“Jax tells his friends that I am the most orgasmic woman he’s ever been with. He tells them he can make me come with a touch.”
I close my eyes and turn my head. I’m not seeing Simone anymore. I’m not seeing Jax. I’m seeing Robert Dade, his hands sliding higher and higher up my inner thigh.
“He hands one of them his phone, asks him to record us . . . he even invites his friends to record it on their own phones if they like, so they can see me climax whenever they want. I’ll be in their pocket, exposed for their pleasure.”
I suck in a short breath. This isn’t my fantasy but I understand it. I feel the cameras on me, feel the stares.
“The bikini is only tied together with pretty little bows placed on each hip. He unties the knots, lets them see me, and then, as they watch, as they film me, he touches me, moving his finger slowly then faster and faster . . . I can’t control myself anymore. I’m writhing around in my seat as they watch. I let the fingers of one of his hands explore my depth as his other hand pulls my arm away from my breasts. And the men, they keep watching, keep filming as I come closer and closer. . . .”
Her fingers scratch against the fabric of the couch. I don’t have to look at her to know that she is now completely lost in this reverie. But then so am I.
“One man comes closer, he sees everything, they all do and I know I shouldn’t like it but I do. I know what Jax is doing is wrong, displaying me like this, touching me like this in front of all of them, but knowing that only makes it all more intense. And in front of their eyes, in front of their cameras I come . . . they watch and Jax makes me come . . . I come in front of a room full of men.”
She and I open our eyes at the same time. “That’s a fantasy,” she says softly. “I would never do it. Not in front of Jax’s friends . . . definitely not with all their cameras trained on me . . . but that’s the joy of fantasy. There are no rules, no limits, no consequences, no judgment. Just irreproachable pleasure.”
I sit with this for a moment, delighting in the idea that something so scandalous can be irreproachable when contained inside the mind. But then I am not so constrained.
“I slept with Robert Dade, more than once.” Reluctantly I step out of the ethereal mood Simone has cloaked us in to acknowledge this reality. “There will be consequences.”
“Yes,” Simone agrees. “But sometimes consequences are good . . . even when they don’t seem that way at first.”
“I’m engaged to another man.”
Her eyes fall to my hand. “No ring yet?”
“We found one. . . . Dave wants to see if he can get the jeweler to lower the price.”
Simone’s smile fades, the haze of recent pleasure slips away. “How many millions does Dave have in his trust fund? Four? And he’s making, what . . . a hundred and twenty thousand a year at his firm?”
“About half that for the former, almost twice that for the latter,” I say but quickly add, “he’s conservative with his money. I like that about him. He’s never reckless.”
Simone brings herself into a more erect position, moving slowly like a woman approaching a potentially explosive subject. “Has he ever said the words, ‘Will You Marry Me?’ ”
“That’s not really the point—”
“Maybe not, but did he say them?”
I don’t want to answer this question. It will paint Dave as cold, as cold as the statues Simone compared me to. But I came here for honest advice and so I force myself to give an honest answer.
“He said,” I begin, falter, and then let the rest of the words spill out in a rush: “He said I think we should go ring shopping.”
Again she nods, no judgment in her eyes, just thoughtfulness. “Did he talk about wedding dates?”
“We haven’t gotten that far.”
“Has he told his parents? Asked your father for permission?”
“Our parents don’t know yet . . . but they all assume we’ll get married eventually.”
“You’re not engaged.”
“Simone—”
“Not by any definition of the word,” she says, more forcefully now. “Maybe you will be, but you’re not engaged now. Something is pulling you into this affair. Maybe it’s your attraction to this Dade guy or maybe it’s your fear of settling down with the wrong man.”
“Dave and I have been together for six years. How could we have made it that long if we were so wrong together.”
“Maybe he was right for six years . . . but will he be right for the next sixty? Your subconscious is telling you something . . . and your body wants to explore your options. You’re not engaged yet, Kasie. Find out what this is with your fantasy man. Allow yourself time to explore. If you don’t . . . if you just marry Dave without even indulging your alternatives . . . you could end up divorced. Worse yet, you could end up being duty bound in a marriage to a man your subconscious tried to pull you away from.”