The Burn List

by Jennifer Dawson

Yikes, what the hell had I’d been thinking?

  I have no desire to go out with Rachel again. She seems like a hassle instead of convenience. I’ll pass her off to Trevor. Without thinking too much about how last night with Abby is affecting my actions, I pick up my cell and text her to cancel. Later I’ll send her info to Trevor and he can do what he wants with her.

  Dropping my phone back on the table, I pop open my laptop and power up, taking a sip of coffee as the machine churns through the startup. Even when I’m not working I still go through email, and I click on the icon, waiting while mail loads.

  I freeze, mid-sip at the top email. It’s from Abby.

  The subject line reads, About Last Night.

  How does she have my address? Then I vaguely recall us exchanging information about a month after I’d moved in. I check the time stamp. She’d sent it at eight thirty this morning, well after the alcohol had worn off.

  It must be to explain. I click it open and skim while taking another sip of coffee—and start to choke, coughing and sputtering as hot liquid clogs my windpipe. What in the holy hell is this?

  I straighten in my chair and read in earnest.

  Lukas,

  Yes, this morning I woke up with the appropriate mortification, and I’m sure you can imagine my embarrassment. Of course I’d determined the only logical course of action was to put my house up for sale and move as far away as possible. But, see, in the shower it hit me…the margaritas just gave me the courage to face what I wanted and take action. Turning thirty has made me realize, if I’m not careful, I’ll go my whole life playing it safe. I don’t want that. So, I’m taking a deep breath and crossing my fingers you’re a man of your word. God, I hope you didn’t make your offer in vain. I’m terrified writing this, but I’m not going to let that stop me.

  So here goes. I accept.

  I thought about what you said last night, and while I’m not advanced enough to talk dirty, I figured I could start with email and work up from there. As soon as I can say the words without sounding stupid, I promise I’ll try. It’s the least I can do, right?

  Since you’re willing to help a girl out, I thought I’d return the favor and make you a list of the kinds of things I want to try. If I’m going to do this, I might as well make sure I get some of these items checked off my list. I’m sure some of this sounds kind of lame to you, but hey, I have to start somewhere. I can’t get what I want if I don’t ask for it. Or at least that’s a rumor from a meme I saw on the Internet.

  Completely humiliating, but here goes nothing:

  1. Have an orgasm. (Yes, I know it’s sad.)

  2. Have really great sex. (Don’t judge me.)

  3. Oral sex, both kinds. (I’m sure you can see why I need you.)

  4. Public sex. (Ugh, I’m going to stop making comments now.)

  5. Go to a sex club.

  6. Be tied up.

  7. Get spanked.

  8. I’m not sure what this one is called, so I’ll go with “Be handled”.

  9. Role playing.

  10. Capture fantasy (I lied, one more comment. Tacky, I know, but I read a lot of Harlequins when I was younger. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.)

  Since this list is getting kind of long, I’m going to stop. Oh my god, this is so embarrassing!! Why am I doing this again? Oh yes, in hopes that you’re a gentleman, and a man of your word. I hope this isn’t too tame for you. I’m sure you can think of other more imaginative things. If you aren’t too bored after this stuff, I’ll leave the rest up to your discretion. Maybe you’ll have some ideas about what I’d like.

  So that’s about it. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you. Oh, and one more thing, just to reassure you, I’m not looking at this as a long-term thing, I’m well aware you’re not into commitment. So no worries on your part. You’re very kind to take one for the team.

  Thanks for being so neighborly,

  Abby

  Too tame?

  She thinks this list is too tame? Exactly what kind of things does she think I do? I review her list again. Well, okay, she obviously paid some sort of attention because there’s nothing new there.

  But tame?

  And why do I think this is just the tip of the iceberg? That this is only the stuff she could bring herself to admit. Who knows what else lurks below the surface. I shake my head, the realization dawning on me that the conservative woman I’ve been living next door to for the last year harbors depraved fantasies.

