Tristan's Temptation (3 page)

In the office, she would never dream of doing what she was about to do.

Driven by an overwhelming urge, she shoved her conscience aside and clicked on his Virtual Life icon, nestled in the corner of the screen. This was a chance to peek at Tristan’s secret self and she couldn’t let it pass her by. It was wrong to do it and she knew it was wrong but her fingers just kept moving. This was a chance to find out more about him, to learn things she would never discover otherwise. She just couldn’t resist.

The program booted up and she quickly reviewed his history, noting he had developed a couple sci-fi instances—where he got to play the captain of an interstellar freighter or survive after being marooned on a dead moon—as well as several fantasy football scenarios. But the one that piqued her interest was the scenario simply named
the Office
.

It sounded innocuous enough, especially for a man obsessed with his work, but what captured her attention was the frequency with which he’d run this instance. He’d played it daily—every day, in fact, for the last two months—practically since the program had been installed. Every day, including weekends and holidays. No one was that obsessed with their work. Were they?

She clicked on the icon and a password request flashed onto the screen.

Her heart leapt and then settled into a low throb. As far as she knew, the only instances requiring passwords in the game were Jack’s illicit Green Door scenarios. She swallowed heavily and stared at the screen.

Tristan Trillo had designed Green Door scenarios. Dear heavens. He had, virtually, uploaded his sexual fantasies into the game. She shifted restlessly as a sudden dampness washed through her. It occurred to her she could, here and now, discover his deepest, darkest desires.

Dare she?

Why, yes—she grinned to herself—she did.

She typed his all-access password into the box and flinched when it was rejected. Damn. Clearly this was something he wanted no one to have access to.

Of course this only fueled her determination and she spent the next half hour typing in potential passwords. His birthdate. Adam’s birthdate. His mother’s maiden name. The name of his childhood dog. His last girlfriend. His favorite brand of ice cream. The first and last names of every employee. And then, finally, she typed
her
name.

Her heart stuttered when that last attempt opened the doors to his fantasy world.

She held her breath as the curtain rose on the scene.

Tristan sat at his desk, working as he always did. The door opened and a tawdry version of her—dressed rather like a whore—entered the room. There was some cheesy byplay but it all ended with her on her knees, taking him into her mouth and…dear God.

Shannon sat back and gaped at the screen, shaking.

It was unbelievable. It was gripping. It was fan-fucking-tastic.

Tristan Trillo fantasized about her.
Her!

And—she quickly checked his history again—he had done so today! Twice!

As alluring as this prospect was, a much more fascinating realization possessed her. This was but one of twenty or so scenarios stored in his private archives. With mounting excitement, she scanned the other offerings, making a note of each scenario and its frequency. And she noticed several rather captivating trends.

First of all, all the sexy scenarios—all of them—featured a mildly altered rendition of Shannon. Not one other woman. Not Kat or Jenny or Sara. Not even Angelina Jolie. Not anyone else.

Second of all, Tristan Trillo had a kinky side. She would never have expected it.

Her heart stuttered at a scene entitled
Bad Girl
, which involved a delectable spanking. It made her entire body warm as the girl on the screen—the girl with decidedly familiar features—bent over Tristan’s lap to receive a well-deserved paddling. In another scene, she was tied up to receive his greedy attention and in yet another she featured as a stripper, giving him a lascivious lap dance.

Stunned and more than a little aroused, Shannon wandered out to her patio and glanced up the hill at the darkened house perched on its crest, wondering where he was. What he was doing. Was he thinking about her right now?

She sat on the lounger in the shadows and slipped her hand under the band of her yoga pants and let her fingers drift slowly over her engorged clit as she reflected on Tristan Trillo and his naughty little fantasies. How annoying to know that all this time she’d been sitting at her desk, lusting after him, thinking he was utterly uninterested. And all the while he’d been his office pretending to work, ogling lurid images of her on a computer screen and fantasizing about her mouth on his cock.

How much time had they wasted?

Tomorrow, she resolved, a new reign would begin.

She hoped he would survive.

Up the hill, in the house perched on its crest, Tristan Trillo sat on his sofa in the dark, staring at the computer screen, a frown on his face. His fingers hovered over the touch pad as his inner demons battled. On the one hand, it would be harmless to take a peek at Shannon’s Virtual Life. Really, what manner of mischief could a woman like Shannon wreak?

Virtual Shannon goes to the library and borrows a book, returning it on time, of course? Virtual Shannon goes to the spa? Shopping at the mall? She certainly didn’t have any scenarios like his. She didn’t even know about the Green Door program. How could she? He’d told Jack to keep it secret, after all.

It would, doubtless, be ungodly dull.

What harm could it do?

But on the other hand, snooping around on her hard drive was an invasion of privacy.

Guilt racked him but curiosity and that driving mania to know more about her drove him harder. He would only look a little. A brief gander. For a minute. He grimaced and clicked the icon and the Virtual Life program flooded the screen.

He scanned her history and noticed one of her scenarios was much more popular than the others. It was named only by the letters TT. He frowned and clicked on the icon and then blanched when the password prompt appeared.

Stunned, he stared at the message as though he’d never seen such a thing before.

Holy crap.
Shannon had accessed the Green Door.

His cock and balls tightened.

It could mean only one thing. Shannon’s sexual fantasies were stored here, on this computer. At his fingertips. He shuddered uncontrollably at the thought.

