SoloPlay

Dedication

This one is for the girls:

Lisa, my inspiration in multiple ways;

Mary, my genius editor, who can see the forest
and
the trees;

and Erin, lifelong wingwoman, friend of my heart.

Thank you does not even
begin
to cover it, ladies.

Chapter One

Alisa hoped the lubricated condom would disguise her lack of arousal as Eric pushed inside her. This part never went well, but shutting her eyes made it easier to fake an expression of rapture until it got better.
If
it got better.
Having good sex was nowhere near as easy as the romance books at her library made it sound.

Of course, maybe it just wasn’t easy for her. Tears welled up beneath her closed lids but she forced them back. She wasn’t giving up yet.

Eric shifted above her. A zing shot up her spine, making her gasp. She tilted her hips to catch the edge of whatever had felt so marvelous and reached down to grasp her knees and pull them high, opening to him completely. She concentrated on the hopeful glimmer between her thighs. Her heart beat loudly in her ears and she felt her pulse in her throat. Excitement surged through her. Was it finally going to happen? Was she going to have an orgasm this time?

Eric’s hard thrusts inched her body toward the headboard, so she dropped her feet to the mattress and rocked up to meet him, trying to follow his lead. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm created a trampoline effect, double-bouncing him out of her body and making them both lose their rhythm.

Alisa opened her eyes and bit her lip. “Sorry.”

He grunted and reached between them, but instead of his usual blunt entry, she felt him flop against her thigh. What did that mean? Had he lost his erection? Had she hurt him? Her cheeks began to heat. She glanced up, hoping his expression would offer some clue as to what was going on but his face was tight and blank. He avoided her eyes as his hand moved furiously between their bodies.

“Umm…do you want me to…” she offered.

“No—just give me a minute.” He tried again, pressing against her, but his knuckles were the hardest things she felt as he attempted to shove his soft cock inside her body. His tousled brown hair fell forward, tickling her face, and from this close angle she noticed that one of his nostrils was significantly narrower than the other, a sure sign of a broken nose at some point in his life. A sports accident or a fight? She opened her mouth to ask but realized that would be a mistake. Later maybe, during the pillow talk, childhood injuries might be an appropriate subject matter, but not now.

“Fuck,” he said, sliding wetly against her thigh.

Her stomach began to churn. She held perfectly still beneath him, afraid that any move she made would be the wrong one. Abruptly, he rolled off her and she watched him stalk to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him.

She felt the heat in her cheeks spread to her neck and chest. What on earth was she going to say when he came back to bed? Failing to reach orgasm was bad enough, but not knowing how to make it good for him was humiliating. Clearly she was doing it wrong, but Eric wasn’t exactly giving her a lot of information to work with. She was ready, willing and eager to do anything to make him come if he would just tell her what to do.

She heard the door open. Her heart began to race.

You can do this. You want this. Just ask.

Eric entered the bedroom fully dressed.

She sat up. “You’re leaving?”

“Sorry to—uh—run, but I’ve got to get back to the bank.” He silently retrieved his keys, wallet, watch and cell from her bedside table.

“Will I see you at the coffee shop tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be in meetings all day.”

“Wednesday, then?” she asked softly, reaching for his hand.

His fingers slid out of hers as he took two halting steps away from the bed. “Mmm. Well, no. I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” Alisa squeaked, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.

He shrugged, then frowned and shook his head, gazing down at her. “I’m surprised you care. You didn’t exactly look like you were having a good time a few minutes ago. In fact, you never look like you’re having a good time. At least my wife has the courtesy to fake it.” A bitter smile twisted his mouth.

“You’re married?” She snapped ramrod-straight on the bed.

He looked perplexed. “You didn’t know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring.”

Eric held out his hand. “I got soap under it a while ago and it still itches. I thought you knew. I always had it on before.”

Apparently, that was before Alisa had scoped him out as a potential boyfriend. She stared in horror at the back of his hand. Sure enough, there was a shallow red line where a ring must usually rest. How had she made such an elementary mistake? She was a librarian, for God’s sake! She did research for a living. She smoothed her straight blond hair behind her ears and lifted her chin, refusing to let him see how badly he had shaken her composure. “I didn’t know you were married,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why would I want someone’s husband? Especially since—” She took a breath, trying to decide how nasty she could be, considering she didn’t really know where the fault lay.

Eric glared down at her. “Don’t blame me! No man could keep it up for a statue. God, you’re frigid, Alisa.”

“Frigid! Hardly. I’m not the one who couldn’t…who didn’t…” God, what if he was right? Alisa tried to mask her increasing panic with sarcasm. “Maybe you just don’t inspire me.”

“Ha!” he scoffed. “I don’t think it’s possible to inspire you. You could give a guy some help, you know. If you have a clit, it isn’t anywhere I can find. Have you
ever
had an orgasm?”

She stared at him, fear spreading to the tips of her tingling fingers.

“Orgasm,” Eric said slowly, stressing each syllable. “Climax. Come. You do know what I’m talking about, right? I’ve never seen you do it, but hell, you’re the librarian. Look that one up.”

“I know what an orgasm is.”

He nodded. “Good. Because what’s the point of doing it if you don’t come?”

“Excellent question.” Alisa pointed stiffly at the bedroom door. “Get out.”

She didn’t watch him leave the room this time. Instead, she rolled into a more comfortable position on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, clamping her stinging eyes shut until she heard her front door slam. Apparently, choosing a good lover wasn’t like choosing a good book. If that were the case, then Eric, with his slick haircut, Gucci wing tips and expensive watch would have kept her engaged for hours. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might be married—but that certainly explained his insistence on afternoon sex.