  I’m a total idiot.

  Of course, I see the theme right off the bat after I’d read through the basic stuff no woman of thirty should still have on a sex to-do list. My nice, sweet, innocent little neighbor has a taste for domination.

  I can work with that. While I’ve never been a hardcore BDSM type like a couple of guys I work with, I tend to like things on that side of the fence. I just don’t see the point in getting all ritualistic about it.

  I reread the email again. Definitely serious. Abby didn’t understand it yet, but she has some definite tendencies.

  If I don’t take care of her list, I’m positive she’ll find someone else. Someone who may not treat her the way she deserves. Or worse, someone who doesn’t know what they are doing and will turn her off sex forever.

  I rake a hand through my hair, blowing out a hard breath as I stare at her name written across my screen. I can justify all I want, but the plain truth is I want to be the one to give her every damn thing on this list. I can fight it, but I already know my decision. Not that I’m going to deal with it by email. No, this is too important. I get up and rummage through my junk drawer until I find her business card.

  If Abby Simmons wants to experiment, she picked the right guy.

  Abby

  The second I clicked the send button I’d wanted to snatch the email right out of cyberspace. All morning I’d bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball, vacillating between humiliation and being proud. On one hand, Lukas probably thinks I’m a sexually repressed psycho, but on the other, at least I’m taking action instead of sitting around moping.

  I’m a modern feminist woman, damn it. I’m taking control of what I want. No more waiting. If Lukas isn’t interested, sure I’ll have to avoid him for the rest of my life, but I’ll find someone.

  All I have to do is keep pushing forward, no matter the obstacles.

  The phone rings and my heart leaps into my throat. I shake my head and raise my gaze to the ceiling. I’ve been like this all morning and it’s driving me batty.

  Get a grip. He’s not going to call. Since I started the conversation last night, he’d seemed like the logical place to start this morning, but he’s a long shot. Guys like Lukas aren’t interested in girls like me.

  So whomever is calling, it’s not him. With sweaty palms, I pick up the phone and say in my most professional voice. “Abby Simmons.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  All the blood rushes to my ears and a wave of dizziness floods me. It’s him. After all the times I’d lain in bed dreaming of his voice saying all matter of filthy things to me, I’d recognize it anywhere.

  Wait… Did he say…he’d pick me up at eight? I attempt to collect my thoughts. Yes, yes, he did.

  Oh. My. God. It worked.

  Okay, get it together. Be cool. Sophisticated. Like I hadn’t sent him the most embarrassing email of my life and this is no big deal. I open and close my mouth, but no words come out. I’m in shock.

  “Still there?” His deep voice travels over the phone line, sounding mildly amused.

  My whole body breaks out in goose bumps and I manage to squeak, “Yes.”

  He chuckles, all lazy like. “If you want to back out, this is your last chance, because once I ring the doorbell, you’re mine.”

  This is happening. This isn’t a dream.

  “No.” Another syllable manages to escape my lips. My cheeks feel as though they are on fire and my blood pressure is skyrocketing. I frown. See, this is my problem. Lukas Marlow a
greed to go out with me and I’m thinking about blood pressure.

  I need to get it together. I can do this. He’s only a man.

  “No, you want to back out, or no you don’t?” The cocky assuredness of his tone tells me he already knows my answer.

  I clear my throat. “W-where are we going?” Progress. I got out a whole, complete sentence.

  “That’s my job to worry about. I have other jobs in mind for you…” He lets the sentence trail off.

  A million ideas run through my mind like a runaway freight train. I might have an abysmal track record, but I’m quite filthy minded and—a thought stops me cold. What if he only wants to take me out to give me a stern talking to? Despite what he said last night, he treats me like an older brother. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself and instead of sex I need to prepare myself for a lecture. What if his jobs include researching why you don’t approach men for no-strings-attached affairs? Or how to put a condom on a banana?

