by Fawkes, Sara
and takes the other, lifting it in a toast. “Yasou,” he says.
“Yasou.”
We drink and he refills our glasses.
“Is it too presumptuous to ask to join you?”
“Of course not,” I indicate the empty chair. “I was hoping you would.”
Ah, shit. I wonder if I should warn him that spending time with me in this intimate—I glance
around—romantic setting is going to result in only one thing. Me jumping him.
He’s smiles and I start to think that perhaps the man is amenable to me making an advance,
despite our obvious age difference. I tilt my head and smile back.
His response is to continue to regard me over the lip of his ouzo glass.
“So, Nicolai, are you the property manager here?”
He sets his glass down and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wonderfully broad
chest. “No. I own the guesthouse.”
“You do?” I frown, realizing I’ve been so enamored of him I’ve forgotten to ask after Mrs.
Kinellis. She must have sold it. Considering she was in her late seventies when I was here last, that
would put her in her eighties now. Running a guesthouse on her own was probably getting too difficult
at her age.
“The property has been in my family for three generations.”
I blink. I tilt my head. I blink again. “Really? I thought this place belonged to the Kinellis family.
You see, I stayed here before. About six years ago. Medea Kinellis and I became quite close. That’s
why I came back.”
“I know.”
“You know? How do you know?”
“I know because I am Medea’s grandson. I’m Nicolai Kinellis. And, it wasn’t six years ago that
you were here, it was seven.”
He stands and dips his head in my direction. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see to the food.”
I’m stunned. I’m completely gob-smacked, confounded, blown-away, dumbfounded. Stunned. It’s
not possible.
Medea’s grandson is a boy.
The person I’ve been interacting with, Nicolai, is a man.
The two are not the same.
Although, now that I think about it, there was something about him that seemed familiar when we
first met this afternoon.
When he returns, a moment later, carrying a steaming platter of fresh spanakopita, I realize what it
was that I recognized. What I now recognize.
His eyes.
I remember how he used to watch me, always with a semi-perplexed expression, as if I was a
curiosity. And, I remember how striking his eyes were, even then.
But, to say this man sitting across from me is one and the same as that shy young boy? Well, it’s
impossible for me to put the two together. Everything about him has changed. It’s like some Greek
god swooped down from the heavens and took over his body, leaving only his eyes intact.
I’m so stupefied, not only am I running out of adjectives to describe my shock, but I don’t know
what to say to him. I’ve been entertaining erotic fantasies about him all day and now I feel like the
biggest pervert around. I mean, I knew he was younger than me, but that much younger?
I cover my discomfort by stuffing my mouth with spanakopita. But the pastry is obviously fresh
out of the oven and I burn the inside of my mouth.
“Ach!” I spit the spinach and pastry back onto my plate, waving my hand in front of my mouth.
Classy.
“Are you okay?”
I grab ice out of my glass and suck on it, pressing the cube against the sensitive skin on the roof of
my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you it was hot.”
I mumble something about it not being his fault while I continue to suck the ice. However, images
from my most recent fantasies plague me as I nurse my burned mouth and I’m appalled with myself.
How could I have been fantasizing about him? He’s barely more than a kid! And all that stuff I’ve
been picturing...my god! I masturbated to him.
It’s immoral.
The problem is, how do I shut all that shit off? I don’t want to think about him but that’s not how
my twisted brain operates.
It doesn’t matter how wrong it is, how young he is, he’s still got the body of a lion god and the
face of a dark angel.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you something?”
“I’m fine. Really. I’m totally fine.” I’m lying, of course. But, it’s not like I can tell him what’s
really wrong. That I’ve been having sexual fantasies about him from the first moment we met and that
I am now officially a cougar. It’s downright humiliating.
Thank God his cousin appears at the open door with another platter of food. She carries it to the
table and sets everything out, providing a moment of distraction.
However, she’s gone too soon, leaving Nicolai and me alone again. He opens a bottle of white
wine to accompany the meal and I busy myself with heaping aromatic food onto my plate. I have no
idea how I’m going to eat it, with my burned mouth and troubled stomach, but I’m going to do my
best to pretend everything is normal. Totally normal.
The first thing I do to try to encourage normalcy is to ask about his grandmother. In retrospect, I
should have asked him about her before. I’d meant to. I really did. But my philandering thoughts took
over. Remember?
To read the complete story—a full length novel of Tessa’s philandering thoughts and deeds—check
out
HOW TO TRAIN A LOVER - A Savage Interactive!
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What is a WICKED WAY INTERACTIVE?
Have you ever wished a book ended differently? Have you ever wanted to shake the heroine in a story
and tell her to smarten up? Well, now’s your chance!
