Taint

IT’S COOLER TONIGHT, and I can smell rain in the distance. Still, I dive into the pool, the cold water stinging my skin and paralyzing my joints. I swim through it, feeling my bones and muscles awaken. It’s easier now that the heaviness in my gut isn’t weighing me down. I can be mindless here. I can let the water drown the shame and wash away their scent. I know I have no reason to feel bad; I did nothing wrong or out of character. I did what any 29-year-old man would do with two exotic dancers in his home. I did what I’ve done before.

Candi and Jewel have been associates of mine for years. The three of us hooked up during some of my more formidable years and kept in touch. When it came time to enlist help with the program, I knew they were the ones for the job.

I should have cut off all physical association then, and I had, for the most part. But every so often, we’d have a few too many glasses of champagne, and we’d fall back into that familiar pattern—them f*cking me, me f*cking them and them f*cking each other while I watch, dick in hand.

Don’t look so surprised. Yeah, I sleep with strippers. Big deal. What do you expect me to do with them? Play pinochle?

See, the great thing about Candi and Jewel is that business never blurred into pleasure. They’d do their job, we’d have a drink after, and most times, they’d leave unsexed and well paid for their professional services.

This was not one of those times.

They did as I had asked, teaching the women their signature moves before dismissing them for the evening. Then they were at my door with a chilled bottle of Dom and twin wicked gleams burning in their eyes.

“You look tense,” Candi said, stepping inside. She eased my suit jacket from my shoulders and began to knead. Jewel popped the cork without spilling a single drop.

“I saw it too. You seem…different. Not as focused,” she chimed in.

“Frustrated,” Candi added.

Jewel returned to our sides with glasses of champagne. I downed mine in two gulps. “Shut up. And take off your clothes.”

There was no prelude required between us three. I didn’t even expect them to do their usual song and dance to get me hot. They know what turns me on just as I know how to get them off.

And that’s what I did.

There, in the middle of my living room, I bent Candi over the arm of the couch and took her from behind while finger-f*cking Jewel. Candi came quick, like always. Just a stroke of her * while giving it to her deep and fast, and she shattered beneath me in minutes. Jewel wanted to play. She straddled my lap, my latex-sheathed dick still glistening with Candi’s sugary wetness, and mounted me. She moaned loudly, feeling her hypersensitive mound creating friction against my pubic bone. Candi sucked her friend’s bouncing tits and played with her ass until I felt her insides tighten and shiver. Then she was screaming, crying my name so loudly I had to cover her mouth with one hand, while I wrapped the other around her waist and bounced her hard, up and down on me, prolonging her orgasm.

When her cries quieted to whines, she dismounted and pulled off the condom. Then she and Candi took turns sucking me off, moaning against my dick, as they tasted themselves in the trickles that had slid down to my balls.

And that was it. No romance. No cuddling. Not even any flirty conversation. Just direct, to-the-point sex. We shared a laugh when Candi accidently put on Jewel’s panties in her hazy afterglow. We made plans for next season’s session. Then they were gone. Just like everyone else in the revolving door of my life.

And now…now I’m conflicted about it. Like I’ve been unfaithful or disloyal to someone. But to who? Myself? Shit, if anything, I’m pretty damn pleased with myself. And feel a helluva lot better physically. Yet, something deep inside me aches with regret. I can feel the loneliness closing in, squeezing my chest. I pant and wheeze with every stroke, but I don’t stop. I don’t give in to the water. I won’t let it defeat me.

“YOU’RE WET.”

I keep my eyes to the sky. “Yeah.”

“But it’s chilly out here. You have to be freezing.”

“I’m fine.” For the most part, I am. I’ve gotten used to swimming long after sundown, since many of the women like to sunbathe during the day. Plus, I’m too damn frustrated to feel anything else.

I hear the shuffling of Allison’s sandals moving closer to me. And before I can lift my head to see what she’s doing, she lays a sweater over my damp body. Her scent surrounds me, digging its way into my skin and hair… into me. She’s not only affecting me, she’s infecting me.

I want to brush off her sweater, but I know it’d hurt her feelings. She’s been rejected enough, and she doesn’t need me pouring salt in the wound. And it’s not her fault that I’m one rub-and-tug away from being downright infatuated with her.

“You left early today,” she says, sitting in the lounger beside mine.

“Had to take care of something.” I still don’t look at her. I don’t even thank her for the sweater. So damn conflicted by my feelings for her. Yet, so frustrated with myself for harboring this sickness—this affliction—that forces me to be a somewhat decent human being and do the right thing. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know I will eventually. There is no other option.

“Interesting class today.”

“Yeah.”

I feel her turn towards me. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I…did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“You just seem…” Distant. Cold. Exactly what I should have been all along.

“A lot on my mind.” That’s a lie. Now that I don’t have any baby batter on the brain, my head is completely clear, and I can think somewhat rationally again. I can see how much of a mistake it is for us to carry on like this. She’ll get attached. I’ll let her. And then she’ll go back to her husband. And where will that leave me?

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

It’s quiet for a while, and I mentally prepare for her to get up and leave. When she shuffles to her feet, I close my eyes to cushion the blow of abandonment. Then I hear a loud splash into the water, causing my eyes to pop open. I’m on my feet before I can even register what’s happened.

“Holy shit, it’s cold!” Allison exclaims, teeth chattering. Her hair is soaked, sticking to her face and neck, and her dress is completely immersed in water. This upper-crust princess who’s probably never even worn the same garment twice, has just jumped in the pool fully clothed. She smiles up at me as she wades toward the edge.

“Are you insane? It’s cold out here! You’ll get sick!” I say, waving my hands animatedly.

“Says the guy in dripping wet shorts and nothing else.”

“Seriously, Ally. You’ll catch a cold. It’s my job to keep you all safe and comfortable, and right now, you can’t possibly be either. Please don’t make it impossible to do my job.”

She rolls her eyes and splashes water in my direction. “Fine, fine. Spread on the guilt like mustard. I see how it is.” She wades to the ladder where I wait for her, arm outstretched, prepared to pull her into my arms – ahem, I mean, pull her out of the pool. Yeah, yeah, that’s right.

