by Stormy Adams
The Possibilities
Desire
STORMY ADAMS
Published by:
Stormy Adams
Copyright ©2013
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
VENUS FLYTRAP
A NIGHT OF LOVE AND BANDAGES
SWAMP DREAMS
SPANISH MOSS AND HONEYSUCKLE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VENUS FLYTRAP
TARGET OF OPPORTUNITY
She took a single look at the man and felt her temperature soar and her knees turn to jelly. She literally had to sit down or fall down. He had stood up in the street after turning the CPR he had started on the young girl lying in the street to the Fire medics. He had looked in her direction and their eyes made contact. The spark was instantaneous and electric.
Nettie Howell had read the word ‘swooned’ literally thousands of times in her life, but she never really understood it until the day she met Scott Neville. The only word she could think of to describe him later was ‘breathtaking’. He was the classic representative of the tall, dark and handsome movie stars of the 40s and 50s. When he smiled, the dazzling brilliance of his white teeth seemed to dim the lights around him. Every move his body made was sinuous, made with the grace of a big jungle cat. Nettie got shivery when she first saw him…a reaction she’d never had around other men. Frankly, until she saw Scott the first thing, she had relegated ‘instant lust’ to the category of a fairy tale that only a lonely, desperate woman could believe in. As far as she had been concerned, it was a fantasy restricted to the pages of romance novels.
His strong, calloused hand touched her shoulder familiarly, a friendly gesture that was in no way threatening or sexual, but her skin seemed to crawl towards his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked. The car that had hit the young woman had actually brushed her skirt before the man had shoved her out of its path. She managed to nod, the accident forgotten as she fought to control the raging heat in her belly.
Nettie was a member of the elite of New York City society. From an old and wealthy family vaguely related to the Carnegies, the simple dress she wore cost more than the new car that had almost hit her. Scott, on the other hand, was a forty three year old retired soldier who worked with his hands because he loved it. A beer drinker and a Jets fan, he was from the opposite end of society’s spectrum from Nettie. In spite of the loud voice screaming in her mind that he was exactly the wrong type of man for her, her hormones were screaming louder. Her infatuation was instant and total.
She didn’t answer him quickly, and he asked her politely if he could buy her a cup of coffee while she recovered. It took very little persuading, and she allowed him to take her arm and guide her to a nearby premium coffee shop. When he touched her she trembled, and he misread it as a reaction to the near accident.
A mocha latte for her, and a dark roast without cream or sugar for him, and the ice was broken. It was easy to talk to him, and she noticed that he had not automatically catalogued her clothing and jewelry as everyone else she knew did as a matter of course. He was completely guileless, and as such, a novelty for her. She could tell he had been military; it was in every nuance of his personality, his posture, and his speech. Nettie had reacted at first to his physical beauty, and now she was now being drawn further into him by the raw force of his sparkling personality. He was soon talking to her about his work, which was something she could actually relate to. Scott was an artist, creating animals and sea creatures out of driftwood that he collected on his frequent travels.
When he saw she was taking an interest, he explained that many of his retired friends had moved to coastal cities or to lakes or rivers. “There’s something about water that soothes us,” he said with a distant look in his eyes. Nettie rather suspected that he was visualizing the places he had been in recent years, places where water was scarce, and large bodies of it unimaginable.
“I’d really love to see some of your work Scott,” she said, inwardly amazed that she was pushing this gentle man. She hardly knew him, and she was trying to persuade him to show her his work…she had no idea if he had any on display in a gallery or if he just puttered around in his own work area.
“I was just going to one of my gallery displays when that idiot tried to run over you,” he grinned. He seemed very pleased that she was interested. Nettie was surprised at her frustration…she had wanted to get him alone.
Jesus, she thought to herself, get a grip woman! You don’t even know him and you want to get him alone and ravage his body! She watched his fluid motions as he stood and paid the check. That was exactly what she wanted.
THE CHASE
The galley was brightly lit and the owner, a pretty young girl in her mid twenties showing an incredible amount of cleavage, squealed and ran to Scott, leaping into his arms and showering him with kisses. Nettie went rigid with unreasoning anger and jealousy. Her emotions were quickly smothered as the pretty girl climbed down from Scott’s arms.
“I just sold the Dolphin Uncle Scottie!” she said exuberantly. Scott looked surprised.
“At the price you had marked on that thing?” he asked unbelievingly.
“No,” the girl said, a crafty look on her face.
“Well,” Scott said, “I thought you had it way overpriced Daphne, and no matter how much you had to drop the price, a sale is a sale.”
“I didn’t drop the price Uncle Scottie,” she said, her dimples showing. “I had three buyers bidding on it…the high bid was over seven thousand!”
“Dollars?” Scott gasped. Daphne nodded enthusiastically.
“And he’s interested in two more pieces, along with whatever else you have locked away in that studio of yours,” she said. “You’re a hit!” Nettie felt the green of envy come over her in spite of the fact that she now knew Daphne was his niece. She wanted her own breasts pressed against that massive chest, and those strong arms around her own waist. She saw where Daphne’s hard little belly was pressed, and the weakness in her knees got worse. The urge to back him into a dark corner and just gobble him up was intense.
