Confessions of a Nympho Page 2

  She tapped a long airbrushed nail that matched her toes on the box closest to her. “The usual stuff I have for Mr. Vogt. All my business receipts.” She leaned closer, licked her glossy lips, and smiled conspiratorially. “I hope you can find me a lot of big deductions this year."

  He swallowed hard. He had something big for her all right, but it was inside his pants, swelling larger with every second. Embarrassed, he slid further under the desk to hide his source of discomfort.

  "We'll see,” he said noncommittally, without any hint of emotion. “I'll do my best.” He kicked himself for getting shy, not at all like the kick-ass romance heroes she lived for. How could he ever win a woman like her by acting like this?

  She dumped the contents of both boxes onto his desk and sifted through them. “I went to several conferences this year and bought a new computer. Those hotel rooms are downright outrageous!"

  Hotel rooms? He gulped. How he'd like to share a hotel room with her. He wondered if she went alone and took the receipt from her hand. When her fingers grazed his, shivers raced down his spine. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Is this for single or double occupancy?"

  She snatched the receipt from him, grazing his knuckles again. “Let me see. I get a roommate whenever I can, but a few times I went alone."

  His jealousy surged and he longed to ask the roommate's name. Some of those nearly naked Tarzan-type cover models pictured with her all over the romance magazines? Not that he'd ever admit to reading those or keeping track of her doings. He'd sooner cut out his tongue.

  "How many? Conferences, I mean? Help me sort these into categories.” Or else they'd be there all night. On retrospect that might not be a bad idea...

  She squinted at a computer printout in her hand. “What about websites? Aren't they tax deductible?"

  Loosening the tie that threatened to choke him, he nodded and tried to keep his voice steady. “Yes, of course."

  She leaned further forward and gazed deeply into his eyes. Her ample breasts strained against her T-shirt. The nipples budded against the flimsy cotton. “I mean, if I have more than one website? I just opened this new one, plus I have pages on some romance writers’ group pages."

  When he took the receipt from her outstretched fingers, her flowery writing on the back caught his eye, and he flipped it over. Reading it, his heart skipped several beats. Confessions of a Nympho blog. It contained the website url, and he memorised it. Like he could forget a name like that? It was burned into his consciousness.

  Confessions of a Nympho? His cock throbbed almost ripping open his zipper. His blood sizzled. He couldn't wait to visit her blog and read her deepest, darkest fantasies. Or were they fantasies? Did she act them out? Was she really a nymphomaniac?

  He went on autopilot for the rest of their session. All he could think about was making love to the exquisite nymph until she forgot every other man who'd ever existed. If it took every second of every day to satisfy her, so be it. He'd make the sacrifice...

  * * * *

  Thrilled that her new accountant had promised a ton of terrific tax deductions, Tatiana tunelessly sang at the top of her lungs to her favourite songs all the way home from his office. She couldn't care less that she sang off-key. She was already an American Idol, just in a non-vocal venue. She laughed at her moment of conceitedness. Well, she hoped to be famous and loved. The fact that she still owed a lot of moula to Uncle Sam despite the huge deductions Ace had found, attested to the fact that her career was going well. She had no complaints. Career-wise, that was...

  If only her love life would grow half as exciting as her fantasised blog adventures.

  Since her break-up with the jerk last year, it had been a barren wasteland without an attractive man in sight. She found it downright hilarious that her readers presumed she had the most romantic life in the world or at least, the best sex in town. No way could she admit to being such a failure. They'd probably tar and feather her. Worse, they'd never buy another book.

  Sex? What was sex? Words on paper. An elusive desire. Lies in a blog. Promotion and money.

  God, but she was a whore! She sold sex!

  Mirth bubbled up in her at the visualisation of the new guy's totally red face when he'd read the words Confession of a Nympho on her receipt. She'd girded herself to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on the man.

  He was kind of cute, in a preppy but geeky sort of way. She wondered if he ever took off those horn-rimmed glasses? Maybe during sex? He looked as if he'd only engage in completely vanilla, missionary sex. He was probably still a virgin.

