Misc. Erotica Sinful Seduction

I was humming to myself when I got down to the kitchen and turned on the burner. Putting on some Nina Simone, I let her sultry voice carry me away as I worked. I was surprisingly anxious free as I cooked, what would be would be, and it didn’t make sense to worry. Not after I’d done everything I could to prepare things the best I could.

Opening a bottle of red wine, I poured two glasses and then got the rack of lamb seasoned and searing. The potatoes, I drained while the meat was searing, making sure to fluff them up with a fork so they could steam out properly. The less water in your mashed potatoes, the more butter and cream they will absorb, making then richer and creamier.

The lamb I pulled off once it was nice and brown all over. Then I rubbed Dijon mustard all over it, coating the gamey meat, before patting a breadcrumb, parmesan and herb mixture onto the outside. Taking a strip of tin foil, I covered the ends of the rib bones, so they wouldn’t burn and then threw the lamb in the oven to finish off.

Chopping a shallot, I cooked it in a stick of butter until it was clear. As that was going, I riced the potatoes, making sure they had the perfect texture. As I worked, the butterflies came back, and I felt a touch of nerves, almost as if I was going on a first date. In a way, I guess it was, and that fact only served to excite me more.

Mark came down about fifteen minutes before the food was ready, and I was pleased to see he’d dressed up. Wearing a pair of dark grey slacks, a white button-up shirt, and blue tie, and a beautiful wool sweater covering them. He looked sharp, and I said so when he stepped off the stairs.

“Thank you,” he said, grinning back, looking me up and down and licking his lips, “So do you.”

“Stop that,” I said with a laugh as I stirred the shallots, butter, and cream into the potatoes, “I haven’t even changed yet. I poured you a glass of wine.”

The timer for the lamb went off, and I pulled it out, setting the lamb on the cutting board to rest and the skillet in the sink to cool. As I did, I felt strong arms slip around my waist and pull me back, a massive hardon pressing into my ass, sending a thrill to my needy sex.

“You always look gorgeous,” Mark said, his hot breath tickling the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

He spun me in his arms and kissed me, bending me back over the sink as he held me close. My arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, surprised once more at the firm swimmer's muscles there.

“I need to,” I tried to get out, seeing the water to steam the veggies, boiling.

But Mark’s lips on my neck drove the thoughts away, and I was lost in his touch and the feel of him in my arms. We made out in the kitchen for long minutes, hands sliding up and down each other's bodies, like teenagers in love, we couldn’t keep our hands or lips off one another.

Without words, he came with me when I put the greens in the steamer. Whenever I had a free hand, our fingers would lock together, and whenever a free moment, I would slip within the circle of his arms, feeling loved and safe as I never could remember feeling.

I didn’t even finish my glass of wine, which was unlike me to not drink while cooking. I was already drunk through. Drunk on love and other emotions, on need, and the wicked and taboo desires driving us both.

Finally, I pushed Mark into his seat with his glass of wine. Making him promise to let me finish off dinner and change. It was as hard for me to leave him as it was for him to let me go, but I’d been planning my outfit for tonight all day, and I couldn’t wait to be seen in it.

My hair and makeup were already done but needed a touch up after being mussed by Mark. For one second, I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to hide from the truth of what I was doing and what we were about to do. I should have been ashamed or felt like a terrible person, especially in light of the deal with The Director, but none of that seemed to matter. The rules of society and other’s morals shouldn’t keep me from living the life I wanted or loving whom I loved.

With a start, I turned that thought over again in my head. The import of its meaning wasn’t lost on me, as I stood slowly and pulled on the white garter and stockings. Then pulled the dainty white lace panties into place. Eschewing a bra, I slipped into a tight red dress, knowing its color complimented my dark hair and skin color perfectly, and its cut showed off my hourglass curves to perfection.

Slipping on my favorite pair of heels, I checked myself out in the floor to ceiling mirrors and couldn’t help the smile of pride that worked its way onto my mouth. It had been years since I’d looked this good, and I walked downstairs with a flutter of nerves, wondering what Mark’s reaction would be.