Daphne had him by the hand and was leading him to the cash register to wave the check in front of Scott’s disbelieving eyes, and Nettie was no longer in the spotlight. The huntress in her was aroused now, and her natural abilities were smoothly coming into play. She was a suave urban sophisticate, though not one used to being behind a job or a niece when vying for the attention of an eligible male. By the time the pair had returned to include her in the conversation, Nettie was composed and ready to do battle…on her own terms.
Nettie begged off their planned tour to see the rest of his work, pleading a just remembered appointment. She made him promise to show her his work, and perhaps join her for a drink first at a popular club just off Fifth Avenue. Scott, beaming with his recent success, agreed happily, and Nettie raised herself on tiptoe to give him a thank you kiss. The quick peck on the lips turned into a searing kiss that surprised both of them in its intensity. They separated quickly and reaffirmed their date for the evening before Nettie, flushed all the way to her toes from the intimate contact, fled with as much of her dignity intact as she could muster. She was wet.
>
“That one wants you Uncle Scottie,” Daphne mused.
“Don’t be silly Daphne,” Scott said, “she’s just grateful.”
“For what?” Daphne snorted. Scott reluctantly told her about Nettie’s near accident, and even then he minimized his participation, and never mentioning saving the young woman’s life by performing CPR until the medics arrived. “Whatever you did Uncle Scottie, that woman wants you. I see her kind in here all the time. Just be careful, please? She’s not like us…”
Scott whistled happily on the way home. Daphne’s warning was well intentioned but unfounded. He had survived for years while some really nasty people had tried to kill him…he could take care of himself. Nettie was, after all, just a woman. The words ‘friendly fire” never crossed his mind, though they had taken out more of his close friends than he would have cared to be reminded of.
He wore a tailored blue blazer, not from some sense of fashion, but because his massive upper body and lean, narrow waist couldn’t be fit by off the rack clothing. The soft gray trousers were new and fit perfectly. The Seiko Chronometer Diver’s watch was one he had purchased years before because of its toughness and reliability, and he had felt no need for a dress watch. He was feeling dapper and in truth, he looked marvelous. The moment he entered the club more than one set of female eyes latched onto him, and soon they began to drift his way. Scott didn’t notice the predatory females, as usual, and he was busy searching the crowd for Nettie. He finally spotted her at a small, dimly lit table in the rear. She was wearing a delectable ‘little black dress’ by an Italian designer that screamed ‘fuck me’ in every unspoken language on earth. A single strand of small but perfectly matched pearls draped around her neck and slipped into the valley between her small but perfectly formed breasts. There was a great deal of her bare skin visible in the deep cut, backless halter dress. Four inch heels completed her outfit at the end of a pair of spectacular legs that had been all but hidden in the business dress she had been wearing earlier. Scott’s reaction to her appearance was instant, and embarrassingly noticeable.
Nettie managed to conceal her own reaction to the swelling in his trousers, though she was having a very hard time not squirming in her seat. The package was every bit as enticing as the rest of him, and several of her more predatory acquaintances had spotted it as well. Nettie drew him down into the chair close to her and quickly pressed her lips to his in a kiss that promised everything. She had marked him publicly as taken as clearly as if she had spray painted it on his forehead.
All but a very few of the predators recognized her act for what it was, but the very few were ‘polite’ enemies within her circle of friends. They came panting up to the couple and exchanged ‘air kisses’ with Nettie and pushed for an invitation to her friend. Scott stood up, and to the dismay of the predators immediately fastened the buttons of his blazer before shaking the preferred hands. Undeterred, the ladies bent low in front of Nettie, speaking in low tones and making sure Scott got a good visual of breasts inside dresses designed to reveal rather than conceal.
Nettie girded herself for battle, put on her most beautiful smile, and placed her delicate hand on his thigh…very high on Scott’s thigh. His smile was strained. After the introductions and some very coquettish exchanges, they were alone again, though they were watched. “That was interesting,” Scott said drily, though he wouldn’t voluntarily stand up for any reason at the moment. Nettie couldn’t help herself; she had to laugh at the expression on his face.
She wave to a waiter, who obviously recognized her, and indicated two drinks by displaying her forefinger and middle finger. The waiter headed for the bar with a nod of his head. “I ordered champagne for both of us,” she said quietly to Scott, hoping it was acceptable to him. Scott’s smile never faltered. The waiter, instead of bringing two flutes of champagne, brought a magnum of Dom Perpignan ’90 in a bucket of ice on a small cart, and two Waterford Crystal flutes. There were starched linen napkins on the cart, as well as a tray of bite sized watercress and creamed cheese sandwiches, as well as a smattering of other hors d'oeuvre. Scott barely gave it a glance. The waiter opened the bottle and poured for them before leaving without saying a word.
“You must come here a lot,” Scott said, a tiny bit uncomfortably. The only times he had ever operated in this kind of environment he had done so in his dress blues, and at the insistence of his commanders. It was not the kind of place he would have come to voluntarily. He hid his dislike for Nettie’s sake. Just because he didn’t like it didn’t mean he couldn’t function in it.
