End of the Innocence (19 page)

I stood, shaking her hand, impressed by the firm grip and her gracious smile. “I’m Julia. Beverly has spoken very highly of you.”

She smiled. “Let’s move into the sitting room.” She held out a directional hand, and we moved into a round room containing a small seating cluster of two leather chairs and a loveseat, a large fireplace dominating the room. She gestured to the chairs, and I sat, Beverly leaning forward and gently touching my arm.

r

“Julia, why don’t I wait for you in the car? Then you can have privacy with Riley.”

I hesitated and nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”

She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm. “Take your time, I’ll catch up on my phone calls.” Then she left, and I was alone with Riley. There was a brief moment of silence, a moment where I really wanted to stand up and chase Beverly down, waving my arms dramatically and escape back to the comfort of her car.

“May I offer you anything to drink?”

“No, I am fine. Thank you.”

She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looked into my eyes. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about our house and how it works. We have six girls who can be reserved as singles, doubles, or triples. Our home has several rooms that you can use, or we can send the girls to a location of your choosing. If the girls leave this house, there are several security measures that come into play, so that will be something for you to consider. What kind of experience are you looking for?”

I wet my lips, considering the question. “I was hoping for a threesome scenario, a girl to join me and my fiancé. It would involve sex on her part, she and I pleasing him together, that kind of thing. Nothing involving BDSM, or anything like that.” I squeezed my hands nervously and met her eyes.

She smiled. “That is a very common request, and one that any of our girls could satisfy. What kind of man is your fiancé? Sexually, what is his style?”

I blushed, trying to find the correct words to communicate the enigma that is Brad. “Brad is ... Brad is a very dominant individual; he likes control. But in the bedroom he is very much a pleaser. He gets off on pleasing a woman, and I think he pulls a lot of his confidence from his sexual abilities.” I paused. “Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you are saying perfectly. Let me show you our book of girls.” She stood, walking to a low chest, and opening it, pulled out an embossed book. She sat down on the leather loveseat and patted the seat next to her. I moved, settling in next to her, and studied the book, curious about the girls inside.

She skipped the first girl, skimming past a few pages of photos and then stopped, a buxom blonde staring out at me with a playful, open smile. “This is June. I wanted to start with her for a few reasons. One thing for you to consider is her body type. Do you prefer a girl with your body type, or someone different? Many men only go for one type.”

With Brad being the town’s biggest slut, I didn’t have to wonder about his tastes. Hell, he’d been with Beverly, her red hair setting off the generous curves perfectly placed on her forty-year old frame. Alexis, the platinum blonde stripper, with firm muscles and large implants. Stephanie, the brunette bombshell whose framed nude photo had pouted from above Brad’s bed, a Marilyn Monroe body complete with a wave of sexuality. Then there was me, different than all of them. The man had one type: female. Nothing else seemed to matter. A terrifying realization—my competition stretching in every direction. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s open to different types.”

“Well then, what are
you
attracted to?” Her voice was so calm; I didn’t understand the question at first.

“Me?”

“Yes. This is as much a sexual experience for you as it is for him. Whether or not you plan to play with the girl, I don’t want you turned off by the looks of her. Is there a body type you’d prefer?”

I bit my bottom lip, reaching out and turning the pages, glancing at the girls who adorned each page. I had been expecting, coming to this house of sex, to encounter botoxed foreheads, silicone lips, and breasts swelled to unnatural proportions, tattoos and piercings decorating hardened bodies. These girls were nothing like that. They were the fresh-faced natural beauties that adorned Victoria’s Secret catalogs, impossible specimens, smooth skin over perfect bone structure, thick hair, soft curves that were either natural, or perfectly enhanced.

Only six girls were in the book, but they managed to cover every spectrum between them. November was exotic, dark hair, green eyes, a mixture of cultures blending perfectly across her skin. January was blonde with light blue eyes, Nordic features, and full, natural breasts. She glowed in her photos, her skin looking velvet soft, light pink nipples that matched soft lips and pink cheeks. June, the first girl Riley had stopped at, was the typical American beauty—tan skin, long legs, blonde hair, and large breasts too perky and perfect to be natural. Her white teeth and sunny smile stretched across three pages, and from some of her poses, she seemed to be double-jointed in multiple ways. August was pure fire, red hair with sexual energy that jumped off the page, pure sass evident in every pose, grin, and wink. April and May were twins, both brunettes, with flawless natural bodies, enough muscle tone to indicate fitness, enough curves to make them every man’s wet dream.

