Getting sexy: Obsession / Getting Some / Getting Even

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Chapter One

Claudia

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but if you ask me, that’s a load of bull. Hands down, that gold-lined path travels through his libido.

I should know. Right now, I’m practically dying of embarrassment as I sit in a north Atlanta restaurant with the man of my dreams, Adam Hart. I’m trying to look nonchalant beside him in our booth, sipping a margarita through a straw, while Adam has his hand between my legs. His fingers tickle my skin as they inch farther up my thighs.

“Adam,” I admonish playfully as his fingers skirt my panties. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“Don’t I look serious to you?”

He does look serious—which is exactly the problem. He is entirely too serious about this naughty bit of foreplay. “Sweetheart, you know how much I love this, but—”

“What, this?”

My eyelids flutter as he strokes my nub.

“Mmm,” I moan softly. Then look up in horror as the waiter appears at our table. My face flames, and I wonder if my pale brown skin registers any blush of my embarrassment. I squeeze my legs together, but that does nothing to stop Adam’s fingers.

“Have you decided what you’d like?” the waiter asks. I’m not sure if there’s a knowing glint in his eye. If not, he must think Adam and I are so in love that we can’t bear to be physically apart from each other. Why else would we be sharing the same side of a booth, practically glued at the hip?

“Um,” I begin. I haven’t even looked at the menu. “I think we need a few more minutes.”

“I know what I want,” Adam says. He’s looking at me though, not at the waiter, and I want to smack him. No, that’s a lie. I want to take him outside and get busy with him in the back seat of his Mercedes SUV. I really do enjoy Adam’s obvious lust for me. I’m just not comfortable with how much he likes to display it in public.

“New York steak,” Adam continues. “Rare. I like it red.”

“I’ll have the same,” I say, hoping to hell that I’m not blushing. “Medium well.”

“Rice or baked potato?”

“Rice,” both Adam and I respond.

The waiter scribbles notes on a pad. “That comes with soup or salad—”

“Two house salads to start,” I interject, cutting off the waiter. “And an order of garlic bread. Also, a half liter of Chardonnay.”

“Make it a bottle,” Adam says.

My eyes meet his in surprise. His gaze is smoky, and as he bites down on his bottom lip, I feel an excited shiver dance across my shoulders. I know what he wants. To get me drunk so I’m more likely to be less inhibited.

I wonder what he wants me to try this time.

“That’s everything?” the waiter asks.

I have all but forgotten about the waiter. I look up at the college kid and grin. “That’s plenty.”

Thank the Lord, the waiter turns and walks away. He doesn’t know me, but still I let out a relieved breath. The reason I like to come here is that it’s far from the Buck-head neighborhood where Adam and I live. If I get caught doing something scandalous here, at least no one will know who I am. And because it’s a Monday night, this place isn’t as busy as it would be on the weekend.

“Now.” Adam smiles at me as his fingers explore my nether region. “Where were we?”

I push his hand away, feeling slightly annoyed at his one-track mind, considering everything we need to discuss. “Adam, seriously. We need to talk.”

He pouts a little but finally relents. “All right.” He sits back against the booth. “Let’s talk.”

Now I smile from ear to ear. I am absolutely crazy about Adam, but it’s possible, if only slightly, that I’m even more crazy about our upcoming wedding.

You see, I’m almost thirty, and for a while I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get married or die a spinster. What self-respecting woman still uses the term spinster, you ask? You haven’t met my high-society, Black-American Princess friends. Not to mention my mother, who has been dreaming of my wedding since the time I was in her womb. In most respects I have a fairly cushy life, but if I don’t get married, I’ll never live that one down.

But I am getting married. In six weeks, I will become Mrs. Adam Hart. For the past year, I’ve been busy planning every detail of our lavish wedding. As far as I’m concerned, it’s going to be the most spectacular wedding Atlanta society has ever seen.

