My Virtual Lover

by Madelaine Grant

  My Virtual Lover

  By

  Madelaine Grant

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  My Virtual Lover

  ISBN: 1-55410-726-1

  Copyright ã 2006 Madelaine Grant

  Coverart by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books 2006

  Look for us online at

  www.extasybooks.com

  This is dedicated to my husband for his patience, support, and understanding during the writing of this book.

  New York, 2025

  CHAPTER 1

  Looking back, I can’t believe I could have been so gullible. They were all in on the plot — my closest friends and my lover — and I never had any suspicions until the very end. Red flags waved, but I didn’t notice them.

  The whole episode began with a perfectly innocent conversation one hot August afternoon with my best friend and business partner, Trish Lewis. We were relaxing by her pool that afternoon. Perhaps I was feeling sorry for myself and my defenses were down. That’s the only way I can rationalize everything.

  Trish and I go back a long time. We were college roommates and, four years ago, joined forces to open an upscale art gallery, Andelew.

  Trish started the conversation with a strange question. “Val, what would your ideal man be like?” She was stretched out on a chaise lounge touching up her nail polish.

  “My ideal man?” I snickered. “No such animal exists.”

  “You sound bitter. Bet you’re having Tony trouble, huh?” Trish raised one tanned leg and examined her silver painted toenails. “What’s he done now?”

  “It’s what he hasn’t done,” I muttered, turning onto my stomach on the adjacent chaise. “He’s a workaholic—either staying late at the office or traveling out-of-town on business. In the past month I’ve only spent three nights with him. Three nights out of thirty.”

  “Well, that’s better than nothing,” Trish offered.

  “It might as well be nothing. He was so tired he fell asleep on me.”

  “You sound frustrated.” Trish giggled. “So tell me, Val, what you like in a man, if you could have a choice.”

  “He’d be there if I needed him, that’s for sure,” I said, giving the subject some thought. “Yes, he’d have to be dependable … that’s very important. And he’d have to be sensitive to my feelings, too, and a good listener. Tony pretends to listen but then I catch him sneaking a look at the football scores or the financial page. It’s very annoying.”

  “I’ll bet. So what else would you like?”

  “What would I like? There are so many traits that are key. Let’s see … loyalty, of course. My ideal man would have to be faithful and protective. Not controlling, but looking out for my welfare.” Sighing, I glanced at the kidney-shaped pool in front of us, the turquoise water glittering under a late afternoon sun. The smell of almond-scented suntan lotion mixed with late-blooming roses tickled my nostrils.

  “Of course,” Trish nodded. “You’ve made a good start. Just ‘blue sky’ it. Make believe you could custom order a man. What else would Val Anders want?”

  I turned over and lowered my bathing suit straps to get an even tan. “He’d have to be intelligent, cultured, able to converse about the things that interest me—art, music, books, theater—you know what I mean.”

  A lovely day and a lush scene. Why was I feeling so down? An image of Tony Chapman rose in my mind. The one and only vacation we’d had together had been to Italy last summer. In fact it was just this time last year. What a marvelous two weeks.

  I glanced down at the opal ring on my finger glowing out of a delicate gold filigree setting. Tony bought it for me on that unforgettable Italian holiday. It was one of my prized possessions. Would I ever be that happy again?

  “Uh huh. You haven’t said a thing about his physical appearance. Don’t you care about that?”

  Trish’s voice interrupted my musings. Startled, I considered her question. “You’re right. I guess I took it for granted he’d be good-looking.”

  “Like Tony?” Trish asked softly.

  I grimaced. “Let’s leave Tony out of this. When I think of him I see red. He makes me so angry. Talk about indifference.”

  “Okay, okay. I won’t mention the idiot. So, this ideal guy of yours—describe him.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture the kind of man that made my pulses race. “Dark auburn hair, wavy, a little long—warm green eyes. Yes, definitely green eyes. A firm mouth that smiles often and a dimple in his cheek. And did I mention a sense of humor? Humor is definitely one trait that I require. Oh, and of course he’d be tall, at least six feet, and broad shouldered, too. And athletic … good at tennis, swimming and riding. He’d have a deep, pleasant voice, easy to listen to. There, that should do it.”

  Trish rolled over onto her side and grinned. “That’s quite a list. But you haven’t mentioned one important factor.”

  “What? I thought I covered all the bases.”

  “Sexual attraction—the chemistry between a man and a woman. You haven’t said a word about that.”

  I shrugged. “That’s a given. I mean, if there’s no heat between us, it doesn’t matter what he looks like or how nice he is.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t exactly have that in mind.” Trish sat up and gazed out at the manicured lawn surrounding us. A lone gardener was clipping bushes in the distance. “What I meant was, what kind of lover would be your ideal? Some women enjoy the masterful, dominant kind while others prefer the affectionate, sweet type of lover. What’s your preference?”

