony’s car was three spaces over, so he had to be waiting inside the restaurant already. Syria drew in a deep breath. She was so inexperienced in all this, even though she was twenty and plenty old. She would loved to have kissed a dozen boys and slept with one or two by now. There had just been no one. Maybe this could be the start of something. Maybe not. Only one way to find out.

  The breeze kicked up, lifting her skirt as she headed up the walk. She kept one hand on the dress as she struggled with the door. By the time she got it open, her thighs were showing and her black mop was standing straight up. Great.

  But Anthony rose from a bench, looking pleased to see her. “I think I like this weather,” he said, tilting his head to look at her legs as Syria tried to pull herself together.

  Syria didn’t say anything, just made sure her skirt was down, and smoothed her hair as best she could. He took her arm, and they followed a hostess to a booth in the back corner.

  The place wasn’t fancy, just a chain known for pub food and fruity drinks. Anthony slipped onto the cushioned bench, a half circle with a round table, and pulled her next to him. His hand on her arm was electric, and all her tingly bits grew warm when he kept the contact as she sat down next to him.

  The waitress left them menus, and Anthony turned to her. “Sharon called me an hour ago asking if she could come over tonight to view the images.”

  Syria shook her head. “She’s got it bad.”

  “I’m going to have to meet her in public places, not that it will stop her.” Anthony picked up his menu. “I think I bit off more than I could chew with that one.”

  “Why not invite her husband to view the images. Make it a date for them.”

  “A great idea.” He turned his face to her, those blue eyes darker in the low light. “She might go for it. Hard to say.”

  “Occupational hazard.” Syria scanned the menu, looking for cheap things. She didn’t want to seem expensive or opportunistic.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked. “The cocktails here are kind of girlie but they have a lot of beers.”

  Syria bit her lip. “I’m only twenty.”

  “Ah. I thought that might be the case. They aren’t super fanatic here about carding if you want to give it a try.”

  “That’s okay. I’m fine with water.”

  Anthony sat back against the cushion. “All right.”

  Syria sensed that she’d disappointed him and wanted to be bolder to keep his interest. “So do you do a lot of nudes?”

  He barked out a short laugh. “Not a lot, no. Sharon likes them. She likes to show up with little to no costume changes.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “She’s aged well.”

  The waitress arrived. “I’ll have a Guinness,” Anthony said. “Syria here said that last time the cocktails were too sweet. Do you have anything a little less sugary?”

  The girl nodded. “I like the Berry Cider. It’s dry enough to cut through the sweetness.”

  Anthony turned to her. “You want to give it a try?”

  Syria was blushing so hard she could barely choke out a reply. “Sure.”

  Anthony nodded at the girl. “Thank you.”

  She took off, and he turned back to her. “See? Not so hard.”

  Syria tried to calm her breathing, her heart hammering. “Is this a test to see how many illegal activities we can do in one day?”

  He laughed. “You know, you’re a bad influence on me. I’m just an ordinary hack, trying to make a dollar, and here you are, luring me into all sorts of trouble.” He picked up her hand from her lap, and Syria’s heart began thumping. “Such delicate hands.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. He continued to play with her fingers, bending each one. “I’m so glad you showed up on that ridge.”

  The waitress brought the drinks. “Can you bring some fried pickles to start?” Anthony asked.

  The girl glanced at their joined hands and went away again.

  “Fried pickles?” Syria managed to squeak out. Her hand and arm were on fire from where he touched her.

  “Never had them? You’ll love them. Are you a vegetarian?” He caressed her wrist and her pulse jumped against his fingers.

  “No. I’m a hot dog eating American like the rest of us.”

  He chuckled. “Good. You should try the ribs here. Amazing.”

  “Sounds messy.” She had already lost her composure a hundred times. She couldn’t eat sloppy too.

  “Messy is fun. Shall I order some for us to share?”

  Syria nodded, her throat tight. She didn’t know what to feel, excitement, surely, that this arrestingly cute boy was coming onto her so strongly. But wariness too, that he thought she was easy, that he could just seduce her. She’d known about boys like him and avoided them all her life. She was petrified.

  But then, why not? If this was something she wanted, why not with him? So what if he did this to every girl? She could be one of them.

  She needed advice.

  Syria picked up her purse. “Little girls’ room.”

  “You haven’t even tried your cider yet.” He picked up his beer and clinked it against her glass.

  He thought he knew her, that she was shy and reticent.

  She’d show him.

  She picked up the glass and took a tentative sip. The waitress was right. It was like a light Italian soda, one that was easy on the syrup. Syria flashed a smile at Anthony and brought the glass back to her lips, and in one long unending gulp, drained the contents of the glass.