While he was certain her fantasies would be tame and naive—holding hands over a chocolate shake, perhaps—he was desperate to know. And the knowledge was only a password away. He immediately started typing in the usual passwords—birthday, SSN, mother’s maiden name—all of which were rejected. What else did people use as passwords? Pet’s name! With certainty, he typed in “bosco” but that was also denied. He glared at the screen, at the instance name, and an overwhelming certainty gripped him. Slowly, he typed in
his
name.

The instance opened.

He choked on his own breath.

Holy. Crap.

Even as the ramifications of the password she’d used flooded him, the instance began to play out on the screen and Tristan was forced to reevaluate everything he’d ever known about Shannon Weiss.

Prim and demure. The fucking hell.

The scene opened on a room, empty save a single chair. There was a man in the chair and he looked remarkably like Tristan.

And he was naked.

And he was tied to the chair.

Tied to the chair!

Lust, like a wildfire, licked through his gut as he anticipated what was about to happen.

The door opened and a woman entered—Shannon, but unlike any Shannon he’d ever imagined. This Shannon was a siren, a seductress. She was dressed in a tight vinyl catsuit with stiletto boots and a studded collar cinched tightly around her neck. And she carried a riding crop. She walked to the chair and stood before it, legs spread wide, hands fisted on her hips.

She gifted him with a wide, knowing smile and purred, “Are you ready for this?”

Virtual Tristan—apparently a little more obedient than the real Tristan—responded, “Yes Mistress.”

“Umm. Good boy.” She traced the curve of his cheek with the crop, letting it rest on his lips. “Open.” Virtual Tristan parted his lips and Virtual Shannon slipped the tip of the leather crop into his mouth. “Now suck it,” she said.

Tristan—real Tristan—nearly whimpered. Not because the scene was his cup of tea but because it was hers. He’d always seen Shannon as reserved and aloof. To know she had a wild side that was this…wild…made him want to march down the hill and pound on her door. And then bend her over the sofa and pound into her.

His cock was close to bursting but he didn’t succumb to the desire to stroke it, because he knew what would happen and he wanted to finish the scene. He wanted to know what made her hum. What made her moan. What made her come.

Virtual Shannon rubbed the crop across poor Virtual Tristan’s lips. “Do you want to suck on something else?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Gads.
The guy was a pussy. If he had Shannon dressed in a getup like that, in a room, alone, he’d be all over her by now. Hell, he’d be inside her by now. Tied to a chair or not.

His jaw dropped as Virtual Shannon unzipped her virtual catsuit to reveal two virtual breasts. She stepped closer to her slave and grabbed a handful of hair, directing his head to one hard, throbbing nipple. And yes, the nipple
throbbed
. For a second Tristan wondered how Shannon had achieved the effect but all reflections of her computer prowess vanished when she threw back her head and moaned.

Virtual Tristan was doing himself proud as he sucked the nipple roughly into his mouth. His jaws undulated with the effort.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Harder.”

As this byplay continued, Tristan wished he could fast-forward through the action. What he really wanted was the main event, where Virtual Tristan put his virtual dick into Shannon’s hot, wet pussy. But the program didn’t have a fast-forward option.

He’d have to talk to Jack about that in the morning.

So he sat there and watched as poor, immobile Virtual Tristan sat tied to the chair and pleasured Virtual Shannon with his mouth, which to Tristan seemed like a damn waste of potential.

Maybe Shannon had control issues in bed.
Hmm.
He stored that nugget away for future reference before he recalled, with a cold dash of reality, there was no future for them.

This was as good as it could get.

The realization made him cranky so he glared at the screen, but just then things started to get interesting. Virtual Shannon had decided to strip. She poured out of the slinky catsuit and boots and stood before Virtual Tristan utterly naked but for the collar around her neck.

What a vision.

Tristan swallowed his drool and allowed his fingers to drift over his crotch. He stroked his hard cock, but gently, because he was already tightening with the need to come and he really wanted to get to the good part first.

And yikes. Here was the good part.

Virtual Shannon took Virtual Tristan’s cock in her hand and stroked. And there’s where fantasy veered far from reality. Virtual Tristan merely moaned. Real Tristan would have bucked and cursed and come right then and there. But Virtual Tristan didn’t come. He merely moaned quiescently.

“Umm.” The seductress stepped closer. “Do you like that?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Would you like some more?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Really? Was that all this guy could say? How about, “Give it to me, honey. Fuck me with your hand. Make me come”? Better yet, “Untie me, princess, and let me show you how a real man fucks a woman in a dog collar.”

But apparently Virtual Shannon was satisfied with the reply, for she smiled and rewarded him with another stroke. And then she went down on her knees.

Tristan perked right up, suddenly very interested. She bent her head and took him in her mouth, moaning as he slid into her, inch by inch, by inch. By inch.

Shannon apparently had a very healthy imagination, at least regarding the size of a man’s member. Tristan bit back a grin. She must think he was some kind of freak of nature.

His grin faded and his balls tightened as Virtual Shannon stood and placed her hand on Virtual Tristan’s shoulder, straddling the chair. “Do you want it?” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes Mistress.” What else would he say? Hell, even
real
Tristan would utter those words if they would get Shannon to lower her hot cunt onto his aching cock.

And she did—well, virtually.

Saliva pooled in his mouth as Virtual Shannon impaled herself on the waiting cock and rode herself to orgasm.

They came together—the three of them. As her moans and groans, her fevered movements, became inevitably more wild and frantic, Tristan couldn’t stop himself from stroking his cock, faster, harder, as desperate and feral as the woman on the screen. At the last moment, he had the presence of mind not to shoot his wad all over her laptop, but just barely. He released his passion into a quickly grabbed tissue and collapsed on the sofa, too drained to even contemplate the secrets he’d just learned about a woman he thought he knew.