“Give me your hand,” I demand brusquely, irritated at her immaturity. A day ago, her playfulness was endearing. Now it’s just a hassle.

She does as I say, those big, doe eyes locked onto mine, and goes to take a step on the ladder, steadying her assent with her hand in mine. And just as I think she’s pulling herself up onto dry land, she pulls back. Hard. Harder than a little thing like her possibly should. Before our bodies collide, she jumps back to her right, giggling hysterically.

Of course, all this is going down as I lose my footing at the edge of the pool and plummet, quite ungracefully, into the chilly water. I can still hear her laughing as my face and chest crack the surface with a splash.

“Are you crazy?” I shout, sputtering a mouthful of chlorine.

“Yes!” she croaks between chuckles.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” I ask, dropping my voice an octave. I can feel my face heating.

“Yes!” She’s still laughing, still oblivious to my murderous expression.

I move towards her. “You think you’re going to get away with this shit, too, huh?” That catches her attention, and her eyes widen, the orbs looking more blue than green against the backdrop of the pool.

“It was just a joke. I’m sorry if I-” she stammers.

Closer now. Only a few feet separating me from her small, fragile body. “Just a joke. You think you’re so f*cking funny. You think you can just do whatever the hell you want.”

“No, no, I don’t,” she says, shaking her head. She goes to move toward the ladder, but I block her advances with my body.

“You just do whatever you want, to whomever you want without consequence. Don’t you, Allison? You have no regard for anyone else. The world revolves around you, doesn’t it?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. You have it all wrong about-” Her words get caught in her throat as I move in as close as possible, my chest brushing hers. I can feel her nipples pebble with the chill, the cold, wet fabric clinging to her goose-pimpled skin.

My gaze lowers to her trembling lip, its usual pink color darkening to dusky mauve. “No, Allison. I think I have it all right about you.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but the wind is stolen from her chest as I pick her up and sling her over my shoulder. She only has sense enough to shriek, as I quickly make my way to the deeper end of the pool, a devilish smile on my lips. Then, sliding her body down to face mine, chest to chest, I scoop her up and toss her like a rag doll. She screams, arms flailing, red hair whipping water around like a sprinkler. Then, shoulders shaking, I let out a roar of laughter that surprises even me.

“What the hell? Oh, you are so dead!” she shouts, brushing her drenched locks from her eyes and mouth. Once she can see, she tries to wade over to catch me, and I quickly move away, still laughing hysterically. We’re in a slow motion ballet, running in liquid quicksand, trying to predict the other’s plan of attack. Animated eyes lit with delight, Ally goes right just as I jump out of her path. She jukes left, and I catch her around the waist in a spin move, placing my front to her back. Then my fingers are sliding over her ribs sheathed only by thin, wet cotton.

So many opportunities. So many alternatives. But I go with Option A. The only option that I truly deserve to have.

I tickle her.

I tickle Ally until she begs for mercy, until tears sprout at her eyes and her throat grows hoarse. I tickle her just to hear the sound of her laughter and the endearing little snorting sounds she makes between gulps of air.

I tickle her just have her in my arms.

“No fair! You’re a much better swimmer than me! Off me, Ryan Lochte! Or I’ll pull down your banana hammock!”

“Do you surrender?” I ask, going for the ticklish spot under her arms. She screams and thrashes like a beautiful, wounded animal.

“Never!”

“Fine by me.” I really let her have it, and she throws her head back on my shoulder in hysteric exhaustion. “Give it up, Ally. I win! Just admit defeat, and I’ll stop!”

“No! I’ll just pee down your leg!”

I shake my head at her crudeness and move down to tickle her stomach. I’m a sick puppy. The prospect of this girl pissing on me from laughing so hard isn’t totally revolting. It’s funny as hell.

“Ok, ok! Not there! I give up! Uncle!” she screeches. We’re both out of breath and panting. A sheen of sweat covers my forehead.

“Ah, so you’re the most ticklish on your stomach. That’s your kryptonite.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone. Or use it against me!”

I’ve stopped tickling her, but I haven’t let her go. She looks down, and I know what she sees: my arms wrapped tightly around her torso. I release her and take a step back.

“You’re scary when you’re mad.” She turns around and a soft, thoughtful smile kisses her lips. “Well, when you’re pretending to be mad.”

I run a hand through my wet hair, sending droplets flying. “Yeah. My mom made me take drama one semester in high school. She always wanted me to be a movie star. Said I had the look.”

“Well…she’s on to something.”

There she goes again. Subtly complimenting me and making me blush like a prepubescent fangirl. I hate it. I love it. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m embarrassed by my reaction to her. Hell, I’m embarrassed by my mental ramblings.

I look away towards the edge of the pool, just to give my brain something else to focus on. “Well, we should probably get out and dry off. I was serious before. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Fine, fine,” she sighs. “You’re lucky I’m too cold to feel my toes. I was about to kick your ass.”

We climb out of the pool, and the cold night air instantly covers us like a frozen Snuggi. Ally shivers, and her teeth chatter violently. I jog over to the lounge chairs where I left her sweater, and drape it over her shoulders. But somehow, as I smooth the fabric over her freezing, wet skin, she curls into my chest and under my arm, burying her face just a breath away from my nipple. I awkwardly freeze where I stand, arm still jutted out to the side to avoid holding her close. To avoid what instinct and emotion are begging me to do. F*ck.

“Oh…God…so…cold.” Trembles wrack her small frame, and I reluctantly let my arm surround her to keep her upright. She’s cold, yet something about her is inexplicably warm.

“Come on. Let’s get in the house.”

Now, a rational, thinking man would’ve ushered her into the main house. It’s closer, and that’s where all her dry clothes are. She’s cold, and warmth and comfort are only a few feet away. But the rational, thinking part of me was deprived of precious oxygen and blood-flow the moment I felt her soft, porcelain skin against mine, and her warm breath tickling my chest.