  He stared at her, then broke out into a glorious grin. “This is going to be a fun night, Syria.”

  She nodded and slid out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, she frantically typed a message to Jennifer.

  Night crazy. Boy coming on strong. Should I do this?

  She pushed into the restroom and stared in the mirror as she waited for a reply. Her hair had calmed down and looked relatively decent for once. Her makeup was simple, as she didn’t know a lot about applying it, but it passed. The dress hugged her chest and showed a little cleavage, then billowed out below the waist into a full swing. And caught the wind, she thought, and wondered what it would be like to be as bold as Sharon, naked in the middle of the day in a park.

  But Syria had freaked over her skirt blowing and showing her legs. On an impulse, she reached down and tugged her panties off. They weren’t anything special, just pale yellow and cotton. She dropped them into the trash. There. Now she was getting bolder.

  Her phone buzzed.

  He sounds like a good time. I say GO. Buy CONDOMS.

  Dang it, condoms. She’d just have to hope he was supplied. If not, they’d just have to, well, not do things.

  Syria fluffed her hair one more time, tucked her phone back in her purse, and headed back out to Anthony. She’d made her decision. He might be a rake, too smooth, too fast, but this was an opportunity she wouldn’t let pass.

  She almost stopped short, seeing him in the booth, hands wrapped around the bottle. He was cute. REALLY cute. Why was he with someone like her, average looking, shy, and uninteresting? She couldn’t even get through a junior col
lege tech program.

  He smiled when he saw her. “I half expected you to bolt.”

  Syria slid back into the booth, startled when her skirt shifted and her bare bottom brushed the cool vinyl. She couldn’t wait for him to find out what she’d done, to slide his hand up her thigh and discover the secret. A fire licked between her legs, just imagining it. “Now why would I do that?”

  He shrugged. “It happens. I can be pushy.” He pointed to another glass of cider. “I got you another one, as an apology for molesting your hand.”

  She picked up the glass and took a small sip. “Apology accepted.” She screwed up her courage, feeling the alcohol loosening the tension in her belly. “As long as I get my turn.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You want to lick my fingers?”

  “Or something.” She assessed him, trying to be brave. What did she like best? His eyes, blue and intense. The spiky thick hair, gold on the tips. The lips, full and soft. No, not a kiss, not yet. His jaw. She liked his jaw.

  Syria willed her hand not to shake as she reached out to touch him, the line from his chin to his neck, chiseled and hard. She ran her thumb along the edge, feeling the light stubble there. She’d never been this intimate with anyone. The closest she came to boys was forced dances during PE when they’d learned Do Si Do and Allemande Left.

  He turned his face and kissed her palm, lifting his hand to press hers in place. “This is pretty intense,” he said. “I just met you this afternoon.”

  “I get the idea that this comes naturally to you.”

  “Not that often.” He watched her over her arm, leading to his neck. “You’re pretty damn beautiful, you know.”

  Syria shook her head. “Not hardly.”

  He pulled her hand down but held on to it. “I’m a professional. I know these things.”

  “I’m sure you can do miracles in Photoshop.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Not necessary. Not with you.”

  Syria looked away. “You don’t have to flatter me. I think you’ve already lured me into your trap.”

  He let go of her hand. “Is that what you think? I’m just coming on to you?”

  Syria’s face flamed. Of course she’d thought that. “No!”

  Anthony exhaled in a long slow rush. “I’m not good at this.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Being around women who make me nervous.”

  She made him nervous? “You were fine around Sharon.”

  “Are you kidding? I thought she’d never leave. You saved my skin out there. Normally I have a girl assistant, someone as chaperone.”

  Syria reached back for his hand, trying to smooth things over. “I’m glad I was there. This was a crappy day, and you rescued it.”

  He relaxed against the seat. “I think our fried pickles are arriving.”

  They watched the waitress approach with a red basket.

  “You’re convincing me to do the craziest things,” Syria said.

  “Good.” Anthony picked up a spear of breaded pickle, then immediately dropped it. “Hot!”

  Syria flashed with boldness. She grasped his hand and kissed the fingers, then touched one with her tongue. She tasted salt and the crumbs of the breading. Heat flashed through her midsection, tingling her breasts and settling between her legs, and without panties, the warmth made her feel sticky and wet.

  Anthony swallowed, his breath measured as his chest rose and fell. “I’m going to owe a debt to Sharon for dragging me to that park today.”

  Syria slid her lips off the end of his fingers, feeling absolutely on fire. “Me too,” she said.

  They stared at the basket then, heat wafting off the pickles. “I think I need to drink more,” Anthony said, taking a long pull on his beer.

