S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (22 page)

“Unbelievable,” he said, pressing me back into the seat opposite him. “I want to see
all of you. Take the rest off, Cassie.”

I was emboldened by the auction, the dance, the champagne, the privacy of this fast-moving
limo, and his obvious attraction, and so I did. I slowly unfastened my bra and let
it drop to the floor. Then, I hooked one finger under the band of my thong and eased
it down to my ankles, and flicked it off with a toss of my foot. Then I pushed back
into the plush seat and opened my legs to him, heels still on. What had become of
the shy Cassie who couldn’t leave her bedroom wearing a bathrobe? I was jelly in that
seat, my legs weakened and shaking. Our eyes looked so deeply into each other that
I didn’t think it would be possible to break the gaze.

“Amazing,” he said, waiting a beat before springing forward to bury his face in my
breasts, his hand isolating a nipple and sucking and licking it, slowly then urgently.
It was,
he
was, so sexy. He slowly slid a finger inside me. My hands drove through his soft
hair, his kisses trailing back and forth between my breasts, until his mouth moved
down over my fluttering belly. My God, this was all too much! I was quaking with every
kiss.

“I’m going to make you scream, Cassie,” he said, before dipping down into me, his
tongue landing on that exquisite spot.

“Oh God.” It was all I could say as I fell back on my elbows and gave myself up to
the sensations. He kissed down my thighs, teasing me, then his warm mouth closed down
around me, pulling me fast into that magic place. I couldn’t stop the pounding waves
of pleasure, nor did I want to. I fully submitted, my legs splayed, my body melting
into the seat.

And then I passed that point, that white-hot turning point that his mouth brought
me to so easily. I could hear his voice, the catch of his breath. I let the sweet
tornado build inside me, knowing he was just beginning.

As I lay there panting, he ripped his clothes off as though they were burning his
skin. He sheathed himself with a free hand, while I reached out and grabbed for the
muscle of his arms, holding on as he entered me.

“You feel so good,” he said hoarsely.

The determination on his face was so sexy. I had to touch it, and when I did, his
mouth captured my fingers and sucked them as he rocked inside me, a whole new level
of desire filling me. My legs wrapped around his slim hips and I moved with him, gripping
his buttocks, careful not to dig too hard with my nails but loving the feel of his
firm flesh in my hands. He never lost tempo with my body, even when the car turned.
He said my name over and over again, until at last I felt him shudder and stiffen,
his arm scooped beneath me, arching me into that sweet space I was coming to know
so well. And then he brought me to a whole new place of bliss. I came again, my body
pushing into his as I clutched him between my thighs. I could feel him release, too,
and then, slowly, he lowered himself on top of me, holding one of my hands, our fingers
entwined, mouths a few inches apart, though we couldn’t kiss each other anymore. We
had to catch our breath. He pushed away gently, collapsing back on the seat opposite
me as I lay gasping.

“I’m sorry if the limo felt a little rushed, but I wanted to rip your dress off when
you were on the stage tonight. So I think I exercised some restraint, don’t you?”

“Glad you held back.” Feeling bold, I asked a few questions of my own. “Have you done
this before? With S.E.C.R.E.T.? I mean, you’re kind of, um, an eligible guy. Why would
you need to do something like this to have
your
sexual fantasies realized?”

“You’d be surprised, Cassie. Anyhow, I’m told I’m not supposed to say too much. Matilda
warned me that you were the curious type. I could ask you the same question. Why would
such an alluring woman like you need S.E.C.R.E.T.?”

“You’d also be surprised,” I said, sitting and gathering up my dress. I felt vulnerable
and a little angry that Matilda had told him anything about me.

“Has it been everything you thought it would be?” he asked.

“S.E.C.R.E.T. has taught me a lot,” I said, securing the bodice, adjusting the back
myself.

“Like what?”

“Like that it might be impossible for one man to fulfill
all
of a woman’s desires.” Why was I being so insouciant?

“You might be wrong about that,” Pierre said, sliding into his boxers and then his
tuxedo pants.

“Oh?”

He reached across the seat, put his hand around my wrist and tugged me towards him,
until I was kneeling in front of him. His eyes held mine for a few moments before
he
plunged his face into my neck and buried a firm kiss in the place where it curved
into my shoulder. Just then the limo pulled up in front of the Spinster Hotel. He
reached into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and took out a gold charm. My gold charm.

“Ah, let me see. A Roman numeral six, with the word
Confidence
on the back. Very … 
charm
ing.”

While he grinned at his play on words, I reached for the charm, but Pierre dangled
it farther away from me.

“Not so fast,” he said, the light in his green eyes now ablaze. “I want you to know
something, Cassie. When you’re done with this … thing you’re doing, I’m going to come
and find you. And when I do, I’m going to show you that one man
can
fulfill all your desires.”

I didn’t know whether to feel overjoyed or overwhelmed, but I carried his good-night
kiss, and my shoes, up the stairs and past Anna’s door on the second floor, where
I noticed that her light was still on.

F
or days after the Ball, my mood careened from ecstatic to morose. I’d flash back to
scenes with Pierre in the limousine, and I’d have to squeeze my legs together to contain
my longing. Other times, I’d plummet, because the flip side of a fantasy is that despite
how real it feels, and how fantastically it’s executed, it is not, in fact, real.