  I rolled over and gave Trish a long stare. “You’re cooking something up … I can feel the vibes. Are you trying to match me with one of Scott’s friends? If so, you can forget about it. Tony may be absent a lot, but he’s definitely still on my radar screen.” There, that should shut her mouth.

  Trish laughed. “Stop being so suspicious. And no, I have no intention of sticking you with one of my husband’s pals. They’re a stuffy bunch, anyway. Seriously, though, between you and me, what type of lover appeals to you? Do you like to be dominated? Some women enjoy that sense of surrender.” She turned to give me an inquisitive look.

  What a strange question for Trish to ask. But I still didn’t hear any warning bells. I pondered her query for a few long minutes. “Let me think about it,” I murmured, half closing my eyes.

  “Sure, take your time.” Trish picked up a paperback to read.

  CHAPTER 2

  Did I like to be dominated? The question started my heart racing as memory brought a scene to mind.

  Last Christmas Tony and I spent some time visiting his family in upstate New York. Our days were filled with skiing and our evenings spent gathered around the large dining room table enjoying hearty meals and lively conversation. Our first full day on the slopes was exhausting for me. After dinner I made a beeline for the hot tub, which was relaxing, but caused me to be sleepier than ever.

  �
��Tony, I’m heading to bed early,” I announced.

  “I’m about ready too,” he replied.

  Together we mounted the stairs to our bedroom on the second floor. The four poster bed with its fluffy down comforter looked inviting. I changed into a long flannel nightgown and slid under the covers.

  “Goodnight,” I murmured, ready to turn over and sleep. Sex was the last thing on my mind. Not so with my love, Tony Chapman.

  Tony stripped out of his clothes, adjusted the lights to leave one small lamp glowing and then sat next to me on the bed. Leaning over, he kissed me, stroking some tendrils of long brown hair away from my face. “Val, sweetheart, I know you’re tired but I also know you’re going to enjoy what I’ve planned for us.”

  I turned to give him a puzzled stare. His dark blue eyes had a decidedly wicked gleam and the corners of his mouth quirked in a half smile. What did he have up his sleeve?

  “Tony,” I half groaned. “I’m totally exhausted. Can’t it wait for another night?” All I wanted to do was crawl under the comforter and sleep.

  He shook his head and, at the same moment, pulled the quilt off and settled it at the bottom of the bed. Then he shifted me into the center of the four poster, slid the pillows out from under my head and settled his compact, muscled frame astride me. “All you have to do is totally relax and leave everything in my hands, Val. You do trust me, don’t you?” His expression was serious.

  Bewildered by his actions, I was too fatigued to ask questions. “Of course I trust you,” I replied, stifling a yawn. Was he getting ready for a pillow fight or something? My clouded brain couldn’t seem to think straight.

  Still on top of me, Tony reached over to the adjacent night table, opened the top drawer and pulled out what appeared to be several long, silky-looking red braided ropes—the kind that hold drapes back, and a white silk scarf.

  Without another word of explanation, he looped a circle around each of my wrists with the red silk cords. The other end he positioned on the bed posts behind my head.

  “What are you doing?” I exclaimed. My pulses were beating fast and a queer heat radiated from my belly.

  “Putting you in a position where you can’t move,” he said, adjusting the ropes to hold my wrists over my head. “Relax, Val. I won’t hurt you. And you will enjoy it. Trust me.”

  Again those words … ‘trust me’. Did I trust him? Yes. I had to say I did. He’d never given me any reason to doubt his motives.

  “Okay,” I muttered, much too tired to argue with him anyway.

  “Good.” He smiled as he turned and fastened two more silky cords, this time from my ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed.

  I was tied up, spread-eagled, with only my nightgown for cover. I suspected that covering wouldn’t last long.

  He bent his head and gave me a long, passionate kiss. “Val,” he whispered. “The walls are pretty thin, your cries when you climax will rouse the house. So, I have to put this scarf over your mouth. Don't be frightened—I'll take it off after we’re finished. Okay?”

  My heart began beating wildly. “Please, Tony, don’t do that. I’ll be quiet … I promise.” The thought of being gagged terrified me.

  “I can’t take the chance, darling,” he said tenderly as he covered my mouth with the silk scarf.

  I started to cry out, but the scarf muffled my sounds. I was completely at his mercy—and we both knew it.

  “Relax, sweetheart. Just surrender your will to me. You won’t be sorry.”

  With those words, he knelt between my outstretched legs and rolled my nightie up slowly to my waist.

  I shivered, more from fear than any chill, until Tony began trailing a line of kisses from my navel to the curly mound between my thighs. With his tongue he licked the folds of my sex and then the tight, sensitive nub of my clit.

  A wild heat spread from my core to every part of my body. I twisted, pulling at the cords, trying to retreat from his teasing tongue. But I was trapped and for a moment I panicked. What was he going to do? Anticipation and fear struggled within me.

  Tony must have sensed my alarm. “Val, dearest, please don’t be afraid. You must learn to trust me. I would never harm you.”

