The Mistress. Tiffany Reisz
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his hands and knees with Harrison’s cock down his throat, Blake felt, for the first time in his life, like he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing.
“Lesson two …” Harrison reached down and grabbed Blake by the chin, stopping him. “You get me this turned on and there will be consequences.”
“What kind?”
Harrison grabbed Blake’s shirt and pulled. The shirt came off first and then the jeans, the boxers right along with them.
“This kind.”
Grace finished reading the scene and let the eReader slide out of her hand as she closed her eyes. Her swollen clitoris pulsed against her fingers and every muscle in her back tightened like a coiled spring. The images flashed through her mind—the two teenage boys hiding their hunger for each other from the world, the bitterness that they had to hide making them all the more desperate for each other, the young mouths meeting, their bodies joining…. She came hard, rocking against her hand as her vaginal walls contracted against nothing.
She pulled her hand from between her thighs and lay gasping on the bed. Between gasps she heard something vibrating. Not a vibrator, though—she hadn’t packed hers.
Finding her phone, Grace raised it to her ear without checking the number.
“Hello,” she said, taking another breath.
“How’s my Gracie?”
“Amazing …” She gave a throaty laugh and heard Zachary chuckling on the other side of the world.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re amazing or are you leaving it to my imagination?”
“I’ve been reading.”
“Horrible idea. I hate books. Reading’s for bellends.”
“It’s one of your writers.”
“Writing’s for bellends.”
“What about editing? Do you recall editing one called All Hallows High?”
“Oh, God.”
Grace laughed again as she sat up in bed and rested against the headboard.
“What is that for? That ‘oh, God’? It’s fantastic.”
“I think Nora wrote it to test me.”
“It’s a romance novel. Not a very hard test.”
“It’s an erotica novel between two teenage boys at a Catholic school.”
“And?”
“And she’s trying to get a rise out of me with it.”
“She got one out of me. With my husband on the other side of the earth she’ll probably get another one out of me before the night’s over.”
“I’m glad you find a book that includes illegal sexual acts so erotic. The underage boys fuck each other.”
“You remember I’m a teacher. Teenagers, even the boys, do that sort of thing.”
“Oh, yes, and the teacher fucks the boys, too.”
“Dear Lord. Do the boys also—” she dropped her voice to a stage whisper “—smoke marijuana?”
“You’re mocking me.”
“You do remember that you lost your virginity at thirteen, and that I lost mine at eighteen to my own teacher, who happened to be you?”
“Please don’t call me out on my hypocrisy when I’m trying to be hypocritical.”
“Zachary.”
“What?”
“Stop being so vanilla.”
Zachary fell silent on the other end of the line and Grace could only cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I know you do.” She grinned to herself, having much too much fun teasing her husband.
“So you’re enjoying the latest work of Ms. Sutherlin? Sounded like it from how breathlessly you answered the phone.”
“Love it. I slept with her editor to get an advance copy.”
Grace stood up and found an empty glass. She tucked the phone under her ear while she filled it with water. Her little reading session had been a workout. Nora’s books left her as breathless as her characters.
“Should I be worried that my wife is reading Nora Sutherlin’s books?”
“Why? Because she’s Nora Sutherlin the writer or because she’s Nora Sutherlin the woman you slept with last year?”
“Can you tell me the right answer before I give my answer?”
“‘Neither’ is the right answer. You have nothing to worry about.”
“My wife is masturbating to my ex-lover’s books. Nothing good can come of this.”
“Orgasms came of it.”
“Other than that.”
“Your wife knows her husband is in love with her and is devoted to their marriage. Your wife knows that Nora Sutherlin isn’t a threat to her marriage. And your wife knows all of this even knowing her husband still carries a torch for Ms. Nora Sutherlin.”
“Now that’s not true at all. I adore her, yes, even if she will be the death of me someday. But the feelings are entirely of the friendship variety. Nothing more.”
“It must be so much easier to lie to me on the phone instead of face-to-face.” Grace pulled the covers down on the bed and slipped in.
“It is, come to mention it.”
Grace sighed as she pulled her leg to her chest and rested her chin on her knee.
“I borrowed your coat the other day. Your gray trench. Couldn’t find mine and it was raining. Stuck my hand in the pocket and guess what I found?”
She almost laughed aloud at the sound of Zachary’s heavy guilty sigh coming from the other side of the world.
“A black tie?”
“A black tie … that for some reason smelled of hothouse flowers. I only ever remember meeting one person in my entire life with that scent on her. Beautiful woman with green eyes and black hair and spectacular cleavage. Sound familiar at all?”
“Vaguely familiar.”
Grace remembered how her hand had trembled when she saw the black silk tie, smelled it. That day she met Nora, she remembered that scent, the scent of flowers that thrived in captivity even if they didn’t belong there.
“She put it in my pocket, and I didn’t know she’d done it. It was a joke, not some precious souvenir.”
“And you kept it in your pocket for over a year because …?”
“You never know when you’ll need a spare tie.”
Grace stopped talking and took a drink of her water.
“Are you angry?” Zachary asked, and she heard real concern in his voice. They teased each other often about that year they spent apart, he in America, she still in London. That year had been so hard and so hellish for the both of them that the only way they could face the memory of it was by mocking it, defying it to have any power over their marriage.
“No, I’m not angry. I think I’d worry about you if you weren’t still attracted to her. My only worry is …”
“What?”
“I’m sure this