  Giggles overwhelmed her when she tried to envision the straight-laced man having doggy-style sex, or more hilarious yet, a threesome.

  "Oh, you're so bad, girl!” Mentally, she slapped herself for being so cruel to the new guy. “He's good looking—in an anal sort of way.” He might actually be pretty exciting if he didn't slick back his dark hair, lost the glasses and the outdated monkey suit as well as his whole rigid demeanour.

  An idiot in a Mercedes cut her off, almost pushing her off the road into a canal, and cursing loudly, she slammed on her brakes. Her thoughts turned to promoting her books and her latest promotions, specifically her new blog Confessions of a Nympho.

  On her way home, she took a detour to the big city half an hour away where no one knew her family, stopped at the adult video store and picked up several new X-rated movies. She wondered what Ace would think if he saw her in here with these naughty movies.

  Snorting aloud, she drew several curious gazes from the other patrons. Her flesh crawling, she hurried to check out with her selections. Although she needed to practice some hot sex, if only for her book's sake, none of these slimy characters were remotely acceptable. It looked as if fantasy would have to do for another night.

  Finally at home, she slipped into her room and slid a porno flick into her DVD player. Feeling guiltily decadent, she exchanged the white cotton sheets on her bed for a new red satin set that had just arrived in the mail and spread out across them. They felt so slick, so cool against her flesh, she rolled around like a cat in heat. Well, wasn't she?

  As the couples on screen licked and kissed and fucked, she pleasured herself with the new dildo that had also arrived in the mail. God but it was huge, stretching her, going in and out. If only there was a warm body with a hot tongue, strong arms to hold her, and a swiftly beating heart to lay her ear against.

  And if horses could fly...

  She pretended her fantasy man, Mr. Luscious, was ravaging her, losing his heart and soul to her, and finally, with the long shaft rammed up her pussy, she came.

  Her hot, milky liquid poured out of her pussy, spilling onto her new sheets. Writhing and moaning, she wriggled the make-believe cock inside her, stretching her insides. Her thumb caressed her clit until she came again, screaming in ecstasy.

  But how much better would it be to have a real, flesh-and-blood man in her bed, covering her, loving her, worshipping her? And for her to worship?

  She craved love and romance, not mere sex. With a sudden burst of anger, she hurled the dildo at the far wall. Then she clasped her arms across her heaving chest and stared at the mark it left on her wallpaper.

  "Okay,” she murmured as she stared at the writhing couples having an orgy on screen. “It's time to take my love life into my own hands.” At the very least, she'd have a real sex life. No more of this fantasy bullshit or fake, plastic cocks.

  At least not exclusively.

  She washed up, changed the sheets again, and then went downstairs to her computer. Grimacing, she muttered, “Promotion time. Gotta pay the bills.” That electric company was getting downright greedy.

  Promotion was the bane of her life. Why couldn't she just do what she loved? Write! Why did she have to worry about this promotion bullshit? Someday, she hoped she'd have to pay Uncle Sam a lot more and be able to hire a publicist to do all her promotion and that would be the glorious day she could spend all her time writing.

  Until then ...
She opened her new blog and started to type.

  He asked if a friend could join us tonight...

  Hornier than I'd ever been, I quipped “Sure! The more the merrier!” even as I squirmed wantonly, practically coming right then and there. I was so turned on I was ready to fuck him in the middle of the highway, in front of everyone. I reached over, unzipped his slacks, drew out his swelling cock and dipped my head onto his lap.

  When I licked the head of his velvety shaft, the car swerved, and he swore.

  "Do you want me to stop?” I asked slyly, knowing the answer.

  "Never. But give a guy some warning."

  I had when I'd released his cock, hadn't I? Sheesh!

  He pushed my shirt off my shoulder and started kneading my nipples, making me squirm. So I took his beautiful shaft deeper into my mouth. Then I slid my mouth up and down as I held his balls in my hands.

  He pulled off the side of the road and cut the engines. “We're going to wreck if you keep that up, baby."

