* * * Chapter 6 * * *

Lilith:

I stride into the building for my yoga and Tai Chi classes, trying for nonchalance and disregard. Thinking of the last time I saw Mark, the security guard, he had been locked up by two of his own handcuffs, affixing him to his own day bed. He had been naked, his fat cock still standing at attention, a dollop of cum sliding down his shaft.

Now, Mark stands, leaning on the counter, his eyes locked on me like a predator sizing up prey. He’s been waiting for me— I can feel it in the heat of his gaze. The chip on his shoulder has shriveled since the last time that I saw him lingering there, reduced by being dominated by a diminutive woman. I flash him a smile in my pretty green dress that hugs my curves just right, the fabric whispering against my thighs with each step. “Good morning, Mark,” I purr, tossing him a wink that lingers like a promise as I sway past.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “She is one hell of a woman.” His voice trails after me, thick with want, and I bite my lip to stifle a grin.

Susan:

This trip to Concord is a total bust so far in my quest to dip back into the dating pool. Freedom from my ex-husband felt like a golden ticket— I’m a reasonably attractive thirty-one-year-old, a true redhead, with my body still taut and untouched by kids, every curve begging for attention. My first mark? Robert, my boss for just over a year. I’ve had my sights on him forever, but my wedding ring blocked my chances with him. Now that mine’s gone, his damn band glints like a barricade. I figured a ring on a guy meant nothing, but it’s cockblocking me hard. Still, I haven’t given up on him.

His wife’s no help— she’s stunning, sure, but ten years my senior with two kids stretching her in ways I’ve dodged. I bank on the long game: crack that ice, tempt him to stray, and reel him in slowly. But this ice is glacier-thick. Concord seemed like the prime time, get him away from home, some social drinking to lower his inhibitions, and finally get into his pants. But, somehow, he dodges me at every turn. Hell, he made me drive solo! Where’s the chivalry? Robert’s nothing if not practical, though— refused to let me ride with him, even when it made perfect sense.

Last night, Stanley from the local office— a slick corporate divorcee— invites me to dinner. What’s to lose? Worst case, word gets back to Robert and jealousy flares. Dinner’s electric; his eyes devour my cleavage over wine, and afterward, he invites me to his place. I understand that probably means going to bed with him— and I’m ready to do that if the mood is right. My body is already humming, nipples stiffening against silk at the thought— and if Robert finds out, it might just sting him enough to finally take me himself.

I insist on driving separate, gut screaming escape route, and boy am I glad for that instinct. Because the second I step into Stanley’s house, the air feels wrong— thick with vanilla candle smoke and something muskier, more primal. Surprise: we’re not alone. His ex-wife, Vanessa, sprawls on his large sectional in a sheer camisole, heavy breasts swaying as she shifts. His daughter, Chloe— eighteen, long-limbed, innocent-faced— lounges beside her in tiny cotton shorts and a cropped tank, bare feet tucked under her thighs. Both of them look up and smile like they’ve been expecting me.

I take a seat on the far end away from the other women. Surely they just dropped by for something and will soon excuse themselves and leave. But Stanley makes introductions all around, as he pours four large glasses of wine— deep red, fragrant. It soon becomes clear that they have no plans to leave anytime soon. Did I misread the invitation to his house? What about us having sex?

He takes a seat close beside me— his thigh presses deliberately against mine. Observing the other women, they are not surprised or put off by the open affection that Stanley displays toward me.

Conversation starts light, but his palm is on my knee in minutes, sliding higher, heat seeping through my skirt. Vanessa watches with lazy, hooded eyes. Chloe giggles, stretching so her crop top rides up, revealing the soft curve beneath one small, perfect breast.

The room is warm, too warm. My skin prickles. Stanley’s fingers trace the lace edge of my panties now, bold and unhurried, right there in front of them. Vanessa sighs and peels off her camisole, letting it drop. I am shocked and look around to see how the others are reacting. They watch with interest, but without alarm. Her breasts spill free— full, pendulous, nipples dark and already peaked. The scent of her arousal drifts across the room, musky and heavy.

Chloe follows without a word, lifting her arms so the crop top slips off. Her breasts are smaller, high and firm, nipples a delicate pink. I cringe — she is so young. But she doesn’t stop there. She shimmies out of her shorts, no panties! Smooth, bare lips of her pussy glint faintly in the low light. Eighteen. Shaved bare. My stomach flips, but I can’t look away.

Stanley’s fingers pull aside the crotch of my panties, sliding through slick folds. I’m shamefully wet. He finds my clit with practiced ease, circling slow, and I hate the way my hips tilt toward him.

Vanessa crawls closer to us on the sectional, knees sinking into cushions, and kisses Stanley— wet, open-mouthed, tongue visible.