Chapter 4
Indulgences
The euphoria Scout experienced at having her own place to call home was unexpected and definitely welcome. When she finally dragged herself off the floor, she dug out her bank book and carefully wrote:
|
Transaction |
Check |
+/- |
Balance |
|
L. |
$35,000.00 |
||
|
BANC |
-$300.00 |
$34,700.00 |
|
|
HOME |
0001 |
-$1,300.00 |
$33,400.00 |
Tucking the checkbook back in her bag, she looked at her watch. She had two hundred and four dollars and thirty-six cents left after the motel and breakfast. Gazing around her home she considered the necessities she needed.
She stood and opened the fridge. How incredible. The air that touched her hand was cold. She opened the freezer—also cold. Amazing! She ran to the bathroom and turned on the water. Beautiful, clear liquid flowed from the spigot. Cupping her hands, she drank a mouthful, laughing at the purity of the taste. Running water! In her bathroom!
She flushed the toilet and spun in place. Her fingers flipped the switch as she watched the simple bulb behind the glass flicker with each click. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
Her cheeks cramped as her smile refused to abate. Sighing, she turned and faced her living room slash bedroom. Decision made, she swept up her bag, dug out her key and nearly broke her neck as she rushed down the steps.
Calm down, Keats. You want to be around to enjoy it.
After locking the door, she exited the alley and headed toward Clemons. Her eyes snagged on the people in the insurance office below her apartment. Eventually she’d need to introduce herself to them.
Her job was the perfect distance from her home. Every time she thought the word she beamed. She had a home!
A few doors down from Clemons Market was a mattress store. She was getting herself a bed! As she approached the store, she took a deep breath. She’d never bought a big-ticket item, but this was definitely a dream worth pursuing.
Scout pressed the glass door open and stepped into a showroom full of various white mattresses.
“Can I help you find something?”
Scout jumped. Where the hell did that guy come from? He wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt and brown tie. He must work there. “I want to buy a bed.”
He smirked, as though they were old friends, which automatically made her uncomfortable. Oh, well. She was getting a bed and this was the only bed store she knew of.
“Well, you came to the right place. Name’s Sal. What kind of bed are you looking for?”
“Um, the kind you sleep on. Do you guys deliver?”
“Yes. Thursday’s one of our delivery days, so you’re in luck if you were hoping to get it today. Will you be shopping for a mattress and box spring as well?”
Yes, mattress, that’s what she meant. “What’s a box spring?”
“Box spring’s the support piece under the mattress.” He pointed to the bed closest to them and lifted the plush mattress to show her the box spring. It looked like a mattress, but wasn’t cushioned.
“What does it do?”
Salesman Sal’s brow creased. “It lifts the mattress, offers more support. You don’t want to put a mattress on the frame.”
“Frame?”
“The metal support.” He pointed to the brown metal beams that raised the mattress and box spring off the ground.
“Oh, yes, I’d also like a box spring.” Her days of sleeping low to the ground were over.
“What size were you hoping for?”
“Um, square and a one-person.”
He frowned and laughed in a way that was insulting. “Well, they’re all square, dear. Let me show you our twins.”
“It’s just for one person,” she explained.
“Right. That’s a twin.”
Oh.
They walked to the far left of the showroom. Several narrow, one-person beds were lined up on the wall. “This is a good brand, one of our best sellers. Go ahead. Try it out.”
Eyeing him skeptically, she looked at the bed. Pockets of white curved up in firm diamond shaped clouds, neatly sectioned off with ivory stitching. Cautiously, she stepped closer and sat on the edge. It was firm.
“Go ahead. Lay down. Get comfortable.”
Her brow tightened and, with shifting movements, she scooted more on the bed. As she eased back, she was very aware of her breasts pressing into her shirt and Sal observing her. It was impossible to get comfortable with him hovering over her. She sat up. Anything was better than the floor.
“How much is it?” she asked.
He looked at the tag she hadn’t noticed tacked to the side. “This one’s four ninety-nine.”
“Four ninety-nine? As in four hundred and ninety-nine dollars?” She nearly spit.
“It’s a memory foam. You’re talking about one hundred and eighty degrees of spring and three hundred and sixty degrees of comfort.”
She stepped away from the bed. “I’m looking for something a little more affordable.”
Sal stepped to the right. “Well, this here’s a notable brand. It’s a traditional spring.”
