S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (11 page)

“Here? Now?” I caught my reflection in the mirror over the bar and saw my eyebrows
shoot up.

A wicked and perfect smile played across his mouth. Two days’ worth of stubble didn’t
take away from his polish either.

I turned and watched him walk away, passing the bandstand and the pretty lead singer.
I looked around at the oblivious crowd now craning to watch the band begin. The opening
riffs were brassy and loud, the bass reverberating deep in my body. I looked towards
the women’s washroom. If I left my stool, I’d lose my place at the bar. Then he wouldn’t
find me.

The room was filling up. The lights were dimmed a bit more. A cold flute of champagne
was placed in front of me. I was alone, at a bar, contemplating removing my underwear
because a hot, young man had asked me to. What if I was caught? Surely I’d be thrown
out for lewd behavior. I tried to remember what panties I had on. A black thong. Simple,
silky. How to squirm out of panties in public, unnoticed, wasn’t something I had learned
at Girl Scouts.

I pulled the stool closer to the bar. Then, watching myself in the mirror, I did a
practice run, moving my forearm and hand across my lap, while above the line of the
bar my upper arm and shoulder appeared still. Good, it could work. I moved quickly,
my hand under the bar gathering the front
of my skirt. I slipped the other hand up my thigh, wrapping a finger through my thong
and lifting my buttocks off the stool ever so slightly, hooking my heels into the
base of the stool to get leverage. Just as I yanked hard, the song came to an abrupt
end. I thought I was the only one to hear the rip, like a needle skipping across a
record. But a man with a shaved head, who’d been standing with his back to me, turned
to see what had made that sound. I froze. Oh no.

I smiled at him awkwardly and let out a nervous laugh. This man was riveting with
crinkly eyes like Will’s, but his were icy blue. He had on a black suit, with a black
shirt and black tie. For a man who was probably closer to fifty than thirty, he had
the lithe build of a soccer player.

Leaning towards me, he said, “Got them off yet?” He took in my expression of shock
with a bemused smile, then took a sip of his scotch and plopped the empty glass down,
wiping his mouth with the back of his wide hand. “Your panties, I mean. Are they off?”
he said in a British accent.

I looked around in case anyone had heard him. But the music had started up again.

“Who are you?”

“The real question is, do you accept the Step?”

“The Step? What? You? I thought it was going to be with the other guy.”

“I can assure you, Cassie, you’re in good hands with me. Do you accept the Step?”

“What’s going to happen?” Panicking, I looked around. But no one was watching us;
they were watching the band.
No one cared what we were talking about either. It was as though we were invisible.

“What’s going to happen?” I asked again.

“Everything you want, nothing you don’t.”

“Is that what you’re all trained to say?” I said, with a hint of playfulness. I could
do this. I could definitely do this with him. I yanked my thong again and this time
the waistband cut across the tops of my thighs, leaving me in a deeply uncomfortable
position.

“Do you accept the Step, Cassie? I can ask only three times,” he said patiently. His
eyes traveled down to my skirt.

“Maybe if I went to the ladies’—”

He turned and summoned the bartender.

“I’ll take the bill, please, and put her champagne on it, would you?”

“Wait. Are you going?”

He smiled at me and pulled two twenties out of his money clip.

“Don’t go,” I said, lifting my arm from beneath the bar and placing it on his firm
forearm. “I accept the Step.”

“Good girl,” he said, shoving his money clip back in his pocket.

He removed his dinner jacket and asked me to hold it in my lap. Standing beside me
at the bar, he turned to the side, as if to watch the band. When he jolted my bar
stool backwards a little, and my stomach took a second to catch up. He pressed himself
against my back, his hot mouth next to
my ear. I could feel his erection against the small of my back, where the first man
had put his hand.

“Cassie, you look beautiful in that dress, but those panties need to come off, right
now,” he whispered hoarsely. “Because I’m going to play with you, if that’s okay with
you.”

“Here? Now?” I swallowed.

“Oh yes.”

“What if someone catches us?”

“No one will. I promise.”

My back to his chest, both of us facing the band, he slipped his right hand under
my skirt and followed the crevice between my thighs to my thong. With expert ease,
he dipped a finger inside me. I was wet. This was crazy. The band kicked up the tempo
and the singer’s voice was like a musical instrument, her words pouring out at the
exact moment that two of his fingers secured themselves around my thong’s waistband.

“Lift, my love,” he commanded, and with expert timing, he slid the damaged thong forward
to my knees. I quickly shimmied it down to my ankles and let it fall discreetly to
the floor. The place was dark, loud and crowded. Even if I screamed, it wouldn’t cause
a commotion.

I felt his hand slowly circle my inner thigh, teasing me just enough, as he continued
to breathe into my ear. I imagined what we must look like: an affectionate couple
watching the band. Only the two of us knew that his right hand was ravaging me. Secure
that no one was watching, he got bolder and glided his other hand across my right
breast, letting it linger there for a moment. Then he circled my breast with a wide
palm until he could feel my nipple harden.

“I wish I could take this nipple in my mouth. But I can’t because we’re in a room
full of people,” he whispered in my ear. “Is this making you wetter?”

Oh God, it was. I nodded.

“If I slid my fingers inside you right now, would you still be wet?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Promise?”

I nodded and then felt his other hand coming to life again under the jacket resting
on my lap. It glided up my thighs, and then one finger parted me. This almost sent
me toppling sideways, but he held me firmly. He nudged my right thigh open a little
more, and I spread his jacket wider to conceal what was occurring beneath it.

“Take a sip of your champagne, Cassie,” he said. I grabbed the cool glass, felt the
burst of bubbles on my tongue. “I’m going to make you come right here.”