I flipped back and forth through the books, getting frustrated with myself, with my lack of decision-making ability. I was stopped by Riley’s firm hand placed over mine. “Is it that you like more than one? Or you don’t care for any of them?”

I shook my head. “They’re all beautiful; they’re just all so different. It’s hard for me to choose.”

“Let me tell you my thoughts. I would suggest either January or May. They are our girls who have spunk, but need leading. If Brad is an alpha male, he will want to direct the situation. You need a girl who will wait for orders, not try and set the pace. I don’t want to put you with a submissive, or else there will be no challenge. These girls are a good blend of the qualities I think you need.” She studied me, her intelligent eyes watching as I processed her words. I nodded quietly, flipping the pages back and forth between the two girls.

It was hard for me to imagine May without her twin; the two girls fit so well together, their bodies aligned in almost every pose. She was similar to me, her breasts fuller, but our coloring was the same, our faces both holding a trace of Italian heritage. January was different, and I felt pulled more to her, my eyes tracing over the lines of her body, and I had a sudden, perverse question of how her breasts would feel in my hands, the weight of them, so much larger than my own. I blushed and shut the book. “January. Let’s go with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Is she available this Friday?”

“It will depend on the time. Let me check.” She stood, moving out of the room, and returned with a small leather book, settling into one of the chairs and opening it up.

“How would ten in the evening work for you? I can put her down for four hours.”

How much does four hours cost?
“That would be wonderful, though I don’t imagine us needing that long.”

“And will you come to the house or will you use another location?”

I hesitated. “You had mentioned rules and arrangements if we use somewhere other than this house. Can you go over those?”

“Certainly. Any meetings outside the house require our security to attend. Two men will accompany the girl and wait outside the room. They will need to be in earshot the entire time. That rule is for the girl’s safety and is non-negotiable. If, at any point during the evening, the girl feels uncomfortable, or is asked to do something that wasn’t discussed in this meeting, she may call for the security detail and leave, and full payment will still be required.”

I nodded and ran through the possible locations in my mind. I couldn’t see bringing Brad to this house. He would want to be in a situation he had control over. “I’d like to do it at his house.” I gave her the address, watching her write it down with perfect penmanship.

“Wonderful. Is that where I should send the bill? It will be couriered.”

The bill. My cheapskate innards clenched at the exorbitant possibilities. “Yes, that would be fine.”

She closed the book and smiled. “Do you have any questions? I have everything I need.”

I shook my head, my breath starting to flow more naturally at the realization that we were done. Done. And I had survived. “No.” I braved a return smile. “Thank you.”

She stood, pulling a business card out of the black notebook and passing it to me. I accepted it, rising to my feet, and we moved through the quiet house until we were back in the three-story foyer. A black tuxedo materialized out of the shadows, and a man’s hand opened the front door.

Riley nodded to him and extended a hand toward me. “It has been a pleasure. I hope to see you again.” I shook her hand, feeling enormously satisfied with myself, for my ability to overcome this daunting obstacle.
I have officially set up a threesome.
It was an unexpected entry to my bucket list. Then I moved through the doorway, stepping into the night and toward the purring Maybach.

♥♥♥

B
everly’s driver returned me to valet at Olives, and, five bucks later, I was behind the wheel of my SUV and heading to Brad’s. Getting the girl was only one part of the equation; I’d still have to figure out a way to get her into the upstairs guest room without Brad finding out. Ideally, I wanted to come home from dinner and have her waiting and ready in the guest room.

I didn’t want her to be in our bedroom. In case the night went awry, in case I couldn’t handle the image of him buried deep inside of her, in case this whole thing was a big mistake that I would spend the next ten years trying to forget ... I didn’t want our bedroom tainted, didn’t want to fall asleep on a bed that she had poisoned. Hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue, hopefully it would be sinfully hot, a moment I would replay countless times. But in case, just in case, I was going to have it held in the guest room. I had no issue with tainting that space.