That’s why I took the extra steps to my house, away from prying eyes and the prospect of saying goodnight. I wasn’t done with her yet. I couldn’t have her, yet I still wasn’t done.

“Here, let me get you some towels.” I release her from my arms and power walk to the linen closet to get fresh towels. I even grab a soft, flannel throw. When I return, Ally is standing in the kitchen, still shivering. I wrap her with two giant, oversized towels and put the throw around her, winding it around her body and creating the cutest, sexiest burrito.

Lame.

I wipe the water from my body with my own towel, then put on a kettle for tea. Then I excuse myself to change. As I’m slipping on my sweatpants, I spy some old sweats that have grown too small, stuffed in the back of my closet. What the hell…what else do I have to lose?

“I brought you some dry clothes,” I say reentering the kitchen. Ally’s managed to unravel herself enough to sit on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Just some old, ratty sweats I can’t fit in. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t-”

“Thanks!” she says, jumping down off her stool and snatching the clothes. “Your bathroom…?”

“Down the hall, two doors to the left.”

I’m pouring tea into mugs when she reemerges, drowning in grey sweats that are three sizes too big for her. She’s adorable. I turn away and place the cups on a tray before bringing them to the kitchen island.

“Thanks. You went to Triton Prep?”

I look over at the prep school emblem that she’s assessing on the sweatshirt. “Briefly.”

“Oh. That’s where Evan graduated. Did you know him?”

I drop a couple sugar cubes in my tea, keeping my eyes set on the tray of teacups, sugar cookies and madeleines. “I was only there for a year.”

“Oh? What happened?”

I shrug. “Transferred.”

“Ok.” She busies herself, sipping her tea and nibbling a cookie. “I went to St. Mary’s in Boston. But I’m sure you already knew that.” She blushes, then looks down.

“I did.”

She lifts her chin and her eyes find mine, burning with curiosity. “Triton is a great school. Probably the best in the country. Your test scores must’ve been amazing to get in.”

I shrug again. Damn these shoulders. “They were alright.”

“Alright? If my parents weren’t adamant about raising me outside the city and subjecting me to an all-girl hell, I’m sure my father would have been making a generous donation to get me in. Where’d you go after Triton?”

“Denton Academy.”

“Oh. That’s a good school.” She tries to recover her smile, but I can already see it.

Denton isn’t Triton.

I’m not Evan.

Just as I’m about to let the comparison worm its way into my head and hatch up a bunch of different reasons why I’ll never be deserving of someone like her, Ally’s face lights up, setting those cerulean eyes aflame. “Consider it a compliment. I’m determined that the prerequisite to attend Triton is you must be at least one-third, pretentious douche-nozzle. I think we’ve determined that that does not apply to you. At least not one-third.”

“Douche-nozzle?” I ask, raising a playful brow. “Are you sure you graduated from Columbia? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”

“Yup. With honors, buddy. And I would gladly explain the logistics of a douche-nozzle, but I wouldn’t want you to toss your cookies. No pun intended,” she giggles, obviously pleased with herself.

I put down my mug and turn towards the refrigerator. “Well, lucky for me, I’ve got ice cream.”

Ally makes a noise that quite frankly sounds like a mix between a squealing pig and a drowning cat. Either way, it makes me laugh, and I turn to gaze at her with wonder.

What is it about her? What makes every little quirk, every idiosyncrasy that would usually annoy the f*ck out of me, seem so goddamn adorable? I laugh like an idiot when she’s around. I worry about hurting her feelings or being too gruff. Hell, I’ve been eating ice cream like a hormonal chick with PMS! I just don’t get it. What’s next? Watching the newest Nicholas Sparks flick and drying each other’s tears?

“You’re not too cold for this, are you?”

Ally shakes her head vehemently. “Hell no. I could be in Antarctica, floating on an iceberg while ice skating with a family of penguins, and I’d still want it.”

I grab the pint and two spoons, handing her one. She digs in, and I quickly follow.

Ally scoops up a heaping spoonful and extends it towards me. "Cheers." We clink our spoons and devour that first creamy, cold bite of Mint Chocolate Chip with corresponding Mmmms.

"So...if you had to give up one, would you rather sacrifice your sight or your hearing?" She asks, going in for more.

"That's an easy one. Hearing. I'd definitely give up my hearing if I had to."

"Explain your case, sir."

"Well, for one, you can still communicate even if you're deaf. You can sign or read lips. And let's face it—we live in the age of excessive technology. I could just text or Instagram you."

"Yeah, but you'd never hear music. You'd never get to hear a child's laughter or the sound of someone saying, "I love you." You'd miss out on so much."

I look at her, seeing her. Trying to make her see me. "But to not be able to see a pink sunset fade to purple or a million stars in the sky, stretching to eternity...you can't manufacture that. Technology can't create a smile so bright that it makes you smile even when you don't want to. It can't manipulate true beauty. It can try, but it'll never duplicate that exact shade of red, fiery hair. Or the pattern of cinnamon freckles on your nose. Or even the way your eyes change from blue to green like a mood ring. You can't forge what has been perfectly designed. That kind of beauty doesn't require sound or words or even music. It doesn't need anything else. Anything more and it would overwhelm you."

She doesn't speak, and neither do I. I've said enough. I've said too much.

Eventually we resume eating, confusion heavy in the air. I know she's wondering where that came from—hell, even I'm not sure—but one thing is clear.

I've crossed a line. And whatever this is or was...I've tainted it with truth.

"Crap, it's late," she finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She looks at me and raises a brow. "Save the rest for later?"

"Sure," I nod, wondering if there'll ever be a later.

I give her a bag to store her wet clothing and walk her to the door. She turns just before she crosses the threshold. "By the way, I would've picked that too."

She walks away, leaving me with her smile. She doesn't say goodbye. Maybe part of her never really left.

