by Tara Wylde
Disappointed, I smooth my skirt back into place and tear off a bit of toilet paper to wipe the excess moisture off my hand.
Figures! A good lubricant that practically promises an orgasm that’s endorsed by the owner of a sex shop, and I don’t feel a damn thing. Talk about proof that there’s something wrong with me!
Gathering up my phone and evening purse with my clean hand, I storm out of the stall and wash my hands before remembering the text message.
During dinner, enjoy some wine, but don’t overdo it. Drink just enough to feel all warm and loose, but no so much that you’re drunk.
Drink wine. Finally, a reasonable request.
Rolling my eyes, I shove my phone into my purse and paste a pretty smile on my face that doesn’t reach my eyes. Squaring my shoulders, I push through the bathroom door and make my way across the dining room, where my date is waiting for me.
Despite getting all dressed up, or dressed down, depending on how you look at it, I’m not feeling nearly as prepared for this date as I should be. No matter how much I tell myself to be optimistic, I can’t shake the tight knot of dread that’s been building in my stomach since I called Dan last night.
This was a bad idea. The thought slams into me when I’m just a few feet from the table where he waits. The only reason I even welcomed him to my bed the other night was because I’d been all hot and bothered from my encounter with Garret Holden in the lobby. Had I not been distracted by that, I would have made a clean break.
Still, it’s too late to run now. I might as well see this thing through to the end. Besides, maybe now that we’ve had sex, we’ll be more relaxed with one another, and maybe that will trigger an honest-to-goodness spark between us.
Determined to make the best of the situation, I slide into my seat and plaster a big grin across my face.
I lock eyes with my dinner companion. “Hello, Dan.”
Chapter Fourteen
Garret
I check my phone for a new text. It’s about the fifteenth time I’ve done so in the past ten minutes.
Waiting for an update about a woman’s night out feels … odd.
Back when Maddie was alive, I’d spent a lot of nights like this, checking my phone and waiting by the door, eager to hear where she was and what she was doing while she hung out with friends or attended to business. Even though I’d never enjoyed the waiting, the warm shot of pleasure I always got when she finally checked in had made up for it. I’d loved knowing that no matter what she was doing, I was as much on her mind as she was on mine.
“No news,” I tell Sammy, who is passed out on the couch. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Means they’re getting along, that things are progressing smoothly. Right?”
Sammy doesn’t so much as twitch. He’s not nearly as interested in Erin’s date as I am.
Would Maddie have approved of what I was doing?
I honestly don’t know.
I mean, I know she would be perfectly happy with the idea of me helping Erin find happiness in the bedroom, but I think she’d be concerned if she knew that I’m starting to become emotionally involved with Erin, that I’m genuinely vested in what I’ve set in motion. She’d be horrified to know that even though I’ve never met Dan, Erin’s date, that I want to put my fist through his face just to prevent him from touching her again.
Maddie was a big believer in keeping emotions out of the picture when dealing with a patient. And while I don’t understand exactly why I have such a strong reaction to Erin, there’s no denying that she triggers emotions in me that I thought had died a long time ago.
If only I knew what I was supposed to do about them.
Too keyed up to sit down and watch the Arizona Wildcats basketball game that’s playing on the television, I pace from one end of the room to the other.
“I should have asked her which restaurant they were going to.” As the only other living, breathing thing in this apartment, Sammy is going to listen to me whether he likes it or not. “I could have gone, staked out a spot at the bar, and watched how things progress. Sent her text messages with tips and encouragement whenever she looks like she needs them.”
Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know it’s a stupid idea. Erin’s a classy woman who runs a thriving marketing firm. She dates doctors, lawyers, and architects. I’d bet my penthouse that with my tattoos, too-long hair, and pierced ear, that I’d stand out like a sore thumb if I sat at the bar in one of those places. I have the manners and money to fit in, but not the looks.
I’m not the kind of guy who can blend into any setting.
“God, I hope I did the right thing.” I run a hand through my thick hair.
After spending so much time reading through Maddie’s extensive sex note collection that my eyes were starting to cross, I decided that the most likely reason Erin was struggling to get off during sex stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t allowing herself to relax and really enjoy the experience.
Not only did Maddie’s notes indicate that this was one of the more common reasons women, especially those who were in the early stages of dating a guy, struggle to climax, but it also seemed to jive with what I know about Erin. She’s an upwardly mobile woman, career driven, intelligent, who has worked hard for everything she has. The times our paths crossed in this building, she seemed pleasant enough, but I can’t think of a single time when she seemed relaxed.
Plus, it sounded like she’s desperate to find a man. Having a successful career isn’t enough for her. She wants the whole package.
It makes perfectly good sense to me that if she just relaxes and focuses on her body, that the rest will follow. That’s why I spent so much time perusing The Sex Project’s online inventory, until I found exactly the right set of stockings and the lube that was supposed to be the most effective on the market.
