10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  “A picnic,” he said, beaming down at me as he led me to one of the visitors’ chairs before turning to close the door. “No ants, just good company.” He patted his chest.

  What could I say? “This is so thoughtful, Clement.”

  “So you’ll stay?”

  I gave him a “you thought otherwise” look and helped myself to a piece of cheese. He poured and handed me a glass of wine. It was tart and slightly sweet. Perfection. I leaned back and sipped and he took the seat across from me.

  “You’ve been out of circulation the last couple of days. You come in and head straight for your office as though you don’t want to see or be seen by anyone.”

  “The workload, you know.” I slipped my shoes off and dug my toes into the carpet.

  “You don’t even nuke meals in the lunchroom anymore.”

  “I’ve been getting Claire to pick me up something on her way back from lunch.”

  “I know. She told me.”

  The grapes were sweet and seedless. I took another handful.

  “So, why have you become so reclusive?” He sipped his wine and his eyes probed my face.

  “No reason, really. Guess I been in a kind of funk.”

  He lifted my feet into his lap and began to massage my toes and the arch of first one foot and then the other. His fingers glided over the silky fabric of my hose as though searching until his smooth, hard thumb, finding a knot, would stop, and with an almost innate authority, dispense with the offending kink before moving on. I purred. He laughed.

  “Where did you learn that?” I asked.

  “I took a class.”

  “Time well spent.”

  He smiled. “Miss Firecracker, the Beth Henley play I told you about, is this weekend. Are we still on?”

  “Yeah, sure. When?”

  “Friday at eight.”

  There was a knock on the door, perfunctory at best, and then the door opened and Alex Rodriquez stood there, an imposing force that filled the space.

  He looked down at the two of us, the half-eaten picnic spread across Clement’s desk, my feet curled in his lap and he forced his lips to curve up into what I’m sure he thought was a smile.

  “Claire said I’d find you here. I thought to take you out to lunch, but I see you’ve already eaten.”

  “Mr. Rodriquez,” I said, and Clement looked at me as if to say “who?” His question was followed by a smirk as he sensed my annoyance.

  I slipped my feet off of his lap and into my shoes. Then I stood consciously shedding the comfort Clement had provided and steeled myself.

  “You haven’t met Clement Johns. He’s the one Mr. Davies told you about.”

  By then Clement was also standing.

  “The internet man.” Alex thrust out his hand and Clement, as though reluctant, shook it. “I look forward to seeing your proposal.”

  Then as though having put up with all the protocol he was willing to endure, Alex turned to me. “Look, Glory,” he said as though Clement wasn’t there. “I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere?”

  I wanted to say “No. I thought I was pretty clear on the phone last night.” But instead, I said, “Sure, we can talk in my office.” Then I turned to Clement and gave him a reassuring smile. “Thanks. This was just what I needed, a brief respite.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it.

  “Friday night then?” he asked.

  “Friday night.” I nodded in agreement.

  Alex stepped back so that I could get through the door, just barely, and then he was following at my heels.

  * * *

  “What’s with the pinhead?” Alex asked, before I could close the door of my office.

  “What do you want, Alex?” I went toward my desk with the intention of taking my seat in order to assume a position of authority and thereby establish distance. Textbook strategy. I graduated magna cum laude, but I guess Alex didn’t get the press release. Before I could reach my chair, he had my ass balancing on the edge of the desk, his legs between mine, and his hand was inching up my skirt. He pissed me off. All I could see was red.

  “Back the fuck off, Alex,” I said as I pressed the flat of my hands against his chest and held them there.

  “It’s always been good between us, Glory. Why would you want to cut something short that’s only really just getting started?” His fingers inched up my thigh.

  “I said back off.” I spoke slowly and with lethal intent. He didn’t know what I would do, but he heard the threat in my voice. And while Alex was used to getting his way, he was neither violent nor a rapist.

  His hand stilled on my thigh. “Glory.” He sighed, and then he stepped back.

  I slid off the desk and adjusted my skirt.

  “I thought you just needed to see how much I want you.”

  “I like you, too, Alex. You’re a lot of fun. We were spontaneous together, but it was meant to be temporary, to be over before the tedium set in.”

  “Tedium. We’re a long way from tedium. Is it the pinhead?”

  “Clement.” I laughed. “No, it is not the pinhead.”

  “What is it then?”

  “I guess I just need some downtime.”

  “Downtime,” he repeated. Then he looked at me with shuttered eyes. “Does that mean I can call you next time I’m in town?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “That means that I’m trying to get my act together and I can’t go flitting around with clients, having hot sex on my desk or on rainy afternoons in their hotel rooms.”

  “And the problem lies where?” he asked, taking my hand.

  I let him. “Not with you. You just do what comes naturally.”

  “There’s certainly nothing unnatural about you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said as he pressed his lips to my fingers.

  “I just need to take a step back and figure out what I want.”

  “I could help you with that.” His fingers still tugged at the tips of mine.

  “No, you can’t. You’d just keep me in a crazed fog of need.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “You would,” I said, grinning at his playfulness. “But I need to try something else. Maybe I’ll be celibate for a while.”

