by S. E. Law
“It is a house party,” Jenny replies, her eyes alight as she takes it all in.
“No, it’s not,” I argue. “It’s some kind of… I don’t know…”
“Sex party?” Jenny supplies. “Pretty great, right?”
“Since when have you been into this?” I demand, watching as she kicks her shoes off and begins tugging at the straps of her tank top.
“Just this past year,” she replies, giving me a sneaky grin. “One of my friends at Granite Heights Community Center introduced me to the scene. It’s the best time you’ll have this summer, I can guarantee.”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. The idea that something this sordid could be happening in the suburbs of Granite Heights is almost ridiculous. I’ve lived here almost my entire life and I never, ever would have suspected it.
“I don’t know about that, Jenny,” I reply, my face heating up as I watch the orgy that’s happening around me. “This is like some Eyes Wide Shut shit.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, “but without the masks. Even better, right?”
I shake my head, astounded.
“I don’t think this is really my scene.”
Jenny turns to me as she shrugs off her shirt. Her ample chest jiggles in her tiny bra, but my friend doesn’t seem bothered at all.
“I felt the same way at my first one. Just trust me. Grab some champagne or something. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” She winks at me. “But I haven’t seen anyone come to one of these things and not have a good time.”
“Right,” I say, biting my lip. “I guess I’m going to be the first.”
“Whatever you say, Frankie,” Jenny says. “Come to the kitchen with me and get some wine, at least. It’ll loosen you up. And take your dress off.”
“No way,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself.
She shrugs, pulling off her shorts and not seeming at all embarrassed to be standing there in her bra and underwear. Without another word she heads for the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do, I follow her like a sheep.
There’s more debauchery going on in the kitchen, and the drink counter seems to be the only surface that people aren’t using to get off. Unbothered, Jenny grabs a glass and fills it with champagne, passing it to me before pouring one for herself. I take a tentative sip, hoping the alcohol will at least let me relax, but as I watch Jenny strike up a conversation with a big blond man, I doubt it. Moments later he’s taking her by the hand and leading her away to another room, and she shoots me a sly look over her shoulder as she goes. Oh my god, is my friend going to …?
I’m left standing in the corner, the only clothed person in a house full of naked people, my fingers feeling numb on my champagne glass. Everywhere I look, people are having fun. I must be the only virgin here, and it’s probably obvious to everyone around me. Did Jenny know when she invited me? Is this just a ploy to find me a guy to hook up with? Or is it some kind of cruel prank to get back at me for leaving her in Granite Heights?
As the questions surge through my mind, I find my grip on my champagne glass loosening. By the time I realize that it’s slipping out of my fingers, it’s already too late, and the next thing I know, the champagne is splashing all over the man next to me. I fumble to catch the glass before it shatters on the floor, but the damage is done; the man turns to look at me as he wipes champagne off his chest, and one look at him is enough to make my breath catch in my throat.
He’s the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. He’s probably in his late twenties to early thirties, by my guess, with jet-black hair and sky blue eyes. His body is tall and athletic, his bare chest sculpted like a model’s. He’s naked like the rest of him, and I force myself not to gape at how well-endowed he obviously is. My eyes snap back to his gorgeous face, cheeks flushing hotly. For a moment I’m at a loss for words, and all I can do is stammer.
“S-sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the guy drawls, giving me a crooked smile that makes my heart race.
I blush, looking at the ground. Have I ever seen a guy this beautiful? More importantly, has a guy this beautiful ever said more than a single word to me? I’ve never felt more out of place in my entire life, and I’m already forgetting about Jenny, too sheepish and embarrassed in the presence of this handsome stranger. Realizing he’s waiting for a response, I blink, blush harder, and meet his intense blue gaze.
“Sorry, what was that?”
The guy grins again, looking both understanding and teasing.
“I asked you what your name was.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip. “My name’s Frankie.”
“Frankie,” the guy says, nodding thoughtfully. “I like that - it’s cute.” Does he have any idea that he has me sweating and fumbling like a giddy schoolgirl? “Is it short for something?” he asks.
I clear my throat.
“Um, yeah. Francine. But I never really felt like a Francine, you know? Not since I was a kid, when my mom…” Realizing I’m babbling, I mentally kick myself, wishing I could crawl under the kitchen counter and never come out. Why the hell did I come here? What was I thinking? Now I’m standing here in front of a strange, gorgeous guy I don’t know, rambling on as if he would actually care about anything I have to say. “Sorry,” I repeat, feeling like I’m going to explode from the awkwardness. “What, ah… What’s your name?”
“Hunter,” the guy replies, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You’re pretty cool, Frankie.”
I roll my eyes, hoping I come off as less self-conscious than I feel. “Yeah, right. Do I look like I belong at a place like this?”
Hunter shrugs.
“Sure, why not? You’re young, you’re cute...” His eyes sweep over my figure appreciatively, like he’s sizing me up. His eyes meet mine for a moment as he gives me another smirk. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that he’s standing naked in the middle of somebody else’s kitchen, and I have to hand it to Hunter. He’s playing it cooler than I ever would have thought possible. “What’s not to like?” he asks, and there’s a headiness in his voice that makes my insides turn to mush. “So what do you do, Frankie?”
