taste for one-night stands or virtual dates. And he got more than enough satisfaction out of his work. Why risk his peace of mind? If release was needed, handmade sin would do him right.
That hollow, sour feelings he got late on Sunday afternoons when the work ran out and nobody called, or when he walked into the empty apartment at the end of a particularly long hard day, was something he’d learned to live with long ago.
Now was the time to think of the future and do what he did so well: make a plan, a winning plan. He had six weeks before George’s wedding reception to accomplish the Deafly Awakening .
Tomorrow he’d get Wilfred to step up the pace as defeat was not an option. Tomorrow he’d take on Millicent Deafly, be a winner, and find a way out of his bind. He took a deep breath and told himself that tomorrow was a brand new day. Tonight he’d cry over Caroline for the last time.
A relaxed Millie stepped out of her bubble bath, and wrapped herself in her turquoise silk robe. She brushed out her hair and padded downstairs with Horse at her heels. She popped in a jazz CD and opened her diary to the first sensual notes of Charles Mingus’s “Moanin’.”
From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:
Today was a lovely day; I had a good rest. At one in the afternoon, the decorator picked up the Louis XV monstrosity bed and dropped off the Food Festival props. They looked wonderful. It’s going to be such fun.
There were brilliant nine feet high posters of Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Sophia Loren, Brigitte Bardot, and Anita Ekberg—all looking juicy and sexy, with well calibrated cleavages and plenty of flesh on their bones. They were all absolutely scrumptious and didn’t look like they missed a single meal if they could help it.
In kitchen news: I’m rather looking forward to taking Will shopping, putting him through his paces. He’s got a cute arse inside those ridiculous pants. Well, I’m not blind, am I? And there is absolutely no harm in looking.
I’ll wear that new silk satin peach camisole with the ivory lace and matching panties. I must say it looks scrumptious on me, and I love the way the slippery fabric feels on my skin. I must get a new chest of drawers for my lingerie collection. This one is getting quite full.
Oh, can you believe Serge was at me again about getting a life, since he says I’m a nun? Ha! Do nuns wear a burgundy and black lace bustier under their habits, I ask you? He even accuses me of not having any friends. I do, too, have lots of friends! My phone rings constantly, my e-mail in-box is always full, and I have 1,634 friends on Facebook.
Okay, so they are all either suppliers or clients, but with the work we do, and the hours we keep, what can he expect? I have him, don’t I? Let’s see . . . one short black friend, and one giant piebald dog. Hmm . . . I guess I could do worse.
Chapter 7
A good first kiss sets the pace for the rest of the relationship. The sweetest kiss, the most tender, hesitant touch of lips to lips is intensely erotic. Most successful seductions start with a great kiss . Swallow your saliva before an open-mouth kiss—too much is repulsive. Don’t stick in your entire tongue at first go. Allow her to set the pace for the kiss.
—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate
Lance got to Guilty Pleasures at three fifty-five in the morning. Millie was there, already waiting, hands in her pockets and with her shoulders hunched against the morning chill.
“Morning, Will,” she said cheerfully. “Shall I drive, or would you rather . . .”
“Good morning,” Lance replied. “I’ll drive, Millie. You just tell me where.”
“Well, we’ll do the usual stops at the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker,” she said with a light laugh. “And the first stop—the flower market. I need to pick up the floral arrangements for tonight and place some special orders for rare flowers for a
That hollow, sour feelings he got late on Sunday afternoons when the work ran out and nobody called, or when he walked into the empty apartment at the end of a particularly long hard day, was something he’d learned to live with long ago.
Now was the time to think of the future and do what he did so well: make a plan, a winning plan. He had six weeks before George’s wedding reception to accomplish the Deafly Awakening .
Tomorrow he’d get Wilfred to step up the pace as defeat was not an option. Tomorrow he’d take on Millicent Deafly, be a winner, and find a way out of his bind. He took a deep breath and told himself that tomorrow was a brand new day. Tonight he’d cry over Caroline for the last time.
A relaxed Millie stepped out of her bubble bath, and wrapped herself in her turquoise silk robe. She brushed out her hair and padded downstairs with Horse at her heels. She popped in a jazz CD and opened her diary to the first sensual notes of Charles Mingus’s “Moanin’.”
From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:
Today was a lovely day; I had a good rest. At one in the afternoon, the decorator picked up the Louis XV monstrosity bed and dropped off the Food Festival props. They looked wonderful. It’s going to be such fun.
There were brilliant nine feet high posters of Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Sophia Loren, Brigitte Bardot, and Anita Ekberg—all looking juicy and sexy, with well calibrated cleavages and plenty of flesh on their bones. They were all absolutely scrumptious and didn’t look like they missed a single meal if they could help it.
In kitchen news: I’m rather looking forward to taking Will shopping, putting him through his paces. He’s got a cute arse inside those ridiculous pants. Well, I’m not blind, am I? And there is absolutely no harm in looking.
I’ll wear that new silk satin peach camisole with the ivory lace and matching panties. I must say it looks scrumptious on me, and I love the way the slippery fabric feels on my skin. I must get a new chest of drawers for my lingerie collection. This one is getting quite full.
Oh, can you believe Serge was at me again about getting a life, since he says I’m a nun? Ha! Do nuns wear a burgundy and black lace bustier under their habits, I ask you? He even accuses me of not having any friends. I do, too, have lots of friends! My phone rings constantly, my e-mail in-box is always full, and I have 1,634 friends on Facebook.
Okay, so they are all either suppliers or clients, but with the work we do, and the hours we keep, what can he expect? I have him, don’t I? Let’s see . . . one short black friend, and one giant piebald dog. Hmm . . . I guess I could do worse.
Chapter 7
A good first kiss sets the pace for the rest of the relationship. The sweetest kiss, the most tender, hesitant touch of lips to lips is intensely erotic. Most successful seductions start with a great kiss . Swallow your saliva before an open-mouth kiss—too much is repulsive. Don’t stick in your entire tongue at first go. Allow her to set the pace for the kiss.
—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate
Lance got to Guilty Pleasures at three fifty-five in the morning. Millie was there, already waiting, hands in her pockets and with her shoulders hunched against the morning chill.
“Morning, Will,” she said cheerfully. “Shall I drive, or would you rather . . .”
“Good morning,” Lance replied. “I’ll drive, Millie. You just tell me where.”
“Well, we’ll do the usual stops at the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker,” she said with a light laugh. “And the first stop—the flower market. I need to pick up the floral arrangements for tonight and place some special orders for rare flowers for a
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