TODAY ON E!... Breaking news on playboy prince, Evan Carr, as a sex tape surfaces, starring he and an unknown woman. The recording was leaked online just last night and has spread like wildfire, garnering nearly five hundred thousand hits in the last twelve hours. The mystery woman in the video is still unidentified, though it’s evident that it is not Allison Elliot-Carr, Evan’s wife of nearly five years. The pair has had a very public relationship, including rumors of infidelity on Evan’s part. Neither Evan nor Allison were available for comment, yet sources close to the couple say that Allison has been absent from their Manhattan home. Could this finally be the beginning of the end for the Upper East Side royal couple? Stay tuned for more on E!

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

I pull out my phone to dial, but it’s already ringing.

“You hear the news?”

No preamble. Just straight to the point. That’s my publicist, Heidi. I’m not surprised she’s already on it. I pay her a small fortune to ensure that stories like these don’t explode into full-on shit shows. As long as things stay somewhat quiet on the outside, I can do my job on the inside. But the moment things begin to fall apart in their absence, we run the risk of the wives catching wind and leaving. And exposing my identity. You see, Heidi also helps to maintain my anonymity. No one actually sees me until Day One, and they’re required to sign NDAs to safeguard against exposure.

“Yeah,” I nearly groan into the receiver. Yeah, it’s a hassle to keep the lid on stories this public, but the fact that it’s happening to Allison… shit. Shit shit shit.

“How do you want to proceed?” Heidi asks.

Under normal circumstances, a story like this would blow away in the wind as soon as a Kardashian sneezed, but the Carrs are prime real estate for gossip rags. And with a bastard like Evan dipping his dick into a different chick every other week, they feed the press like a smut news soup kitchen.

“Contact his PR, but stay mum. We don’t want the media to smell blood and we damn sure don’t want Allison getting hurt in this.”

“Allison?” I can hear the amusement in Heidi’s question. She’s as sharp as a tack and knows I never refer to clients so casually. She’s a shark, just like me. And sharks don’t get comfortable. They don’t slip up.

“Mrs. Carr. You know who the f*ck I mean,” I reply sternly. I’m still a shark. Regardless of how guppy-fied Allison makes me feel, I’m a shark, goddammit.

“Fine. You know this wouldn’t be an issue if you would just listen to me sometimes. How many times have I told you-”

I press End.

I don’t need this right now. Allison doesn’t need this right now. And the fact that I’m aware of the demise of her marriage while she’s been hanging out, eating ice cream with me, makes me feel kinda guilty. Yet, not guilty enough to want to stop.

I dress for the day and head to the main house, more determined than ever to make this right for her. To make her into the picture of erotic perfection, so she will never have to face this kind of pain and humiliation again.

To transform her into the whore that Evan wants.

It’s not fair to her– hell, it’s not fair to me– but he won’t stop. He’ll never change his philandering ways. It’s all he knows, all he’s ever seen. And Allison, as smart and funny and f*cking amazing as she is, will never leave him.

Welcome to the real game of Life, where we’re all players, but no one ever truly wins.

The moment Allison enters the room and walks to her seat, I’m moving towards her. I grasp her shoulders and pull her into me, causing her to gasp with surprise. Those wide, sparkling eyes search my face for a motive for my sudden erratic behavior. I look back at her, searching for the same thing.

“Ally…” I swallow, suddenly nervous to utter the next words. Not because they’re any more shocking than what I’ve said in the past. But because they’re probably the truest, realest thing I’ll ever let myself admit. “Ally, I need to touch you. And I need you to touch me too.”

She doesn’t answer, but her body, so soft and breakable in my firm grip, quivers with compliance. I let my hands slide from her shoulders and down to her hands, where I lace my fingers with hers. Then I pull her to the front of the room without breaking my penetrating gaze. She doesn’t resist me. Her feet move one in front of the other, matching my footfalls in a synchronized dance. She wants this. And maybe, on some level, she wants me.

My voice is loud and clear, but I speak only to her. “The act of love making, of sex, is a feast for the senses. It isn’t about just feeling, it’s about seeing your lover writhing in ecstasy. Hearing her moan your name. Smelling their rich, musky arousal.” I lick my lips in anticipation of my next words. “Tasting her on your tongue.”

Allison’s lips part, but no sound escapes. Her eyes linger on my mouth for just a beat, then flicker down to our locked hands. I’m hyperaware of what she and everyone else sees, and I force myself to pull away. I turn her body to face the class.

“I’m going to show you how to feel your partner with your whole self. To explore the power of sensation and drive them wild before you even open your legs,” I announce, my voice raw and almost choked with self-inflicted torment. “Pair up; it’s time you got to know your housemates a little better.”

I brush Allison’s scarlet hair to one side and lean down to place my lips at her ear. “You’re with me, sweetheart.”

SOFT, SENSUAL MUSIC plays in the background. Every light is dimmed to a muted glow. And the women...blindfolded. Everyone is, aside from me.

“Start at the nape of her neck, slide just the very tips of your fingers to her shoulders. Yeah, that’s right. Just like that, ladies. Now take turns trailing them up and down her arms to the inside of her palms. Slowly. Go slow. Remember: it’s about the journey. Good. Now slowly move your fingertips to the top of her chest. Slide them down to the sides of her breasts. Yeah, right there.”

They do as they’re told, relying only on the sound of my voice and their other heightened senses to guide them. I hear them pant and gasp at the newfound sensation as the ladies explore each other’s bodies, but I can only see the one in front of me. The one that captured my attention the moment she walked into my life and set fire to my desert oasis.

My fingers stroke the bare skin at the hollow of her throat before sliding down to the tops of her breasts. I want to touch her so badly. I ache to let my hands keep going down this slippery slope to the hard, pebbled nipples that strain against her green silk blouse. She sucks in a breath, causing her chest to rise, and I swear she extends her breasts to me, aching for the same.

“Lean in, ladies. Let her scent surround you. Don’t be afraid to use all your senses. Tell her how good she feels in your hands. How sexy you feel touching her.”