“I’m a student,” I reply, scratching my arm. “I’m at Berkeley for history - just finished my junior year. What about you?”
“I’m a business owner,” Hunter replies, not seeming to be aware of the effect that his voice, eyes, and body are all having on me.
“Yeah?” I raise my eyebrows, feeling just curious enough to test the waters. “What kind of business?”
He grins.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I stammer for a moment, fumbling for a response, but then he laughs.
“I’m kidding. I own an online retail outfit - designer women’s shoes, believe it or not.”
“Wow,” I remark. “Are you from Granite Heights?”
“Originally,” he replies. When he sees my look of confusion, he elaborates. “Not since I was a kid though. I live in New York City now, and I’m back in town to visit my dad.”
“You don’t have to take time off for that?” I ask. Surprise must be written on my face because he laughs and shakes his head.
“That’s the great part about owning your own business - you can work from anywhere.” He stretches, looking around the room with an expression of casually vague interest. I watch in wonder as his lean muscles flex when he extends his arms behind his back. “Location doesn’t bother me too much, to be honest,” he continues. “Whether it’s a villa in the countryside, my penthouse back in NYC, or my dad’s place… As long as I can do what I need to for work, it’s all good.”
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling awestruck. “It’s all good.”
Oh my god, I think. A businessman who goes to sex parties in his free time? This is like, some honest-to-god Fifty Shades of Grey shit. And as much as I might have wanted to leave when I saw what was first going on at this party, I’m finding myself lost in Hunter’s features, his sapphire eyes, the
way he holds himself, and that teasing grin he keeps giving me. Hunter seems to pick up on my nervousness. It’s like he has me paralyzed with his blue gaze, making me forget everything going around outside of this conversation.
“So,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “what are you looking for here?”
“I…” My voice cracks. I’m very aware of how close he is to me now, and of the heat radiating off his body. I’ve never been this close to a guy this hot - let alone a naked one - in my entire life. “I’m just back here for the summer,” I respond, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t want to stay in California after finals, so I figured I would-”
“Come on, Frankie,” Hunter says, the corner of his mouth twitch a little. “What are you looking for here? At this party?”
I stare up at him, feeling like a deer in the headlights. What am I supposed to say? My friend? A drink?
Him?
I find myself at a loss for words. This guy has cast a spell over me, making me feel things I didn’t even think I was capable of feeling. How is this possible, all from a single conversation? Hunter moves closer to me, reaching up with a calloused hand to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Hm,” he says, his eyes hooded with desire, and then, before I even know what’s happening, he’s leaning in, the tip of his nose brushing against mine. The sounds of the music seems to fade into the background, along with the muted conversation and sex noises coming from the other room, and all I’m aware of is my heart hammering in my ears as Hunter’s hand lingers on my cheek. “I can think of a few things you could do,” he murmurs, his voice unbelievably smooth, and then he’s letting his lips brush against mine.
For a moment I stand there frozen in place, at a loss for what to do as I feel Hunter’s lips press down more firmly. This hasn’t happened since a drunk Arnold Anderson kissed me at a school dance, and that had been sloppy and unpleasant. This, on the other hand, is soft, tender, and passionate, making me go weak in the knees as I bring a tentative hand up to his bare shoulder, caressing his bronzed skin wonderingly.
The kiss deepens, and after a moment I feel the tip of Hunter’s tongue touch my lips. Feeling a heat building between my legs, I open my mouth to allow it to snake in, letting out a little gasp as Hunter slides an arm around my waist to pull me closer. Is this really happening? Am I, Frankie Fordham, the shyest, curviest girl in Granite Heights actually being kissed by a mysterious stranger at a dirty party?
Half of me wonders if I’m going to wake up any minute.
Hunter pulls back, and the look in his eyes is unmistakable. Lust. Not for any of the hotter, skinnier girls at the party. For me.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, his eyes flickering from mine back to my lips.
“You mean, like, to get a drink?” I ask, feeling both breathless and stupid.
He chuckles, those blue eyes gleaming.
“I like you, Frankie.” Then he’s nodding in the direction of the stairs leading to the second floor. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice heavy with desire.
I stare at him for another moment and then nod, all doubts I’ve been having blown away by the look of desire in his gorgeous blue eyes.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s go.”
OMG, is this really happening? Am I letting a gorgeous man I’ve just met sweep me upstairs for a good time? I guess so because it’s the new Frankie Fordham. I’m now a curvy, sassy girl who’s going to explore with a handsome stranger as my guide.
2
Hunter
It usually takes more than a pretty face to get my attention, and tonight is no exception. I’ve always been proud of the fact that I’m hard to impress, both inside and outside of my business dealings. Between my dad, a powerful man with his fair share of suitors knocking at his door, and everyone at New York University who thought that coming from money would make me a pushover, I’ve developed a pretty thick skin. It’s part of the reason that, at age thirty, I’m already in charge of a multi-million dollar business empire. I’m discerning in my tastes, and proud of it.
