3. Lily #2
On the dance floor, I’d unleashed my after-hours imagination. I want to pretend. I want to go home, or go out, or go to the car, and I want to enact all sorts of sexy scenarios , I’d said, the mojito lubricating my lips, freeing my dirty thoughts.
I’d detailed them all.
His answer?
I’ll be your cop. I’ll lock you up till you beg for release.
I’ll be your teacher and spank your luscious ass on my desk.
We’ll play doctor, and I’ll devour you till you come all over my exam table.
Kate lifted the mug to her lips and took a drink, her eyes twinkling. “And did you enjoy the benefits of him giving you all your dreams come true?”
I laughed at the way it sounded like a fairy tale.
In some ways, my life had become one. After the dark beginning of my twenties and the rocky path I’d traveled, I’d reached the other side and found mad love, along with filthy, fabulous sex.
I didn’t need to rock the boat.
“I have nothing to complain about,” I mused.
Kate inched closer. “Maybe, just maybe, you could let him know that you might like to bring in some company.” She crossed her legs, took a sip, and issued the most knowing of knowing looks.
I shuddered at the prospect of two guys taking care of me.
I didn’t need them to touch each other. I didn’t want them to touch each other.
But I longed to be touched by two gorgeous men at once.
As I pictured company in bed, my skin tingled and my pulse spiked.
I tried to shake off the endorphin rush, even though my libido was a dirty devil, whispering in my ear for more.
Still, my love for my man was the angel telling me to be good, and the angel won out. “I hear you, but some things are better left unsaid.”
We shifted gears, discussing when we wanted to visit bakeries to sample wedding cake, then debating favorite flowers for bouquets.
Yes, that’s what I needed to concentrate on. Building our life together.
Not adding kindling to the fire of after dark fantasies.
As I returned to the office, I reminded myself of all the reasons to keep my dirtier thoughts to myself.
It’s just a fantasy. That’s all. I’ll live if I don’t have it.
Besides, I need to focus on this story for work, as well as finding the perfect wedding invitations, something on recycled paper, preferably.
See? That’s where my energy should go. Sports agents, and trade deadlines, and rumors of new signings.
That was my afternoon, and my evening would include checking out stationery options.
Done.
There was no time to entertain the idea of threesomes.
I answered a text from my friend Nina asking for advice on which new pair of glasses to buy. The images she sent me made me smile—goofy selfies of her trying on horn-rimmed glasses then red cat-eye ones.
Lily : You look HAWT in the cat-eye ones. Like the sexy boudoir photographer you are.
Nina : Hey! I want to look like a badass photographer.
Lily : Wear leather then and get a few tats.
Nina : And should I get a nose ring too?
Lily : Something to consider, but I’d have to vote no. Only because it wouldn’t match the glasses.
Nina : Ha. I have no plans for a nose ring or ink. But thanks for the specs compliments. BTW, I am shooting a couple today who met when he hit her car! I’m going to do my best to make zero jokes about being rear-ended.
Lily : LOL! Will that be hard for you, Nina?
Nina : Um what do you think? It’s a punny way to meet.
Lily : Especially if he tested out her new engine.
Nina : I bet he got it to rev.
Lily : And he probably took it for a joy ride.
Nina : With his stick shift.
Lily : OK, I must know. Where did you learn all the car innuendos?
Nina : Where did you, lady?
Lily : I pride myself on innuendo.
Nina : Ditto. See you this weekend. Until then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Funny, I couldn’t toss out a comeback like that doesn’t leave me with much. Nina was innocent, though I suspected not in her head. I definitely wasn’t innocent there either. My thoughts remained a wild swirl, though I tried to focus the rest of the afternoon. That’s what I needed to do. My job.
After all, my focus had to remain on work, my wedding, my marriage.
Right now, I was nose to the grindstone on work, since I loved my job.
I set my phone down and dove into my report for Sports Network on the looming major league trade deadline, then did some prep work for an upcoming conference I was leading in our hometown.
