Entangled [closed for ezwriter]

[impatient]

Kendall Moore, 41, 5’6” 128lbs, chestnut colored hair, 36D

Kendall Moore had everything going for her. She was living the dream- married for twenty years to her wonderful husband Dan, a successful architect with one of the most prestigious firms in Boston and mother to two beautiful children, Ashley and Nicholas, who adored her. On top of that, she had effortlessly worked her way to the position of senior manager at the most popular bookstore in the city, It Was a Dark and Stormy Night, affectionately called Stormys by the locals.

So why was she so unhappy? For the past several years, she felt like something was missing. Her children, in high school now, were often busy with their own lives, football games and band practice taking up the majority of their time. Dan worked long hours at the firm and was frequently too tired to go out during the week, his weekends spent entertaining new clients, and endlessly revising his sketches.

The one thing that did satisfy her was her job. It wasn’t the most lucrative paying one, but made her feel important; valuable. She was well known in her community, and helped to get Stormys on the map.

Still, the emptiness lingered. She loved her husband, but found they were entering an unexpected phase in their marriage. The kids grown, they often found it difficult to find things to talk about, the silence glaring and uncomfortable. She frequently stayed late, always finding some reason to delay going home.

Her boss was going away for the week, and left her in charge. The only significant event was a book signing, with a reputable author of erotica. She was upset that she was in charge that weekend, as that topic made her feel uneasy. Men in general made her a little uncomfortable, but especially a handsome distinguished author of hot steamy sexual encounters. Her boss gave her a little warning about him before he left, saying, “Watch out for this one, Kendall. He has somewhat of a reputation.” He looked like he was going to say more, but stopped, seeing the frightened look in her eye. “You’ll be fine,” he added, with an almost forced expression of reassurance, as he padded her shoulder, and gave her the keys to lock up.

She decided to change into something a little more appropriate for the occasion. A crimson red ruched sweater dress with a crossover neckline, black platform pumps and, against her better judgment- black thigh high stockings with no panties underneath. “What am I doing?” she thought to herself, feeling a little ridiculous that she cared so much about her appearance tonight. She couldn’t deny her apprehension, and the tingling between her legs, as her pussy grew moist in anticipation.

Everything was now ready. The author’s nook was nestled in the back of the store, a quiet alcove with a mahogany desk and leather chair, his books neatly stacked and ready to sign. The only thing missing was him, due to arrive any minute…..

 

[ezwriter]

Jackson Hart - 47, 6'1" 180 lbs, brown hair, green eyes

Jackson Hart - his "nom de porn" as he calls it is all you'll get from him - just as the folks who know him as an editor and part-time magazine contributor will never really know how he can afford the black 7 series BMW he's just parked in the spot Stormys reserves for its authors.

Entering the small homey book shop, he can see a line already forming and some longtime fans turn with smiles of recognition. When Kendall approaches and welcomes him, his deep green author's eyes pass over her like a scanning device - no more penetrating, she feels, like a CT scan, somehow assessing character and maybe even her approach, her outfit, her scent has been mentally categorized and filed away for future reference.

"Where's Bill?" Hart inquires, referring to the owner, his eyes scanning the intimate space set aide for the reading.

When she informs him she'll be overseeing the event, he takes a moment to process this new information and then fixes his eyes on her. "Have you even read my books?"

 

[impatient]

Kendall felt like she was just hit with an emotional speedball. She knew he was handsome from the picture on the book jacket, but was ill-prepared for just how gorgeous he was… yet there was something else.

His eyes….hypnotic, knowing, deep green pools of liquid kryptonite. She found herself in a stare, one she struggled to break away from, as her body responded in fight or flight, nerve cells firing, pupils dilating, impulses sharpened.

Her eyes began to focus, and she suddenly realized the awkward silence between them as well as the look on his face, almost put out; his tone cool and patronizing. All of which in any normal setting would be hurtful enough, but the fact that she had gone through as much trouble as she had to make this night perfect, was more than she could take. “Who the hell does he think he is?” she thought to herself. “Some prima donna author, who thinks he is better than the rest of us schlubs?” What did it matter if she read the book or not? The line was already out the door and winding around the building.