  He raised my nightie to expose my breasts and started to suckle one and then the other, nibbling and nipping. The sensations were stunning—a stream of fire radiated from my hard-tipped peaks to my wet, hot core. Moaning, I turned my head from side to side, bucking my hips forward and back. The rising tension was almost unbearable. I was a prisoner, completely and utterly dominated, every sensation was magnified a thousand times by my submissive position. It was thrilling and scary and spectacular, all at the same moment.

  Liquid heat poured from my smoldering center as Tony slowly stroked every sensitive spot, sending me into a delirium of ecstasy. Twisting and pushing my hips forward, I arched up, trying to capture his tantalizing fingers.

  When I thought I couldn’t bear it one more second, Tony raised my buttocks off the bed and thrust his hard, full shaft deep into my hot, open cunt, filling me to my very womb. Thrusting and pulling back, he rode me until I exploded with a force I’d never imagined. His release soon followed, his seed spilling into me. He sank down, holding me close.

  “Val,” he whispered hoarsely, “Oh, Val. I love you so.”

  I felt his heart beating against my drenched body, his shuddery breaths sounded in my ears. I moaned as he slipped the scarf away from my mouth. He kissed me, long and hard, running his tongue gently over my lips. Then he released me from my silky restraints and gathered me in his arms.

  It didn’t take long to sink into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Well?” Trish turned to give me a questioning look. “Have you given the matter enough thought? Do you like being dominated?”

  My heart was still beating and my face felt flushed from the vivid memories flooding my mind. The gathering moisture between my thighs didn’t help. “It all depends,” I said, trying to compose myself. “If I completely trusted my lover, I wouldn’t mind being dominated. But there would have to be a high level of trust. That’s for sure.”

  We were silent a few moments, I pondering our unusual conversation and Trish, seemingly absorbed in applying more suntan lotion.

  “How about some iced tea? Could you go for a glass?” Trish asked, changing the conversation abruptly.

  I was glad for the break. Too intense for a hot afternoon. “Sounds good to me.”

  Trish pulled a remote out of a nearby beach bag and clicked on it. “Mikey will be here with our drinks in a few minutes.”

  I shook my head. “You still enthralled with all your robotic help? I’ll bet that gardener is one, too. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, he’s the best. He works a twelve-hour day without a stop. All he requires is an electric charge and some oil for rusty joints. What a pleasure.”

  “I prefer human help—you can keep your machines.” Trish and Scott were big on new inventions. Their house was full of the latest gadgets.

  Trish snickered. “You’re so old-fashioned, Val. When are you going to join the ‘in’ crowd? Everyone’s using robots nowadays.”

  “Maybe I am, but they give me the creeps. Some of my friends prefer their robotic pets to real dogs and cats. I even have a friend who has a robotic canary and several robotic goldfish.” I pulled a long face. “Give me a break—how interesting can machine birds and fish be?”

  Just then Mikey, one of the small household robots, made his appearance, holding aloft a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. He lowered the tray carefully onto a snack table next to Trish and waited for further instructions. Mikey was an advanced breed of robot—part human looking, part metallic. His body was made of flesh-colored aluminum with features clearly delineated. He wore regular boy’s clothing since he stood only four feet tall.

  “Good job, Mikey,” Trish said. “You can go back now.”

  Mikey turned and marched to the Lewis’ modern stone and glass house.


  Trish poured some tea and handed me the glass. “Better than a housekeeper, believe me.”

  Maybe she had a point. I still wasn’t ready to give in to the robot craze. “Now if I had a robotic driver, that would be something. I hate city driving.”

  “Me, too,” Trish agreed, sipping her tea. “We’re the ones commuting to New York while you live in Soho. That’s not a bad commute to midtown. What’s your gripe?”

  “You forget when I’m transporting paintings or sculpture to the gallery, I take the van and it’s a bitch, believe me. By the way, I know we’re not supposed to talk business on our day off, but did you get a chance to view those images from our new German artist? They’ll blow your mind.”

  Trish chuckled. “You mean Hans Schmidt, the conceptual artist with a penchant for porcelain plumbing? Yeah, I did see some of them. The installation is going to require a master plumber, with all that water flowing in and out. It’s quite a piece of work—I think it will be a sensation and, if we’re lucky, there’ll be a collector out there just dying to acquire it.”

  “I love his title, “Intimate Water Works” … What an imagination. All he’s missing is a busty nude taking a shower.”

  “Hmmmm, how about using a robot for that? It might work.” Trish narrowed her eyes, deep in thought. “Next time I talk to Hans, I’ll mention it.”

  “Don’t look for trouble,” I warned. “He’s one of our temperamental artists … I wouldn’t want to offend him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Trish assured me. “I’ll be tactful.”

  “You? Tactful?” I snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

  She laughed and we both settled back for a relaxing sunbath. I reflected on our different working styles and realized how fortunate we were to complement one another rather than clash. When we first started the Andelew Galleries four years ago, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to coexist in the same business.