Page 6 of The Guest

Kevin and I freeze at the sound of Marianne’s voice. He’s left the bathroom door open, and I can see directly to my bed, which is where Marianne will go. “S-sure, Marianne. Just leave it on the bed. Thank you.”

I left the sliding doors open when I seduced Kevin on the balcony, and a wind sweeps through the room, opening the bathroom door further. Kevin ducks so fast and just in time because Marianne steps into my view. If I can see her, she can definitely see me, too.

“Oof, let me fix the bed for you,” she declares.

I open my mouth to tell her there’s no need when I feel Kevin’s tongue slide inside my pussy. His tongue! It takes every ounce of effort I have to swallow back a whimper. I want to tell Marianne to go and leave it alone, but I can’t form the words. I lean backand pretend I’m still having a bath when Kevin is down and eating me like I’m his last meal.

“I’ll close the doors so you won’t get cold when you leave the bath,” Marianne says.

I only make a soft sound of agreement and close my eyes. If she looks at me, she’ll see me relaxing in my tub. But I’m actually fighting for my life.

Kevin drapes my leg over his shoulder and circles his tongue on my clit while sliding two fingers in and out of me, and when he curls them inside me, my whole world shatters, and a moan escapes from my mouth. “Oh, God. This is too good.”

“A good bath will always do you wonders.” Marianne closes the door as I come hard. And by hard, I mean I’m shaking, and Kevin is lapping up my juices.

When I slump back, my strength sapped, Kevin lifts me in his arms, wraps a robe around me, and deposits me gently on the bed. I’m still in a daze, wondering what the hell was that, but as he kisses me, my body comes alive again.

My arms go around his neck, but he shakes his head and plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Good night, Kara. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He heads for the door and stops with his hand on the brass knob. “And know I’ll sleep tonight with the taste of your pussy on my tongue.”

3

KEVIN

The lawn buzzes with conversation, glasses clinking, laughter, and the soft music of the string quartet by the podium. I stand to the side, surrounded by four men who seem to be talking all at once.

One pitches a new business idea, while the other argues the feasibility and profitability. The third leans in with a comment I don’t understand, and the fourth laughs loudly at something I didn’t hear. With a glass of red wine in one hand, I nod and murmur something noncommittal, my perfect practiced smile in place.

This is a necessary evil, I get that, but it never gets easier. I hate socializing, small talk, and endless posturing. Everyone beats around the bush like it’s their favorite game.

My gaze wanders as I nod again and pretend to listen.

Then I see her.

Kara stands by the dessert table, her red dress catching the light. She has a plate in one hand as she surveys all the pastries ondisplay. Her laughter floats across the space as she exchanges a joke with a woman at least three times older than her.

The tightness in my chest eases, and I breathe easier.

“Excuse me,” I say, cutting through their chatter.

I cross the lawn, ignoring those calling my name, and approach her. She looks up, and her smile widens. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hello, Kara.” I eye her half-full plate of two cookies, a slice of chocolate cake, macarons, some kind of apple pie, and souffle. “You have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“I do. Here, try this tart.”

“I don’t really—” She shoves a forkful into my mouth, and my eyebrows lift to my hairline. “Oh, wow. Not bad.”

She points the fork at me and grins. “Right? It’s so good. They’re my favorite caterers, by the way. They have a restaurant, but it’s way too far for me.”

“Which one is your favorite?” I ask and borrow the fork from her to take another bite.

“That’s a hard one.” Her forehead scrunches as she thinks. “They have this white chocolate panna cotta with strawberries, which I’m obsessed with, but I also love their chocolate mousse and cream puff.”

“Okay, give me one of each.”

She does, and I spend the next few minutes tasting each dessert. I’m not even a dessert guy, but hearing her talk animatedly about something she likes whets my appetite. Before I know it, we’re sharing one plate and ignoring the other guests.

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