Once: A Collection of Sinfully Sexy and Twisted Tales Read online

  “I have no fucking idea” He stands quickly, rips off his clothes much faster than I was expecting, and is back on the bed, hovering over me in mere seconds.

  “Impressive,” I quip.

  “Mmmm,” he leans down and starts kissing my neck, my collarbone. Sucking hard enough to leave his mark on me, I smile. When he reaches my ear lobe, I’m trying my hardest not to combust from pleasure, and just as he nips my ear, he slides into me, groaning from the feeling of filling me.

  “Son of a bitch, baby,” he moans as he starts moving, slowly at first.

  “God damn, you feel so good,” I whisper, right before he slams into me harder than before.

  His movements become harder every time he enters me. I can feel his entire length sliding in, hitting every nerve possible, ready to send me over the edge. He can sense my nearness to finishing, and pulls out.

  “Not yet, babe. I have other things in store for you tonight.”

  He stands and walks across the room to a chest, and opens the top drawer. I can’t see what he’s doing, but when he comes back he has a black satin blindfold in his hands.

  “You’ve seen enough tonight,” he whispers as he ties it around my head.

  He lets his fingers trail down my body as I squirm under him. I feel him start to untie my legs and smile, knowing what that means. As soon as they are untied, he flips me over and I instinctively bring my knees under me, giving him full access to my ass.

  “Good girl. Jesus fucking Christ, good girl.” I hear the smile in his voice and feel the bed dip.

  His hands are on me, caressing, playing with my folds. He smacks my ass and I tense, enjoying the pain. Jesus, every time he gets close to me I feel the heat radiating off of me. When he enters me again, I feel more of him this time. This position if my favorite, because it gives him access to everything, and it feels amazing, like he can get deeper this way. He starts thrusting, reaching under me to play with my clit, I start to tighten around him and he slaps my ass, hard.

  “Not fucking yet,” he growls.

  I whimper, and try to hold off the orgasm that’s about to blow through me. I hear the click of a lid, then feel something cold against my ass.

  Good lord, if he tries this I’m not going to last long.

  “Relax... you’re going to love this,” he whispers as he rubs the cold gel around my puckered hole.

  Something slips inside of me, and I moan, knowing this little piece isn’t something I’ve had the pleasure of doing before, but have always wanted to try. Bead after bead, getting larger as they go, he slips the length of them inside me, leaving me feeling completely on edge and full.

  When he enters me again, I can feel every single connection. Every movement. Everything.

  His rhythm gets faster and faster, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he starts pulling the beads out, slowly.

  “Fuck!!” I scream as my orgasm starts to rip through me.

  He speeds up, every few thrusts pulling another bead out. Every bead that comes out adds another wave of pleasure rolling through my body.

  “JESUS!” he yells as his movements gets more frantic, more need filled.

  The last bead comes out and he moans loudly, emptying himself into me as I’m still coming down from one of the hardest orgasms I’ve ever had.

  Breathing heavily, I hear him curse and take a few deep breaths, rubbing my back to help me come back down to earth.

  “Son of a bitch... that was perfection,” he says as he reaches above me to untie my hands.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had one that intense before.”

  “It’s because you didn’t go pee before. I’ve heard that it’s supposed to make it more intense. Glad you trusted me,” he whispers and kisses my head.

  “Always, babe.”

  We lay there for a few minutes, his arm wrapped around my body.

  “I like this purple. How long you gonna keep this one?” he asks as his hand plays with one of the longest strands of my hair.

  “Until it washes out in a few days. Don’t worry. The red will be back soon,” I nudge him playfully, then we snuggle in together until I’m about to fall asleep. Popping my head up, I look at his closed eyes and notice he’s already out. He’s so peaceful tonight. I hear my phone ring from my purse and my heartbeat quickens. Middle of the night phone calls are never any good.

  “Shit,” I curse as I race across the room to answer it before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hey, everything ok?” I ask, worried that something is wrong.

