The Sex Whisperer: Book 1 in the Whisperer Trilogy (17 page)

Back at Charlotte’s, Olivia slipped off to the spare bedroom to check her email. She’d been too busy to see if Thomas had a new whisper waiting for h
er, and she didn’t want to admit to herself how nice it would be if he did. When she saw that she had an unread message — with an attachment — she let out a sigh of relief. She grabbed her laptop and earbuds, and then slipped into the bathroom to listen to the latest whisper.

“We stumble into the bushes laughing,”
the recording begins. Thomas’s voice was so clear and beautiful, it sounded like he was in the bathroom beside Olivia whispering in her ear.

We
almost got caught making love by an elderly couple on the beach.
My hard-on still throbs in my pants.

“How much do you think they saw?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” I say, “but I hope they saw everything. Maybe we inspired them to go back to their house and give it a try themselves.”

You smile and reach down betwe
en my legs, squeezing me hard. I let out a groan and pull you to me roughly, kissing you.

“You know you can’t do that, and then expect me to leave,” I say.

“Ahhhh, my knight in shining armor is ready for Round 2?” you ask.

“Always.”

You glance toward the house.

“Maybe I can sneak you into my room,” you say.

My head fills with thoughts of seeing you laid out naked on a bed.

A few minutes later, I’m creeping quietly up the stairs with my backpack while you occupy your friends in the living room. I find the door to your room, open it slowly, and slip inside. The space is dominated by a four-poster bed and an antique dresser. A long, low burgundy couch hugs one wall, and I stretch out there to wait for you.

Moments later, you poke your head in the room, give me a devilish smile and sneak inside. You have two glasses of wine in your hands.

“How’d you manage that?” I ask.

“I wasn’t always a perfect angel in high school,” you say, “I got pretty good at stealing my parents’ alcohol. This isn’t much different.”

I smile, drinking in your body. Your bikini is still damp and it clings to your body like plastic. I want to pull it off and kiss you underneath. When you hand me my wine, I reach around your waist to pull you close.

“I have a surprise for you,” I say.

“What’s that?” you ask.

I turn away from you and reach into my bag pulling out a vibrator. It’s made of latex, skin-colored, and molded into the shape of a thin cock with a thick pink head at the top. I lay you down in front of me on the burgundy couch.

Then, I get on my hands and knees with my face near your sex. I pull a tube of lube fr
om the bag, oil up the vibrator and lightly kiss you through your bikini. I can smell your sex, a deep, primal scent beneath the fabric. I want to taste you, slide my fingers and my tongue inside of you. I want to rip my cock from my pants and bury myself inside you. But I wait.

I pull
the bottom of your swimming suit down to your knees and steal a glimpse at your sex. Your lips are thick and folded, and I can’t resist putting them in my mouth and sucking on them gently. You push your hips closer to my face.

I lift up my head, then
rub the tip of the vibrator against your sex. I leave it flipped off for now, just sliding it softly against you. I start at the base of your sex and run it up to the top. Then, I go from top to bottom and back again. You’re much wetter than you were even moments ago.

Very gently, I slide the vibrator inside of you. The head is so thick that I have to work it in slowly. Your
grab my hair, pulling and threading through it with your hands. When the head of the vibrator finally finds its way inside you, your thighs clamp closed, and you shut your eyes tight. I flip the vibrator on and you fling your legs open wide and slide your sex even closer to my face.

I work the vibrator back and forth inside you. I do it slowly at first, but gradually build up speed. Then, I take my free hand and massage the outside of your sex. You’re wet everywhere. Almost as soon I touch you there, I see your toes curl and your legs shudder. You clamp your thighs tight again
, and I watch as you lift your ass lift up off the couch. I can tell you’re about to come, but I don’t want you to yet. I pull out the vibrator and throw it on the ground. Then, I pull my throbbing cock from my trunks and slide it into you hard and fast.

Your fingers are groping, reaching out for my hardness between your legs. You slide down to my balls and squeeze them, working them between your fingers like dough. No one’s ever done that to me before, and I like the way it feels. The skin of my balls is so loose that you can move my balls liberally, sliding them back and forth against my thigh and your ass.

I’m pumping harder in and out of you now, no longer worried about the noise we’re making. You’ve grabbed a pillow, and you’re biting the corner to keep from moaning. I pull it out of your mouth and push two fingers in instead. Your suck on my fingers. With my other hand, I reach down and slap your ass. You seem to like that, as you let out a loan guttural moan. I slap your ass harder now, again and again as I move into you faster.