They all comply. I knew they would. We’re going into Week 3, and the women are dying for physical contact. See, believe it or not, women are the more sexually uninhibited gender. While men are more vocal about their desires and get hard if a strong breeze whips through their legs, women can be aroused by almost anything. Gay porn, dirty talk, a gentle caress, a simple smolder…it all works to get them hot. As long as a woman is mentally open, so are her legs. But that’s a different lesson entirely. To teach all the ways to attract and seduce a woman would take longer than 6 weeks. Hell, I’d need 6 months.

“Do you feel that? The way her heartbeat stutters when you graze her breasts? How humid her skin grows when you rake your fingers across it? That’s arousal. She’s hot for you. Congratulations. You’ve made a straight, married woman yearn for your touch.”

I’m not ignorant to the fact that I’m just reciting Allison’s reactions to me. There’s so much more I could do to her, so many more ways I want to feel her squirm in my capable hands. I want to get closer, but I won’t. And with my dick, hard and throbbing, begging to break free, I can’t. So for now, I’ll take this. It may be the only chance I get.

I step forward an inch so that our bodies just barely touch, our heat creating an undeniable friction that seizes our skin with electricity. Then I take her trembling hands and place them on my chest, stifling a groan.

“Your turn, Ally,” I whisper only for her ears. “Touch me.”

She sucks in a breath and bites her quivering lip. “How?”

My voice is low and raspy, wavering with my restraint. “Just like I touched you. Exactly how you want to be touched.”

I watch as she takes a few breaths to steel her nerves. Then slowly, torturously, as if she wants to strip away every bit of self-control I have, she slides her delicate hands up to my shoulders, kneading the hard muscle sheathed in a white linen shirt. It’s amazing how she can make such an innocent touch feel so dirty and sexual. It feels like she’s undressing me, exposing me. Corrupting me.

“More,” I rasp. My breath comes out in ragged pants, and my skin is on fire. Allison moves her hands down my arms until her fingers stroke the inside of my palms. Then she’s touching my waist, my stomach. Her nails rake over the hard ridges of my abs, taking the time to feel each and every mound of muscle. I hold my breath, afraid that she’ll continue her journey down south. I’m not ashamed of my body’s reaction to hers, but I know nothing good will come of her feeling my hardness in her hands. And chances are, she wouldn’t even know what to do with it.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you feel.”

Allison swallows and her mouth parts. I watch as her pink tongue darts out just enough to wet her lips. “You’re so…hard,” she whispers. If I hadn’t been so immersed in the sight of her tongue sliding over her lips, I wouldn’t have even understood her.

“What else?”

“Um…uh. You’re warm. Hot. You feel so strong under my hands. Like, I can feel every muscle.”

“Keep going, Ally.” It’s meant to be a command, but it voice sounds like it’s pleading.

“And, um. So big. You make me feel small. And breakable. But I feel safe too, like your whole body could cover mine without crushing me.” Her cheeks heat and bloom deep red. “It’s stupid. I feel like an idiot saying this to you.”

She goes to take off her blindfold and I stop her, placing her hands on my chest. “No, don’t stop. It’s not stupid.”

A smile curves her pink, glossed lips, and she steps into me. Close enough for her nipples to brush the top of my stomach. Close enough for her to feel my erection nudging her.

She gasps, yet doesn’t step away. I grin sardonically.

“Go on, Ally,” I say, stepping even closer, letting her feel just what she’s doing to me. Showing her that, while I may make her feel small and meek, she has the power.

She inhales before sucking her bottom lip into her mouth seductively. Just like I taught her. “You smell so good. Like male and raw sex. Like sunshine and rainwater.”

“Yeah? And what does that make you feel?”

“Hot.” Her head lowers, but not before I see the red in her cheeks deepen even more. “And horny.”

A flash of movement or light, or maybe even a voice, catches my attention, and I look up to find ten sets of uncovered eyes trained on us, each one displaying varying degrees of shock and outrage. My mouth goes dry, and I feel the blood drain from my face. I step away, yet not so fast that they could misconstrue my retreat as a sign of guilt.

“You all did a wonderful job. And I’d like to thank Mrs. Carr for being a good sport and trying some of our more advanced techniques.” Without moving her body too much and revealing my massive hard-on to the rest of the class, I turn Ally around and remove her blindfold, keeping my hands chastely on her shoulders. She stays put, pressing her back and ass against my throbbing dick. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.

“Let’s break for an early lunch, shall we?”

We wait until the rest of the class files out, before Ally turns back to face me. Her cheeks are still pink, and even her hair looks disheveled, like she’s been freshly f*cked.

“Your mom was right,” she says, looking up at me with glassy eyes.

“My mom?” I frown.

“You should’ve been a movie star. You’re a damn good actor.”

I raise a brow. “Maybe I should be telling you that.”

Allison shakes her head and laughs nervously, looking down at her feet. “No. I can’t act. Not even a little bit.”

I pull her chin up, refusing to let her hide from me. “Then what was that?”

She shakes her head, her chin still secured between my fingers. Tears fill those wide eyes, and her lip trembles. “I don’t know. I don’t know what that was. I don’t know anything.”

Suddenly, the need to possess her body is a distant memory. Seeing her so shattered because of me, because of this…thing, this undefined attraction that has her just as f*cked up in the head as I am, makes me realize just how careless I’ve been with her delicate emotions. She’s been hurt, and somehow, in some way that I don’t seem to understand, I’m hurting her too. I can see it, right in those sad eyes filled with tiny, drowning stars.

“Come here,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. She buries her face into my chest for just a moment before she realizes what she’s doing.

“No. No, I can’t do this. Excuse me…I’m sorry.” And with confused tears sliding down her porcelain face and a trail of fire at her back, the angel runs away from this lonely hell designed especially for me.

DAYS PASS. MAYBE a week.

It’s all the same. Work. Swim. Sometimes I drink. Seldom I eat. Either way, nothing changes. Allison doesn’t come at night. She hardly even looks at me. I feel like I’ve stained her, violated her in some way. Tainted her with wicked temptation. And for once, I’m relieved.

I couldn’t stay away from her, and she wasn’t put off enough by me to keep her distance. So maybe this was necessary. Maybe her physically seeing what I was capable of, was just what she needed to permanently close whatever space she had left open for me in her life. Now she can remove the placeholder. I’m no longer on the guest list.