  With his cock still in my mouth, moist and slick, his cum all over my lips, I smiled up at him. “That good?"

  He nodded as he clamped my head securely against his feverish groin. “That good. Only one thing better,” he drawled.

  I could think of one. Or two. His hot, dangerous cock fucking me. Better yet, two hot, dangerous cocks fucking me, making me beg for mercy.

  Screaming and quaking, I came. I didn't just come, I flowed like a river.

  "Where's your friend? Let's go get him..."

  An instant message popped onto the screen and Tatiana jumped back so fast her chair almost toppled. It swayed precariously, rocked, and skid on the floor pad. When she righted herself, her heart hammered so hard she almost hyperventilated. Clutching her throat, she inched back to the screen and cautiously read the message.

  "Hey, babe. Are you really a nympho?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  Tatiana reread the IM a dozen times then poised her fingers over her keyboard. Her fingers tapped tinnily on the keys. “Do I answer him? Or do I block him?” She looked at the screen name again—Act1.

  "Why do you think I'm a nympho?” she finally keyed even as her heart continued racing. Aloud, she muttered in a shaky voice, “Am I really doing this?"

  Doing what?

  Hell! She had no idea what she was doing. Or what she was about to do.

  Yet didn't she want to take her love life in her own hands?

  Closing her eyes, she jabbed the send key. She had to start somewhere. Fingering her imaginary black belt, she hoped she wasn't ten kinds of an idiot.

  Opening her eyes slowly, she peered at the screen.

  "Your blog ... Confessions of a Nympho ... unless it's all a lie ... Is it?"

  She gulped. It wasn't so much a lie as it was an act—an act in the name of promotion. Or was it all for promotion of her books? For that matter, her books could be considered lies, too. She didn't write about her own sex life.

  She shook her head. No, it wasn't all about promotion of her books. She was horny, extremely horny. She hadn't been laid in more than two years and she wasn't ready to go steady with that danged dildo. Inhaling deeply, she typed, “It's not a lie. Do you want a sample? Are you brave enough?"

  She almost choked. “Did I really just say that?” she yelped, making her cat scamper away from his cosy perch on the computer desk. She almost collapsed the IM and the entire Internet connection.

  "Just say where and when. I'll be there."

  The cogs in her mind whirling, she stared at the black typeface for several moments. Finally, holding her breath, she tapped out, “How do you know if you live near me? I could be on the other side of the world."

  "Then I'll hop on a plane. I want you. You're so hot."

  That hot? Hot enough to jump on a jet plane? Desperate, maybe?

  "Tell me where you want to meet. And when.” The IM seemed to pulse in front of her eyes.

  "Before I say yes, tell me why I should meet you.” She swiped away the perspiration beading on her brow, then she scuttled into the kitchen, grabbed a cold bottle of water and took a swig. She ran the cool bottle across her forehead then held it between her breasts. God, but she was about to burst into flames. Was she actually thinking about doing this?

  "Get a grip,” she murmured to herself as she ambled back to her computer, about ready to strip off her stifling clothes she was still so very hot.

  "I'm tall, dark, and handsome, just the way you like.” Her eyes widened and she stared at the words. Her heart stopped for an infinitesimal moment. “How do you know that?"

  "You said so. In your blog."

  Duh. Her lungs opened and she took in a breath.

  "How old are you?” She prayed he wouldn't be too young or too old. Seven years in one direction or the other was her limit. Sometimes ten years older, but never ten years younger. Twenty-one year olds, even twenty-two year olds, were normally much too immature for her liking.

  "Does age matter? As long as I'm not under eighteen?"

  Before she could email back, he replied, “I don't rob cradles ... I'm thirty-four. Single. Never been married. Not in a committed relationship. Caucasian. I earn a good living. No kids except for one usually behaved collie. I'm 6'3", have dark hair, and I weigh 184. I'm athletic and in shape. Satisfied?"

  Satisfied? Hell, she was panting to meet this Mr. Perfect. If he was on the level...

  Only one way to find out ... Quivering so much as to start an earthquake, she typed, “Okay. Meet me at the Hilton in Ft. Lauderdale this Saturday night at seven pm."

