The Desires of Anais And her Stirring Sexuality (A Neo-Tantric novel within a guide to sexuality Book 2)

“Mrs. Sheppard,” he greeted me, flashing me a smile that was all predatory, sparkling white teeth. “I believe you ordered a massage?”

“Yes,” I nodded, already toying with the free buttons at the top of my blouse.

I watched him closely, as he wandered into the living space and shifted one of the couches slightly. “You want to do it in here or the bedroom?” he asked.

“Umm, here’s fine,” I mumbled in response.

He set up the table with practiced ease, before his eyes moved back to me. I can’t be sure, even now, but I’m fairly certain that his gaze moved over me hungrily. It was not, by far, the first time a man has looked at me like that. I’m a fairly attractive woman and I’ve even been propositioned by some of my husband’s colleagues. The difference is, today, I know without any doubt that I want this man to fuck me.

“All right,” he said, gesturing an offering palm towards his table. “I’m ready when you are. If you’d just like to get undressed and put on a robe.”

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head almost imperceptibly, as I brought my hands up to my shirt and began to unbutton it. A half-expected Louis to try to stop me: an instinctive response thanks to all those times James has done his utmost to avoid my nakedness. However, Louis’ reaction was very different from James’.

His smile broadened, he casually slipped his hands in his pockets and he rested his butt on the edge of the massage table, making himself comfortable.

Suddenly, my hands started to tremble, as I wondered whether it was interest or pure amusement on his part. I forced some control over my fingers, determined not to let him see how nervous I was, while I pulled my blouse off my arms and tossed it somewhere to my left. Without hesitating, I moved to my skirt, unclasping it at the back and allowing it to fall to my feet. I hadn’t bothered to put pantyhose or stockings on and I was still barefoot. So, as I stepped out of the puddle of material, I was in nothing but my La Perla underwear. The soft white lacy material that covered my breasts quickly joined the rest of my clothes on the floor. The chill of the room’s A/C struck my nipples and hardened them instantly, while I pushed my panties down my thighs.

Now completely nude, I looked up at him, almost too scared to meet his eyes, in case there was ridicule in them. But there wasn’t. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip slowly, while his eyes remained fixed on my breasts. Despite approaching forty, gravity’s been quite kind to me. My boobs have remained pert and I figure I can pass for a woman of five, maybe even ten years younger. Louis certainly seemed to have no complaints.

“Nice,” he hummed, nodding appreciatively.

I remained still and silent, not sure what my next move should be. Would I still need to make my intentions clear to him? Surely, as a masseur he was used to seeing his clients naked? He might not take my brazen striptease as an indication that I wanted more from him.

However, any concern I may have had was quickly quelled as he eased himself up from the table. A large tent at the crouch of his crisp, neatly pressed pants made itself obvious as he walked casually towards me.

“You spoiled socialite girls are all the same,” he said, seeming to talk to himself more than to me. “I love it,” he added, his gaze still raking over every inch of my body.

I stood firm, trying not to let my trepidation show. Tipping my weight onto one leg, my left hip jutted forth, as I fixed him with a challenging glance. I’d seen women do that in movies and I assumed it would make me look sexy.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, now within reach of me, but still keeping his hands to himself. “I know what you want. But you’re going to do something for me first.”