  Before I get my hopes up I’d best find out. I don’t want to be humiliated any further. I lick my lips. “Like what?”

  “Hmmm…let me think.” His voice is a hypnotic low rumble that makes me shiver. “Are you paying attention, Abby?”

  How could I not be? Fine beads of perspiration break out at my temples. This is the moment of truth. His answer here will either make my day, or break it.

  I have no idea what to expect.

  Where this is going.

  I want to hope but…

  “Abby,” he says my name with a bit of an edge.

  It jerks me from my frantic thoughts and I focus on the conversation, trying not to hyperventilate over my fate. “Yes, I’m paying attention.”

  “Good girl.”

  Those two little words make my thighs clench. That doesn’t sound friendly. I’d read some stuff; I know what those words mean. Hopeful anticipation has me flushing and all the sudden I become aware of my surroundings.

  I glance frantically around the sea of cubicles as though my conversation with Lukas has been telegraphed over the intercom. Of course that’s ridiculous. My neighboring coworkers don’t know what I’m talking about. Even if I sound breathless, they probably think someone has gotten me a phone sex card for my birthday.

  “So where was I…oh yeah, your jobs.” His chuckle sends a little shiver across my skin. “I want you to wear your hair down like last night. It looked wild, and I think your hair needs to match that dirty mind of yours.”

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!

  This is going to be a date. I didn’t misinterpret his call. I put a hand over my chest to calm my heart from pounding out of my rib cage. “Okay.”

  He responds with a low, wicked laugh. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Oh.” There’s more! I’m excited and nervous and surprised and elated and a thousand other emotions all at once.

  “You, little Abby, have a killer body.”

  This statement throws me. What in god’s name is he talking about? I glance down at the plain white button-down blouse I’m wearing. Killer body? Has he gone insane? I giggle at the very idea and say, “Oh, come on.”

  “You think I’m joking?” He doesn’t sound amused.

  “Of course,” I say, fanning my burning cheeks the best I can.

  “I’m not joking.” There’s a long, silent pause. “But it doesn’t matter if you believe me, you handed over your list to me and now your only job is to please me. Do you know what will please me, Abby?”

  I can’t figure out if I should scream or faint. I clear my throat and attempt to play it cool. “I have no idea.”

  There’s no hesitation on the other end of the line. “You, poured into the tightest, sexiest black dress you can find. I want every single curve on display.”

  I laugh again. Is this some sort of a joke? “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  Oh. Throat dry, I lick my lips. “I don’t have a skimpy black dress.”

  “Then you’d best go shopping at lunch and pick one out.”

  I ask again, not sure I’m quite able to buy this. “Are you messing with me?”

  “I am not. I’m telling you exactly what I expect to find when you open the door.”

  He’s not backing down. I think he’s serious. What would a feminist do? Tell him she’d dress how she liked most likely. But even as I mentally scan my closet I’m envisioning myself shopping for something black and slinky. Something befitting a date with Lukas Marlow. I can go shopping on my lunch hour. I’ve never shopped for a skintight black dress before and I find the prospect exciting.

  “Understood?” The word sounds like a sharp command and I can’t deny it makes my belly dip.

  “I’m sure I can think of something,” I manage to say, my mind still racing with the possibilities. My sister probably has the perfect black dress already hanging in her closet with the tags still on. Eden is a size two to my size eight and never lets me forget it, but maybe, if all else fails, I can call her and ask where to go shopping.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Lukas says, startling me out of my anxiety in finding the perfect dress.

  “Yes?”

  “I want your pussy bare. I want to feel nothing but satin-smooth skin when I make you come.”

  Shocked at his words, I suck air into my tight lungs. No one has ever said anything like that to me. It’s blunt. Crude. And so…dirty. Right in line with my fantasies. My nipples pucker into tight points, rubbing exquisitely against my bra.

