Dangerous Curves: Naughty Little Secrets Page 2

  I’ll never forget that moment when I woke up, from the dead of sleep, crying out in pleasure. I was in a state of dazed euphoria, unaware at first of what was even happening. There had been no sexy dream, at least nothing I remembered, but I had been jolted awake by a throbbing pleasure so intense it shocked me. I had laid there, writhing underneath the blanket, unable to keep from gasping aloud as the orgasm rolled over me.

  Naturally, this did happen in the privacy of my own bedroom, but at a slumber party filled with half the girls in my eighth grade class.

  By the time I’d “come to,” I’d woken up the entire room. They would never let me live it down.

  “Ooh, you were having one, weren’t you?” my friend Leah had teased.

  “Look at how red her face is!” another girl had squealed with glee.

  My whole body, in fact, had become flushed. All the signs of arousal were there – my nipples were still hard, poking through my cotton nightshirt. I was also struck by sudden, desperate urge to pee.

  I tried to deny what happened. “No,” I’d said hotly. “I was just having a bad dream.”

  “Sounded like a good dream to me!”

  “Ahhh, oooooh,” Leah had moaned, leaning back and flailing in her sleeping back. “Ahhhh, it feels soooo good.”

  “I did not say any of that!” I’d insisted, but it was useless. The entire room had dissolved in a fit of giggles as they began calling out zingers at my expense.

  “She’s definitely a screamer!” one girl had said, “I bet her boyfriend loves that.”

  “No wonder he’s over there every day after school.”

  “I bet they can hear you coming all the way next door!”

  It went on like that for a while, until everybody settled down and the talk finally turned to dresses for the eighth grade prom. My orgasm forgotten, I was finally able to slip into the bathroom and relieve myself.

  As I splashed water on my face, and smoothed my hair down, I reflected on how ironic it all was: here these girls all thought I had some exciting sex life, full of daily makeout sessions capped off by screaming orgasms.

  And while the first part of it was true – my eighth grade boyfriend and I “played around” almost daily – I had never once achieved that kind of pleasure from his touch.

  Most people reading this will probably say – so what? He was an eighth grade boy, what could he know about bringing a girl to ecstasy? And to some degree they would be right. We were so young then, and his hands were so inexperienced. We never experimented beyond that, never moved on to oral sex. It would be years still before I would experience the feeling of a man’s tongue between my legs.

  But that night in eighth grade is more telling than it should be.

  Because despite all the years that have come and gone between it, despite all the men who have tried – I have yet to experience that one true pleasure: No man has ever been able to make me come.

  That is my naughty little secret.

  To this day, I have only had an orgasm one way.

  Alone.

  It was a pretty personal article – not the sort of thing I would ever share on my blog, which I publish under my real bname. But hiding behind the moniker of “Staff Writer,” I felt surprisingly bold.

  I ran through the article multiple times to make sure there weren’t any typos or grammatical errors and then, taking a deep breath, I hit posted it onto the website and hit upload.

  A few hours later I was just finishing the updates when I heard the noise ding telling me I had a new e-mail. That wasn’t unusual – it was almost 2 in the morning, and at this time of night my inbox often received spam.

  But when I clicked on the tab to open my inbox, I was stunned. The e-mail was wasn’t from a spammer. It was from my boss, Nicholas Colby.

  I stared at the screen, trying to get over the shock. Nicholas Colby had never e-mailed me before. Even more surprising, it had come from his personal e-mail account, sent to my personal account. How had he even gotten my private e-mail address?

  His message was short and to the point. Two sentences, no subject line.

  To: Violet Lewis

  From: Nicholas Colby

  Subject: (blank)

  I like your new column.

  Nick

  I stared at the screen, confused. Did Mr. Colby know I’d written the vegan piece from the week before? It had been published under “Staff Writer,” but Mariah sent him a weekly status report on the magazine. Perhaps she’d put it in there. That had to be it.

  I pulled Nick’s e-mail onto the screen and typed out a quick reply.

  To: Nicholas Colby

  From: Violet Lewis

  Subject: (Blank)

  Thanks for the compliment! I didn’t figure you for a vegan ;)

  His reply was instant.

  That’s not the column I’m talking about. I’m talking about what you wrote tonigt.

  I hit reply, and typed:

  I’m sorry, Mr. Colby, I don’t follow….

  Again, he replied right away. Only this time, he’d taken care to fill in the subject line.

  To: Violet Lewis

  From: Nicholas Colby

  Subject: Your naughty little secret

  That’s the one I’m talking about. Interesting piece. You should write more oftenfor the magazine.

  Whoa! I jumped back from the desk. Had I put my name on it? I quickly hopped online and double checked. Nope. It was listed as Staff Writer, as was the protocol. I had not been planning on telling anyone about that column – not Katie, not even Mariah (although I suppose she would have found out eventually). Still, I’d intended to keep the secret for as long as possible…which was apparently only a few hours.

  I could think of no appropriate response. I wanted to say a million things – how did you know it was me? Why did you read it? Why are you e-mailing me? Instead, I kept it short and to the point:

  To: Nicholas Colby

  From: Violet Lewis

  Subject: re: Your naughty little secret

  You read that?