  “Scary, I don’t think I’ve ever driven a woman to celibacy.” He crooked an eye at me. “Besides, I don’t think Davies would stand for it.”

  That stunned me. “Bruce? Did he say something?”

  “I had my suspicions. The way he looked at you. His possessiveness. I wasn’t sure, thought he was being protective at first.” Then he grinned down at me. “But you’ve confirmed my hunch.”

  I laughed and punched him in his shoulder. He pretended pain and stepped back.

  Releasing a breath, he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Así es la vida,” he whispered as he straightened. He headed toward the door and, before opening it, he turned back to me. “I like having you on my team, regardless.” Then, pressing his lips into a tight smile, he let himself out.

  * * *

  The play was funny, poignant and sweet and so was the company. Afterward, Clement and I walked along the city streets for a while enjoying the night air and each other. He held my hand, his long fingers stroking mine, sending a shiver of warmth as the threads of conversation drifted along companionably. He grew up in a small town and played in the marching band. I was a big-city girl and excelled in athletics, swimming and track. His mom was a great cook; mine not so much. I invited him back to my place for coffee and to sample the lemon bars I bought religiously from an uptown bakery. They were the same ones my mother bought after a meet, whether we won or lost. He hailed a cab and in the confines of its backseat, which smelled oddly of hotdogs, mustard and onions, he kissed me. It was a smoldering, breathless kiss that smeared my lipstick and left my blouse undone nearly to the waist.

  We dislodged ourselves enough for him to pay the driver before scooting out of the car as a unit, his hand at my waist. We were still standing on
the sidewalk when the cab drove away. He held me free and loose, his arms around me just enough to know that they were there, but not enough to feel confining. His mouth was warm and drew on mine in short breathless tugs, his tongue teasingly darting about, making me want to draw nearer. He chuckled, as though his plan was working, just before drawing me closer to feast.

  “The lemon bars,” I breathed into his mouth. “We’d better go in.”

  He nodded and let me lead him up the stairs and through the main entrance, a tall glass door that opened in a short hall. It was fortunate that my apartment was immediately to the right of the front door, because just as I slid the key in, he leaned in again. His lips found a particularly sensitive place on my neck, while one hand fondled my ass and another palmed my breast. I was wet and hot, my pussy swollen and straining against the cloth of my panties. So when he pressed me against the door, I welcomed the pressure of his hardness as it jabbed at my heat.

  We stumbled in somehow, made it to the living room and fell into the carpeted space between the sofa and the cocktail table before we began tearing at each other’s clothing. My hands tore at his shirt until they found the firmness of his chest, and the pebbled tips among the crisp hair. He moaned as my fingers followed the wispy trail of hair down his stomach. The button and zipper of his jeans were already undone, so I slipped my hand in through the waistband of his shorts to grasp his sex. It felt hot and sleek in the palm of my hand. I squeezed it and he nipped my lip, his breathing picking up speed. I squeezed him again and tugged. His mouth trailed down to pluck at my nipples as they peeked over of the loosened cups of my bra. I squirmed, the lips of my sex tingling as he tugged at my panties, drawing them down my legs and then yanking them off as they snagged on my strappy spike heels. Then he was climbing up, positioning himself between my legs, as he bunched his jeans and shorts together and shoved them down, freeing himself. I could feel the feverish sleekness of his penis slip and slide against my wetness, the lips of my sex puckered and eager. He slid in, the huge head nudging its way through the swollen flesh and creamy wetness. Opening to him, I lifted my thighs high around his hips, shuddering as his width splayed the swollen labia, single-mindedly shoving and squeezing its way into my trembling body.

  He surged forward and I cried out. It felt so good, the weight of him on my belly, my breasts, the wet heat of his mouth on my neck and the pressure of him as he sank into me, filling every corner.

  “Oh, fuck, Glory. You’re so goddamn hot,” he croaked as he drew back before ramming into me again. My thighs trembled against his hips and I could feel the muscles of his ass clinch as he moved inside me.

  He rose up almost to his knees, his hands straddling my head as he dipped his head down to ravage my mouth before he began a slow dip and drag. His eyes closed, his mouth twisted as the pace increased, and each thrust gained greater force. I lifted to him, impatient, eager to be filled, relishing the rasp and drag that ignited my womb each time he sank into me. The wet sound and pungent smell of our loving filled the room. I held on, my teeth sinking into his shoulder as he smashed into me again, swiping through heavily engorged labia as his thickness rampaged its way to my center. The jolting rhythm sent shock waves to my clitoris. My fingers found his back, my nails sank into flesh and I cried out again as a series of trembling shivers lashed my body and caused me to tighten and vibrate around him.

  “Ah, fuck, baby,” he said through clenched teeth as his back arched and he sank deeper. “No, no, no,” he said as he jerked against me and I could feel him coming, the long stream of semen surging forward like a flood.

  His damp forehead rested against mine. “Our first time,” he said. “Anticipation. I couldn’t hold it.”

  I laughed. The vibrations caused him to tense; his sex still deep inside me slipped halfway out. “You did good. Really good.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and ducked his forehead against mine. “You, too.”

  That’s when the light came on.