That’s a good thing. That’s what’s best.

Still... it’s shitty.

Feeling like I had some sort of connection with someone, even platonically, was something I hadn’t experienced in years. Meeting her was like seeing a sunrise after being trapped in a dull, grey room with no windows. It was that first bite of ice cream on a treacherously hot summer’s day. Without her, all is drab. Muted. Tasteless.

Lonely.

But I’m not complaining. The brooding, lonely role is one I play well. I’m an island of one, and I like to keep it that way.

That’s why I couldn’t figure out why the usual excitement surrounding this particular day just wasn’t there. This one had always been one of my favorites. The housewives would be particularly uncomfortable. It tested each one of their boundaries and made them reevaluate their own desires. Seeing them like that – cheeks stained with embarrassment, mouths slack, squirming in their seats with arousal—was like living art to me. That raw emotion was what I lived for.

Yet, now, I feel indifferent about it, maybe even a little sad. Like doing this will be the proverbial nail in the coffin for Ally and me.

Ally and me.

Hmph. I can’t even say that with a straight face.

I watch intently as they all file in, glancing hesitantly at the mechanism that sits in the middle of the room. A few whisper in curious speculation, others in excited anticipation. They can tell shit is about to go down, and who am I to disappoint?

“Good morning, ladies. Today we have a special guest joining us.”

I nod towards the back of the room, and every head turns as a slender brunette in a red silk robe makes her way to the front. I hold my hand out to help her onto the medical-style examination chair. “This is Erin. Erin has been with us for the past few years and is currently a medical student. She will also be helping us out today.”

My voice drops to a husky baritone as if I’m letting them in on a naughty secret. “In order to give pleasure, you need to understand how to receive it. It’s time we became intimate with the female body. With your bodies. Erin?”

On cue, Erin let’s her robe fall open, exposing her naked frame. Pert, round breasts sit up without a hint of sag, above a flat, flawless belly. Without hesitation, she spreads her legs and places her heels into the extended stirrups, revealing a bare, pink p-ssy. Hushed shrieks of surprise echo throughout the room, but she hears none of it. She’s used to it by now. And with me pretty much paying her way through med school whilst only working four days a year, she could care less about a few judgmental hens who haven’t clucked since before Miley Cyrus actually owned clothes and brain cells.

“Look familiar, ladies?” I ask, grinning evilly. “No? Probably because you’ve neglected your body, thus denying yourself the opportunity to learn about it. How can you expect your mate to f*ck you right if you’re not doing it yourself? No one knows what stimulates you better than you do.

“So, since I don’t have the plumbing required to show you the ins and outs, so to speak, Erin will help me. First, let’s start with the nipples.”

Again, on cue, Erin palms the underside of her breasts, pinching her erect nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. Shocked murmurs resound around the room, which she answers by pinching her swollen buds and grinning.

“Your nipples are the most obvious pleasure points not residing in the female genitalia. However, they are commonly neglected. Who likes their nipples stimulated?”

No one answers at first, but a hand eventually goes up. Lacey Rose, rocker wife and former sex kitten. Several more follow. I make it a point not to look in Ally’s direction. Knowing that about her, knowing I could bring her to orgasm just by teasing her strawberry nipples, would drive me insane. Ignorance is bliss. At least in my case, ignorance is necessary.

I focus my attention back on Erin who smiles up at me. “Ok, good. Now, who likes to play with their nipples when they’re alone?”

Fewer hands this time, but a couple women actually fess up.

“Excellent. Our friend, Erin, is going to demonstrate all the ways you can get off just by nipple stimulation alone. Erin?”

The young, busty brunette begins to pinch and knead her tan-tipped nipples, rolling them with her skilled fingers. She throws her head back in a moan and bites her bottom lip with practiced seduction. Then she brings her fingers up to her mouth, licking the digits before returning them to her swollen breasts. Even with her feet in the stirrups, she tries to close her legs in hopes of creating friction to her neglected p-ssy. I watch intently, fascinated by the way her sensitive pink flesh quivers with need. Erin looks back at me, her eyes begging me to touch her and put her out of her misery.

Aside from the creak of their chairs from squirming, everyone is silent as they watch Erin stroke and caress herself. A few even unconsciously clutch their own chests, starving to be touched.

Just as Erin is on the brink of bringing herself to orgasm, I gently tap the inside of her thigh, letting my hand linger there. She places her hands to rest at her sides, perfectly poised, save for her ragged breaths. “Very good. Now what can you tell me about what Erin just showed us?”

After a beat, a hand goes up. Lorinda Cosgrove, the dark haired wallflower that is slowly blooming into an exotic Tiger lily. “Um, when she pinched them…she moaned loudly?”

“Good, Mrs. Cosgrove. What else?”

Lacey speaks up. “And when she licked her fingers and wet her nipples, her back arched.”

“Rolling them between her fingers made her knees shake,” says another housewife.

“All great observations. What else?”

“When she watched you watching her, it made her hotter. She wanted you to touch her. You could see it in her eyes.”

I freeze, forcing myself not to look in the direction of the voice. I was so close. So close to getting through this without actually thinking about it. So close to not feeling like I was doing something wrong. But now that unwarranted guilt is creeping back, filling my head with illusions of morality. Making me think twice about my next move.

“Uh, that was…” I stammer. Shit. Focus, Drake. Business before bullshit. “So…right. Moving on. Next, Erin will demonstrate some of the more known erogenous zones, starting with the *oris. Watch closely; watch the movements of her fingers. Note which areas are the most sensitive.”

Without my prompt, Erin lets her hands travel down past her belly and between her thighs. First, she parts her sex, giving the women an in-depth view of her most intimate area. Then, with her other hand, she strokes her *, moaning out her pleasure before applying more pressure.