Before I could even swallow, his fingers had begun to coax me open. The feel of it
was so marvelous, I choked a little on my drink. No one standing near us could have
known that the most delicious things were being done to me.

“Feel that, Cassie?” he whispered in that sexy accent. “Arch into me, baby,” he said.
“That’s it.”

My pelvis pushed down on his hand, now cupped beneath me. His fingers dipped in and
out of me while his thumb
traced circles around me. I closed my eyes. My entire body felt suspended in his strong
hand, held as if in a swing.

“No one can see what I’m doing,” he whispered. “Everyone thinks I’m talking to you
about how much I love the band. Can you feel that?”

“Yes, oh God, yes.”

He pressed himself into my back again. I leaned into this deliciousness, my right
hand reaching up and cupping his working shoulder, my left arm holding the jacket
steady. I felt his taut arm muscles as his thumb worked those magic circles, his deft
fingers gliding in and out of me. He was playing me like an instrument. I lost myself
in the darkness of the room, the beat of the music, the waves of pleasure. I wanted
more of him inside me, not just fingers. Him. All of him. I edged my right thigh out
and he read his cue to let his fingers explore deeper. I bent my head forward. I tried
to look like I was totally lost in the music, but I was reeling with the swells this
man was creating in my body, over and over, now building to a heavenly climax.

“Cassie, I can feel it. You’re going to come in my hand, aren’t you, girl?” he whispered.

I grabbed the bar with my right hand, feeling in a trance, and the room went black,
the music mingling with a low moan (mine?) that had me bucking backwards. He was like
a wall containing me as wave after wave flooded me. Oh sweet Jesus, I couldn’t believe
he could do this to me, right there. I couldn’t believe I had just come in a loud,
dark room full of strangers, some of them less than two feet away from
me. He slowed his thumb as the waves in my body subsided; the room came into focus
again. He stood still, holding me for a moment. When I shifted slightly, he pulled
his fingers away gently, tracing them across my exposed thigh.

He slid my champagne glass in front of me. “You’re fearless, Cassie.”

I took the glass in my unsteady hand and gulped it down, then set the empty flute
a little too loudly on the bar. I grinned and so did he. He was looking at me as if
for the first time.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.

And instead of saying something self-deprecating, for once I believed it. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you
,” he said, signaling the bartender for the bill. He pulled off the two twenties again.

“Keep the change,” he said to the bartender. Then he fished something out of his pocket.
“And this is for you,” he said, flicking what looked like a coin in the air and slapping
it down on the bar.

When he lifted his palm, I saw my Step Two charm glowing under the bar lights, the
word
Courage
engraved in script.

“It’s been charming,” he said, kissing my hair. Then he plucked his jacket off my
lap and disappeared into the crowd.

After securing my charm and admiring it and its partner on my bracelet, I slid off
the stool, my legs so rubbery beneath me I almost collapsed on the floor next to my
abandoned thong. As I moved through the dark crowd, my breathing was still staggered,
my sight blurry. I smacked right into a tiny girl in high platforms, nearly knocking
her
over. At first I didn’t recognize Tracina, because she was all dolled up, her curly
hair a wild corona, her brown skin contrasting dramatically with her lime-green dress.
And I definitely didn’t recognize Will in a smart dinner jacket and tie. He looked … sexy
as hell.

“See?” she said, slapping Will hard across the chest. “I told Will it was you!”

Shit! This can’t be happening. Not now. Not here
.

“Hiiii” was all I could manage.

“As soon as I saw you and that … guy, I was like, ‘Will, check out
Cassie
on a
date!
’ ” she said, snapping her fingers and singsonging that last word. She was swaying
drunkenly.

Will looked twitchy and uncomfortable. Did they see me pressing into that man’s stomach,
grabbing his shoulder, writhing? Oh God! Could they tell what we were doing? Surely
not. It was so dark, so loud. Where had they been standing? I was panic-stricken,
yet there was nothing to do now but make small talk about the band. Then flee.

“Where’d he go?” Tracina asked.

“Who?”

“Your hot date?”

“Oh … he went to get the car. We’re leaving. We have to go. Yeah … so—” I could feel
sweat dripping down my cleavage and the back of my neck.

“But the band is going to play another set. These are tough tickets to get your hands
on, Cassie.”

“Maybe they’ve heard enough music for tonight,” Will
said stiffly, taking a gulp of his beer. Was that jealousy I sensed? He could barely
look at me. I had to get out of there.

“Well, I don’t want to keep him waiting so … see you tomorrow,” I mumbled, waving
and already walking towards the elevators.

Holy hell. Inside the elevator, alone, I hopped up and down as though that would make
it get to the ground floor faster. I had to get out and pull myself together. I let
a stranger put his hands on me,
in
me—in public—and drive me half wild, while my boss and his girlfriend were standing
somewhere nearby. What had they seen? How could something so marvelously sexy take
such an ill turn? But I had to let it go for now. I’d talk to Matilda. She’d know
what to do.

The elevator doors opened. I stepped out hurried through the lobby and out the glass
doors to the street. It was a lovely night, the air refreshing. The limo was waiting
exactly where it had dropped me off. I opened the back door before the driver could
react, climbed in and sat down, still feeling the night air travel up my skirt, cooling
the dampness between my thighs.

E
very May, the Spring Fling on Magazine Street highlighted just how little Frenchmen
Street had to offer in terms of daytime attractions. Five miles of shopping, music
and pedestrian traffic drew crowds to the restaurants and cafés in the Lower Garden
District. No such luck in Marigny. Frenchmen was a nighttime spot, where people came
to listen to jazz and get drunk. Will’s face said it all as he pored over the receipts
from the previous day, the muscles in his forearms twitching as he punched in the
figures on his aging adding machine.