The downstairs was dim and empty, one small light in the kitchen giving off enough juice for me to navigate through to the stairs. I kicked off my heels and jogged up the steps, the sound of running water hitting my ears. I entered the bedroom, dropping my purse and shoes on a chair, and stripping as I walked, leaving my clothes as they fell, a trail of dress, bra, and panties, I was naked as I pulled on the handle, hot steam contrasting with the cool feel of tile beneath my feet. Brad was in the shower, his gorgeous profile gently muted by fogged glass, his head tilted back under the spray.

I pulled the door wider, steam billowing out, the jets in full motion, and he turned at my approach, his mouth stretching into a full grin, his hand reaching out and capturing me, tugging me inside and against him in one smooth motion. “My baby,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around my waist, his mouth lowering to mine, a breathless, heady kiss that captured my mouth, his tongue teasing and claiming my own. The door swung shut and instantly fogged back up as his hands and mouth reminded me of where I belonged.

––––––––

I
n an empty office in Brad’s wing, I sealed the final envelope by hand, my tongue sweeping over the seal before I pressed it closed. Four envelopes, four applications. Four life paths sitting in the palm of my hand. I could dissolve them all so easily, drop them harmlessly in the wastebasket. Mailing them was planting seeds, setting myself up for an impossible decision that I would never be able to make. I had selected the schools carefully, ignoring Brad’s directive that I choose schools selfishly. We were getting married, joining our lives. I couldn’t make this big of a decision without considering him.

I was applying locally, to the school I had always assumed I would attend, my prior financial situation requiring me to attend an in-state public school with a strong financial aid package. Envelope Two was for University of Florida, a school that was close enough for me to return home on the weekends, a short flight or long drive away. Envelope Three was a stretch, the prestigious program at Dartmouth, a school unlikely to accept me, but one Brad had insisted I attempt. It had been his alma mater, and he seemed confident that his recommendation letter would hold the weight my average application needed. Envelope Four was another stretch—Stanford Law. Another completely selfish application, a school I could never afford, one that was too far away, nestled in the cliffs of the California coastline. But it was a school I had always wanted to attend, so I had painstakingly completed the application, hating every stroke I made of the pen.

I stood, tucking the envelopes under my arm, and walked to the elevators, headed to the mailroom to send off my four potential destinies. I pressed the down button and waited, hefting the envelopes in my hand, sudden stress weighing on me. I wouldn’t get in. I couldn’t get in. I wasn’t qualified, didn’t have the pedigree or prestigious undergrad diploma. But what if I did? What if I was accepted to all four? How would that affect our lives? I made a decision, on impulse, dividing the stack in two and pushing the Dartmouth and Stanford envelopes into the closest trashcan, weeks of Rebecca’s hard work crushed in two firm shoves. It was a rash decision, made against all sane thought processes. But so was my agreeing to fly out to Vegas with Brad four days after meeting him. So was marrying into the worst family in town. And with that shove? With that dump of those two way-too-heavy envelopes? I felt so much lighter. I could physically breathe again. The elevators opened and I stepped on, a happier, saner woman. It was a good decision. My decision. The elevators started their descent.

––––––––

F
riday night came way too fast, the flurry of details occupying too much of my mind, so much that I couldn’t properly prepare, couldn’t properly dissect my conflicting emotions, my confusion over my feelings. When we fucked—when he had his hands and cock on me—it felt too good, he knew too much. How to touch, how to tease, how far to take me before delivering what I needed. It was unfair for me to hoard all that sexual pleasure, for me to covet his talents and deprive another woman from feeling that. I would envision him with someone else, his hands sliding and touching, curving and trailing, his body above, cock within, mouth upon. The thought was so graphic, so physically arousing that I would instantly buck, my back arching, mind exploding, pushed over the edge and into the star-filled epiphany that was my orgasm. It never failed to send me
there
, never failed to arouse and excite, the fantasy incredible in its utter lack of jealousy and possessiveness. How different would reality be? Or was it the aftermath I should be considering? The doubts, insecurities? How much of a role would they play?