My hand still on the inside of her thigh, I part Erin’s legs wider, letting the women see every tight, wet part of her. “I get that most of you have had children and are not as youthful as Erin,” I say over her fevered mewling. “But this is the type of p-ssy you all should aspire to have. Your job is not just to birth children and run a household. You are required to stay freshly waxed and groomed at all times. Your p-ssy should be pink and soft. If it’s not, there are procedures to get it that way again. This is what your husbands want to see when you open your legs. No one wants to f*ck Chewbacca. Groom your p-ssy as if you’re Sharon Stone’s crotch-shot stunt double.”

Erin resumes massaging her *, tracing circles around that swollen, throbbing button. Then she switches it up with rapid side-to-side movements before lightly slapping the emblazoned flesh, crying out with her climax. She looks up at me again with those needy eyes, shaking with the aftershocks of orgasm. I know what she was thinking about when she touched herself. I know she wishes it were my hands stimulating her silken skin.

I divert my eyes, acting as if I am engrossed in her quivering sex. “*oral stimulation can provide one of the most powerful orgasms you’ll ever feel. And for many women, that’s the only climax they’ve ever received. But there’s one type of orgasm that, unfortunately, very few women have had the pleasure of experiencing. Of course, I am referring to the G-Spot orgasm. Now, ladies…it’s not the Lost City of Atlantis. There’s no special code you need to crack this particular nut. Just patience and practice. And if you can find it, you’ll be able to lead your lover to it.”

I give Erin’s leg a tap and she complies with my unspoken command, moving a hand just a few centimeters lower and dipping just the tip of her finger inside her p-ssy. She rubs the dripping wet digit on her swollen * before easing it inside her again, this time sinking in to the knuckle. She gasps at the intrusion, letting her muscles contract around her slender finger before easing it out a bit. Then she plunges back in, creating a slow, sinful rhythm.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Slow and deep,” I croon, massaging her thigh. “Add another finger. Fill yourself.”

Erin does as I command, picking up speed with the addition of the second finger. I can hear the sucking sounds of her tightness, begging for more.

“Now curl your fingers up, baby. You feel that? You feel how it’s throbbing for you? Begging for you? Milk it, baby. Milk that orgasm and come all over your fingers for me.”

With a strangled cry, Erin lets go, and a rush of sweet nectar flows from her contracting p-ssy. Still massaging her thigh, I coax her down from her erotic high, whispering reassuring words of praise. When I look back at the crowd, every eye is glazed and unblinking, and every face is flushed scarlet.

“I understand that it may be difficult to vocalize what we’ve just seen, so we’ll be cutting today’s class short. You’re all dismissed to your rooms, where a special gift from our friends at Lelo.com awaits you. I want you to explore your own pleasure points. Find out what techniques stimulate you the most. And while you do this, utilize the full-length mirrors stationed in your suites. Watch yourself get off. See what he sees when he’s pleasuring you.”

Without little persuasion, the ladies hastily file out of the room, all silently pondering their homework assignment. Once we’re alone, I turn to Erin, my expression burning with intensity.

“My house. Now.”

“WHAT THE F*ck was that?”

I pace the floor, trying to reel in my temper. Erin sits cross-legged on my sofa, only sheathed in her robe.

“What was what?”

“Don’t play stupid, Erin. You know what you were doing.”

She smiles, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “You were giving me the f*ck-me eyes the entire time. And don’t think I didn’t catch you moan my name.”

She looks down at the floor to hide her forlorn expression. “Nice to see you were paying attention. You make me feel like I’m invisible to you.”

I rub the back of my neck in frustration, before going to kneel in front of her. Erin may be confident and fearless, but she is still a woman. She still needs to feel desired. “Of course you’re not invisible to me, Erin. I see you. Shit, I was touching you…talking to you in ways I shouldn’t have been. For a minute, I forgot where I was.”

She lifts her eyes and hope floods her face. “You wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted to be inside me, right?”

I swallow, pushing down the instinctive Yes in my throat. “I’d be f*cking crazy not to want you, Erin. You’re a beautiful woman. But you know I can’t cross that line with you. Not now, not ever.”

“But…but before we did-”

I shake my head, knowing exactly where this is going. “That was then, Erin. And that will never happen again. I told you that. Now if you can’t handle this arrangement, I can find someone who can.”

Tears well in her eyes and she shakes her head. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just…”

I kiss her on the forehead and climb to my feet. “Good girl.”

For once, I’m actually not trying to be the villain. I like Erin, but not in the way that she wants. A few years back, I approached her in a Chicago bar, on her last dime, looking for any rich bastard to buy her a drink and hopefully be her sponsor. Despite being incredibly gorgeous, she reeked of desperation. I had to help her. It was my civic duty to do so before she got caught up with the wrong crowd.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked her, sliding onto the barstool beside her.

“Amy,” she answered, smiling too brightly.

“Amy, huh? What’s your real name?”

Her face fell, and she stared at the gin and tonic she had been nursing for the past hour. “Erin.”

Without a word, I slid her a business card. No name. No information. Just a phone number. Then I slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and turned and walked away.

Five minutes later, Erin was ringing my cell phone.

“There’s a diner on Michigan Avenue,” I answered without preamble.

“Which one?” she asked into the receiver.

“Whichever one you find me at.” End.

Half an hour later, Erin slid into the booth I was stationed at, flustered and irritated. I picked up my cup of coffee and casually took a sip before sliding her a menu.

“I’m not here to eat,” she said, pushing it back towards me.

“Order. You’re hungry. And don’t lie and say that you’re not. What we won’t do is lie to each other. Understand?”

Her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t argue. She was perfect for me. I knew she would be. I didn’t have the time or patience to break in someone who didn’t know how to submit.

I sipped my coffee while Erin devoured a large platter of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns and toast. When she had eaten every morsel, I decided it was time to get down to business.

“Tell me your story.”

Without much coaxing, Erin revealed that she was a first year med student with no family and no means to support herself. She had lost her tiny, ramshackle apartment, and her small scholarship didn’t cover much beyond the first year, let alone housing. She was stuck– either drop out and go back home to Idaho, or find other, less-appealing ways to support herself. That day, she had decided that maybe her dreams of becoming a doctor just weren’t going to come true.