“Well, actually… Jackson, is it?” I say, batting my eyelashes. “I haven’t had the time to read your books. I’ve been too busy getting everything in tip-top shape for your arrival, press releases to the newspaper and radio stations, updating our webpage, ordering enough books from your distributor, notifying transportation of your arrival, setting up your desk, and last but not least, checking with your editor for your special requests, such as the chilled Evian bottled water you see in front of you.”

“Now, is there anything else that your Majesty requires?” my tone breathy and laden with sarcasm.

 

[ezwriter]

"Jackson will do for now."

I note the water bottle and the several pens laid out on the table where I will sign, grunting an approval.

"Efficient one, are you? Why, thank you for attention to my requests, Ms. Moore. Tell you what, since you haven't read my work and you've seen to every last detail, let me treat you to a copy."

I slide my billfold from my slacks and throw a couple of twenties on the counter. "Keep the change. Good crowd tonight. We'll both do well."

I take the top copy of the hardbound edition off one of the stacks on the table and pick up a pen.

"Mind if I autograph a first edition for you?"

I open the front cover and make a notation, handing the volume back to you. "I do hope you'll read it."

And as I turn to take up my place at the signing table, I lean in, "Not the red I think. It's not you."

Pausing to read the inscription, you see I've written: To Kendall: You never know where your most sensational story will begin. This one begins here. --Jackson Hart

 

[impatient]

I was mortified at my own behavior. Did I just ask a successful author who really has no need to do this book signing if there was anything else he required? We both knew that this was more a coup for Stormys than anyone else. “What would Bill say?” I thought, knowing he and Jackson were close friends, with a multitude of business connections between them. I had always prided myself a gracious host to our authors. He brought out something in me, something that I never felt before…fire.

I watch him toss the greenbacks on the counter, sign the book and hand it to me. Seeing the money, my face mirrors the crimson dress, and I can feel my eyes, though staring straight at him, straining an invisible eye roll. “Keep the change?” I repeat quietly, and wonder if any of the customers has witnessed this display, not to mention the rest of the staff.

He turns to me, and leans in close…..his cologne, infused with his own pheromones, marks me like an animal marks his prey. My body responds in kind, nipples erect with desire, lips flushed and pouty, my pussy wet with need. His remark about the color of my dress should infuriate me, but the intimate nature of it, as if he and I are more than acquaintances, causes confusion. “You don’t know me…” I whisper, mystified.

Having just read his inscription, I shudder. My eyes slowly work their way up to meet his gaze, silently asking the question, “And what story would that be?”

 

[ezwriter]

It was a few minutes after 8 and the crowd had been waiting patiently, the line snaking out the door. Erotica was an interesting subculture of the book trade and I was always curious to see who would come out for signings and readings. Who would come out as it were to their neighbors as readers of my sordid tales. But of course I was grateful for every one because they did afford me a lifestyle far above and beyond what my "day job," could get me. Can''t keep them waiting, but as I walked away from my hostess for the evening, I leaned in to whisper - well to better inhale the essence of arousal her moist swelling sex was giving off - but to whisper as well, "Miss Moore, the things we want in life... we can choose to do them or not do them. But we cannot hide them."

With that, I crossed to the desk stacked with copies of my latest, pen in hand and Evian water at my side and proceeded to autograph books for my fans.

 

[impatient]

I took a few steps back and watched him.

Oh, he was a professional all right, working the crowd. It seemed like child’s play.

I guess I never paid as much attention at book signings as I had tonight….the ratio of women to men was two to one….each woman more gorgeous than the next. I felt a twinge of jealousy, as they shook their hips, waltzing over to the desk, flirting with him, and he with them, while slipping their numbers in his jacket, how many? Seven, eight, and counting.

Seeing his water bottle was almost empty, I quickly reached over to set a new one on the desk. As I did so, he never missed a beat, taking the bottle from my hand, his finger brushed against mine, as he looked straight into my eyes, “Thank you, Ms. Moore."

“Call me Kendall,” I whispered, returning his gaze, my eyes speaking volumes. I knew at that very moment…I wanted him, badly. My mind kept repeating his words…things we want… choose to do them or not do them….cannot hide them…cannot hide them….

Finally, the signing was over and the last straggler had left the building. My staff had cleaned up, registers locked, lights dimmed. I went to see Jackson off, and saw the desk empty. I couldn’t help feeling extremely disappointed, as I was hoping to talk to him some more before he left. “Maybe it’s a good thing,” I told myself, knowing he was way out of my league.