She looked for the tag. It was two hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Her stomach sunk. Scowling, she marched down the line, flicking up each tag until she found one that was in her price range. She sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced. This one wasn’t cut in with white stuffed diamond shapes, but it had nice blue ticking. It was firm and squeaked as she bounced.
The salesman approached with a regretful expression. “I don’t think you want that one, sweetheart. You’ll be spending the difference on visits to the chiropractor. That there’s a backbreaker.”
Lips pursed, she met his gaze challengingly. “Do you make a commission?”
His mouth opened as he gathered his words. “Well, yes, but I’m more concerned with your comfort than making a sale.”
“I’m sure you are,” she mumbled, standing to examine the box spring. “How much is this?”
He sighed. “That box spring’s fifty five. Can I show you a better model? It’s only a little more. I’d hate to see you throw away your money on a mattress you aren’t happy with.”
Scout faced him. “Sal—it is Sal, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Well, Sal, I’m sure the mattress isn’t as bad as you say. A man like you wouldn’t have shoddy merchandise in his store.”
He blustered. “Well, now, I wouldn’t call it shoddy—”
“But you’d call it a backbreaker?”
“I only meant there are better—”
“Right. I know what you meant. This mattress will do just fine.”
His lips formed a thin line. “Our store has a non refundable policy—”
“That’s fine. When can I have it delivered?”
His eyes narrowed and he sighed. Lifting the clipboard he held, his pudgy fingers flipped a few pages. “Where’s it going?”
“Only a few blocks from here, South Knights Boulevard.”
“I have an opening for tonight between five and seven.”
She beamed. “Perfect! I’d like to pay now.”
She followed a very sulky Sal to the register. Her grand total for her mattress, box spring, and frame was one hundred ninety-four dollars and four cents with tax. She signed the order form carefully. She’d never written her name so much in one day.
“Slide your card,” Sal said, gesturing toward the fancy card device on the counter. Luckily, from clerking at Clemons, she was familiar with the device. She swiped her card, and words came up. Lots of words. Shit.
“Type in your pin and hit Enter.”
Blowing out a calming breath, she typed in the address for Patras. 1-9-0-0.
“You have to hit Enter.”
Where was Enter? When she took longer than usual, Sal said, “The green button.”
Scout quickly hit the button. “Sorry. I forgot my glasses,” she lied.
“Hit Enter again if the amount’s okay.”
She looked at the screen. $194.04. That was correct. She pressed the green button again and more words appeared as a paper receipt spewed from the register. She’d been a bit concerned the funds wouldn’t clear, but it looked as though her money was available. Sal stapled it to her signed receipt and slid it across the counter.
“If you miss the delivery there’s a twenty-five-dollar service fee and our next delivery day isn’t until Saturday.” He certainly wasn’t as friendly since he learned he wouldn’t be making a living off of her.
Taking the paperwork, she gave him a nice smile. “Thank you very much.”
He grumbled a have a nice day and she left. Tonight she’d be sleeping on her own bed!
***
Scout was huffing and puffing by the time she made it up the narrow steps of her apartment with her bags. The living space was swamped with other bags and assorted items. She needed to get things put away before her bed arrived.
She was nearing a crash. Her legs ached. Over the past two hours, she hustled her ass off trying to get everything she’d need to make her place a home. She’d visited the general store and found sheets, a pillow, blankets, towels, her very first one-cup coffeepot. Every purchase validated her arrival into the real world.
As her bank account chipped away, she suffered little remorse for her purchases. She still had a ton of money in her account, and these were all items she needed. Although she asked Lucian to loan her thirty-five thousand, her actual plan would cost less. She was smart to ask for a bit more, knowing she needed a home. Well, maybe not needed. She’d certainly gone without such luxuries before, but it was time to join the ranks of normal adults.
She’d bought enough from the market to make it through the night. It was more sensible to bring a couple of bags home from work each day. For now, she had enough to keep her busy.
Hoisting her butt off the top step, where she collapsed with an arm full of purchases—she really needed furniture—she began emptying out her loot. The coffeepot was an easy setup, and she used the box as a trash can for now. Stacking all her linens in the corner with her pillow, she carried her toiletries to the bathroom.