Still, it was hard to resist poring over the society pages in the
Times-Picayune
, one of those New Orleans mainstays in a city that loved its benefits and balls.
There I was, photographed in the background, of course, because Pierre Castille was
the focus of the evening. The caption described me as the “Cinderella Seductress”
who “captivated the Bayou Bachelor.” This provided endless fodder even for Dell, who
seemed more impatient with me than she was with Tracina.

“Hey, Cinderella Seductress,” Dell teased, “any chance you could look after table
ten for me? I got a prince picking me up tonight in a giant pumpkin. Pulling up right
here on Frenchmen Street. Got any shoes I can borrow?”

Tracina, on the other hand, had grown more subdued. She seemed withdrawn, though I
often got the feeling she was coiling up, storing her venom until a future opportunity
to sting me presented itself.

I was admittedly occupied with thoughts of Pierre. When I met Matilda for one of our
post-fantasy talks, I immediately asked about him: would I see him again? Had he asked
about me? But before she opened her mouth, I already knew she’d advise against seeing
him again for fear that I’d reignite something. Because by this time, we were both
aware my body was drawn to men my mind knew were not necessarily right for me.

“It’s not that he’s a bad man, Cassie,” she said. “He’s generous and intelligent.
But he can also be dangerous to any woman who believes him to be capable of more intimacy
than he is.”

“If Pierre’s so dangerous, why did you recruit him?”

“Because he was perfect for
that
particular fantasy. I was thrilled when he called me and said yes. We’ve been trying
to recruit him for years. And I knew you wouldn’t be disappointed. Isn’t that the
fantasy you wanted to experience?”

“Yes, I did. But—”

“No buts.”

I nodded, on the brink of tears.
Oh God, I thought, don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. It was just a little fling.
Some sex, great sex, but that’s it
. Yet the tears flowed.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of thing,” I said,
sniffling. I looked around Tracey’s to see if any of the men, the ones watching the
game on TV, the ones eating their po’ boy sandwiches, had noticed. None had.

“Nonsense,” Matilda said, handing me a tissue. “Have your feelings—they’re normal
ones. Pierre’s a powerful man. Any woman would swoon. To be honest, I was almost hoping
he wouldn’t participate because there was a part of me that knew he’d have some kind
of hold over you. But, Cassie, I can’t stress this enough. This is a fantasy, and
men who participate don’t necessarily make great life partners. Cherish the moment
and relish it, but let it go after.”

I nodded and blew my nose.

A few weeks later, winter covered the city with a surprise frost. I stepped out into
the chilly air, pulling the door to the Spinster Hotel shut behind me. I was going
for a quick run before my shift, surprised all over again that New Orleans even had
a winter. And this year, it was not a mild one. It was freezing, and featured the
kind of chill that gets in your bones and makes you want to sit in a hot bathtub for
hours to warm up. I wore a hat, mitts and thermal underwear, but it took me several
blocks before the run did its job of heating me up.

I ran down Mandeville to Decatur and took a right to the French Market, avoiding the
waterfront and port lands so as not to be reminded of Pierre, who owned almost all
of it.
I wondered what he’d eventually do with all that vacant land. Build condos? Strip
malls? Another casino? Will already grumbled about Marigny becoming “hipster heaven.”
Too many tourists flooded Frenchmen, he said, and not the good kind, not the ones
with a true appreciation of music and food but rather the kind in the tacky party
hats with the take-away plastic drink glasses, who haggled down the prices for artisan
jewelry at the open-air market.

I ran past the long line at Café Du Monde. Though it was a major tourist attraction
and one that most New Orleanians avoided, I loved ending a run with a Du Monde coffee.
The beignets, I skipped. What’s the point of running for forty minutes only to stop
and eat a mountain of grease and sugar, Will always said. God, between Will and now
Pierre, my mind was echoing with male voices. I had to shake them off.

When I returned home after my run, I was alarmed to find the front door open, even
more alarmed to find Anna in the foyer of the Spinster Hotel, this time sifting through
a large box wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry,” she said, the look of a nabbed thief on her face. “I accidentally
opened your package. When I signed for it, I thought it was for me. I’m getting old.
And my eyes … but it’s a beautiful coat. And those shoes! Is this an early Christmas
gift, my dear?”

I snatched the heavy box from her lap and examined the contents. Inside was a full-length
camel coat with a simple tie. Next to it, a pair of black Christian Louboutin pumps
with four-inch heels. I saw that Anna had opened the box, but not the card taped to
the outside, thank goodness!

“It is a gift, Anna,” I said, trying to hide my distress at her nosiness. This was
no accident. She was increasingly curious about my comings and goings, the limo’s
presence a cause for concern every time it pulled up. Beside the coat and shoes there
was also a small black velvet drawstring bag. Anna noticed it at the same time I did.

“What’s in there?” she asked, pointing.

“Gloves,” I said. I made up a lie about an assertive guy I had met at work whom I’d
gone out with a couple of times and who was trying to woo me, adding in fake protest,
“I wish he would stop buying me things. It’s too soon.”

“Nonsense!” she said. “Take it while you can.”

Back in the safe confines of my own apartment, I opened the card attached to the box.
Step Seven:
Curiosity
. How apt, I thought. Anna would pass with flying colors. Next, I opened the velvet
bag. Had she seen what was in it, she might have fainted.