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That was as good as any excuse, so she let it serve to explain her reluctance.
“Then I’ll take you to dinner,” he said.
“I’d rather not be seen?”
“This is a big city and I have the perfect spot to dine in secret. Won’t you come?”
Such an actor, a tramp in the world, a swindler, gigolo and occasionally he was the paramour to wealthy women who’d happily fund his vices.
“How can I refuse since I feel like a criminal about to eat my last meal.”
“Should you make arrangements with your husband?” Ian asked.
“How strange of you to even think of that,” Jocelyn observed.
“I just recently had to flee a delightful woman whose husband was threatening me with an ax. I guess I’ve grown more careful in my old age.”
“You’re hardly old, Ian, just very ripe,” Jocelyn returned. “And no, we don’t have to fear my ax wielding husband, he’s away on business.”
A small French restaurant in a quiet neighborhood became the backdrop for the seduction. Six tables total in the tiny hole-in-the-wall, theirs was set in an alcove with drapes to close around them. Having the look of a Renaissance tavern, with the lushness of gilded gold frames, withering flowers, threadbare velvet, wooden floors and simple tables, it recalled a time steeped in sensuous pleasure. Every sense was heightened. The smell of butter, cream and garlic roasting. The old world sights, the rich tastes and the fragrant aromas tingled more than the palate—they engaged the sexual organs.
Somewhere between the entree and the salad the flippant conversation between the amused Jocelyn and the actor Ian changed.
“You’re not going to deny me tonight, are you, pet?” he cajoled. With his hand running along her bare thigh above her nylons, he coaxed her into unfaithfulness.
“You’ve made me a dishonest woman so many times, I’m not sure you’re good for anything else,” Jocelyn answered, keeping her reply purposely vague.
“Jean-Paul has this upstairs room. If I could just press my face to your pussy lips and lick that nectar for dessert.” His eyes glassed over with that precious image in the front of his mind.
“You’re too full of yourself,” Jocelyn protested light-heartedly pushing his hand away.
“But you want to be seduced,” he said. “You’re already giving yourself away.”
“If I remember right, we had some disagreements about sex,” she reminded him.
“It’s not those other things I want from you, just your passion, darling. Your juicy hole down under. A place to spew my cock. And those breasts to caress, and the graceful arch of your back to kiss, and the lilt of your laughter afterwards. That’s all I want.” Such a twinkle in his eye—she hadn’t seen the likes of it in some time.
“You are the best,” she purred, leaning in to feel his lips touch her lightly.
“Better than the bastard that’s married to you?”
“Don’t bring him into this,” she instantly turned sullen.
“Ah! I won’t say another word, as long as you’ll accompany me upstairs. They can serve us dessert there.”
“But we haven’t even finished dinner.”
“You’re not hungry anymore, are you?”
The distressing fact of her hunger was that it was for something other than food. She’d been sexually bereft since Reggie’s last departure three days before. The added stimulation of a love tryst with a scoundrel lover from the past, she was reckless enough to have the man lift her from her seat, skirt the main dining room at his side and allow him to push her up the stairs to the tiny apartment above—which seemed to be Ian’s home while he was in town.
“It’s not quite the Carlton,” she observed.
“And that’s the good news,” he took the optimistic point of view. “Our privacy is guaranteed.” That was another way of saying that some policeman or hotel security guard wouldn’t be banging down the door in the middle of the night to roust them out.
“You will let me tie you to the bed, won’t you?” Ian prodded, as his deft fingers began undoing buttons to find her lace covered breasts underneath her suit.
“You said you just wanted my juicy hole,” she reminded him, though she wasn’t objecting to the idea of bondage the way she would have ten years before.