As the apartment dimmed, the sun retreating for the day, she dug out her box of light bulbs and searched for an outlet. She’d found a lamp at a secondhand store for four dollars. She frowned once it was plugged in, realizing she had nowhere to put it. Using a large bag, she dumped in the trash from the coffeepot box and, instead, used the box as a makeshift end table.
“That’ll have to do for now,” she mumbled, admiring her handiwork.
The knock at the door startled her. Carefully walking down the steep, narrow steps, she opened the door a crack. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood with a clipboard. “Evelyn Keats?”
“Yes.” These must be the bed people!
“I have a delivery for you.”
She peeked out the door. The alley was dark. There was another man standing behind her mattress, which was now wrapped in plastic. “Come on in.”
She waited anxiously at the top of the stairs as the men maneuvered the mattress up the steps. Good thing she’d opted for the smaller variety. A bigger bed never would’ve fit.
“Where would you like it?”
She pivoted and considered the space. The bathroom and closet door took up one wall, while the kitchen took up another. The partition from the stairs made up the third, leaving only one choice. “Right there by the window will be fine.”
They perched the mattress against the wall and left to get the box spring and frame. In a matter of ten minutes, she was signing for the delivery and saying thank you. Anxiously, she shut the door, locked it tight, and rushed back up the steps. Her feet didn’t stop until she propelled herself into the air and crashed on her bed. It smelled new and she liked it.
Smiling, she sighed and rolled off. Making the bed up was a quick task, having much experience with such chores from keeping house at Patras. With considerable pride, she placed the pillow at the top. Beautiful.
The blanket was soft pink in the fuzziest material she’d ever felt. Despite all the luxuries she’d experienced while living with Lucian, her own things, purchased with her own money and by her own hands, meant so much more.
It complicated things, seeing Lucian yesterday, but it also felt better stipulating a loan on her conditions. By doing so she’d altered their relationship to a business one. The two hundred thousand he’d left in an account for her was tainted and tied to their intimate past, which was why her pride refused her to touch it.
Breathing out a pleased sigh, she gazed at the roof over her head. It amazed her that she’d already accomplished part one of her plan. Part two would require a bit more research, but she’d talked to some people at the library and they explained a great deal to her as well as given her some phone numbers they had on hand.
It felt wonderful to take responsibility for herself again. Lucian wasn’t opposed to her independence, but as a man who had always been in control, he’d never truly understand what it meant for her to stand on her own two feet.
It wasn’t about proving something to him. He was in her past. This was about proving something to herself, creating her own future.
***
Glancing at her watch, she noted it was only a little after six. After straightening up some of the mess, she bagged up her trash and walked it to the cans she’d noticed in the alley. Her belly grumbled.
For dinner, she made a can of chicken soup. The pot was a dollar find at the thrift shop. She washed her dishes and tucked everything away neatly in its proper place.
She bathed in her little tub and brushed out her hair. Using the sink, Scout rewashed her uniform by hand and hung her clothes from hangers on the doors. And it was time for bed.
Her feet slipped beneath the soft covers, and she pulled the sheets to her chest. Reaching out, she shut off the light and stared at the ceiling. Home. This was home.
It was a very intangible moment. She was satisfied, yet something was missing. Her mind knew what it was, of course, but had done a wonderful job of not thinking beyond her independence that day. And at night, when the world slept, that was the easiest time to get wrapped up in regrets and swept away by depressing thoughts.
Her conscience fought to hold on to the peace steering her all day, but memories were slowly pulling her down. Sighing into the dark, she stared blindly out the window.
Where is he right now? Who’s he with? What’s he doing?
She shut the door on such questions and tried thinking about work. Nick was working tomorrow, and he always made her days a bit more entertaining. Nick was young—her age—and funny.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and the slow echo of traffic in the distance soothed her like waves rushing by. Her battle to keep her memories at bay failed the more tired she became.
With a sigh of acceptance, she gave over to the random thoughts playing in her head and found herself back in Lucian’s limo after having dinner with Shamus several weeks ago.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Lucian asked, his fingers making gentle whorls over her stocking-clad knee.
“I always enjoy Jamie,” she said.
He grunted, a sound of approval with little censure. “You didn’t eat much.”
“I had enough.”
As Dugan drove, the city slowly rolled by, a tapestry of moonlit blues and shadowed buildings. Her eyes drew away from the window at the sound of the partition going up. She glanced at Lucian. The side of his mouth kicked up, intent clear in his eyes. “Pull up your skirt.”