“I have a proposition for you,” I told her.

“I’m not a prostitute,” she quickly interjected.

I smiled at her amusingly. “I would certainly hope not.”

I showed her my hand, explaining to her what I wanted and how I would compensate her for it. There, in a small diner in downtown Chicago, I asked about her sexual history (Two guys: an old boyfriend from Idaho and a one-hit wonder in undergrad), her level of inhibition (she considered herself a try-sexual: she’d try anything once), and her health background (squeaky clean: no glove, no love), all of which I had hardcopy proof of already. Then I paid the tab and took her back to my hotel room to sign all the necessary documents and begin the first phase of her training.

“Now, sweetheart, I need to know how far you’ll go. You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to, but there are places that I will touch you that will arouse you. That will arouse me. And I will want to f*ck you. Hell, I want to f*ck you right now.”

She sat on the bed, long, smooth legs crossed and eyes hooded. “I want that too.”

I touched her in places she never even knew were erogenous zones. I kissed her tight body until my lips burned. Then I f*cked her long, deep and hard until she soaked the sheets with her wetness.

As she looked at me lazily, her vision shrouded in afterglow, she smiled with delirious delight. “Oh my God. I don’t even know your name.”

I looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her tender gaze. “I’m Justice Drake.”

“Mmmm, Justice Drake. I like that.”

I could already hear her trying out the name preluded by a Mrs. I shut it down quick.

“Yes. And that was for pleasure. However, anytime I touch you from here on out will be strictly business. Understand?”

Without so much as a kiss on the cheek, I left Erin alone in that hotel suite, sore and satisfied, with a few bills and instructions for the following week.

I KNEW I should’ve sent Erin on her merry way the moment she started in with the waterworks. But truth be told, I’m not a complete bastard. I just sometimes like to let my inner a*shole shine. He’s much better at evading social nuances than I am.

So I let her dry her tears and even made her a cup of tea. Then I insisted that she pack up those perky tits and get on the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago. But as luck would have it, I was quite possibly a day late and a dollar short.

“Call me when you land at O’Hare,” I say, opening the front door for her to exit. I had been throwing hints all evening, and was about to resort to air traffic control signals.

“Ok. Thanks again, Justice. You’re always so good to me. I’d be lost without you.” She stretches on her tiptoes and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. I’m just about to chastise her for crossing the boundaries, when all coherent thought and sense of speech are stolen from me.

Standing at my door, fire licking her shoulders in the cool, early autumn breeze, is Allison, her hand still raised as if she were preparing to knock.

“Ally…uh…hey.” See, this is the part where the cheating husband shrieks out “It’s not what it looks like! I can explain!” while his pants are around his ankles and his dick is still rock hard.

But I’m not anyone’s husband. And I can’t cheat on someone that isn’t mine. So…why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?

“Oh, my apologies,” she smiles tightly, stifling her discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you had company. I’ll come back later, Mr. Drake.”

“No, no. Erin was just leaving,” I refute, holding the door open wider and nearly shoving Erin out of the way. “Please, come in.”

“That’s not necessary. I should’ve made other arrangements. I’m terribly sorry.”

Allison turns to walk away, and I catch her elbow before she can take another step. She turns to me, animated eyes reduced to questioning slits, but she doesn’t pull away. F*ck it. I’m screwed anyway. “Stay. Please. Stay, Ally.”

She nods slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. I hear the muted rustle of silk and an irritated huff beside me. Dammit. Erin.

“So…I guess I’ll leave now.” She brushes past us brusquely, and makes a beeline for the main house to collect her things.

“Let me know you got in safely,” I call out after her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves without looking back. I know I should go after her and at least attempt to smooth things over, before her wild imagination begins to cook up all kinds of rumor-inducing theories, but what would I say? And how could I even force myself to walk away, now that I hold this precious angel in the palm of my hand?

Erin will have to wait. Logic, morals, obligations will all have to wait.

“Come in,” I murmur, holding my breath, as Ally crosses the threshold. She follows me to the kitchen, where I retrieve our half-eaten carton of ice cream and two spoons.

“I can’t stay. It’s just…I, uh…ran into a problem with your homework assignment.”

I bite my bottom lip hard to keep from chuckling. “Oh? Need a hand?” I turn just in time to see Ally’s icy-cold glare. She shakes her head.

“See…this was a mistake.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. Tell me about it. I sincerely want to help.” I open the carton of Mint Chocolate Chip and scoop up a serving, handing it to her. Ally pauses, contemplating her next move, before eventually exhaling her frustration and accepting the cold, creamy peace offering.

“It’s nothing…I don’t think.” She eases the spoon into her mouth and hums her approval, letting her eyelids close in ecstasy. She slides onto a barstool before sinking her spoon back in for another bite. “It’s just… Ok, don’t laugh. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I respond around a mouthful of sweet, frozen deliciousness.

“Ok, here goes… How do you know if you had an orgasm?” she almost whispers.

I frown. “What do you mean, how do you know?”

“I mean, how can you tell? Like, I’m not sure if or how I’ve…you know. And I’ve never…by myself… Oh God, this is too embarrassing!” She shoves the spoon into the carton and covers her face with both hands.

“Ally…” I stow my own spoon and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Just an innocent shoulder. Nothing to see here, folks.

“I’m mortified! This was such a mistake!”

“It’s not. That’s what I’m here for. You can ask me anything, you hear me? Anything.”

Slowly, she removes her hands from her face yet keeps her eyes trained on the countertop. “I swear, I’m not this clueless. It’s just…there’s only been Evan and we’ve never talked about whether or not I’ve…you know. So I’m not sure if it’s happened or what kind.”

I nod, understanding what she’s saying and surrendering the instinct to wrap her up in my arms and kiss her senseless. Her naiveté is incredibly inspiring. Oh, the things I could do…

“Well, Ally. If you have to wonder if you’ve ever had an orgasm, then chances are, you haven’t.”

Her eyes double in size. “Really?”

“Really.”