Notice I didn’t say “Adam and I” have been planning the wedding. Unfortunately, Adam is a man—which is to say that he’s not the least bit interested in the intricate details that go into pulling off a wedding as elaborate as ours will be. He thinks the big day is more of a fairy tale for the bride, and I can’t say he’s wrong.

But I have to tell you, there’s nothing remotely fun about planning the fairy-tale wedding. It’s a lot of headaches and hard work. And there are things I need to know now, considering our big day is fast approaching.

I take my planner out of my Gucci tote and open it. “Diana needs to meet with us this weekend to go over all the wedding details. I made a tentative appointment for 10:00 a.m. on Saturday. Will that work for you?”

“Sure.”

“I know we had all the colors pretty much picked out, but I’m going back and forth over the bridesmaid dresses. I found out Rebecca Morrison’s bridesmaids will be wearing buttercup yellow, and considering our weddings are two weeks apart—” I stop when Adam begins stroking the inside of my wrist. “Are you listening to me?”

“You want to change the colors?”

“I’m considering it, yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“But I know you and the groomsmen have already picked out your tuxes.” Not to mention that the dresses have already been made and it will be a great expense for the designer to make new ones.

“So we’ll change the color of the flower we wear on our lapel.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if to say I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

Maybe I am, but this wedding business is stressful. I decide to leave the subject of colors alone until our meeting with the wedding planner. But, there is another pressing matter. “You know how in the reply cards we gave people the chance to say whether they wanted red snapper or duck?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, the phone calls have started. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option. It’s like they expect this to be some sort of backyard buffet instead of a five-star wedding. They’re driving me and my mother nuts, but now I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have a beef entrée as an option, as well.” Rolling my eyes, I groan.

“How hard will it be to have beef?”

“I don’t know. I guess not that hard. As long as we get the count a couple weeks before the wedding.” Diana has arranged a fantastic lineup of chefs for our big day—straight from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans. “But maybe we should put our foot down. There’ll be eight courses. No one’s gonna starve.”

“If it’s no big deal,” Adam begins, covering my hands with his, “then we’ll have a beef entrée.”

“Are you sure, honey? What if it’s more complicated?”

“But we want everyone happy. Let’s have the variety. It’ll cost more, but that’s not a concern.”

“No. No, you’re right.” I relax in my seat. My father’s not worried about the cost, so why am I? “I do want everyone to be happy.” So happy that they’ll talk about our wedding for months after the grand event…

“I don’t know why you’re getting so stressed. Seems like everything’s in order.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t been doing the planning.”

I give Adam a look of reproof, and in response he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “You know I love you for it.”

“You’d better.”

“I promise you, our honeymoon will be the perfect reward for all your hard work.”

Right now, the honeymoon seems like some mythical fantasy that will never come to pass. “When will you tell me where we’re going?”

“When we get there.”

I should be excited, but I’m not. I think the idea of the honeymoon will really excite me once I know that all the kinks in our wedding plans are ironed out.

Adam releases my hands to reach for my margarita. He samples it and as I watch him, I can’t help thinking how truly hot he is. He’s six foot two, has closely cropped hair and perfect golden-brown skin. Adam is the kind of guy who commands attention whenever he walks into a room. Even here, at this eatery, I’ve seen the surreptitious and even brazen glances some of the other women have thrown his way.

But I’m not worried. They can look all they like. Adam isn’t going anywhere. He has no need to. I more than please my man in the bedroom.

As an attractive sister gives Adam a lingering look, I place a hand on his leg under the table.

“Mmm,” is his soft response.

“I love you, Adam Hart,” I whisper.

“I love you, Claudia Fisher.”

“I know.” I blow out a huff of air. “That’s why it’s been killing me to keep this from you.” Adam looks at me in alarm, and I realize how he has construed my words. “It’s not bad news,” I quickly assure him. “In fact, it’s the best news.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

Excitement bubbles up inside me. What I’m about to tell Adam is absolutely the most thrilling news. The perfect touch to make our wedding forever memorable—and the talk of Atlanta.

“Remember I told you I had a surprise for you?”

“Yes,” Adam replies.