Evelyn laughed silently. As soon as the partition was completely up, she lifted her hips and shimmied her skirt upward, bunching the thin material around her torso. Her stockings were black with zigzag designs sewn in and a blunt strip of lace at the top. She wore no garters. Her pale purple panties showed in a narrow triangle at the apex of her thighs.
Lucian turned his back to the door and eyed her. His elbow rested on the back of the seat as his fingers slowly swirled like a clock gear cranking. The slight telltale motions letting her know gears were turning in his mind. She waited.
“Are you wet?”
His words were like the kick of a marble running between them, knocking over little points, rolling up her flesh and plunking into a basket that set her arousal in motion, successfully plumping her sex and causing her channel to contract. “Yes.”
“I want a blow job.” She shifted and he stilled her with a flick of his fingers in the dim air. “I want your hands folded behind your back.”
Nodding, she slid to the floor. Her arms stretched behind her, fingers latching at her back. Lucian made no move to assist her or pull himself out. Leaning forward, she nuzzled his knee with her nose. His lungs drew in an audible breath.
Seeing he didn’t plan to help her, she carefully eased up and nudged his suit jacket out of the way. Her lips pulled at his pants until her teeth found his zipper. Carefully, she lowered the catch.
His thighs shifted, the soft leather seating crinkling under his weight. The gentle tug over her hair as he dragged his palm down the side of her face was welcome. His nonverbal praise filled her belly with warm honey. Turning her gaze on him, she smiled.
“You’re so beautiful, Evelyn,” he whispered, voice thick with affection.
His touch disappeared as the echo of his fingers deftly unlatching his belt filled the car. His cock filled his strong fingers, and he pumped slowly. The head was smooth and dark as his fingers gripped his shaft tightly.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip, a dewy pearl of precum anointing her lips. With a final glance at him she bent to her task, taking him deep to the back of her mouth. His cock was big, filling every crevice and stretching her lips wide. She sucked aggressively, bobbing over him. He gathered her hair in a makeshift ponytail and groaned as she worked him over.
She wanted to use her hands, but liked the sense of surrender he elicited by forbidding their involvement. Her head was forced low. Unhinging her jaw, she welcomed him to the back of her throat. Saliva coated him, and soon he was controlling her motions, using her hair as a rein to quickly fuck her mouth.
His hips lifted and his cock pulsed over her tongue. The quick touch of two fingers to the pulse point of her throat was enough of a warning that he was coming. Sealing her lips around his flesh, she sucked deep, milking his release and swallowing every drop.
Once she was sure he was finished, she sucked him clean, offering a final lick up his beautiful shaft and lowering herself back to her heels. He sighed. “Thank you.”
Tucking himself away, redoing his belt but not bothering to tuck in his shirt, Lucian watched her in the subdued light of the limo. The gusset of her panties grew weighted with her own arousal as the floor of the car vibrated faintly beneath her knees. Dugan would continue to drive until instructed otherwise.
“Still wet?” Lucian asked.
“Very.”
Long fingers caressed his chin and tapped his lips. “I’m debating what to do about that.” His comment caused her brow to kink. “You were very chatty with Jamie tonight,” he said thoughtfully.
“I like Jamie.”
His expression gave nothing away. “What do you like about him?”
She considered Lucian’s best friend. He had a disposition that always set her at ease. Although he didn’t always make her laugh, he made her smile. He was . . . nice. “He’s nice to me.”
“He thinks you’re beautiful.”
Heat tinged the crests of her cheeks and she hoped the soft lighting of the limo disguised her reaction to his confession.
“How does it make you feel, knowing Shamus has seen you come?”
Her blush intensified. Jamie was there the first time she’d ever had an orgasm. It was at Lucian’s hand and on his command, when they’d first begun their association. Since then, she’d believed it was an exhibit he’d regretted greatly. She wasn’t like his past lovers, she suspected. Once he realized that, he’d been a lot more discreet with his sexual displays while in the company of others. Exhibitionism was fun, but he never again flaunted her as a toy. There was a difference and they both knew it.
“No answer?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I see him.”
“Good.” He reached for his glass and took a sip, returning it to the sunken coaster by the door. “Do you mind being watched, Evelyn?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“I don’t know. It just depends on the situation and who’s watching us, I suppose.”