  “You left these in the door,” Bruce said, dangling my keys by their Eeyore key ring.

  Clement pulled out and sat leaning against the cocktail table, looking a little dazed and confused. He looked up at Bruce and then down at me. By then I had set my bra to rights and was buttoning my blouse.

  “How’d you get in the main door?” I asked to gain time in order to gather my wits because his response didn’t matter. He was in now and was really blowing my post-coital high.

  “Your neighbor. She didn’t think you would mind.”

  I was on my knees now, straightening and smoothing my skirt. Clement was zipping up.

  “So,” Bruce said as he moved toward the wingback chair across from us. He unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down. “Now that you’ve sampled the new guy, are you done?”

  Having buttoned the few remaining buttons on his shirt, Clement had dragged his sport coat from under the table and was shrugging it on. He looked at me as though waiting to hear what I would say.

  “Why are you here?” I asked Bruce.

  Clement took a seat on the sofa.

  “I wanted to see you,” he said simply.

  Okay, no artifice. He was going to play it straight.

  “You shouldn’t have come without calling.” Stating the obvious, I know, but I had nothing else.

  “I don’t want to share anymore, Glory. Not with Alex or anyone,” Bruce spoke pointedly, glancing in Clement’s direction.

  “There is no more Alex,” I said, disgusted with this whole situation. I really liked Clement and now he was going to think I was a fucking whore, which is just what Bruce wanted him to think.

  “Do you want me to go or do you want me to stay?” Clement asked. His voice sounded sad.

  “I think you better go.” I could barely look at him. I felt ashamed and angry.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, still seated.

  “Yeah, he and I...we need to talk.”

  I followed Clement down the short hall to the door.

  “I really like you, Glory,” he said as he pulled me into his arms and pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t let him bully you.”

  I nodded and a fucking tear rolled down my cheek.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, okay.”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said as he dipped down, trying to see my eyes.

  “I know.” And it was true, sort of. The problem was I didn’t really know what I wanted. I liked Clement and the idea of a normal relationship with a really great guy, but I liked Bruce, too—especially when he let me make the demands. What I didn’t like was being put on the spot and feeling like I had no control.

  I closed the door and padded back down the hall to Bruce, who stood waiting for me.

  “So, are you done with him?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said, and let him slip his arms around me.

  “Can I stay the night?” he asked, sounding almost repentant.

  “Yeah.” I leaned my head against his chest. “Come take a shower with me.” I took his hand and led him to the bedroom, where we undressed and then climbed into the shower. He washed my body reverently as though cleansing me of past sins and preparing me for future ones. I thought of Audrey Hepburn in The Nun’s Story when they cut off her hair. When he was done and we had rinsed ourselves thoroughly, he carried me to bed and made tender love to me well into the night. Afterward, he pulled me close, his arm across my waist and his leg across mine, and we fell asleep.

  He had golf the next morning with a client, so he was up and out early. He called later and so did Clement, but I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t answer it all weekend. I spent most of the time eating kettle corn, watching old movies and composing my resignation letter and a brief report outlining the disposition of the projects I’d been assigned.

  On Monday morning, I went in to work at six, before anyone else got there. I cleaned out my desk and left the letter and report on Bruce’s blotter. I figure
d I couldn’t ever make it right again with Bruce because he wanted too much or with Clement because the idea of us had been sullied. So, I decided to start fresh.

  * * * * *

  GIVING IN

  Alison Tyler

  “I can’t afford the airfare.”

  “When will you have an opportunity like this again?”

  “I can’t even afford a fucking taxi to the airport!” I never thought I’d allow myself to fail in such a spectacular manner. At 34, I was below rock bottom. I’d hit silt. Unless a fairy godmother suddenly arrived in a flutter of translucent wings, I had no way to pay rent. I didn’t even know where my next meal was coming from.

  “El, I have miles.”

  “Miles?” Was that a man? Would Miles help me?

  “Airplane miles. I’ll cash them in. You know I don’t like traveling alone.”

  I glanced around at my surroundings. The small bedroom belonged to a distant cousin—three times removed, by marriage not blood. The watered-down family connection hadn’t cut me any slack. Coldhearted Joyce loved cats more than humans. I knew she would put me out on the street as easily as any other deadbeat tenant if I couldn’t pay her rent money.

  “I don’t have any cash,” I said, drawing a pattern with the quarters on my dresser. I’d changed my last few bills into coins to make the money last longer. “I mean, I can hardly afford...” The tears came then, even though I’m known for never crying. “I can’t afford New York anymore,” I said, “and I can’t afford to go back home.” Not that there was anyone waiting for me. “My next apartment is a cardboard box under the bridge.”

  “I know what’s going on with you, honey,” Sasha said. “Don’t worry.”

  “If you take me to Venice, I won’t be able to pay for anything. Food. Gas. Tickets. Toilet paper.”

  “Uncle Stefan will take care of everything. He always does.”

  “Uncle Stefan?”

  “He’s the one with the place in Venice. Not really an uncle—an old family friend. He’s invited me to bring a guest to come stay. You won’t have to pay for a thing. I know you need to get out of the city. Let’s get.”