I can feel you tighten your sex around my cock. You’re overcome with pleasure. You let go of my balls and reach around with both hands to grab my ass and pull me deep inside of you.
Then, you start to come. I watch you squeeze your eyes shut tight. Then, you draw in your breath and curl your body tighter into a ball beneath me. You pull your knees together so you’re clamped around my cock like a vice, then you fling your legs wide apart and start to shudder.

I can’t hold out any longer. Even as you’re coming, I pull my cock out of you and sit on your chest. My manhood throbs between your breasts. You grab my hardness with your hand, and stroke me, my cock twitching with every thrust.

I use one hand on the armrest to keep my balance. With the other, I reach behind me so I can rub your sex. You’re warm and wet, your clit bulging against my palm. It feels large, bigger than I’ve ever felt it before. Without thinking, I flip over so I can bury my face between your legs and kiss your sex.

My knees are on either side of your head. When I look down, I see that my balls are hanging so low, they’re nearly touching your face. You’re looking up at my hardness, studying it, and then I watch as you raise your face and lick my balls. I grab your hand rough
ly and guide it to my cock. You’re stroking me hard and fast, and I start to moan.

I bury my face
deep in your sex, so that I might be quieter. I kiss and suck you. You ram your hips up in the air, my nose buried in your scent. I’m overcome with desire for you.

I open my eyes. Even in the dim light of a single lamp, I can see your beautiful sex in front of me. I slip two fingers inside, and I hear you suck in a
lungful of air. I move my fingers in and out of you quickly. Soon, I switch from two fingers to three, and I can tell you’re going to come again. You’ve got both hands on my hardness now. You’re squeezing so hard it almost hurts.

You clamp your thighs against the sides of my head, and I struggle to breathe. I don’t stop, though. I keep sucking on your sex and working my fingers in and out of you. You spread your legs wide as you spasm with your orgasm.

Your pleasure overwhelms me, too. I don’t want to come on your face, so I lay flat against your chest, thrusting my cock against your breasts. Before you’re finished, my first waves of come have begun, too. I squeeze my eyes closed and bite my lip to keep from moaning. Time stops between the waves of my orgasm. I sit up and thrust my hips forward. You’re reaching up between my legs, massaging me as I shoot forth again and again. Most of my wetness lands on your thighs, some on your stomach and some on your breasts. When I’m finished, I don’t pay attention to it, though. Neither of us do. Instead, I re-position myself so I’m lying on top of you. I kiss your neck and realize that I’ve never felt so at peace, so completely satisfied.

We’re
wet and sticky. It’s like we’ve been welded together, and both of us — I know — are fine with that.

Dear Thomas,

I have to admit that I found your last whisper rather … naughty. And I’m almost embarrassed to say that I liked it! :) You have nothing if not a brilliant imagination. That’s what I tell myself. I prefer to think of all your naughty thoughts coming from your imagination rather than from things you’ve actually done with other women in the past!

In any event, I’ve returned from my journey halfway around the world, and I have in my possession one package that I believe is of importance to you. When and where should I make the delivery?

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Dear Hawaii Girl,

I’m glad you liked the last whisper I wrote. I’ve never had to do this before, but I may have taken a “bathroom break” halfway through the recording to relieve myself of some tension :)

Thank you for bringing back the package. I know it was a lot to ask of someone I know so little. You have the heart of a warrior in the body of a queen!

How about we meet at the Starbucks near UD, three days from now? Friday at 7 p.m.?

Your Faithful Servant,

Thomas

∞

Kenneth convinced Olivia that she needed an attorney. “If Mike’s got one,” he’d said, “you have to have one, too. You can’t go to a gunfight with a knife. You’ve got to fight fire with fire.”

She thought Kenneth was being overly cautious, but what if he
was right? What if Mike did intend to take everything? Did he have some trump card up his sleeve? Something that might entitle him to everything?

Her second meeting with the attorney was the important one. Mr. Albion sat sweating in front of her. He was a squat man who wore carefully tailored suits.
He might be tolerably attractive if he got rid of that hideous mustache,
Olivia thought. Then, she felt guilty for thinking such a thing.

The first meeting had been all business. Mr. Albion, with his meticulously manicured fingers, had given her a stack — quite literally — of paperwork to fill out. She’d mailed it back and waited while
he did his research and made initial contact with Mike’s attorney, Dun Fletcher.