Welcome to WICKED WAY INTERACTIVES, an exciting new erotic series by Daire St. Denis,
where you ( the reader) actively participate in the book’s ending. Get started now with the first in the
Wicked Way Interactive series...
SEX, SPIES AND PHOTOGRAPHS - A Wicked Way Interactive
Claire Marshall has a hot husband, a nice home in the burbs and an assortment of hobbies to keep
her busy. She’s perfectly happy, right? Right?!
So why can’t she stop spying on the new neighbor next door?
When she finds out he’s an artist, specializing in boudoir photography, she decides to employ his
services to help spice up her love life with husband, John. However, things heat up beyond Claire’s
imagination when the neighbor and his exotic wife turn up at a party. By the end of the night, the two
couples find themselves in Claire and John’s bedroom, for more—much more—than a photo shoot.
The relationship that develops between the neighbors is like nothing Claire has ever experienced
and forces her to realize she’s been living a lie, biding her time in the burbs, waiting for something to
happen.
Something has happened. Claire has undergone an awakening and she is no longer satisfied with
the status quo. She’s faced with an impossible decision and needs help. Your help. Will you help her?
In this exciting new erotic format, you get to make the decision for Claire. You get to decide
whether Claire will find her happily ever after. Or...something else altogether.
Welcome to Claire’s life. Welcome to WICK
ED WAY INTERACTIVE books by Daire St. Denis.
AVAILABLE NOW IN E-BOOK AND PRINT!
Turn the page for an excerpt.
SEX, SPIES AND PHOTOGRAPHS - A Wicked Way
Interactive Excerpt
Copyright 2013 by Daire St. Denis
“So, Marty,” John said. “What brought you to our little neighborhood?”
I wondered if John was doing it on purpose, calling Martin, Marty. Marty sounded so ordinary and
in no way described Martin. The man was anything but ordinary. Suave, sophisticated, mysterious.
Delicious French accent.
“I wanted to move to the Boston area,” Martin said, swirling his wine absently. “But couldn’t find
what I was looking for downtown. The place next door was already set up for my needs.”
“Needs? What do you mean?”
“With studio space, lighting.”
“Oh, you’re a photographer?”
“Yes.” He nodded as he dipped a roll into his Coq au vin sauce.
“What sort of pictures do you take?”
“Boudoir photography. High end.”
I spewed wine all over the table. It even came out my nose. I know this because my nose stung for
the rest of the evening.
“Claire!” John cried.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, leaning over the table, using my napkin to wipe the red wine off
Martin’s shirt.
He took the napkin out of my hand. “It’s okay,” Martin grinned as he dabbed at his shirt. “I usually
get some sort of response but that is the first time I’ve been sprayed.”
I was appalled with myself. Honestly, I had to get a hold of myself. I forced a smile and tried to
explain my embarrassing reaction. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong...You just took me by surprise
and my mouth was full, and...”
“Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
“Boudoir?” John leaned forward, looking way too intense. “Isn’t that like...porn?”
“Non.” Martin held up a finger and his word took on a completely French sound. “Boudoir is not
porn. Erotica, maybe. Porn no.”
“What’s the difference?”
He shrugged one shoulder while he chewed thoughtfully. “Porn is meant to elicit a sexual
response. It is, ahh, how do you say it? Fucking for fucking’s sake.” He finished chewing and
swallowed. Then he looked directly at John. “Erotica is something else altogether.” He took another
bite. Once done, he wiped his lips. “Erotica is meant to evoke something. Arousal? Partly. But also
emotions. Deep human emotions. Sometimes dark emotions. My photos, they tell a story. A story
about humanity. Beauty, love, power, submission, everything together, all wrapped up in desire and
emotion. Desire, to me, it is the most base yet compelling of human emotions.”
“And then you sell it?” John asked, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.
“No. I don’t sell my work commercially. My clients use the photos for their own purposes.”
“Who are your clients?”
“All kinds of people. Sometimes couples like you,” he paused to look at each one of us directly.
I cleared my throat. “And this is how you make your living?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit. You must charge a bundle,” John said.
“I charge what my work is worth.”
“Have you ever worked with anyone famous?” I asked.
His smile was enigmatic. “All the time. I am the best, you see.”
LATER, AS WE were getting ready for bed, John slid his arms around my waist while I stood in
front of the bathroom mirror, brushing my hair. “So what do you make of our neighbor?”
“Interesting,” I said, trying to sound as if I hadn’t been thinking about him all evening long.
“So you fell for his cocky, arrogant shtick?” He turned me to face him and with a heavy lidded,
smoldering gaze, repeated Martin’s words. “I am ze best, you zee...” Then he caressed my cheek and
ran his thumb across my lips.
I closed my eyes and drew his thumb into my mouth. Then I bit it.
“Ow!”
I laughed, releasing his thumb. “I didn’t fall for anything. I just thought he was interesting.”