Thinking about it, I guess that’s what drew me to play parties in the first place. I was first introduced to the scene back in New York, where there’s practically a new club or BDSM show for every block. It started as a way of easing the stress of work, especially when dating was never really my thing. But over time, it became something of a hobby for me. There’s a sense of adventure in showing up at someone else’s house, full of anonymous strangers who were ready to unleash their most carnal desires. No strings attached, no stress about customers, sales quotas, or employees. Just simple physical pleasure.
What’s not to like?
I find myself thinking about this as I climb out of my low-slung sports car, which I intentionally parked a few blocks down so as not to draw too much attention. Some people might call the car overly-flashy, but it has killer speed - a must for the drive from New York to the Heartland. Besides, I’m the kind of guy who enjoys the finer things in life. I guess it runs in the family.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I head up the driveway to the front door. Tonight’s host is a girl named Cassie I got to know through some mutual connections back in NYC. Running a hand through my hair, I push the doorbell, waiting as the sound of voices on the other end grows louder. A thin, brown-haired girl opens the door, and her eyes light up when she sees me.
“Well, well,” Cassie says, giving me a coquettish smile, “Hunter Martin, founder and CEO of Revival Footwear. You know, when I heard you were interested in coming, I almost didn’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I growl, grinning at her. “Mind if I come in?”
She looks like she’s drinking me in with her eyes, biting her lip as she gives me one more appreciative glance before pulling the door open wider. I step inside the house, nodding as I take in the decor. This is clearly someone who’s been on the scene for a while.
“Feel free to take your clothes off,” Cassie sings, her eyes sweeping over me once more as she leads me into the living room. “There’s champagne in the kitchen, if you want it. Otherwise…” She spreads her arms, looking around the room. “What happens here stays here.”
“I can appreciate that,” I say, nodding as I watch the others. Most of them are halfway undressed already, and the majority of party goers haven’t even showed up yet. For a moment I debate whether I should just dive right in, but ultimately decide against it. The evening is young, and I don’t want to burn out before I’ve really had a chance to savor it. I made that mistake the first time I went to one of these things.
Besides, there will be plenty of opportunities tonight; I’m aware of my looks, and not afraid to admit it. It’s that like I put that much time into my appearance, but at the end of the day I draw my fair share of attention from the ladies, for better or worse.
I spend a while exploring the house, passing couples locked in passionate embraces and trios of partiers pawing at each other like their lives depend on it. A decent number of them are younger than me, but not all of them; it looks like the guests range in age from early twenties to mid-thirties, and they’re all undeniably attractive.
Eventually I find my way into the kitchen, finding a spot by the drinks table and making conversation with a few of the others as more guests show up. Things are really starting to pick up within the hour, and I’m on the verge of approaching a fit blonde who’s been eyeing me for the past few minutes when I’m suddenly doused with cold liquid.
I look around in confusion for a moment before my eyes settle on a girl next to me, who’s fumbling with an empty champagne glass. She’s buxom, with rosy cheeks, long, chestnut hair, and eyes to match. She reminds me a little of an old-fashioned pinup girl, with attractive curves and the kind of delicate features that make it hard to tell how old she is. Her skin is smooth and soft, her peaches and cream complexion giving he
r a warm glow even under the neon lights.
I listen to her stammer out an apology, her voice breathy and musical as she takes me in with her eyes. I can see her struggling not to stare, and I can’t help but leer a bit at how cute she is. The fact that she’s still wearing clothes isn’t lost on me either, and I would know the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face anywhere. She’s never been to one of these things, that much is clear.
I begin a conversation with her, the small talk coming as easily to me as ever as I observe her and listen to her words. Turns out her name is Frankie, and she came here with a friend. She’s a student at Cal. Smart, clearly, but shy. She asks me what I do for work and I tell her, in so many words. It’s not something I normally like to get into at these parties, but she’s so naive and nervous that I can’t bring myself to give her a hard time about it. There’s something about her that draws my attention, even though she seems like the type to avoid attention like the plague. It’s in the way she speaks, I think, and the way she carries herself. She reminds me of a spring flower with delicate petals, just waiting to be plucked.
She’s mine for tonight, I decide. The realization comes to me quickly and powerfully, and within seconds my mind is made up. I take a step closer to the gorgeous girl. She swallows audibly, looking at me with big caramel eyes.
“So, what are you looking for here?” is my drawl.
I catch a whiff of her scent then, light and floral. Innocent and sweet. It’s enough to make me want to grab her and ravish her right there.
“I…” She looks up at, her eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m just back here for the summer. I didn’t want to stay in California after finals, so I figured I would come home.”
Her naivety is charming.
“Come on, Frankie,” I murmur, smirking a little. “What are you looking for here? At this party?”
She watches me for a moment longer, her chocolate-brown eyes showing both doubt and veiled desire. Does she even realize it?
