FrenchQuarter.htm by Alexander Lacey (good fiction books to read TXT) 📗

His eyes clouded with bewilderment. “The real you?”

She simply laughed. “Goodbye, Todd,” she said, and then she got up and walked away, out of the diner, up the street, feeling the stretch of lace against her skin and the blessed sense of freedom to which Jack Wade had opened her.

* * * * *

That night she met Jack at Pat O’Brien’s in the Quarter for dinner. They were seated in the courtyard at a pleasantly secluded table behind the fountain. She sipped on a hurricane as they both ate sweet southern-style slices of pecan pie for dessert, and she told him about her encounter with Todd and what she’d figured out about herself.

“That day when we first met, in your office, I was only pretending to be sexy and wild. I was so embarrassed about the idea of Todd cheating on me that it helped somehow if you found me attractive and wondered why he’d do such a thing.”

“I’ve got news for you, darlin’,” he replied with a knowing look. “You can’t pretend to be sexy. You either are or you aren’t. And you definitely are.”

“That’s what I’ve figured out, I guess.” A bit of her old sheepishness tried to sneak in, but she pressed on anyway. “That it wasn’t just an act, that now I truly want to be wild…and I want to take you on the journey with me.” She even went on to admit she’d been wearing Lynda’s clothes in order to look like someone she wasn’t. “But then I discovered that I actually was that woman, the wild, seductive one you met.”

She hadn’t actually planned to tell him all this; she just heard herself doing it. Somewhere along the way, she’d started feeling he was very easy to talk to. Jack wore a typical sexy grin as she explained that he was just the man to help her find that wanton, sexual side of herself.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said across the small table. He reached out, giving a soft, casual caress to her hand where it played with the stem of her glass.

“Sure, anything.” She had nothing to hide with Jack any longer—and the hurricane was going to her head, making her feel all the more happy and open.

He tilted his head, looking sexy as hell. “What made you want to be with that woman in the club?”

The question—not to mention his hungry look—made her a little wet in her lacy panties. “I suppose it was watching all those beautiful female bodies. Seeing them through men’s eyes. Your eyes. I never realized just how lovely women were before, so soft, so curvy and lush. Watching them dance out of their clothes, make themselves so sexual, excited me.”

His eyes lit with fire and she knew he liked her answer.

He leaned a little closer. “Wanna know a secret?”

She flashed a wicked smile, nodding.

“I’ve always fantasized about havin’ a woman who wanted to be with another woman that way. A woman who was secure enough in her sexuality to do what feels good. A woman who wanted me to watch.” The last word came in a raspy whisper.

His words melted through her like the warm caramel in her pie and she found herself unable to tear her gaze from his.

His eyes glazed with desire. “What do you fantasize about, chere? Tell me one of your favorite fantasies.”

She sighed, thinking. She hated to admit it, but… “Before a few days ago, I’m not sure I really ever had fantasies. Or if I did, they were sweet and romantic and…dreadfully average. Sunsets and tender sex on the beach after wine and cheese, that sort of thing.”

“And now?” He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled even as she felt a light blush rise to her cheeks. “Well, this afternoon, at work, someone was talking about Mardi Gras parades. And out of the blue, I found myself fantasizing that you and I were naked on a big Mardi Gras float, wearing nothing but glittery masks and beads.”

He leaned slightly forward. “Tell me more.”

She leaned closer to him, as well. “You were sitting on a red velvet throne.”

He chuckled. “It’s good to be king.”

“And I was sitting in your lap, riding you, and you were kissing and sucking my nipples through all the beads I wore.”

She took his silence, together with his intense gaze, as encouragement to go on.

“I could feel all the people watching us, being turned on by seeing me fuck you, by watching me move on you. And at the same time, it felt safe, I felt anonymous, because they couldn’t see my face behind the mask, and because we were up above them, on the float. I could tell somehow that they were all as excited as I was and that they wanted me to come. And I could feel the beads—I wore them around my neck, around my waist, around my wrists and ankles—all rubbing against my skin and making it as if I was being touched all those places. When I did come, I screamed, over and over again.”

“Just like last night on my balcony,” he reminded her with a smile.

“Right,” she said. “And the crowd watching the parade cheered my orgasm.”

He kept grinning, his chin propped on his fist. “What then?”

“We got off the throne and went to a special sort of platform, also upholstered in red velvet. I climbed onto it, on my hands and knees, and you fucked me from behind.”

She thought she saw fresh heat in his eyes when he said, “I’m likin’ the sound of that, chere. Hot.”

“The crowd liked it, too,” she confessed with a small smile. “They could see you moving in and out of me that way. They began to throw beads up onto the float in praise. And when I looked out at them, they were all beginning to undress and touch themselves, or each other, while they watched you fucking me.” She bit her lip, remembering the fantasy, sinking deeper into it.