39 And Still Holding
Published by Phaze Books
Also by Robin Slick
Three Days in New York City
Another Bite of the Apple
Buenos Noches, Justine
39 and Holding…Him (editor)
This is an explicit and erotic novel
intended for the enjoyment
of adult readers. Please keep
out of the hands of children.
www.Phaze.com
39 AND STILL HOLDING
An anthology of erotic romance edited by
ROBIN SLICK
39 and Still Holding copyright 2008 by Robin Slick and respective authors
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Phaze Production
Phaze Books
6470A Glenway Avenue, #109
Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
books@phaze.com
www.Phaze.com
Cover art © 2007 N.L. Belardes
Edited by Robin Slick
Jerusalem Between the Wars photo © Barbara Foster
Used with permission
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-037-9
First Print Edition – June, 2008
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Table of Contents
Two Letters to Francine, the Cashier at Check-Out Counter Five at Jewel
Donna George Storey
There's a first time for everything.
Isabel adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag. It was heavier than usual, which was not surprising given all the extra "supplies" inside. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to Christine who was on duty at the register.
"I have an appointment at the bank, then some errands. I should be back by three or so."
Christine's forehead creased into a frown.
"They're not planning foreclosure or anything," Isabel said lightly. It was such a shame to mar that perfect, twenty-four-year-old skin with unnecessary worry. "It's a routine matter. No big deal."
But of course it was a big deal. A fucking big deal.
Do one thing for yourself every day. Something selfish. Simply because you want it.
As Isabel pulled into the Hyatt's underground parking lot, she figured she wasn't the only woman on earth who heard her therapist's voice in her head at critical moments. It was a bit crazy, but wasn't that the point of therapy--to replace negative self-talk with a positive, life-enhancing monologue?
So far she'd carried out Tracy's assignment for the week perfectly. She'd asked her husband to make dinner and clean up when she hosted the last reading at the bookstore. She'd enlisted her daughter to pick up the organic veggie box from the farmer's market on her way home from play practice—a big time saver. She'd bought herself a new coffee mug, just because the color made her happy.
Today's indulgence was far more ambitious, however: rent a hotel room, seduce a stiff and proper banker, sweeten the deal with a very naughty ensemble of lingerie. She wasn't so sure her therapist would approve of that.
Isabel pulled up to the valet stand and shut off the engine. Her pulse was racing. And she hadn't even gotten to the hard part yet.
But there was a first time for everything. Even when you're forty-two.
Although at the moment, handing her keys to the chipper teenager in the valet's shirt--she felt more like eighteen. The age she was the first time she seduced a man, desperate to shed her virginity like a yoke before she went away to college. Dave was twenty-nine, separated from his wife, a friend of her older sister's husband. She could tell he was attracted to her so she invited herself to his place, teased him into kissing her after a drink or two and then laid her cards on the table. She actually dangled a maraschino by the stem in front of him and said she wanted to lose her cherry to him. A long, heart-stopping moment passed before he said, in his wise and weary older man way, "Sure, Isabel, I'd be honored to make love to you."
The memories of what happened then were hazy, like snippets of a movie all bathed in the golden light of a summer evening. Dave's eyes closing as his lips opened under hers. The lazy glide of his finger between her breasts. The way she trembled then, as if he'd touched her heart. But she knew better now. Though he'd kissed her breasts and sucked the nipples languidly, sending sweet twinges of pleasure to her pussy, though he'd parted her legs and eased himself into her oh-so-gently, he'd never really touched her. They'd both stayed locked in themselves, Isabel watching and thinking, is this fucking, is this all? Dave moved so slowly, as if enchanted by her, but she realized now it was probably because he was depressed, guilty, confused by his own demons and desires.
There was one moment she treasured, though: her first lover's face against the pillow as she straddled him, her cunt sliding so easily around him now, her erect, rose-colored nipple daggling before his lips. He looked so happy as he gazed up at her, profoundly content, and her heart soared with the power of it.
Was that what she wanted today? To recapture that power?
Isabel walked up to the reception desk and gave the fresh-faced clerk a smile. Everyone she met seemed so young today, although, at second glance this man was thirtyish, Dave's age. She felt a twinge of nostalgic lust.
"I have a reservation for Isabel O'Shea. I was told you could have a room ready for me before the official check-in time."
"Yes, ma'am, it looks like we can do that for you today."
Isabel glanced around the lobby, head held high. Surprisingly enough, at this moment, she felt confident, nothing like people in the movies who were renting their first hotel room for an afternoon's indiscretion.
"How many room keys will you be needing?"
"Two, of course," she replied, leveling her gaze at him.
His eyes flickered. "Certainly, ma'am."
Middle age had its benefits. She'd gotten much better at flirting, especially when it didn't matter, and toying with the clerk was definitely good practice for the real thing. The packet of card keys in hand, she turned and sauntered over to the waiting elevator. A group of businessmen slipped in beside her, three of them, enough to fill the small space with the faint smell of wool, aftershave, male sweat.
Isabel swallowed, her knees softening from the heady scent. Maybe she should skip the banker and invite this group back to her room? A gang-bang—on her terms, of course--was a long-time fantasy. She'd gather them all around her, order them to strip and feast upon their cocks with her eyes first, comparing the thickness, the curve, the color of the swollen, weeping one-eyed heads. Then she'd take them inside her, one in each hole, willing them to move at her pleasure so she was filled and satisfied, totally, completely and forever.
Do one thing for yourself every day. Simply because you want it.
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the men filed out, the last, a curly-headed charmer, turning to give her a nod and jaunty smile. As if he knew.
Yes, I am a horny trollop planning an afternoon of shameless carnal pleasure with a Suit just like you—jealous?