  “Oh... fuck, yes. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to call you!” her voice comes through the phone quietly, and I smile to myself knowing that Angel is more than likely asleep on her.

  That girl has a total weak spot when it comes to my little girl.

  “It’s alright. Everything go okay tonight?” I ask quietly, looking over at the man sleeping soundly in bed, smiling at how lucky I’ve been in my life.

  “Absolutely. Things were perfect. As usual. You go. You two have a great time. We’ll see you in the morning,” she says, then clicks off the phone before I can protest.

  We weren’t supposed to stay out all night, but she’s insistent that we need to. It’s been months since we were able to have a whole night out together, and with the stress of Eddie’s new position, I know he’s been in need of a little stress reliever. Tonight seemed to be just perfect for that.

  Crawling back in bed, I curl into him and arms come around me.

  “Everything okay?” he mumbles in his sleep.

  “Perfect,” I whisper.

  “Love you, Red. That was fun tonight. We should do it again sometime,” he kisses the back of my head sleepily.

  “Love you too, Eddie. And I totally agree. Please tell me those things you used tonight get to come home with us.”

  “Of fucking course baby, those are all ours,” he growls and pushes his hips into me, showing me just how much he appreciates my body even in a sleepy state.

  I smile and push back against him, making him groan even more.

  “I’m sorry, did you want to go back to sleep,” I ask innocently, reaching behind me to start massaging his hard length.

  “Jesus Christ, not fucking anymore,” he growls, then flips me over him to straddle him.

  At this rate we aren’t going to get any sleep tonight.

  And I’m totally okay with that.

  The End

  ABOUT M. DAUPHIN

  M. Dauphin lives in southern Illinois with her husband and two tiny boys. She spent five years in school to become a teacher, taught for three years, and now is a stay at home mom paying off student loans. She now spends her time chasing the kids around the house, wiping noses and changing diapers. She is an avid reader, writer, reviewer, and Facebooker (and she likes to make up her own words). She has a dog named after Chewbacca from Star Wars, and would watch the Walking Dead all day every day if allowed. Hop on over to her Facebook page to say hi, she loves making new friends. www.facebook.com/authormdauphin

  If you enjoyed Club X, you might also enjoy:

  The Fight Series (Eddie and Red):

  Fight 1

  Fight 2

  Fight 3

  The Devastatingly Beautiful Series (Tatum and Molly):

  Alive

  Betrayed

  Complete

  Just One Night (Suits and Shades Anthology)

  FOR3VER (by M. Dauphin and HQ Frost)

  Don’t Break the Spell

  By L.E. Chamberlin

  My husband’s boss wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously in our direction.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” he said in a lowered tone, his voice laden with insinuation. “Key parties.” Kip snickered into his scotch and soda, his face flushed and eyes glassy. I was glad I’d planned ahead and gotten a car service.

  The median age at this party was about fifty, which spoke to Kip’s ambition. He loved us being the youngest couple in a room and fed off the appreciative looks I
got from husbands whose wives were fighting gravity tooth and nail. While I hated the parties themselves - the preparations, the schmoozing, the energy it took to be “on” for several hours - I used to enjoy the approval I got from Kip. Lately he’d been stingy with his appreciation, and his words when they came had the bitter taste of obligation.

  “No one actually ever held those,” I protested, my voice sounding feeble even to my own ears. “Right? That’s an urban legend, one of those things like Richard Gere and the…um…gerbils.”

  Kip and his boss exchanged glances, and the boss’s wife laughed shrilly.

  “Honey, you would be shocked what people did in the 70s. Or what they do now, for that matter,” Sharon said, squeezing my arm. “Come on, let’s go get refills.”

  Once out of earshot, she lowered her voice. “You know, there have been parties like that around here over the past couple of years. Discreet, of course. Top-secret, very Eyes Wide Shut. I mean, I’ve never been to anything like that.” She giggled nervously. “But I’ve heard of them, through—” She gestured vaguely. “Rumors, really. But from very reliable sources. Bill and I were even invited to one last summer. Can you imagine?”

