Page 55 of Tempt Me

I eased off the bed and gathered my bits and pieces off the floor.

Dontrel barely moved as I slipped my little black dress over my head and stepped into my shoes. His cock was no longer enormous as it gradually slinked back into itself.

He propped himself up on his elbow. “You truly are a fascinatin’ woman, Miss Memphis.”

“Oh.” Is fascinating good or bad?

From the look of satisfaction etched onto his face, I decided it was a good thing and grinned. “Thank you.” I hooked my bag over my shoulder.

“I reckon I’ll be back, Miss Memphis.”

“I reckon I’ll be waiting, Dontrel.”

With one last glance at his heavenly body, I stepped out his door and headed for the elevator.

I floated on an air of bliss as I returned to my room.

As I enjoyed a long, hot shower, my body ebbed into relaxation.

After my shower, I headed out to my verandah with my diary and a snack of peanut butter on toast. I opened my diary to the 13th of May. At the top, I wroteDontrel Lewis Room 3—and as I thought about how much fun he was, I wrote,Playing with Pleasure.

I described my first ever sixty-niner. While the experience was hot, horny, and incredibly satisfying, I felt that I hadn’t fulfilled my end of the position to the best of my abilities. It was an interesting acknowledgment.

This journey wasn’t just about hot men. It was about learning how to satisfy my body and exploring different sexual techniques. But I’d come to realize that it was just as important to me to please the man who was, in turn, pleasuring me.

I’d had inconsiderate lovers before and knew what it was like to be just a vehicle for a man’s ejaculation.

With that acknowledgment, I made a promise that I had to explore the magical number sixty-nine a few more times to polish my technique.

Giggling, I wondered who would be next.

Chapter Seventeen

After my bedside alarm rudely woke me from a deep sleep, I crawled out of the rumpled sheets and waddled to the toilet. It was that time of the month, and not only had my vagina swollen to blimp proportions during my sleep, but I felt like my insides were about to disengage and eject through my vagina at any moment.

The last thing I wanted to do was go on a date with Clayton, but of course, I would. Lolita would run over me in her Jeep Cherokee if I wriggled my way out of it.

I turned the bath faucets to full and poured in a good slosh of Moroccan Rose Oil to make me smell beautiful. Hopefully, ten minutes in the warm water would also soothe some of my cramping.

As I waited for the bath to fill, I glanced in the mirror and immediately wished I hadn’t. My freckles appeared to have multiplied in my sleep and covered my nose and cheeks with a gazillion dark dots. The bags under my eyes had become puffy dark clouds.

I was going to need some serious makeup to sort this mess out.

After I made a fresh, double-strength coffee, I rested it on the edge of the bath, tied my hair into a top knot, and eased into the warm water. As I laid my head back on a rolled-up towel, I tried to ignore my throbbing abdomen by thinking of Clayton. He ticked all the boxes for what would be considered a good catch, except for one huge issue. He had a seven-year-old daughter.

I was nowhere near ready to take on someone else’s child. I could barely look after myself. One day I’d be a mother, of that I was certain. But not yet.

Would I be leading Clayton on by going on this date? On one hand, I could cancel. Nip in the bud his interest in me before he got too many ideas. On the other hand, it was just a date—nothing serious. It was supposed to be fun, not an outing to assess whether or not I’d ultimately bear his children. The very idea was laughable.

The water was close to cold when I finally stepped out and dried myself. Feeling slightly better but not quite date-worthy, I decided to sneak in a glass of wine. I was salivating as I poured my favorite Sauvignon Blanc into a wine glass. The first sip was good; the second mouthful was heaven.

I sighed deeply, and with glass in hand, I returned to the bathroom mirror to perform my makeup miracle.

Thanks to my extensive practice in preparing for my Memphis disguises, by the time I’d finished, I was actually happy with my reflection. Now for the next dilemma.

My choice of outfit for this date started with underwear. I hadn’t realized just how limited my choices had become. In the last twenty weeks, I’d given away several pairs of my sexy underwear to a few lovely men who’d wanted them as ‘proof’ of our little rendezvous. In addition, some of my favorites had been literally torn from my body. Not that I was complaining—at the time, it made me damn horny.

After a decent rummage through my dwindling collection, and in light of my unsexy feelings at the moment, I chose a pair of skin-tone big-girl panties. They were practical but extremely unattractive. Should, by some miracle of God, Clayton and I end up getting naked, I’d have to remove these in stealth mode.

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