  To: Violet Lewis

  From: Nicholas Colby

  Subject: (blank)

  I read every word. Twice.

  P.S. Call me Nick

  Call me Nick? I felt a jumble of emotions hit me all at once. I was stunned. Embarrassed. Mortified…and slightly excited. Was Nick Colby flirting with me? No, it had to be my imagination. I wasn’t his type.

  Still, I couldn’t resist being slightly playful back. Short and sweet had worked before, so I tried it again. Only I pushed a bit further this time.

  To: Nicholas Colby

  From: Violet Lewis

  Subject: re: re: Your naughty little secret

  Okay, Nick it is then!

  P.S. Call me anytime. :)

  He took my instructions literally. Less than a minute after I’d hit send on the e-mail, my desk phone rang. It was a 212 area code, coming from a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Hello, Violet,” said a deep, sexy voice. “This is Nick Colby. I hope this isn’t too late. Thought I will point out you said to call you anytime….”

  If I’d been stunned before, now I was downright flabbergasted. When I’d written “call me anytime” it had been a flirty little joke, and I’d regretted it the instant I hit sent. I hadn’t actually expected him to call.

  I looked at the clock on the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen. It read 2:38 a.m. I should be leaving work soon.

  “Well, it is a little late….” I said jokingly. “But it’s not like I was sleeping.”

  “I gathered as much.” He laughed. “Either way, I won’t keep you,” he promised. “With all those e-mails, I thought it might be best to just pick up the phone and call.”

  “I see,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. It was no use. My heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute. I was having a hard time concentrating. What could he possibly want?

  I was thinking,” he said. “That we should meet.”


  “We have met,” I blurted out, and instantly feel foolish. That was a long time ago. At a huge staff event with hundreds of people. After Nick had commanded the room with his speech, we’d been introduced, briefly. But I didn’t expect him to remember.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “December, three years ago.”

  He remembered? I felt my heart beat even faster.

  “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I was thinking of something a bit more…private.”

  “Oh,” I gulped. I was so shocked I couldn’t quite manage to answer.

  “I had an idea I’d like to run past you,” Nick began. “A proposition of sorts. Would you like to come by my office tomorrow after work to discuss it in person? Say eight p.m.?”

  Of all the things I expected Nick Colby to say this was not one of them. A proposition? Come by his office? I could barely find my voice long enough to speak, but I somehow got out the word, in what I hoped was a confident tone.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Two

  I had no earthly idea what kind of “proposition” Nicholas Colby could have for me, but I spent the entire next day anxious waiting to find out.

  I was only scheduled to work a half day – Mariah’s “reward” for me coming in on my day off – so I had plenty of time to get ready. I’d been planning to duck out early and get a manicure, pedicure and blow-out. But things at Brown-Eyed Girl ended up being busier than expected and I wasn’t able to slip away from the office until it was almost time for our meeting.

  Ah, well. I’d have to go “as is” – wavy hair, self-painted nails and a dress I’d picked up from the plus-size section of Target a few days before. It was hardly haute couture – I was pretty sure I was the only girl to ever venture to Mr. Colby’s office without wearing an outfit that came straight off the runway. Never the less, you had to work with what got, as they always say.

  Nick had sent an e-mail earlier in the day to confirm our meeting that night. In it, he’d mentioned casual attire, so I figured something off the racks of Target should suffice.

  When I arrived at his office – an enormous building on Madison Avenue, I immediately felt underdressed and outclassed. I was reminded of one of the first rules I learned when I moved to New York: no matter how hard you try, you never seem to be wearing the right outfit. Tonight was no exception – although, to be honest, I hadn’t even tried that hard. Sure, the dress was super cute and it really accentuated all of my curves, but what was I thinking showing up in such a casual outfit? So what if Nick’s e-mail had instructed me to do so? This was likely a business meeting, and even his assistant was wearing at three-piece suit.

  Right off the bat, I was informed that Nicholas was running late. His assistant was apologetic – something about a last-minute conference call – as he showed me to an enormous boardroom on the 45 floor. He told me to make myself comfortable until Mr. Colby arrived, then proceeded to ask what I’d like to drink. I told him I was fine, and he left, only to return a minute later to double check that I’d really wanted nothing.

  Finally, after I sensed he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I said yes, I agreed to a mineral water.

  “Nothing stronger, Ms. Lewis?”

  “No, water will be fine.”

  I was dying for a glass of wine, even a vodka tonic, but the last thing I wanted to do was get drunk while I waited for Nicholas. I figured it was best to have all of my faculties when we discussed this “proposition.”

  I had no idea what he was going to propose. A job, maybe? He certainly had the power to do that.

  Perhaps this was the big break I’d been waiting for? I was thrilled at the prospect, but it seemed a little odd that he’d called me all the way down here to discuss a simple promotion. Nicholas Colby was a busy man. If he wanted Mariah to promote me, to allow me to become a writer for the magazine, why not send over an e-mail instructing her to do just that? Why take the time out of your schedule to meet with me in person? And, come to think of it, if this was about work, why wasn’t Mariah here?