“Interesting, hmm?” John worked his hand beneath my nightshirt and circled my nipple with his
wet thumb. “So,” he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “You didn’t think he was hot?”
“Hot?”
“Yes, my darling wife. Hot.” He pinched my nipple gently between thumb and forefinger and then
pressed his forehead to mine, our mouths mere inches apart. “Don’t tell me you were all flustered and
blushing because of me tonight.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” He flicked his tongue along the seam of my lips and then moved lower to nibble on my ear
lobe. “Tell me, my love. Do you spy on him because you think he’s interesting?” The hand that
cupped my breast squeezed as John whispered, “Or because you think he’s sexy?”
“Don’t be silly.”
With a swiftness I was unprepared for, John lifted me onto the bathroom counter, pulled my legs
apart and stepped right between them. “Do you know what I think?” he asked as he slid his thumbs
beneath the band of my panties, pressing them into my warm and already wet pussy.
Holding onto his shoulders for dear life, I panted, “What?”
At the same time his thumbs penetrated, he whispered, “I think you want to fuck him.”
“John!”
John’s thumbs penetrated further. “Don’t lie, Claire. I saw it in your eyes, in the messages your
body was giving off all night long.”
Oh God. He hit my spot and I threw my head back in surrender.
“Do you know what else?” John asked, his voice husky and harsh, one hand still between my legs,
the other working its way up my midriff.
“What?” I helped him in his quest by pulling off my nightshirt.
He found my breast and flicked my tight nipple with the rough pad of his thumb. “Watching you
blush, lick your lips, smile? All that shit? It was a huge turn on.”
I almost came. Right then. But I didn’t. Instead I ground my hips into John’s hand and arched my
chest toward him so he would take my nipple in his mouth. But instead of giving me what I wanted, he
stepped back, breaking all contact between us. I nearly toppled right off the counter. “What are you
doing?”
John’s eyes flashed with a wild and wicked light. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Mrs. Marshall."
Through my lust-logged brain, it took me a moment to process what John was up to.
“Do you know what happens to naughty girls?”
I licked my lips and smiled. Then I caught myself and pouted instead. “They get punished?”
“That’s right.” John pointed to the bedroom. “Get on the bed. Now.”
Holy hell! When was the last time we’d played this game? A year ago at least. Maybe longer. My
pussy throbbed just at the thought of what we were about to do. I hopped down from the counter and
scurried into the bedroom, climbing up onto the bed and positioning myself on my hands and knees.
John came toward me—slowly. He stood there beside the bed for a few moments, lording his height
over me.
I closed my eyes and let my imagination run wild. It always took me to greater heights if I could
get into it—if I didn’t just ‘pretend’.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I felt the bed move beneath me as Jo
hn crawled up behind me. “I don’t think you are.” He stroked
the length of my back, his hand sliding down the curve of my ass. Menacing. Possessive. I cringed.
Not because I was repulsed, but because my skin was so primed, the slightest touch was almost too
much. His hand rounded my ass and came to rest between my legs where he rubbed me with authority.
It wasn’t almost too much now, it was too much and I tried to wiggle out from his touch but he held
my hips so I couldn’t move away.
“You’re wet, Claire. I can feel your arousal through your panties.”
I moaned as he rubbed me harder.
“You’re thinking about him right now, aren’t you?” He rubbed me while he stroked my ass.
“You’re thinking about his cock...right here.” With three fingers he pressed against me, fingering me
through my panties. “What a greedy little cunt you have.”
Then he spanked me.
I cried out. In surprise. In pain. In delight.
“You like that, don’t you?”
I whimpered and he spanked me again. Oh yes! I was already so close. So fucking close.
“Let’s see this naughty cunt of yours.” He yanked on my panties, pulling them down my thighs and
leaving them there, trapping my legs, leaving me exposed.
With a hand on my ankle, holding me in place, I felt John lean over and heard the drawer to my
bedside table open. Within seconds a familiar whir had me writhing in anticipation.
“Is this what you want?” He tapped the vibrator against my ass and then rubbed it between my
legs. “His cock. Inside of you?”
I think I meowed. I was a cat in heat, waving my ass in the air, trying to grind myself against the
constantly evasive vibrator. One second it was butted up against my clit, the next John wedged it
against my anus, then down one thigh and up the other.
“Please,” I begged.
“You want him to fuck you?” John panted.
“Yes. Please. Yes.”
He moved the vibrator into place behind me, twisting it this way and that, driving me deliciously
insane. “I’ll let him fuck you if you promise me one thing.”
“What? Anything?”
The tip was inside of me now and no matter how I tried to thrust against it, John held it in place.
“You don’t come until I tell you to.”
Oh God! It was impossible. My orgasm was so close I could already feel it, taste it. My vision was