  What seemed like only half a second later he answered, “Which one? There are several."

  "The one in Deerfield Beach, off I-95.” She thought about some of her favourite romantic movies. “I have long, dark, curly hair just past my shoulders, am about 5'8", and I'll be wearing...” Um, what should she wear for such a momentous, decadent occasion? She thought hard, and then smiled. “A tan raincoat with a see-through teddy beneath.” She'd be so arrested if she got pulled over by a cop. But that thought just catapulted her already soaring temperature.

  "Baby, I can't wait. How about tonight?"

  Tonight! She spluttered the water in her mouth all over her computer screen. Angry at herself, she retrieved a paper towel and cleaned it off.

  "Tonight? You live here? In Ft. Lauderdale?"

  "Round abouts. How about nine pm?"

  "Tonight? nine pm?” she echoed, feeling dumber than dumb. This was surreal. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming, and she yelped when it hurt. “You really live here?"

  Her flesh tingled anew and her juices flowed fast and furious. Was she really going to get fucked tonight? For real? She was going to be held in real arms, against a real chest, and she was actually going to be kissed long and slow and sensually?

  "I just booked room 219 for us and some champagne on ice. You like?"

  Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. Her heart slammed against her chest. Scared to death, yet totally turned on, she clamped down on her fears. She reminded herself that she was a second degree black belt and she could defend herself, otherwise, she'd never dream of meeting a stranger in a hotel room for some anonymous sex. “I love it. Nine pm it is."

  Before she could change her mind, she closed the IM. Barely able to gulp in air, she went to her sink, bent over it and poured the rest of the bottled water over her head. “You're crazy, girl!"

  * * * *

  Ace paced the room, wondering what Tatiana would say when she discovered he was her illicit rendezvous?

  He'd dimmed the lights, lit about a hundred candles, and ditched his glasses in favour of contacts. He'd stopped by the barber shop for a new haircut, a dry style, so that his hair was no longer slicked back away from his face. His forehead itched where a lock insisted on curling down, but he liked the look of it in the mirror so refrained from messing with it. He'd also left the stuffy suit at home in favour of laid back jeans a
nd a soft T-shirt that emphasised his muscles. He was a new man, her man, for at least the night. However, he intended to make this last much longer than a night if he could. He hoped it would multiply into a lifetime.

  As usual, the clock ticked past nine pm with no Tatiana in sight. Hoping to catch a glimpse of her in her raincoat, hoping she hadn't had second thoughts, he glanced out the window. The promised teddy made him hard and he peeled the T-shirt and jeans off and stepped into the silk shorts he'd bought just for this special occasion.

  Ten minutes passed then twenty. Finally, at half past the hour, a loud knock rapped on the door, and he expelled a long, held breath. Gathering his wits, squaring his shoulders, and raking his shaky fingers through his hair, he crossed the room and put his hand on the doorknob. Then he paused, hoping that Tatiana wouldn't reject him. Or worse, laugh at him.

  The knock sounded again, less sure this time. Sucking in a long breath, knowing this was his moment of truth, he turned the knob and opened the door wide enough to peer outside. He didn't want some maid or someone with the wrong room number to scream about an undressed pervert. When he spied the beautiful Tatiana smiling up at him in the promised raincoat, his heart raced.

  "Hi ... Act1, right? I don't even know your name,” the siren crooned as she pushed the door wider and sashayed into the room past him.

  Stunned and insulted that she didn't recognise him, he swallowed his pride, as he nodded. He wondered if this is how Clark Kent felt every time Lois Lane stared through him. Huskily, his nerves wildly zinging, he forced himself out of his shyness, and became the self-confident, take-charge man she waxed on about in her naughty blog, throughout her many romantic novels, the one he'd been in his Army days. “Tonight is about your fantasies. Call me whatever you like."

  A saucy smile curved her lips and she stepped closer. Her fingers played with the buttons of her coat but didn't release them. “You've been reading my blog. I'll just call you ‘Mr. Wonderful'. Is that okay?"