Oh, God, was he right? Was she actually frigid? What if it really was all her fault?

Alisa kept her eyes tightly closed and slowly slid one hand between her legs. She rubbed, sliding her middle finger this way and that. The invasion of her dry finger burned her flesh, and it felt pretty much the same way it did when she washed herself in the shower. Except for maybe…hmm…right there, something glimmered. It seemed to be centered in the small bump of flesh nestled on top of everything.

She trapped the bump under her finger and felt the glimmer again. A zing shot up her spine, reminding her of how she had felt earlier with Eric, reminding her of her failure. Suddenly she felt like an idiot, facedown on the bed, humping her hand. Naked, frigid and stupid. The total package. She wiped her fingers on the sheet, cheeks burning.

The glimmer was gone.

The shrill ring of the telephone made her jump and she rolled over to check the caller ID. She groaned but reached for the phone. “Hi, Mom.” She was careful to strip the emotion from her voice.

“Alisa, dear, can’t you just pretend you don’t know who it is when I call? You know I hate caller ID.”

Her mother’s plaintive voice provoked an immediate apology. “Sorry, Mom. What’s up?”

“Can’t a mother just call her daughter for no reason?”

A mother could, but hers usually didn’t. “Of course. How are you?”

“I’d be better if you sounded happier to hear from me. You and your father—I swear the both of you treat me like a disease.”

Alisa breathed a silent sigh of resignation and began to dress as quietly as humanly possible. Her mom would be furious if she knew she didn’t have her full attention. She tiptoed into the bathroom and let her thoughts drift while she automatically agreed with everything her mother said. Anything she said could and would be held against her in the court of Mom.

She couldn’t entirely blame her mother, though. Twenty-five years of marriage to a man who treated her exactly like she treated her daughter—as someone in need of repair—had put her permanently on the offensive. Still, it was better not to volunteer information that might give her mother ammunition for future conversations.

“Don’t forget we want to come for a visit,” her mother reminded her sharply.

“Huh?” Now that got Alisa’s attention, so much so that she flushed the toilet without thinking.

“Are you in the bathroom?” her mother accused.

“No,” Alisa said, drying her hands. She leaned into the mirror to reapply her sheer, pink lip gloss. Answering the phone had been a mistake—she had taken enough abuse today. No need to be a masochist. She took a fortifying breath. “It was great talking to you, Mom, but I have to get back to work. I just stopped home for lunch.”

“You’re still working at the library, right?”

“Yes—tell Dad I said hi. Bye, Mom.” She replaced the telephone on its charger and took another deep breath, rolling her shoulders as she released a sigh, wondering if there was anything she could do to dispel her growing anxiety. More yoga? Meditation? Vitamin B?

The display in the window of an adult novelty shop down the street from the library popped into her head, and she banished it. No need to dwell on her shortcomings. A woman who couldn’t masturbate successfully didn’t belong in a sex store.

She slipped into her shoes, grabbed her purse and locked her apartment door, but as she wove through traffic on her way back to work, she couldn’t get Come Again out of her head. Hope sparked to life inside of her and, once acknowledged, couldn’t be ignored.

She
had
felt a zing—that was something. She pressed her lips together, wishing she could blame Eric entirely for their failure today, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t known what to do, hadn’t been able to tell him. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to tell herself.

She turned onto Front Street and slowed down as she passed the shop, wondering if she could find the nerve to go in after work. Maybe all she really needed was batteries.

She hated to admit it, but Eric might be right—she needed to do some research.

Chapter Two

Mark Winters pushed away from his desk and stood up to pace around his office. After a whopping big bank loan and several months in production, the SoloPlay Originals line was wired and ready for testing.

It was time to take it into the marketplace, but first he needed some honest feedback. Although he had faith in his designs, he also believed in hedging his bets. If the Originals line tanked, it might drag SoloPlay Enterprises down with it and they had worked too long and too hard to blow it now. But how did one find bodies to test-ride sex toys?

He called up the contacts in his cell phone and began dialing ex-girlfriends alphabetically. The worst thing they could do was say no, and it was as good a plan as any. By the time he hit the letter G he was scowling. His exes were all happy to hear from him at first but pissed as hell by the time he hit the middle of his pitch.

Luckily, he had plenty of numbers to call. He never had trouble getting laid. If he wanted a woman, he looked around whatever room he happened to be in—bar, boardroom or weight room—picked one and propositioned her with exquisite politeness. One girl he picked up had been reading Chaucer while jogging at seven miles per hour on a graded treadmill. He had been beyond impressed with her multitasking abilities, and his hunch had played out. An all-night sixty-nine, and he still got hard whenever he passed the treadmills at the gym.

If a woman wasn’t interested, she usually appreciated his honesty and simply declined as politely as she had been asked. Rarely, he got a drink dumped in his lap and once he’d been slapped, but he considered that the price of doing business. His great instincts and direct approach worked well for him, in the boardroom and in the bedroom, providing everyone involved had the same goal. In the boardroom, the goal was to make money. In the bedroom, the goal was to get off.

He purposely kept his personal life simple too. Relationships were complicated and consumed time he didn’t have while he was getting his business firmly established. In his opinion, the energy required for tact, persuasion and damage control was better used at work. The subtleties of courtship didn’t interest him, and he wasn’t going to do the whole flowers and chocolate thing, but there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for a woman in bed. That was his calling card—great sex, down and dirty or good clean fun, whatever his woman of the moment desired. After all, he had devoted his career to bringing women pleasure in the most fundamental way possible. He was single-minded in his devotion to the female orgasm. No woman left his bed unhappy. Therefore, he was becoming increasingly confused by his ex-lovers’ refusal to help him test the new SoloPlay products.