I reached out to the sports agent I’d secured for the panel I was moderating this weekend.
I checked in with Ford Grayson in New York, making sure he was good to go.
But he picked up the phone, calling me back instead. That could only mean he was going to say no.
“Ford, don’t give me bad news,” I said.
“Me? Deliver bad news? Never. Never ever. I only come bearing excellent news.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I cannot grace you with my presence on the account of a prior commitment,” he said in his big, booming voice.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re just now remembering a prior commitment?”
“To my wife,” he said, sounding a little sheepish.
Well, that I understood. “Ford,” I teased. “Did someone forget an anniversary?”
“Not exactly. But I need to be in town for her,” he said, his voice a little vulnerable and instantly I understood. He’d made an offhand remark last time I saw him about him and his wife being ready for babies. I had a hunch they were going to be trying for one this weekend.
“Say no more. I forgive you. But who’s your substitute?”
“I have a fantastic replacement. None other than Josh Summers.”
I whistled my approval. Josh Summers was quite a win.
He was one of the top agents in the country and having him on my panel along with Haven Delilah, a former Olympic gold medalist and also a rock star agent, was quite a feather in my cap.
I planned to move her onto that panel now since she’d pair well with Summers.
“Then I fully accept you kicking yourself off the panel. Also,” I said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Good luck this weekend.”
“Thanks, Lil,” he said, sweetly then we hung up.
I connected with Josh on the details, then I tapped out an email to Haven and hit send.
Dear Ms. Delilah,
I hope this note finds you well. We are so excited about your attendance at the upcoming sports marketing conference.
We’ve had a few last-minute schedule changes, and I wanted to give you a heads-up that we will be moving you onto the Negotiation Skills panel.
We have several other esteemed agents on it, including Josh Summers.
Can you attend a prep session in advance?
How about Friday evening? We could meet at the Lily Bar and Lounge. (No relation!)
All the best,
Lily Whiting
There.
I reflected on my day, seeing myself clearly.
Seeing who I was in this phase of my life.
Lily Whiting, a friend who gave fashion advice. Lily Whiting, a sports reporter who was professional and direct, outgoing and businesslike.
And Lily Whiting, who got along well with her business colleagues.
That was what the world saw. That’s who I was.
My truth.
And as I stared at the e-mail I’d just sent, it put my dirty thoughts into sharp relief.
How could I be the woman who interviewed athletes and general managers, invited top agents to intensive conferences, discussed the dynamics of the business of sports, but behind closed doors I was this . . . wild thing?
A wild thing who fantasized about trysts on balconies as strangers watched.
A voracious creature who loved to pretend she’d been bad, so bad, and needed to be punished with bites and swats and hair pulls so hard she screamed.
A woman who daydreamed about the sheer overwhelming intensity of two men taking her at the same time.
I had to reconcile these two sides of myself and the way to do it would have to be denying the after dark side.
Trouble was, I shivered as a rush of heat spread through me from my chest, down my belly, and straight between my legs.
My mind quickly assembled one of my go-to images.
Finn, in his charcoal slacks, dress shirt, and a tie.
And another man. A nameless, faceless man.
But someone who looked like Finn, dressed like Finn.
They’d find me in bed, wearing only the sexiest lingerie, lazily touching myself, like I’d been waiting to be discovered. When they found me, they’d be instantly aroused, so ready to please me at the same time.
God, I was a hedonist.
A raging, shameless one.
And I had to stop it. Shut down the thoughts.
I was getting married. I was moving into a new phase of my life, one I wanted, one I cherished.
I couldn’t go there. Even with my fiancé. Some things were better off as fantasies.
Especially when Finn sent me a text, asking me to meet him at Eden after work.
Our favorite sex-toy shop.
Yes, that was our speed. We were the kind of couple who’d have a threesome with a battery-operated friend.
Him, me, and the dolphin.
And I’d be fine with that.
When I was done with work, I googled local deejays and wedding singers, checking out some clips.
Yep, this was the speed I needed to be cruising along at and not the lawless filthy one.