  “Me too.” Syria lifted the cider and drained a fourth of the glass, now really feeling the effects, giddy and loose and good.

  “You should eat a pickle,” Anthony said.

  Syria burst out laughing. “That’s just about the worst double entendre I’ve ever heard.”

  Anthony wiggled his eyebrows. “But they are so long and hot.”

  Syria picked up a spear and bit into it. “It spurt juice on me!” she said.

  “Money shot!” Anthony picked up another.

  “I didn’t know you were into pickles,” she said, laughing.

  “Baby, I swing all ways.”

  Syria began to relax. This was how she’d always imagined a date to be.

  Anthony ordered the ribs, and they finished off the pickles. He sat back. “Have you done any photography? You seemed to pick up on the light and shadows pretty fast.”

  Syria shook her head. “I don’t even own a camera other than what’s on my phone.”

  “We could make a day of learning. I should photograph you and we could practice.” His blue eyes bore into hers. “I’d love to shoot you.”

  Syria could feel her face growing hot. “Normal things? Or like Sharon?”

  He sucked in a breath. “You willing to do boudoir?”

  She tried to stay bold, willing her voice not to waver. “What does it entail?”

  “Anything you want. You can wear normal clothes.” He hesitated. “Or none.”

  “I don’t think I could do that in the middle of the day.”

  Anthony nodded. “That was too crazy.” He glanced back up at her. “But I do know a more private place.”

  Syria’s stomach flipped. “Where is that?”

  “Down by the lake. The grass grows pretty high. It’s nice.”

  “Do you shoot there?” She imagined a running list of girls who’d been lured there.

  “Nope, not ever. I used to fish there with my dad.”

  “But, what about people? If someone came up, I would just...” Heck, even having Anthony look at her seemed too crazy.

  “We could go at dawn, super early.” He picked up her hand again. “I’m totally nervous, just thinking about it. We don’t have to do it. We can do normal things for a while, get to know each other. It’s sort of crazy. Forget I said it.”

  Disappointment welled up in her. If she didn’t do it now, she might not ever. Her mom might ask too many questions. She might chicken out. He might change his mind. “No, let’s do it tomorrow.”

  “Really?” His smile lit up their dark space.

  The waitress brought the ribs to them, and Syria was relieved for the distraction. The meat looked delicious, bathed in a thick sauce. “I guess there’s no easy way to do this.”

  Anthony cut the ribs apart. “Just pick them up and go.” He lifted one of the ribs and kissed it, getting sauce on his lips. “Now I’m tasty meat.”

  Syria laughed, shaking her head, but she pressed one of the ribs to her mouth as well. “And now so am I.”

  They sat there a moment, grinning foolishly at each other, when he leaned in. “Can I?” he asked.

  She nodded, watching him come closer to her in slow motion. When she’d imagined her first kiss, over and over again after watching romantic movies or walking up on other high school couples making out in cars, she couldn’t have actually pictured the booth, the ribs, and the sticky honey-barbecue.

  They came together, gently, a bit slippery with the sauce. He laughed a little against her, then flicked his tongue out and cleaned her lips. He was gentle, just brushing against her mouth, and her heart hammered so hard she was certain he could hear it. Then he pressed in, sliding her lips apart, angling across her, and everything began shooting sparks, seriously — sparks, just like in cartoons when fireworks went off.

  She gasped for breath and he broke the kiss a moment, his mouth on her cheek. Everything felt on fire, from her face to her breasts to her belly and thighs. She wanted more of it, endless amounts.

  Syria felt him pulling away but moved with him, keeping him close, and turning her face so their lips met again. This seemed to set something off in him, as the new kiss was even more intense, his tongue deep into her mouth, hungry, licking at her.


  When she gasped again, he let her go, looking down at the forgotten ribs. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at barbecue the same again.”

  Syria forced her breathing to slow. She wanted to be anywhere else, but they had details — food, checks, payment, where to go and what to do. She would call her mom, tell her she was staying over at Jennifer’s. Her mom wouldn’t question it. Syria had never gone on so much as a date.

  “Can we get these to go, you think?” she asked, and hoped Anthony wouldn’t think she was some sort of slut.

  “Forget them.” He dumped several bills on the table and slid out his side. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He reached for her hand and helped her out of the booth. “I live very close to here.” He suddenly looked doubtful. “Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure.” Hell, she was okay with anything at this point. She’d call her mother on the way.

  “You can follow me.” He led her out the door.

  Syria looked back at their table, already feeling wistful. She’d have to come back here again. She had a feeling her life had changed at that very booth.

  3: Inside and Out