But she didn't say this out loud of course. She only nodded back with her bookstore owner's smile. It paid to be polite to strangers, who could be potential customers. Isabel had no doubt her business was doing well because of her "nice girl" courtesies, her careful selection of stock, her attention to detail like bringing in vegan cupcakes from a trendy bakery for the cappuccino bar. Most important of all was her willingness to take time to cater to her customers' dreams, for that's what a book was--a doorway to another land.
She paused outside the door of room 8215. She had a good guess as to what lay on the other side of that doorway. Hotel land. A king-sized bed, a black-and-white art photograph of a city canyon on the wall above it. It was empty now, silent. But later? Would a passing guest hear squeaking bedsprings, male and female grunts and moans as intermingled as their flesh, all the sounds of illicit coupling?
She could only hope.
The room was indeed tasteful, unremarkable, just as she'd imagined. Stripping off the bedspread—hotels laundered them just a few times a year, she'd read in a magazine—she tossed it in the corner and pulled down the sheets. A vision flashed before her eyes: a nude male body sprawled over the bed. The banker was a tall man, athletic. His hands were large and sturdy—they made signing a contract positively sexy. With any luck, today she'd enjoy the other things they could do.
Unzipping her shoulder bag, she pulled the corset out of her bag and laid it out on the bed. It was a whore's corset, red satin trimmed in black lace and scooped low to expose the breasts. Next came the garter belt and the unopened package of silk stockings. Last of all the condoms, ribbed, for her pleasure.
Which was the purpose of this whole thing anyway.
As she undressed and peeled off her plain, white, married lady's underwear, Isabel couldn't help remembering the first time she and her husband had made love in a hotel. They'd been fucking merrily for almost two years in one or the other of their shabby grad student apartments, so she wasn't expecting her wedding night to be a big deal. They'd probably be too tired to do it after the wedding anyway—her married friends hinted as much.
They were indeed tired, but Isabel wondered, with a poignant smile, if that hotel room was still glowing and throbbing from the incandescent sex they had that night. "It's not like the old days," she'd whispered to him as they fell on the bed together. "I'd have come to you shy and untouched. There's something sexy about having your wedding night be the first time."
He'd smiled and lifted her on top of him. "I'm glad it's not like the old days. Because I know you're going to enjoy it. I know I'm going to make you come."
Which, Isabel had to admit, hadn't happened her real first time. But on her wedding night she did come in a searing, somersaulting rush of sensation she'd never felt before. It was the first time a man ever talked her through it, the forbidden words inflaming her desire as much as the caresses. I'm going to touch your pussy now. The lips are so swollen and wet. Your clit's hard, like a little diamond. Do you like it, do you like the way I'm rubbing it?
Yes, oh, yes.
The virgin confession of her lust he'd coaxed from her lips aroused her even more. She began to babble obscene words, she cursed and cried—fuck my twat, fuck it hard, oh, god--dimly wondering how she'd ever managed to be so prim and quiet before. She bellowed like an animal when she came and collapsed in his arms, nearly weeping. Had that silly marriage license, unbelievably, made such a difference? Or was it that they knew, without a doubt, they belonged to each other now?
Was that what she craved today? The surprise? The total abandon?
There wasn't much of that in her life anymore. In many ways she and her husband were different people now. They led different lives. Isabel's therapist assured her this was very common. Marriage takes work. But in Isabel's eyes, work was the problem. Her husband was a busy, important man. He often traveled and who knew what he did away from home? She never asked. They didn't talk as much as they once had.
How much of it was her doing? Isabel pressed her lips together and banished the prickle of guilt in her belly. After all she'd put up with, he owed her this one transgression. Until now she'd been a good wife. Some might even say she was too accommodating and sweet. Could she be selfish and demanding for a change?
There was a first time for everything.
The banker's admin gave her a broad smile when Isabel walked into the office. Isabel thought she detected a bit of a smirk, but how would the young woman have the faintest idea she was wearing a corset, garters and stockings and no panties under her simple off-to-the-bank dark blue dress? Isabel felt her shoulders tense, her nose wrinkle. She disliked this place and its tinny, impersonal odor of a realm where the lure of money itself won out over any softer, human desire.
Of course, today she was here to change that.
"He can see you now, Ms. O'Shea."
When Isabel opened the door to the inner office, the first thing she saw was the nameplate, "Alexander K. Talbot," resting on his desk like a caption for the man behind it. A perfect banker's name, a perfect banker's face: classic WASP features, over-bred blond hair fading to silver at the temples, and of course the well-tailored suit on that tall body.
She bit back a laugh. This was no time for levity. She had a hotel room waiting.
"The quarterly sales report just came in," Isabel announced, making her voice low and grave.
Alexander K. Talbot frowned. "For the bookstore? Is there a problem?"
"We need to talk."
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowed in concern. Money trouble. She knew that would get his attention. It was time to move in for the kill.
It was easier than she thought it would be. That shameless eighteen-year-old adventuress was apparently still alive and well inside her.
Do something selfish. Simply because you want it.
She walked behind the desk and stopped just a few inches from his arm. "Mr. Talbot, do you find me attractive?"
His head snapped back in surprise.
She held her breath. In a moment, everything would be decided.
Then his lips lifted into a smile. He swiveled his chair to face her, his eyes twinkling.
She exhaled.
"Who wouldn't find you attractive?" he said gallantly. "You're a lovely lady."
He probably assumed he could get off with trite flattery, but Isabel pressed on. "I do need to speak with you, Mr. Talbot. Alone. Do you have any important appointments today? Meeting anyone for lunch?"
"No," he replied cautiously.
She pushed the card key across the desk. "Then meet me in room 8215 at the Hyatt. As soon as you can get away. They need me back at the store this afternoon."