When I stepped into the dining room, heels clicking on the hardwood floor, he looked up, jaw-dropping as he took me in from head to toe. Resting a hand on one hip, I cocked it to the side, making my breasts shake delightfully in the low-cut dress top and causing Mark to swallow hard.

“Heather, you look… Jesus, you look fucking incredible.”

“Language,” I said with a little smile, then frowning said, “Heather? That sounds very weird coming from your lips.”

“Is it weirder than Mom?” He asked, standing and stepping up to me, “When all I want to do it this?”

His hands circled my waist and drew me into his strong arms. Surprisingly, I realized we stood at eye level with me in my heels. Now that he stood up straight and tall, I saw he was easily over six feet tall. It shouldn’t have mattered to me, but we all have our things, and as he held me, I felt small and delicate, feminine in his arms. Aching to do more than run my hands under his sweater and over the firm muscles of his stomach.

Pushing him away gently, I extricated myself from his arms as I drew in a ragged breath. His eyes were burning green coals of need, but he kept himself in control, adjusting the hard-on in his slacks, the sight causing me to nearly relent and leap back into his arms.

“Call me, Mom,” I said with a wicked grin, “Hearing my first name from you is kind of weird, and besides,” I tossed him a wink as I slipped into the kitchen, “It’s a turn on.”

I had to remind myself that people were watching this through the cameras, and when I did, it only made me all the more excited. Plating up the food, I took care to make it look beautiful. Mark refilled our wine glasses and got out silverware and napkins without me asking, and I was touched by his thoughtfulness once more. When we were finally sitting down to eat, he lifted his glass in a toast.

“To a wonderful evening,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice.

“To a wonderful future,” I said, touching my glass to his.

The words had just slipped out, but I knew they came from a place of profound truth. We took long sips of wine, gazing into one another’s eyes until finally, we both broke off the contact. A flush of embarrassment came over me at the intensity of the emotions I was feeling, but I pushed it aside and cut into the meat.

The food was delicious, one of the best meals I’d managed to cook since taking up the hobby. As we ate, Mark told me about the project he was working on with his friend, and I bounced ideas of logos and marketing off him, happy to see he listened and took my ideas and suggestions to heart. I could have loved him for that alone, but as he spoke, filled with so much passion, about something he was so knowledgeable about, I only fell deeper and deeper.

I talked about Alice and our afternoons at the club. How I loved my friend but was tiring of our tedious and useless days. As always, when I brought up my beautiful friend, Mark grew a touch awkward.

“She could prove very helpful in starting up your company,” I said, “She might even be a possible investor. You should think about pumping her,” the little bit of heat I added to the word pumping caused Mark to shift uncomfortably, “for info about growing and managing a company. She’s started and sold several businesses all on her own, and with partners.”

“I didn’t realize that,” Mark said in surprise, “I assumed she got all her wealth from her ex-husbands.”

“Most do,” I said with a short laugh, “but in truth, all they ever gave her were debt and a large collection of dog paintings. She puts on a good act of cultured idiocy, but the woman is a shark. If you’re really interested in making a go of it with your friend, then she’s the one to talk to.”

“It looks like it’s just going to be me,” he said with a frown, “He’s too scared of the risk. His parents have convinced him to take a job at YouTube, working on video processing. Great money, but it’s going to be boring as sin.”

“When did this happen?”

“Just this morning, I would have mentioned it, but,” he grinned, cheeks blushing a faint shade of red, before going on, “I don’t know. I was kind of thinking of doing it on my own.”

“You should!” I said, “What will happen to everything you’ve built already? The stuff you showed me yesterday?”

“I wrote most of the code, and I told him if it becomes anything, I’d cut him in for a percentage.”

“What percentage?”

“I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug, “I don’t want to screw him. He did a good amount of work on it, and half of the idea was his. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, think about it,” I said, sipping my wine again, “The last thing you would want is to ruin your friendship or end up in a lawsuit a few years down the road.”

We continued to chat, the conversation scintillating in a way I’d only really gotten with Alice over the past few years. As the meal wound down, the tension grew between us, thick enough that it could be cut with a knife. Finally, there was a lull in the conversation, and we gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment.​