  My mind reeled. The idea that friends, colleagues, and neighbors would throw their keys in a bowl and spend the night with random strangers? And that Sharon and Bill Danforth, a couple in their sixties, would be invited to a sex party?

  “No, I can’t,” I murmured aloud, echoing my thoughts. “That’s…crazy.”

  I made it through the party on four glasses of wine and Sharon Danforth’s company. In the car Kip gripped me close to him, but he was snoring by the time we got on the freeway. I struggled to get him up the stairs to our bed, and by the time he was undressed and sprawled across our king-sized mattress with barely enough room for me to huddle at the edge I was grumpy and exhausted.

  What Sharon had said was still crashing around in my mind, so I whispered, “Kip?”

  “Mmm?” he mumbled in the dark.

  “Do people really go to parties like that?”

  His low laughter was mocking, as it often was when he drank. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said dismissively, and turned his back to me just as he had for the past 385 nights.

  * * * *

  The next weekend brought yet another party to attend. I hated not knowing the hosts or the nature of the event, but when I mentioned it to Kip, my husband rolled his eyes at me and told me I was overthinking it. “It won’t matter,” he said. “I think there’s some sort of retro theme, but I’m not dressing for it and you shouldn’t either. Just look beautiful.”

  Just look beautiful. It was my only purpose these days, and I wasn’t sure how long that would hold either of us. But I refused to think about possibilities and instead focused on what to wear to the party. In the recesses of my closet I found a halter-neck wrap dress in royal blue and paired it with metallic sandals. Underneath, for only me to see, was a sheer periwinkle set, the bra giving me deep cleavage and the thong leaving no lines under the dress. I ironed my hair into a curtain of silk and put diamond studs in my ears. Kip nodded his approval and off we went.

  I realized my mistake as soon as I got there. All around me the women jiggled freely in retro-style, one-piece jumpsuits and gauzy caftans, their hair loose and casual. Everyone had gotten the hippie chic memo but me. I stood awkwardly in my wrap dress and kitten heels feeling as out of place as a hen among swans. Not only was I the only woman who had bothered with undergarments - as evidenced by the nipples I saw poking through thin fabric - I was wrong in every other way.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Kip didn’t notice how out of place I was, or if he did, he didn’t care. He worked his way through the crowd, ordered a drink from the young guy at the bar in the corner, and began doing his usual schmooze with some men in the corner. I recognized some of the men, but I didn’t know any of the women, which was a bit unusual. I wandered around the party aimlessly for a good half hour, occasionally stopping at Kip’s side where I went completely unnoticed, until the one woman I knew came around the corner with her own husband in tow.

  My husband’s coworker was normally someone I’d prefer not to see, but I was oddly grateful when Dorothy sashayed in my direction. Her trademark halo of golden curls loose around her shoulders, she was flawlessly beautiful as usual, and my relief gave way to petty jealousy. She air-kissed me with as much feigned interest as she could muster, which wasn’t much. Dorothy had zero use for women and generally didn’t even pretend to like me.

  “You’ve met Isaac,” she said politely, gesturing to her husband. “Isaac, Leila. He’s terrible with names,” she pretended to confide as if we were alone, although he was standing right there, his smile strained.

  “Good to see you again, Isaac.”

  Dorothy tossed her hair and waved to someone across the room, and a waterfall of bangles cascaded down her thin arm to settle in the crease of her elbow. They tinkled as they clattered against each other, the gold bright against Dorothy’s tawny skin. Kip’s head turned as soon as he realized she was in the room. I watched my husband’s gaze devour Dorothy in the peach jumpsuit that clung to every pleasing curve of her body, and I marveled at how well she pretended not to notice. Abandoning her quiet husband at my side, she swanned through the room, air-kissing and clutching the arms of everyone in sight as if they were her dearest friends, taking her sweet time getting from one man to the other. Both Kip and Isaac watched her, and they watched each other watching her. I don’t think they noticed me watching them, but it didn’t matter. I was absolutely outside of that equation.