An image of Erin wearing nothing but those same stockings, spread out on my bed, ready and waiting for me, forms in my mind’s eye. I clench my fists as my cock goes rock hard in response to the imaginary vision. Swallowing hard, I push the image away and focus on taking long, steadying breaths until some semblance of control returns to my body.
After reining my imagination in, I think about the path I selected for Erin. If my not entirely professional psychological evaluation is right, and she’s simply been too tense to really enjoy herself during sex, there’s a good chance that by tomorrow morning she’ll be happily in love and no longer need my services.
The thought saddens me.
When I sent that first text to Erin, I thought solving her little problem would be a good distraction, and it was.
What I didn’t expect was to enjoy myself, or that I’d like Erin so much. During our texting and phone conversations she proved herself to be smart, somewhat sassy, and fun.
While Maddie’s death didn’t exactly turn me into a hermit, even I have to admit that, with the exception of a few close friends, I really have cut myself off from people. That’s probably why I no longer think twice about holding one-way conversations with Sammy.
But Erin made me want to come out of my shell, to start living again.
I rub my thumb over my wedding ring. If nothing else, this interlude with Erin has shown me that it’s time to put myself back out in the world. Time to once again infiltrate society and become a vital member of it.
Assuming of course that everything goes well with Erin’s date tonight. If I’m wrong, and her problems go deeper than a simple inability to relax when she’s with a man, then I’ll have to go back to the drawing board and keep working with her. And that means that if tonight doesn’t work out, I am going to have to send her out on another date.
Jealousy shafts through me and I run a hand across my chest, trying to ease the sudden, dull ache that’s formed.
The fact that I’m reacting this strongly to the mere thought of a man touching Erin proves one thing. Until I get this attraction or whatever it is I’m feeling under control, I need to stay far, far away from her.
Chapter Fifteen
Erin
“Erin.” Dan springs up from his chair and beams at me. “You look lovely.”
I widen my smile and accept his hug and the light kiss on my cheek before taking my seat. A glass of white wine is beside my place setting. Perfect. I take a sip, swirling the sweet tasting liquid over my tongue for a second before swallowing. I do love a good Zinfandel.
Dan settles in his seat and continues grinning. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
Wait a second! He did what?
“I remember that when we came here on our second date, you ordered the clams linguine and said it was remarkable, so I told the waiter that’s what you wanted.”
I grind my teeth together and swallow my instinctively cutting remark. Sure, the linguine was exquisite the last time, but that doesn’t mean I am in the mood for it tonight. I’m an adult and I have my own mind and I know my own tastes. In other words, I’m perfectly capable of placing my order.
This is supposed to be a perfect date designed to lead to the best night of my life. Yelling at Dan will spoil that, so this one time I hold my tongue.
First things first. I take a deep breath and enjoy another sip of my wine. “Dan, I’m very sorry for the way I treated you the other night.”
The words sound flat and unemotional to my ears, but Dan doesn’t seem to notice. He reaches across the table and takes my hands, lacing our fingers together. To the rest of the world, we look like a couple in love. The way I want us to be.
“Erin.” He practically purrs my name. “You have nothing to feel sorry about. Lots of women get nervous the first time they make love to the new man in their life. Your reaction was perfectly normal.”
I fiddle with my napkin. “So, you’re routinely kicked out of your new girlfriend’s bed?”
The tips of his ears turn bright red. “Well, no. You’re the first to react that way. But most of them get nervous, like they aren’t sure what to say or how to act. Your tension manifested as kicking me out of your bed and telling me you didn’t think things were going to work out between us. Extreme, sure, but still a manifestation of your nerves.”
Isn’t that kind of what my phone buddy, Mister No O, told me? That the reason I wasn’t climaxing was because I was too tense?
I take another sip of wine. It warms my blood, making me just a little light headed and more carefree than when I sat at the table. I glance towards the kitchen, hoping to see our waiter bearing down on our table with food. Considering how much this place charges, you’d think they’d come up with a way for the pre-dinner salad to magically appear at the table as soon as the order was placed.
I turn my attention back to Dan. “It’s very sweet of you to be so understanding.”
The compliment has him all but preening himself. “Thank you.” He plays with my fingers. “You should know, if you hadn’t contacted me, I was going to call you, though I probably would have waited another day or two.”
“Oh.” Before I can cut off the word, a flash of heat hits my pussy. It’s so strong and unexpected I draw the word out, adding several H’s to the end.
So that’s what the sexy oil is supposed to do!
I instinctively clutch Dan’s hand and press my thighs together.
Dan’s brow furrows. “Erin? Are you okay?”
I’m so focused on the tingling heat between my thighs I barely hear the words. Luckily, the waiter finally arrives and places our side salads on the table.
“Your dinner will be ready shortly,” he says, his tone demure as his eyes scan the table for signs of disarray. I shift so that more of my body is tucked under the table and roll my hips as the lubricating oil grows hotter. His gaze lands on my face, and he cocks his head to the side, clearly aware that something isn’t quite right, but unsure of what it is. “Do you require anything else?”