“I wasn’t planning to tell you about this until the rehearsal dinner, but I’m so excited, I can’t wait that long.”

“What is it, baby?”

“You’re never going to believe who’ll be singing at our wedding. I’m so blown away by this, I could just die!”

Adam’s eyes are on fire with curiosity. “Tell me.”

“Babyface! Can you believe it?”

Adam plants a serious lip-lock on me, tongue and all, and I don’t even care. When we finally break for air, he asks, “How? When?”

“My cousin came through for me.” Morgan Fisher, one of my many cousins, is an executive at Palm Records in Los Angeles. He knows Babyface personally, but that wasn’t a guarantee that he’d be available to sing at the wedding.

“Oh, man.” Adam smiles from ear to ear. “The Babyface?”

“The one and only. Isn’t it fabulous?”

“You’re fabulous.” Adam’s tone changes, grows deeper. I can read what he’s thinking in his eyes. He wants to get me naked.

The waiter appears with our wine. He opens the bottle, pours some wine into a glass, and Adam samples it. “Very good,” Adam tells the waiter.

When we are alone again, Adam raises his wineglass. “To us,” he says. “And a very bright future.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say, then clink my glass against my fiancé’s, knowing that I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Again, Adam slips a hand between my legs and says, “Come on, baby. Let me make you come.”

“Adam…” I protest weakly.

But he’s already stroking me, with much more determination, and against my own resolve, I am getting very wet.

“Do you know how much I love it when you’re wet like this?” he asks hotly against my ear. He slips a finger inside me and wiggles it around. “Let me taste you. Please, baby…”

I moan softly. “Right here?”

“God, yes.”

He pulls his hand away from me and lifts it to his face. He inhales the scent of my essence, groaning his delight, then slowly puts the finger in his mouth. It’s enough to almost make me orgasm.

“Damn, I love you,” he utters, then slips his hand between my legs once more. Now he goes in for the kill, putting two fingers inside me while stroking my nub with his thumb.

“How do you always do this to me?” I ask. “Make me so fucking horny?”

His movements are faster, and I’m sure people know what’s going on. How could they not?

Oh, damn. I’m so close…

I close my legs around his hand and bury my face against his shoulder. “That’s it, baby. You know I own you.”

And then I come. And come. And come.

I bite down on Adam’s shoulder. It’s an effort to keep any sound from escaping my mouth. I pray anyone within earshot only thinks I’m laughing.

“You two must be celebrating something.”

I whip my gaze up to see the waiter standing at our table. Adam keeps a firm hand wrapped around my waist so I can’t move apart from him. His other hand is still in my panties.

“Um, yes,” I answer shakily. I’m still light-headed from the aftermath of my orgasm. “We’re getting married.”

“Ah,” the waiter coos and places the garlic bread on the table. “Congratulations.”

Only when the waiter disappears do I dare move away from Adam. He grins at me, victorious, knowing he has conquered me sexually once again.

And I can’t help it. I grin back at him.

I love this man.

A little over an hour later—at least I think it’s an hour later (I can’t be sure, since I had the lion’s share of the wine)—I am holding on tight to Adam’s arm as he’s driving along the 285 perimeter around Atlanta. It seems we’ve been going around and around for ages, but I could be wrong, considering my head’s in a fog. I can barely keep my eyes open, but when Adam veers suddenly to the right, I perk up. I see that he is taking an exit several miles from my home.

“Hey,” I say.

He squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry, babe.”

“Where are we going?”

He glances at me and flashes a playful grin. “You had a surprise for me. Now it’s my turn to surprise you.”

I eye Adam warily. He’s not big on romantic surprises. Besides, what on earth can he be surprising me with in the middle of nowhere? Unless he’s going to…

As the answer hits me, I am almost sobered with the excitement.

“Adam,” I squeal, “you didn’t!” Of course, I’m hoping he did. I look around expectantly, hoping to see large suburban houses with sprawling lawns and aged oaks any second now. I thought for sure we’d stay in Buckhead, but maybe he’s decided that we’ll live in Duluth.