Now, Mr. Albion assured her, he had “tangible and actionable” information to share with Olivia. Olivia waited for it impatiently as the heavyset man dug a leather binder from his desk. Even that small amount of effort had
him breathing heavily. Olivia narrowed her eyes. Her attorney was nervous — perhaps even stalling.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Albion said. “Just a bit underprepared for this meeting. I apologize. Sincerely. This one’s quite a doozy.”

“Doozy?”

“Ummm, perhaps doozy isn’t the right word,” Mr. Albion said. “It’s an unusual case, though.”

The attorney was quiet for a moment while he rifled through the papers in front of him.

“So it appears there are certain circumstances in your marriage, issues that may have come up that have prompted your husband to file for a divorce on the grounds of, well, the legal term is actually adultery,” Mr. Albion said.

“That’s absurd,” Olivia said.

“Well, yes,” Mr. Albion said. “After reviewing these records, I’d agree with that assessment. It appears your relationship with this, Thomas, that’s his name, yes, Thomas, was of the online variety.”

Olivia felt faint.
How could my attorney possibly know about Thomas?

“I see no definitive evidence suggesting that you ever met Thomas in person — save for once at an art gallery opening
, and it appears that was a brief face-to-face meeting.”

“What has Mike told you?” she asked. “How does he even know about Thomas?”

“To answer that question would be conjecture on my part,” Mr. Albion said. “In some instances, husbands have monitored their wives’ email accounts, tapped phone conversations, hired private detectives and more. At this moment, I’m not quite sure how your husband gathered his information, but I am, I assure you most definitely going to get to the bottom of his information-gathering methods. Such things can’t be hidden in a court of law.

“Be that as
it may, there is something of a conundrum here,” Mr. Albion said. “I’ve dealt with Mike’s attorney in the past, this Mr. Dun Fletcher, and if you promise not to repeat it, I would argue that his practices border on the predatory. Foremost among those practices is a tool I might label
shaming.
Mr. Fletcher loves causing public shame and embarrassment.

“See, he’s
got no proof, Olivia, but he does have a small collection of inappropriate audio files that are of a carnal nature.”

Olivia sat back in her chair and bit her top lip.
That bastard’s trying to shame me out of alimony.
Mr. Albion’s office suddenly felt hot and cramped. Olivia stood up, put her hands on her waist, turned, and then sat back down again.

“What
are you saying?” she asked. “I can fight for my half of the money, but ruin my reputation in the process?”

“Well
, that is one option, but I wouldn’t recommend that route. The recordings would be played in court, copied down, and unfortunately, could become public record searchable by every computer in the land with an internet connection. Your husband’s attorney is adept at drawing this sort of thing out and causing as much emotional distress and chaos as possible. I don’t approve in the least, ma’am,” Mr. Albion said, shaking his head, his moustache wiggling as he did. “I must say it’s effective, though, and that means we need to change our approach.

“One thing that I can think of off the top of my head, and I must point out that it’s not assured to work, but I have, in the past, had some success with this, is to fight fire with fire.”

Olivia looked up wickedly. She’d been hearing that a lot lately.

“You said during our last meeting that you honestly had no idea whether or not your husband ever carried on an affair,” Mr. Albion said. “I’m proposing we dig deeper for an answer to that question, that we mine your husban
d’s history for any broken eggs. If we find some, we might be able to use them as a counterweight to these false accusations that you had intimate relations with Thomas.”

“
How do we mine Mike’s past?” Olivia asked.

“We place the job in the hands of a qualified professional,” Mr. Albion said. “We employ the services of a private detective to immediately begin an investigation.”

“How do we start?” Olivia asked.

“I can take care of that, of course,” Mr. Albion said. “There are, however, significant fees involved as the work of an investigator can be detailed and intensive. It could take a significant amount of time, I’m afraid, too.”

“Of course,” Olivia said, standing to leave, “of course.”
All I have is time right now.

“Ummm, Olivia,” Mr. Albion said, “before you depart, I do, have one unfortunate request. I would ask that you, for the length of the investigation and divorce proceedings
, cut off communications with Thomas. I fully expect your husband and Mr. Dun Fletcher have private detectives following both of you. Please operate under that assumption.”

“Great,” Olivia said. “I’ll work on becoming a recluse.”

∞

The Cat Lady’s House was officially Olivia’s new
home. The movers dropped off her belongings while she met with Mr. Albion. It couldn’t have taken them long. The cardboard boxes looked pitiful all piled up in a corner of the spacious living room. It didn’t help that the walls behind the boxes needed ripped out and replaced. Holes had been punched in the plaster, and Olivia could see the wooden bracings beneath. Some small chunks of plaster had already fallen off the wall and onto her collection of boxes.