“Kendall, do you want me to wait for you?” Jamie called out, as she stood at the front door.

“No, you go on ahead. I have to take care of a few things, thanks.”

I went back to the author’s nook, and stood at the desk, replaying the night in my head. I sat in the leather chair, and could still smell him, as I picked up the book he gave to me and read the inscription again, “This one begins here.”

Suddenly, I realize I’m not the only one reading it; there is someone standing right behind me.

 

[ezwriter]

"Read to me, Kendall," I say. She turns and I offer her some more words for her to lean against as she seems to have lost her balance. "You've never read my work. Read to me. I always find it fascinating to hear my words in another's voice."

The matter decided, I settled into one of the rich old overstuffed leather chairs the store's devotees loved so much.

"Begin."

 

[impatient]

I bolt upright in my chair. My breath catches, “Oh my God..”

My mind races in every direction, as he sinks down into the chair, never taking his eyes off me.

“Read to you?” I stall for time, fidgeting in my chair. This can’t be happening.

“Umm.” I swallow hard, let the book open where it may, hoping fate will be kind.

I read a few explicit paragraphs and then glanced up at Jackson, my chest displaying a rosy mosaic as he met my gaze.

 

[ezwriter]

"What do you think, Kendall, after a few pages? Have I done my job as an author? Have I captured the reader's interest?" I leaned back into the plush upholstery, right ankle resting on my left knee.

"Say I don't suppose you have anything older, redder and more alcoholic than your very fine Evian water here, would you?"

 

[impatient]

“I-I think you’ve done a good job, yes.” I clear my throat, thankful he is requesting some firewater to douse these embers.

“The café always has some of my favorite wine. Do you like red or white?”

 

[ezwriter]

"I believe I distinctly asked for red. Attention to detail... really."

 

[impatient]

I quickly do a double take, staring at him, at the mention of my attention to detail.

“Huh! You’re talking to me about attention to detail? And who do you think put together your fabulous book signing, Jackson?” If he was trying to get under my skin, he was doing a good job.

I walk to the café, next to the nook, and grab the wine and two glasses.

I pour the wine, hand him one, and gulp down as much as I can without appearing too nervous.

“What made you stay tonight?” I ask.

 

[ezwriter]

I swirled the red in the glass, held it up to the light, inhaled then sipped.

"You, Kendall. I stayed for you. You've never read my books and, well, these days an author needs to scrap for every reader he can. Once people discover my works though, they become... devoted followers. Thought I might be able to win you over. Or is erotica not your cup of chamomile tea?"

 

[impatient]

I finished the wine and was pouring a second glass when I heard those delicious words....

"You, Kendall. I stayed for you."

I drained my glass, and felt the spirits working their magic.

I set my glass down and walked over to him.

"I hardly think you have to scrap for all the readers you can get...I've seen what you drive."

"Devoted followers? Looking deeply into his eyes, "Is that what you want from me? To be a devoted follower of your work?"

"Or a devoted follower of you?"

 

[ezwriter]

I smiled. "Get a load of you. Meek, unassuming bookstore clerk by day but one glass of mediocre cabernet in you and you're a wildcat. I like that. Isn't that's always the way - the little secret engines inside driving us in directions we'd never imagine? That's why I write. To wind up my characters like those little marching toys, set them down and see where they end up."

I set my glass down. "Thanks for the wine, Miss Moore... and the reception. I'll tell Bill you did a great job. And if you do decide to finish my book, I hope you'll let me know what you thought. Good night."

And I turned and walked across the well worn hardwood floor of the bookshop

 

[impatient]

I felt my heart drop as I watched him say his good-byes and turn to go. My cheeks flushed from the wine but more from the humiliation of him calling me out. I was trying to seduce him. And he got up and left.

Did I misread him? I thought he wanted me.

I never considered myself as someone who chased after men, but if I didn’t go after him I knew I would regret it.

“Wait!” I called after him before he left the shop. He stopped and turned as I approached.

I touched his sleeve. “I thought that maybe….I…uh… I mean, I thought that you….”

 

[ezwriter]

I looked down at her manicured hand clutching the sleeve of my sport coat. Then up to meet her gaze.

"Follow me. Bring the book." I turned and opened the door, with its charming twentieth-century tinkle of bells and left, my shoes echoing on the pavement in the cool still night air as I made my way to my car.

 

[impatient]

I exhaled deeply and closed my eyes. His words were the salve on my burning desire.