His attention was drawn to the entrance of the club, where a dozen or so nattily dressed men in their late twenties or early thirties made a grand entrance, waving and calling out to others inside. They were what Scott called ‘cookie cutter’ men from Wall Street. All were wearing exquisitely cut conservative pin striped three piece suits, either dark gray or dark blue, power ties, and hand lasted shoes. Their hair was short and expensively cut and each and every one of them had a gold chain tucked into the fob pocket of their vests. Scott would have bet his next paycheck that the ends of the chains bore Phi Beta Kappa keys from one Ivy League university or another. One of them in particular seemed to pay particular attention to them, and Nettie fidgeted briefly as he approached.
“Well hello there Nettie,” Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV said, his broad Boston accent deliberately exaggerated. Scott supposed he did that to call attention to his Harvard school tie. Lawrence extended a limp hand to Scott, who stood up. “I see we’re showing our tits to the riff raff tonight.” He smiled unpleasantly at Scott who promptly crushed the outstretched hand in his own.
“I suggest you apologize to the lady,” he said easily, showing no sign of strain at all. He leaned forward and whispered, “Or I’m going to stomp a mud hole in your ass right here in front of all your fancy friends.” No one else heard what Scott said, and his face never lost its friendly smile. Lawrence turned white as the napkins on the champagne cart, apologized, and excused himself. He managed not to run until he was nearly out the front door of the club.
Nettie was hiding a smile behind the napkin she held to her face. “What did you say to him Scott?”
“Nothing,” Scott said easily, “I just complimented him on his suit.”
“I’ve never seen Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV silenced so quickly in my life,” she giggled. “I hope you didn’t hurt his feelings,” she said, “his family is very influential on Wall Street.”
“Is he an old friend of yours?” Scott asked.
“Very old,” she said, “we started kindergarten together. Once upon a time our parents hoped that we would unite two very old families but it never worked out.” She didn’t mention that they had dated for several years.
The evening smoothed out after that, their stories fascinating to each other, coming as they did from the poles apart lives they had lead. Scott was interested as she described the lives and histories of the upper crust of New York society, and she listened in rapt fascination as he described to her the cultures and sights he had seen during his career. His service had not been solely in the Middle East, he had also served in Central and South America.
They danced when the lights dimmed and the waiters stopped serving snacks and light meals. The music was jazz, surprising Scott. There was a really good live band, and a very sexy black woman who sounded enough like Bobbie Holliday to fool any fan. The smoky, sensual music stoked the fires burning in both of them, and Scott pulled Nettie ever closer as they danced.
They had started dancing very properly, but Nettie had pressed him, maneuvering him further into the dark corners of the dance floor. Scott was impressively light on his feet for such a large man, and he was a terrific dancer. Nettie leaned against his barrel chest, exulting in the feel of his muscles against her unfettered breasts, covered only by the thin black cloth of her dress. After she had let him get used to the pressure of her breasts, she had pushed her belly forward, gently rubbing against his e
rection, and following him as he tried to back away. He was worried at first that she would feel him and be disgusted, but the insistent way she rubbed against him soon let him know that Nettie was not only acutely aware of his erection, she was enjoying the effect she was having on him.
After about an hour of dancing, Nettie reached down and grasped him firmly, arranging him in his trousers so that the tip was pointed at his navel. “There,” she sighed in a throaty voice, “that will be more comfortable for both of us.” Incredibly, without anyone seeming to notice, she was hanging from his neck, and they were surreptitiously dry humping on the shadowy dance floor.
Nettie threw her head back, and she was breathing heavily through her parted lips. The theatrical lights in the club cast an aura around the wavy golden hair that cascaded down over her shoulders in a soft cloud. The lights reflected in the liquid depths of her violet eyes, and her perfect white teeth bit gently at her lower lip as she pushed her hips high on the covered crown of his penis and came. As many exotic women as Scott had encountered in his travels, he had never had an experience as erotic as this one. “Do you need to sit down,” he asked gently, awed by her circumspect but very public orgasm.
Nettie shook her head no. For her, sex was a drug, an aphrodisiac that simply left her wanting more…and the more public it was, the more satisfying. When she was younger and more reckless, she had been rash and impulsive, getting drunk and naked at the least excuse. It was all very ordinary in her circle, with each pampered princess trying to outdo the other. Summers in the Hamptons, and the rest of the year in Manhattan. They had been rich, and young, and very much in love with the idea of being in love. It had been during this period that she had actually dated Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV. Cocaine and booze had flowed like water, and high quality weed had been more common than Marlboros. These days she had social obligations that required certain standards of behavior. Her earlier transgressions were considered de riguer for young ladies of her station and were never mentioned after she and her mother had ‘the talk’ in her mid twenties. Now she had to satisfy her desires more covertly, like the delicious frottage she had just engaged in with Scott. She had learned to do it that way by watching the older matrons at the country club, summering in the Hamptons. Nettie was not a bad woman, but she was a product of her upbringing. What she felt for Scott was real, more real than anything she had ever felt in her life, but she knew in her heart that she would never be able to give up the playful and casual aspects of her sex life. Even Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV had accepted that.