  My limbs went numb just as my heart hammered so erratically in my chest that I swore I was having a heart attack. The dread that I thought had been exorcised by months of therapy and my husband’s blithe promises was back, and my carefully repaired ego cracked again watching Dorothy flip a corkscrew curl behind her shoulder and lean in closer to the man she was talking to. I had lost this battle before she and I even met. All women had lost this battle the first time Dorothy Wincome practiced her bewitching smile on the boys in school as a child. She was a master seductress, and I was just an overdressed housewife whose husband was a very skillful liar.

  I imagined Dorothy astride Kip, every inch of her as golden as her bangles, hips undulating, breasts bouncing. I pictured him groaning in ecstasy, his hands cupping her bottom, forcing her down on his—.

  Isaac cleared his throat. “May I get you a drink, Leila?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I murmured, my face burning. “I think I need some air.”

  The home was spectacular if a bit showy, but the gardens outside were cozy and enchanted, calling to mind an English garden. I wandered down the slate path, admiring the blooms by moonlight. Everything appeared cast in silver, as if Titania herself had dusted it with magic. After a few moments alone in the dark I could breathe again. My burning cheeks cooled a bit in the breeze. When I found a little bench I perched on it and kicked off my heels, burying my toes in the plush grass.

  It wasn’t as if I didn’t know why he had married me. He’d made it clear to me on our first date when he told me I was the ideal wife - twenty-two, educated, pretty, and modest. I was all of those things, and Kip was amorous and attentive at first. About a year and a half into our marriage, when I’d taken and failed a number of tests and a doctor’s examination proved I might have a difficult time becoming pregnant, his interest began to wane. Five years later, I was his constant companion, but he had not so much as kissed me in over a year.

  And didn’t I try? I wore beautiful lingerie, I planned weekend getaways, I switched perfumes - anything to get his attention again. He worked longer hours and came home disheveled and cheerful, and I knew.

  A woman knows.

  He hadn’t married me for love or even desire, and I knew that, too. We had never been a meeting of souls or even of hungry bodies. We had been a business arrangement, and now that arrangement was null and void. It was no wonder that he
lost himself in the golden, bewitching beauty of Dorothy Wincome. It was justified.

  But it didn’t stop the sharp, copper taste from filling my mouth as I breathed deep and tried to keep from crying. Tears were stupid and pointless. Hadn’t Kip told me that many times? Crying meant a person was overly emotional and out of control. I controlled almost nothing in my life, so I had to try to control my reaction to this betrayal. And I could. After all, it changed nothing.

  I sat on that bench and made myself forget that I was once a girl with hopes and dreams, a woman who deserved to love and be loved. I took my compact out of my clutch and touched up my makeup. Then I smoothed the skirt of my out-of-place wrap dress, pasted on a phony smile, and walked back into that house.

  * * * *

  Getting drunk at a party was a terrible breach of etiquette for a wife, and it was also incredibly unsafe. But tonight I was having a hard time keeping it together, and we’d used the car service after all. I smiled politely at the bartender as he fixed me another amaretto sour, oblivious to the hysterical giggling coming from the next room. No doubt someone was making a speech of some kind or another, because this room had emptied out. From the other side of the wall I heard the low rumble of a man’s voice and female exclamations followed by a hearty cheer.

  “Anything else?” the bartender asked. He was packing up for the evening as it was nearly one and the party had thinned.

  “I suppose that’s everything,” I took a long sip of my drink and then decided, “No, actually… I know this is terrible, but could you fix me another? I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  He chuckled, a warm, melodic sound, and I studied him. Possibly the same age I was or a bit older, he was tall and had the kind of pleasant good looks that stay with a man for life: sandy curls that showed no signs of thinning, kind hazel eyes, a slightly crooked smile, and bit of well-groomed scruff. His hands on the bottles were both masculine and elegant. Through the white sleeves of his shirt I could see color inked into his skin, and as he mixed and poured I watched him with more interest than I should have.