Olivia sighed and stretche
d out on the dusty wooden floor.
Can you be an adulterer by email?
She stared up at the ceiling, phone at her ear while she waited for Charlotte to answer. As soon as she did, Olivia told her everything, saving the kicker for last: “He said I need to stop talking to Thomas,” Olivia said.

“No!” Charlotte said. “He may as well have told you
to saw off one of your legs.”

Olivia shook her head, grinning.
“I don’t need to see him
that badly,
but I did tell him I would meet him on Friday to give him that package.”

“I’ll do it,” Charlotte said.

“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” Olivia said. “Mr. Albion thinks Mike has private detectives tailing me and Thomas. If that’s the case, someone’s going to follow him to Starbucks. They’ll see you meet with him.”

“Ewwww,”
Charlotte squealed. “I loooooove this. It’s like the Bourne movies or something. I’ll
so
be your spy.”

“And what does my spy propose in this situation?” Olivia asked.

“A spy never gives away her secrets, does she?” Charlotte asked. “Just give me the package, and I’ll make sure Thomas gets it without anyone finding out.”

Olivia smiled despite herself. “You’d better be careful.
”

∞

Charlotte chewed her gum nervously. She’d ditched the Beamer in favor of her husband’s SUV.
An SUV just feels right when you’re doing reconnaissance work,
she thought.

Her parking spot gave her a good view of both entrances to Starbucks.
She checked her watch again. It was 6:48 p.m. That meant she’d been sitting there for 48 minutes with no sign of Thomas. She held her smartphone in hand and wore a giant pair of Gucci sunglasses that covered half her face. I’ve got to look like a rich lady sending text messages, she thought smiling.
No one would think little sexy Charlotte’s a spy!

At precisely 6:53, a red Tacoma pickup pulled into the parking lot. She recogn
ized Thomas before he got out. He held a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newsprint.
Poor guy,
Charlotte thought,
he’s going to get stood up.

She
tried not to crane her neck while she looked for anyone following Thomas.
That was easy,
she thought, as a non-descript Lincoln Towncar with tinted windows pulled into the parking lot.

Bingo.
Charlotte chewed her gum even faster. A few seconds after Thomas went into Starbucks, the Towncar driver emerged. He was a short, stubby man who covered his bald spot with a mismatched toupee. The toupee was too blonde to blend in with the browner hair clinging to the sides of his head. Charlotte shuddered involuntarily when the man walked past her car. He sauntered casually toward the Starbucks entrance, not bothering to look back.

After he was out of sight
, Charlotte scanned the parking lot again. All the cars were empty. Two students walked hand-in-hand on the sidewalk, but they were too far away to make out Charlotte’s face.

Chewing her gum even faster now,
she reached into her purse and pulled out a rusty nail. She’d found it on Kenneth’s workbench in the garage. Hastily, she unbuckled, climbed out of her SUV and jogged to the Towncar. She stopped in her tracks when she realized she couldn’t see inside the car. The tint on the back windows was so dark it could have hidden anything.
Do private eyes work with partners?
she wondered. She deliberated as she got closer and closer. Finally, in a moment of snap judgment, she decided to knock on the back window.
If someone’s inside, they’ll just roll down the window.

The knock immediately triggered the Towncar’s alarm system, though. Charlotte gasped. The horn blared
, and all the car’s lights started flashing. Charlotte couldn’t move. She stood there with her hands balled into fists near her chest. A few moments ticked by before she realized she needed to hide — fast. She ran and crouched behind a nearby dumpster.
Jesus, I’m an idiot.

From her hiding spot, she saw the Starbucks door swing open. The private eye came running out, his face red. He threw his cup of coffee on the ground, cursing.
Interesting,
Charlotte thought.
There must be someone or something in there he doesn’t want anyone to find.

The detective opened the door to the backseat of the car.
Dammit,
Charlotte thought,
I wish I could see inside.
Whatever the detective saw gave him comfort, though. Tension evaporated from his shoulders. Without a word, he slammed the door shut, turned off the alarm and headed back toward Starbucks scanning the parking lot as he went.

Charlotte let out a long deep breath.

It’s now or never.
She walked swiftly toward the car, then crouched near the rear tire. She tried pushing the roofing nail into the side of the tire, but it didn’t budge.
Why is everything harder than it should be?
She wasn’t strong enough to puncture the rubber. Frantically, she searched the ground for a rock. She found one near the dumpster, snatched it and used it as a hammer to drive the nail into the rubber.