  Lukas Marlow is so out of my league, but I’m determined to take advantage anyway. If I’m going to learn, might as well learn from the best.

  His low voice comes over the line. “You want to back out now, little girl?”

  The “little girl” crack snaps me to attention. It’s a dare.

  Determination to go through with this crazy idea has me straightening in my chair. After this is over I’ll have to move to a new neighborhood, but it will be worth it. This phone call is already better than the sex I’d had with the couple of guys I’d slept with and I have nothing to lose. Chin tilting, I say, “No, I’m ready.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at eight.”

  4

  Lukas

  I ring Abby’s doorbell at eight sharp. Not wanting to think about my relief that she hasn’t backed out as I’d half expected. I jingle my keys in the pocket of my black dress pants while I wait, way more excited to go out with Abby than I should be.

  But, to hell with it, I stopped caring about her being my neighbor about thirty seconds into her email. I’ll deal with the consequences later.

  The door swings open and my jaw unhinges.

  Holy fuck! Who the hell is this woman in front of me? And why the hell had I missed how pretty she is?

  Once again I shake my head at being such an idiot.

  A tumble of golden-brown waves fall to her shoulders in a wild tousle, highlighting high cheekbones and full lips. Smoky makeup and thick, sooty lashes make her big brown eyes exotic and fathomless, instead of plain.

  As requested, she’s wearing a mid-thigh, black, V-necked sleeveless dress so tight it may as well be painted on. The dress reveals those killer curves; so lush I want to sink into them for days. Not to mention her breasts, Jesus, they are enough to make a man break into a sweat. She’s completed the outfit with a pair of stiletto heels, accentuating a set of endless legs.

  As I stare at her, dumbfounded, I don’t understand one thing about her. Most women would flaunt that body for everything it’s worth, so why does she insist on hiding behind that librarian exterior? I’m almost positive there’s a story there, and I intend on getting to the bottom of it.

  But back to the subject at hand.

  “Very nice, Abby.” The words are woefully inadequate. “Aren’t you a good girl following my instructions?”

  A blush stains those pretty cheeks and she flashes a too-bright smile. “Um,” she says, her gaze darting on and off me like a skittish fawn ready to bolt. �
�Let me grab my purse.”

  That won’t do at all. I have business to attend to.

  “Wait a minute.” I step through the door and shut it behind me.

  Her throat works and she blinks up at me. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Wanting her aware of what she’s getting into, I slide my hands around her waist and pull her close, aligning our hips so she can feel my erection.

  Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Oh.”

  Excellent.

  It’s time to give her a taste of what it’s like for a man to take control, to give her something to think about over dinner. I’m well aware women with her proclivities get aroused by stewing, and I’m going to give her plenty to think about. Before she can give thought to running, I capture her mouth with a hot, demanding sweep of my tongue.

  A nicer guy would deliver a soft, exploratory kiss to put her at ease. A nicer guy would have waited until after dinner.

  But when it comes to sex, I’m not a nice guy.

  And based on Abby’s list, the last thing she needs is polite.

  I skim my fingers along her back, pausing to stroke the bare skin of her shoulder blades before continuing upward to grasp her neck. Her lips open under mine, and I tighten my hold on her waist to anchor her in place, taking full possession.

  She melts into me, wrapping around me like a snake. Her tongue tangles with mine. Delicate fingers climb up my chest to clench the fabric of my white shirt as she rises onto tiptoes.

  I kiss her harder. Deeper.

  She squirms and shimmies under me until she finds my straining erection.

  And just like that she sweeps the rug right out from under me.

  With a moan, I walk her backward until she hits a wall. Lost in the taste of her, I kick her legs apart and slide my hands down her body, stroking one thigh. In perfect sync, she hooks her leg over my hip as my fingers curl around her knee. Her dress rides high, stretching to accommodate me as the head of my cock nudges between her legs. Covered by only thin panties I can feel her heat, smell her desire.

  She rocks against me.