  I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe I did need that drink after all. I looked around for Mr. Colby’s assistant, but he’d seemingly vanished into thin air.

  Never matter. A minute later Mr. Colby finally arrived.

  “Violet,” he said, walking into the room. I struggled to keep from gasping out loud. He was even more handsome than I remembered. Well over six feet tall, with a full head of dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. I was relieved to see that, true to his e-mail, he’d dressed casually – in a pair of khakis and a light blue polo shirt. I could see his bronzed, muscular body poking out from underneath the short sleeves.

  It was almost cruel. How could one man have so much? Infinite wealth and success, plus incredible good looks? And he was only 35-years-old.

  “Thank you so much for waiting, Violet,” he said. “I apologize for being late.”

  “That’s okay,” I told him.

  “I see my assistant has brought you some mineral water.” He nodded approvingly. “Would you like something else to drink?”

  I considered my answer. I was tempted to say, “vodka tonic – and hold the tonic,” but I thought better of it. A little alcohol would really go a long way to steeling my nerves right now, but I didn’t want to come across as a lush. “What are you having?” I asked.

  “Well,” he glanced at his watch, “I’m done with work for the day and I usually like to unwind with a glass of scotch in the evenings,” he said. “But given that you were coming over I’ve had some white wine chilling in the fridge. There’s red, as well, if you’d prefer that.”

  “White’s great,” I said.

  I expected him to call for his assistant, but he stood up and walked around the boardroom table and over to a small fridge in the corner. He got out a bottle of sauvignon blanc and produced two glasses. A moment later, he’d set them down in front of me and was pouring our drinks.

  “So how was your day, Violet?” he asked. “Anything interesting going on?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. Um, yes, I’ve been summoned by a handsome billionaire to discuss a proposition. Other than that, nothing interesting. Didn’t really seem like an appropriate thing to say.

  “Good,” I said, sipping my wine. “Busy.” I took another drink, swirled the liquid around in my mouth, savoring the taste. “Yours?”

  “The same,” he said. “I had a lot of business in Japan to deal with. I’m afraid my company over there isn’t doing so hot at the moment,” he revealed. “It looks like I’ll be forced to take a trip to Tokyo to straighten things out.”

  “When do you leave?” I asked.

  “In a day or so,” he replied. “I haven’t finalized my schedule yet.” He took a sip of his wine. “Some of that will depend on what happens in this meeting.”

  I knew I should respond somehow – a quick or witty one-liner would have been perfect. But I was too tongue-tied to think of anything. Instead, I waited for him to go on.

  “I mentioned on the phone yesterday that I have a proposition for you,” he began. “Would you like to know what it is?”

  Would I like to know? YES! PLEASE! I AM DYING TO KNOW! DON’T MAKE ME WAIT A SECOND LONGER.

  “I’m a little curious,” I said, hoping I sounded confident and casual, hoping he didn’t know that I was dying inside.

  “Very well then,” he took another sip of his wine, and then said:

  “I want to be the first man to give you an orgasm.”

  Of all the things I expected to hear, this was not one of them. Then he added:

  “In fact, I’d like to up the stakes even more than that. I think you and I are in a very unique situation here, Violet, and, if you’re game, I’d like to propose something that could be very beneficial to both of us.”

  I nodded for him to continue.

  “You see, Violet, the thrill of bringing a woman to orgasm is one of life’s greatest pleasures. I find more joy in giving pleasure than in receiving it; I alw
ays have. After reading your column yesterday, I was instantly taken by the fact that you’ve been living in a rather deprived state for entirely too long. All these years now, and you’ve yet to experience this incredible pleasure while you were in the arms of another? You’ve only been able to reach orgasm when you were alone?”

  I could feel my full body blush starting to creep on, and I was mortified. When I blush, it’s not a pretty, rosy-cheeked thing. I don’t blush gracefully. I turn full-on violent red. I drank some more wine, hoping it would calm me down.

  “I think that’s a shame, and it’s a situation I’d like to correct.”

  What? What was he talking about here?

  “I have a rare bit of free time coming up in my schedule between now and July,” Nicholas said. “And I’m proposing that for the next thirty days you and I engage in an exclusive, mutually beneficial relationship.”

  “And what exactly did you have in mind?” I asked.

  Nick laughed lightly. “I suppose I have been rather vague. Allow me to explain. “Reading your column, learning your ‘naughty little secret,’ evoked a lot of emotions in me.”

  “It did?” I asked, swallowing.

  “Yes. And as I reached the end, all I could think about was how much I wanted to pleasure you, how much I wanted to bring you to orgasm again and again.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  “You’ve missed out on a lot, Violet. I’d like to spend the next month making up for that lost time.”

  I blinked hard, trying to absorb his words. Had Nick Colby, the Nick Colby, really just offered to spend the next month satisfying me in bed? Was that what he was saying? I could feel a gentle pulsing starting between my legs. I was having a hard time remaining calm. His words, what he was proposing, just the thought of it…it was making it hard to sit still.

  Before I could respond, he continued. “And that’s not all. I’d like to propose a little game of sorts.”

  “A game?” I repeated.