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Mirror, Mirror
Amanda McIntyre
Chapter One
“How much did he pay you?” I enjoyed watching this one dress. He had a slow methodical style, much like having sex with him. His dark eyes twinkled in the twilight of the afternoon as he fastened the cuff of his dress shirt. My heart ached, but more than that, my body ached to have him just once more.
“Does it matter? Was it good for you?” His boyish smile produced a sexy dimple on his firm jaw.
I stretched luxuriously beneath the smooth white hotel sheets and returned a savory smile. “It was perfect, darling. I just hope that it was worth every cent he gave you.” I sat up and leaned back against the tufted headboard, not bothering to cover my nakedness.
He chuckled. I chuckled in return. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not paranoid. Despite my age, I keep myself fit. My body has always been a sense of pride for me. It’s so much easier to find good clothes. Having had the good fortune to marry late in life and to a man twice-before married and, like me, not interested in having a family allows me to enjoy a tight, firm body as well as my dear husband’s wealth.
My afternoon lover sauntered to the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his tan, chiseled and smooth chest. The man could have been navy SEAL by his physique. He wouldn’t tell me his name, and I knew it was better this way, just like the others before him.
“You were fantastic,” he whispered, leaning toward me to offer a soft kiss of approval.
“I know,” I whispered as I curled my hand around his neck, tufting my fingers through his wayward dark hair. I loved the way it curled up at the end of his collar. His kiss was sweet and thorough, producing a throbbing between my legs that screamed with need. I wanted the warmth of his young, firm body drilling deep into me, his breath hot against my shoulder, muffling his exquisite determination.
He pulled away and slid a strand of my hair over my ear. His deep brown eyes, the color of fresh, hot espresso, stared into mine.
“You’re one of the best, sweetheart.”
“True, but I bet you say that to all your clients.” I held his sexy gaze, perhaps to challenge him, perhaps because I wanted to keep my pride. It was no secret to either of us that my husband paid him to service me, because he couldn’t get it up himself.
The first few months of wedded bliss had been like a Ken and Barbie dream date come true. We traveled to exotic places, dined in the moonlight on white sandy beaches. He showered me with trinkets and baubles in appreciation. Yes, the sex was hot, a trifle stilted, but satisfying. His age and the meds for his high blood pressure had some effect on his performance, but he was and still is a man of innovation. His gifts of diamonds and flowers soon gave way to an array of toys that he used with great skill to satisfy me when he wasn’t able to.
But as time wore on, I could not help but begin to note the detached, vacant look in his eyes when we made love.
I held tight to my charmed life.
I didn’t think about it much until after his freak boat accident, a year after we’d married. It occurred when he was entered in a boat race while vacationing in the Mediterranean. It left him a quadriplegic, but still a very wealthy man.
My gaze was drawn to lover number seventeen as he slipped his watch over his wrist. He was one of those men you’d look twice at on the street, or in a restaurant. He exuded a youthful confidence, a calm sense of being comfortable in his own skin, which, by the way, looked exceedingly good on him. For a brief moment I pretended that we really knew each other, but the truth was, I didn’t even know his name. That was part of the bargain.
“Not true. I don’t say that to all of them.” He grinned as he pushed from the bed and resumed dressing.
I slid from beneath the sheets and toyed with showering, wondering if he might be enticed to stay if I offered Instead, I decided to wait, not wanting to wash his heavenly, masculine scent from my skin just yet. I turned purposely to watch him as he tucked his crisp, charcoal-gray dress shirt into his tailor-made pants. I had to give him credit. He was a professional, and dressed the part very well. His silver ring, likely a college fraternity keepsake, glinted in the light streaming through the window. The man had magnificent hands. My body tingled even now with the memory of them gliding with exquisite precision over my flesh.
“You look as delicious dressed as undressed, darling.” I smiled and crossed my arms casually over my full breasts, still tender from his teasing. I had no shame in standing before him without a stitch. Given the slightest signal that he might be interested, I would gladly have offered myself to his pleasure again.
“Has he got you on the schedule for next week?”
He cleared his throat, but refused to meet my eyes. I knew something was up and that likely it wasn’t what I’d hoped it was.
“I’m sorry, but this is the last time.”
“You aren’t serious?” My god, in comparison to all the men my husband had paraded in my direction in the past six months, this man was an Adonis. Exceptional, grade-A, off-the-charts sex. I couldn’t just let him leave. Not like this, not without knowing why. My eyes darted to the mirror and I saw a flicker of desperation cross my face. I turned my focus back to him.
I knelt on the bed facing him, my knees not so discreetly parted, straightening my shoulders for the desired effect, hoping that would persuade him.
“Just like that? Was it so bad?” I pouted and looked through hooded lids at him.
He shook his head slowly, pausing as he closed his zipper, and raked a hand through his unruly hair. I loved that about his hair. It was sexy and tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed, which he had. And I wanted him back there where I could muss it again, hold it tight in my fists as my climax shook my body. The thought made me wet and I eased my hand between my legs, my nipples tightening as I held his gaze.
“You do know that we’re good together, don’t you?” I stroked my slick folds, gliding my other hand deliciously slowly over my breast.
The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed delightfully with his hard swallow.
“I’ve…I should…go,” he choked out, but his eyes were fixed on the languid stroke of my fingers.
“Are you absolutely sure you have to run off so quickly?”
I sighed through my parted lips, aroused by my own hand and the hungry look in his eyes. It was a decadent sensation, this control I possessed.
“He…said until four.” He jerked his gaze from my pussy to check his watch. I could see his will crumbling. It was 4:05.
I offered him a soft moan for good measure.
“Shit,” he growled, and in two strides jerked me up from the bed and slammed me gently against the wall, his mouth boring down on mine until I had to shove at his shoulders to breathe.