But as we continue to drive, the industrial landscape doesn’t change, and I’m a bit confused. This area isn’t only industrial, it’s fairly run-down. Not exactly the neighborhood where Adam would buy a house.

Growing nervous, I grip Adam’s hand.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he tells me. “You’ll see what it is when we get there.”

I am more than surprised when Adam turns into the driveway of a large, one-story gray building. At least a hundred yards long, it’s got to be some sort of warehouse. I can’t imagine why he’d be bringing me here, unless he wants an isolated place to make out. Which irritates me, since I already gave him a blow job in the restaurant parking lot. At least, I think I did. The memory is kind of blurry. In any case, I’m not in the mood to get kinky out here.

“Adam, I think you should take me home.”

“Don’t worry.”

He travels the length of the building, then turns left around the corner. Suddenly a row of cars comes into view. Lexuses, Jaguars, BMWs. What is this place? Some kind of club?

I ask him.

“Yeah, it’s a club.”

“But I thought…” I snuggle against my man. “I thought we were heading back to your place before you take me home.”

Adam pulls up next to a Ford Explorer and parks the car. “I think you’ll like this.”

I frown slightly as Adam disentangles himself from me and exits the vehicle. Moments later, he opens my door and offers me his hand. I’m not convinced I’m going to like whatever’s inside, but Adam is grinning at me like a fool.

Shaking my head at him, I let him help me out of the SUV. We walk hand in hand to a door at the back of the building. This is not the kind of club I normally go to. I’m partial to the classy joints in my Buckhead neighborhood. Clubs with a piano bar, a live jazz band. This one is…well, secretive is the only word that comes to mind.

I cling to Adam as we step into the entrance. This place is weird, all right. Barely lit, the foyer area is completely blocked off from the rest of the place. I can hear soulful, seductive music coming through the walls—the only real indication that something’s going on here. I feel the way people must have felt during the days of prohibition, sneaking into speakeasies after dark—like I’m doing something illegal.

There’s a big-breasted cashier in a very small cubicle, and Adam hands her two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She doesn’t give him any change back. That’s more money than we’ve ever paid to get into any club. I wonder again just what kind of surprise this is.

The bouncer opens a heavy metal door for us, and the light is almost blinding as it streaks into the foyer. Adam steps forward and I walk with him into the club—and then I stop dead in my tracks.

I am so stunned, I’m not sure what to think. I close my eyes in case I’m hallucinating. But when I open them, I see the same shocking images, and I know that what’s going on is very real.

Everywhere—and I mean everywhere—there are people engaged in sex acts. Immediately before me on a mattress on the floor, a woman is sandwiched between two men. To the right of that trio, a woman is on her knees giving a man a blow job. And beyond them, a man has a woman braced against a wall and he’s ramming her hard from behind.

My God. This is sick. It’s like I’m in a room with animals that are gorging on sex.

I feel a surge of panic. I’m light-headed, yes, but not so drunk that I don’t wonder why Adam has brought me here. This is no ordinary club. I’m not even sure it’s legal. The absurd icing on the cake is the group of partially dressed people dancing on the dance floor, as if they’re completely oblivious to the acts of illicit sex surrounding them.

“Adam—”

“We can just watch if that makes you feel better.”

My mouth nearly hits the floor as I look up at him. I expected him to say many things, but not the words I just heard. Surely he has to be as shocked as I am, as disgusted that we are in some kind of sex club.

Instead, he’s staring at me with a hopeful look in his eyes, and his palm is sweaty.

God help me, he’s excited.

But I am not. “You knew what this place was before you brought me here?” I ask him, outraged.

“Someone told me about it, and I wanted to check it out.”

My head is spinning, and I’m not sure what to think. “Great,” I say. “You’ve seen it. Can we go now?”

Adam pulls me close and slides his hands over my butt. “Come on, Claudia. Doesn’t this turn you on?”