“What if I lowered the partition and fucked you.”
Oh God. She shook her head.
“You wouldn’t want Dugan seeing you?”
“No.”
Lucian seemed to consider this, but nodded. “Me neither. Is it strangers then?”
She shrugged. There was something titillating about being watched, but knowing she might see her audience again sometimes made her alter her actions. “I guess that’s it.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s almost eleven. Are you tired?”
“No.”
“Good. I want to play. Pull your skirt down and come sit.”
She did as he asked. Once she was seated, he brushed his lips over hers in a teasing kiss. Her body was primed and anxious for release. The partition lowered.
“Dugan, take us to Church.”
“Yes, sir.”
Evelyn frowned. “We’re going to church?”
“Different sort of worship . . .”
The car navigated through the upper west side of Folsom, where boutiques and high-end eateries made up the storefronts. Mannequins were placed in provocative positions under aesthetic lighting, wearing the world’s finest fashions. The car turned off the main strip and into a slightly seedier commercial district.
They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”
The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?
“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.
He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry rhythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.
“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.
“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”
The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice. Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.
At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.
“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”
She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.
The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”
“Yes. What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.
A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet jacket. Hook buttons marched up her busty chest in military style. Her breasts were overflowing from the expensive-looking garment, and the back let out in a train reaching to her knees. Her hair was slicked back and appeared blue under the lights, but Evelyn deduced it was blond. A petite top hat perched on her head, and a black lace choker collared her neck. She looked like she’d escaped the Black Hills during the high times of Deadwood.
Evelyn’s drink was set before her, its attractive graduating blush deepening like a crimson sunrise. She took a sip. The sweet grenadine countered the burn of tequila.
Lucian scrutinized her. His posture relaxed and the thumb of his other hand rubbed slowly over his glass of brandy. “Good?”
“Mmm, very,” she agreed, easing back in her chair.
The song changed, and the lighting amended from blues and reds to pinks and vibrant shades of fuchsia. The music was a cross between contemporary and some form of opera. It was very sultry, with words in some fluid language much prettier than English.
A woman walked onto the stage, dressed in Victorian finery. Her hair was white and pinned in a crown of toppling curls. Her bust overflowed from the tightly cinched whalebone corset. And from her hips flowed a cascade of rich fabrics in shades of cornflower and gold.
She carried herself gracefully, her motions clearly choreographed with the music as she perched herself on the edge of the settee. Producing a fancy feathered fan from her hip, she fanned herself rapidly. Her expression was tense and upset.
Suddenly another woman bustled onto the stage. Her clothing was much more subdued, but nonetheless spectacular. The hoop-skirt gown was all black and covered even her wrists. She wore a delicate apron that had impeccable lacework. Upon her head was a muffin-top white cap. A maid.
Lucian’s hand tightened on hers. His breath tickled her neck as he whispered. “Mmm, she doesn’t look half as beautiful as you did in your uniform.”
Evelyn blushed and quickly turned back to the stage. The women were playacting, but not speaking. The foreign lyrics of the opera spoke for them. The mistress in her finery stood and showed a great deal of duress as her hands swung in animation. The maid soothed and petted her until she calmed.
The mistress sat and cupped her face in her palms as the maid caressed her shoulders in a comforting manner. The tone of the music shifted, and slowly, the maid began to undo her mistress’s clothing. The mistress glanced at her curiously and the maid gave her a subservient bat of her eyes. The mistress nodded and the maid continued.
Lucian’s arm rested over Evelyn’s shoulder. He passed her right hand to the hand dangling over her shoulder, locking their fingers together above her breast. His other hand went to her knee and rubbed softly over her stocking.
The mistress stood and the maid undid her bustle. Her luxurious skirt fell in a puddle at her feet and the maid kneeled to collect the garment; Evelyn gasped. It was a dirty show. Sweeping it away, the maid remained low and stared up at her mistress, an inquiring set to her eyes.
Small hands petted tentatively down plush, lily-white thighs. The mistress tilted her head in confusion. The maid traced a finger over her garters and paused just at her mistress’s sex. The mistress jumped and so did Evelyn, as Lucian’s hand was suddenly touching her in the same place.