I grabbed my purse, keys, and of course, his book, and locked up. I walked to the car, while quickly texting my husband that I was going out with the girls to celebrate the success of our book signing.

His car was sleek and sexy. My shoulders grew tight as I approached it. I refreshed my cherry lip gloss, tossed my head back and tried to ignore his heavy stare. As he stood by the passenger’s seat and opened it for me, I was thankful I finished that second glass of wine.

 

[ezwriter]

As I drove, Kendall seemed to practice a controlled breathing technique I suspect she'd learned in yoga or meditation, but her hands fidgeted restlessly in her lap.

I asked her about the shop, her background to distract her as we wound through the deserted streets of the city to my townhouse. Then I asked her

"What's your husband like?"

 

[impatient]

Grateful the reprieve of benign conversation, I chatted endlessly about my work, upbringing and such, as the car took off under the dark, steely blue sky. It felt good, but foreign, not having been alone with any other man except my husband in twenty years. There is something intimate about sitting next to someone in their car….the close proximity of Jackson’s body to mine, watching him through my periphery, his thighs flexing as he worked the clutch, strong hand on the gearshift. And knowing that I was on display as well, my legs revealed under the soft sweater dress, re-crossing them as the dress rode up on my thighs. There were two conversations going on, the silent one definitely more intriguing.

“My husband? He is intelligent, confident, and very successful. I am very lucky to have him.”

The car stopped as we seemed to have found our destination.

 

[ezwriter]

My townhouse was on a hill on the western part of town. The winding streets narrowed here as we approached my address.

“My husband? He is intelligent, confident, and very successful. I am very lucky to have him.”

"Still," I glanced over. "Here we are."

I pulled into the garage as the door swung and then shut behind the car. A narrow staircase led up to the living area. An oak floor and dark rich paneling gave the downstairs a warm, well... literary feel. I had a corner there where I did my writing, just off the living room. The front, elevated from the street faced out over the city and the lights twinkled gently on this clear night.

I showed Kendall to the couch.

"More wine? I have a sophisticated cab I've been waiting to open.... If you're up for something new..."

 

[impatient]

“I’d love some, thank you.” I had just recently developed an interest in wine, and always enjoyed a chance to cultivate my palate.

The former bravado I felt at the bookstore was suddenly replaced by a feeling of heightened trepidation. I was no longer in the comfort of familiar surroundings.

His living room was beautiful, he obviously did very well for himself as an author. It was warm and welcoming.

But, like he said, here I was….a married woman…in his house, by my own choosing.

I sat on the couch, crossed my legs, and played with the imaginary stray thread on my dress, the wetness between my legs a shameless confirmation of my need and desire.

 

[ezwriter]

I poured two glasses of the cabernet and brought them to Kendall, who feigned composure on the couch. I crossed to switch on a little music to play softly in the background - a housey trance mix I'd discovered recently that I found conducive to writing: as interesting as it was ignorable.

Returning to my guest, I asked her, "Was I right about the red?"

She nervously began to compliment the wine, misusing nomenclature here and there. I waited for her to pause before interjecting. "I meant your dress. It seems an odd choice, maybe you were rushed, what, with all the preparations for the evening. May I ask what you had on before you changed?

When she told me it was just her attire from work and described it, I imagined it on her. "Yes, yes. That's Kendall Moore. That I can see."

I took another sip of wine, laying the book on the coffee table in front of her before settling into my armchair.

"And beneath the dress...? An author is keen on intimate details as you know. Let me see if I guessed correctly about your lingerie."

 

[impatient]

“Oh, you were talking about the wine, not the dress, I didn’t realize…. No, I mean, the dress,” I stumbled, as the aggressive, full-bodied elixir lingered on my tongue, the complex flavors a delicious parallel to my present state of affairs.

He was playing with me, and enjoyed watching me squirm. He sat in the armchair, the added distance between us making me feel more uncomfortable, not less. Exquisite agony.

Now, he was asking about my lingerie. I wanted to crawl into the floor. How was I going to speak? To utter a single syllable? I felt like he was my father, and I had just come home from a date after curfew- lipstick smeared, hair askew. Completely humiliated. But now, the humiliation and shame were the most erotic feelings I had ever experienced- Rapture.

“I’m wearing… a red satin push-up bra, and…..thigh high stockings…” my voice barely audible.