“Turn me on?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “All these people—having hot, wild sex.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sex is natural, babe. Beautiful. Why shouldn’t people openly express how they feel about one another?”

If my mother could see me now, she’d drop dead on the spot. Forget my mother, I’m about to drop dead. If anyone I know ever saw me in this place, I would never live it down. Besides, I’m not into watching other people having sex.

“I want to leave,” I tell Adam.

With a finger, he guides my head to the left. “Look at that woman right there,” he says softly. “Look at the expression on her face as that guy is going down on her.” The woman is biting on her finger and her eyes are rolling backward. “She’s given herself over completely to the experience.”

I watch the woman, listen to her—then I swallow. Disgusted with myself for even looking, I jerk my gaze away. “And she probably doesn’t even know the guy.” I’ve only heard about swingers, never seen them up close and personal like I am now. “Adam, honestly—I’m not comfortable here.”

Adam all but ignores me as he takes my hand and guides it to his erection. My God, he’s rock hard. I’m not sure if I should be appalled or accept the reality that getting a hard-on in this environment is only natural.

A man and a woman, nicely dressed like Adam and I are, saunter in our direction. Alarm shoots through me when the woman, an older white lady, checks me out from head to toe. I lean against Adam, hoping he’ll protect me. From exactly what, I’m not sure.

“Hello,” the woman says.

“Not interested,” I reply quickly, wrapping my arms around Adam’s torso. I step to my right, dragging Adam with me. Adam shrugs as the couple continues to walk by us.

“I know you’re apprehensive,” Adam begins.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling.”

“Let’s find a corner.”

“What?” I shake my head. “Adam, no.”

“Just for a little while.”

My heart takes a nosedive into the pit of despair. I have done so many things to please Adam sexually, it’s like a slap in the face that he wants to get off while watching others.

He gives me a soft peck on the lips. “I know this is crazy. But we’ll be married soon. And I just want to…try something really different…just one time. Before we say ‘I do’ and commit to each other forever.”

I’m not exactly sure what Adam means. Worse, I’m afraid to ask. Does he want us to get freaky with some other couple and in the morning pretend it didn’t happen?

Because of Adam’s insatiable appetite for sex, I have done a lot of things that I otherwise wouldn’t have. Things I am embarrassed to admit. From exhibitionist-type sex to sex so kinky it would make my grandmother roll over in her grave, I have done my part to make my man happy. I’m a woman of the new millennium and I’m hardly a prude. But swapping partners—that’s a whole other story.

“We’ll have a drink, watch a little.”

“I’m not screwing some other guy. And I sure as hell don’t want to watch you screw some other woman.”

Adam squeezes my hand. “No, no. That’s not what this is about, sweetheart. This is about us. You and me. About the two of us experiencing all that’s out there before we settle down in marriage.”

“Are you unhappy with me?” I ask, dreading the reality that despite everything I try, I somehow fail to please him.

“No, of course not. You have my heart, and you always will. But we won’t be young forever. I don’t want us to have any regrets.”

“Regret that we never swapped couples?” I ask incredulously.

“I don’t want the day to come when we wish we’d tried something and regret having held back. This is about being open to new experiences.”

I really don’t know what to say to Adam. I’m getting that uneasy feeling, though, the one I get when I think I might lose him.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else,” he assures me. “I just want to watch…then I want to go down on you…”

Brazenly—or perhaps not so brazenly given the environment—Adam slips a hand up my skirt. He strokes me with his thumb, and despite my reservations, I feel a zap of excitement.

“I want to eat you with everyone watching,” he adds in a husky voice. “And then, I want to make love to you.”

I’m not sure about this, not sure at all. No, that’s a lie—I am sure. Sure that I don’t want to do this. But I think about my sister, whose husband left her because he said she was a prude, and I wonder if Adam would leave me over something like this. And if he did leave me because of my aversion to swingers’ clubs, then he’s not really the guy I think he is. But still, we’re engaged. I’ve got a lot invested in my wedding day and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t happen as planned.

“Just one time?” I ask.