Evelyn’s eyes jerked from the stage to Lucian’s hand at her crotch, then to his face. His mouth kicked up in a slow, wicked grin. Leaning forward, he whispered, “It’s burlesque. She’s going to fuck her naughty maid right here in front of everyone . . . and I’m going to fuck mine.”
Understanding dawned with the force of a tidal wave. A full-body quiver rushed through her, and Lucian swept aside her panties and sunk his finger deep between her folds just as her sex contracted in a mini pre-orgasm.
“Mmm, good girl.”
Evelyn’s knees trembled as his finger slowly fucked her under the linen covering the table. Her eyes swept the room, seeing no one was watching them. Onstage, the mistress was sprawled out on the settee. One vintage slipper fell to the stage as the maid pressed a trail of kisses up her leg.
Lucian’s fingers found her clit and rubbed gentle circles over the tiny nub. Evelyn was shaking so fiercely it was a wonder she could remain upright. His teeth scraped up her throat and nibbled on the lobe of her ear. “Come.”
Just like that, her body exulted. Quivers rocked her as her sex contracted. Luckily, the intense opera covered the moan that escaped her parted lips. Bodies writhed on stage in time with the pulse of her pussy. Evelyn’s vision blurred and she was lifted onto his lap.
Lucian arranged her limbs over his and kept her facing the stage. She braced her palms on the table. A man suddenly appeared onstage and the women sprang apart. The maid was chased off and the man leered at the mistress. Her gown was dragged to the underside of her pert little breasts. The man approached, scooping up a feathered fan and dragging it over the mistress’s throat, slowly undoing the hook fastenings of her corset.
Lucian’s heated flesh brought Evelyn back to her own circumstances. He was really going to fuck her! Here!
“Shh, shh, shh. Look around. We’re not the only ones.”
Evelyn’s gaze covertly scanned the room. Bodies arched and couples leaned close. She could almost smell the carnality of the space. Church indeed!
He lifted her limbs, and her panties were jerked to the side once more. Fitting himself at the mouth of her sex, he slowly slid her down, forcing her to take all of him or risk exposure. Not that anyone seemed to care what they were doing.
She moaned at the sense of fullness. His fingers dug into her hips, through the fabric of her bunched skirt, as he lifted her and brought her down hard on his cock.
He grunted. The fingers of his other hand gathered her clothing and found her clit. Evelyn’s flesh was still sensitive from her recent climax. Her body jerked reflexively in his grip and his hold tightened.
“I’ll never forget how you disarmed me that day I found you in my suite, dressed so properly in your little housekeeping uniform. When I thought you were nosing through my belongings I wanted to throttle you, but not nearly as much as I wanted to fuck you. The moment you looked at me with those crystalline blue eyes I was hard. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, Evelyn.”
She was beyond speech. The actors were past performing. A full out sexcapade was taking place on the stage. Hands groped and toes curled. Evelyn was stuffed full of Lucian’s big cock as he continued to direct her motions, making her ride him hard as he whispered into her ear.
His fingers pinched down on her clit, and her sex convulsed. He groaned and moved her faster. His hands slid under her blouse and dragged the lace cups of her bra down. He found her hard nipples and pinched the little tips. His hips rocked into her. Her leg muscles worked to keep her body moving with his.
The actors onstage screamed and grunted with pleasure. It was a fantasy of the flesh. Peeks of pink folds and blushing breasts swirled before her. Dainty hands caressed lush thighs and painted lips curled in expressions of raw pleasure.
“You’re going to come for me one last time, Evelyn. With me. Are you ready?”
He thrust into her, hard. His fingers curved over her breasts in a bruising grip. She moaned long and loud and . . . something hard suddenly crashed into her.
Scout shouted. The fuzzy sense of falling lingered in her sleep-addled mind as she pressed up on her hands and knees. What the hell?
She was on the floor, blankets twisted around her feet. Disoriented, she looked around. It was dawn. She was in her new apartment. Her earlier erotic memory must have carried over to her sleep.
Sitting back on her heels, she rubbed her forehead. Visions of the night Lucian had taken her to the burlesque show dancing in her head. God, that was an incredible night.
Defeated, she sighed and moaned. The sun wasn’t even up and she’d already broken her vow not to think about him. Throwing her head back on her mattress, she drew up her knees where she sat on the floor, and groaned. The problem with having a lover like Lucian Patras was, once he got inside of you, it was impossible to get him out.