A bucket of water to throw over my burning body would be nice, but since that’s not on the menu, I shake my head. Dan responds with a solidly spoken no.
Completely forgetting about me, Dan turns his attention to his salad. I unroll my silverware and carefully lay the napkin across my still burning lap as Dan drives the tines of his fork through a piece of lettuce, using more force than salads generally require.
He always eats that way, I recall. I watch as he skewers a radish slice, like he’s attacking his food. Wrapping my fingers around my own fork, I wonder if the aggression with which he eats is one of those signs you’re supposed to watch out for so that you can avoid abusive relationships. Don’t date a guy who immediately starts driving wedges between you and your friends. Avoid partners who have to control every single aspect of every single situation. Be on the lookout for guys who eat as if they’re attacking their food.
Then I wonder why the way he eats food never bothered me the other times we went out. Probably I was too dazzled by his good looks and his job title.
A light shaft of heat wings through my pussy, causing me to gasp as the warmth moves upward. My nipples to tighten and sweat to drop down my spine. My fingers tighten on my fork. The packet of oil said that some women found they only needed to use half the contents in order to obtain the results they wanted. Maybe I’m one of those women—in which case, I’ve really overdone things.
Dan stops chewing long enough to study my face as I fight the urge to squirm in my chair.
“Erin?”
I shake my head and unclench my teeth enough to answer his unspoken questions. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it. You’re all flushed and look like you’re in pain,” he observes. “You’re not getting sick, are you?” For someone who works in a hospital all day long, he doesn’t look happy about spending time with someone who might not be completely healthy.
“It’s just,” I stifle a gasp as another wave of heat rolls through my pussy, “a bad bra. The underwire is digging into me.”
“Oh. Lower your voice when you say something like that!” Dan’s eyes dart from side to side, as if someone might have heard me say the horribly offensive word ‘bra’. “Or even better, don’t say things like that at all when we’re in public.”
Even doctors don’t like to think about things like uncomfortable women’s underwear. Fine, I get that, but the fact that Dan is suddenly more concerned about how someone might react to the harmless statement I’ve made than to the fact that I’m uncomfortable irritates me.
I can’t resist getting a little jab in. “I don’t wear this bra very often, only on very special date nights because, even though it makes my boobs look great, it always hurts like hell.” I’m proud of the fact that despite the increasingly distracting effects of the oil on my girly bits, I keep my voice even and calm. The people sitting at the tables surrounding ours don’t even act like they’ve noticed my unsophisticated spiel.
“Erin.” Dan’s flush and disapproving expression deepens. “I insist you control yourself.”
My eyebrows climb toward my hairline. He insists? Really? So basically, he thinks he can order me around like a child.
The waiter reappears beside our table. He glances at my barely touched side salad. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”
“No,” I assure him. “The salad is perfectly lovely. I just wanted to make sure that I saved plenty of room for the entrée.”
The waiter nods and offers me a small but genuinely warm smile. “I understand.”
He places our plates before us. Spinach stuffed chicken breast for Dan. Clam linguine for me.
I stare down at my plate. My meal looks great and it really is one of my favorite dishes on this particular restaurant’s menu. It’s probably exactly what I would have ordered for myself. But I didn’t order it. Dan did. Without asking me if it was okay for him to decide what I should eat.
If I take this relationship further, will I suddenly find myself leading a life where I have to watch what I say, when even simple decisions are made for me?
Another onslaught of heat
lashes at my pussy, causing all the muscles in my lower body to contract, as if they’re grasping for something, reminding me of all I went through to prepare for this night.
I shift in my chair and cross my legs, hoping that the change in position will do something to ease the fire building within me. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes things worse. I bite my lower lip and fight the urge to rub myself against something.
People might say that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I’m fairly certain that if I start dry humping the chair in the middle of all these people, my professional status would suffer.
On the other hand, watching Dan’s expression once he realized what was happening just might make up for the decrease in income … at least for a little while.
As if reading my thoughts, Dan glances up from his chicken, and looks at my untouched plate of linguine.
“Eat up,” he says. I’m sure he doesn’t recognize the slightly authoritarian tinge to his tone, but I do. “You don’t want people to think that there’s something wrong with the food here.” He snorts with laughter. “Talk about embarrassing.”
I pick up my fork, but I don’t move it any closer to my plate of noodles and clams. Instead, I stare at Dan.
It doesn’t take long for him to lift his head and meet my steady gaze.
“What?” he asks.
“You know, when we first started seeing each other, I thought you were pretty much the perfect guy. You’re good looking, have excellent manners, a great job.” I reach for my purse. “Basically, everything I was looking for in a man.”
Dan’s chest puffs out and he visibly basks in my praise. “Thank you, Erin. That’s very sweet of you.”
“I am sweet, aren’t I?” I balance my purse on my thighs and unzip it.
“You truly are,” Dan confirms.
“And I deserve someone equally sweet, don’t I?” I feel around in my purse, finally locating the small stash of cash I tucked inside.
