Karen

The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder, except may be posted as part of a review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sights.

Copyright 1999,2000 by E. Z. Riter. Please! Give me your comments!

Dear Reader: This is the story of a wife and mother who meets the man of her dreams. Unfortunately, that's her daughter's fiancé‚. I'm interested in whether you, as a reader, thought the story codes were correct. Thanks to Sara and Gail for their input and other invaluable assistance. Please enjoy. E.Z.

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Have you ever met a man you instantly feared? Who made you quake deep down inside?

I don't mean a physical fear. I mean a sexual fear.

A fear he would possess you as his own. A fear he would reach deep into your woman's heart to seize your innermost feelings, making you eager to do what he wished of you.

And a fear he might do nothing. A fear the deep gut longing for him would be unfulfilled, leaving you aching and wanting.

I'd heard other women speak of such fears. They're referring to movie stars or rock musicians they drool over in a fantasy. In my life, my real life, I'd never met such a man.

I was almost forty. My husband, George Phillips, and I had been married twenty-one years. We have two wonderful daughters, Polly, 20, and Patty, 18.

For the past twelve years, George and I worked hard to build our business. For ten of those years, the business grew and prospered. But for the last two years, the business suffered a steady and steep decline because George's overly ambitious expansion plans exploded in our faces. We were threatened with bankruptcy.

George started to drink heavily. Alcohol and stress turned his previously kind disposition to a sour and depressed mania. Our children suffered with us. Seeing their parents depressed was hard on them. We couldn't afford for either of them to go to college.

George is fifteen years older than I. In a way, our relationship was father and daughter. We began dating when I was seventeen. He took my virginity when I was eighteen. When I became pregnant with Polly, we married. I'd never had another man. Our major marital disagreement had been over the number of children. I wanted four. George insisted we have only two. He had a vasectomy to prevent additional children. I missed those days. I missed the feel of a baby, of the life in me, of nursing my child. I missed the closeness with the man who made that baby with me. George and I began to drift apart after those early, baby days.

Sex with George was pleasant and sweet, but never exciting. When I married him, I knew it would never be the bomb bursts my friends gossiped of. Our sex was more passive than that. When the business began its downturn, he became impotent. It'd been two years since we made love. For the last year, we slept in separate beds, not even touching during the night.

I'm five five and in good physical condition. I'm told I'm pretty. My daughters inherited my dark blonde hair and green eyes, my smile with the one dimple. My breasts are still high and firm, but my bottom and legs are my most attractive feature.

I never intended to attract men. I dressed demurely, preferring loose blouses and long, full skirts to hide myself from prying male eyes. I lived a life without carnal desires, keeping myself chaste except for my husband. I was a modest and faithful wife.

During this siege of unhappiness, our bright spot was Polly. She'd fallen desperately in love with a man. We hadn't met him yet, but she said he was magnificent, very intelligent, well educated and successful in business. His name was Eric Winston.

His only negative, from what she told me, was that he was thirty-two, twelve years older than she was. As Polly pointed out, George was fifteen years my senior so I couldn't complain about the age difference. Polly gushed about him, revealing a depth of love and wanting beyond anything I'd experienced.

During the next month, the business continued its relentless slide toward bankruptcy. George fought to survive, even if the hope of survival seemed dim. I knew if he failed after redoubling his efforts, the loss would be much more devastating. Too often it seems, a man's self worth is tied inexorably to his company and his position. I worried constantly about his mental and physical health.

George and I were home one Friday night about ten, getting ready to go to bed. We were exhausted from the demands of the business. As usual, it had been a long and difficult week. Patty was already asleep. The front door burst open. Polly, giggling and wiggling with happiness, charged into the room with a man right behind her.

"Mother! Dad! Eric asked me to marry him! I said yes."

I saw Eric Winston for the first time. Hot, prickly fingers walked down my spine. I flushed. Lights dimmed except around him. I was giddy and nauseous. Every sense was overloaded. I stared at him as he shook George's hand in greeting. He turned to me and smiled. His eyes held me. Heat flashed through me, like a heavy blush, leaving my nipples erect and a wetness seeping between my legs.

I'd met him - the man who could possess me. The man who could take me and make me his. Never before had I felt the intense, demanding, female need to throw myself at a man.

"Mother, are you all right?" Polly asked, taking my hands. "Why are you crying?"

"Your mother's just happy for you, dear," Eric said. "Let me help you, Karen."

My right hand in his, his left hand at my waist, he guided me to a chair. Was my robe on fire from the heat of his hand on me? Could no one else smell the scent I extruded? When I sat, I looked up at him. He could feel it. He could smell it. He knew.

Polly and George solicitously murmured around me. Didn't they see the sexual need in me? Didn't they feel my agony? Oh, god, what was I going to do? I wanted him so much.

I must resist him! I must! He was my daughter's fianc‚, her man not mine. I took a deep breath and prayed. Karen Phillips, wife and mother, pushed her unbridled carnal desire to the background and smiled benignly. For the first time since he arrived, I took a normal breath.

Physically, Eric was about six three. He was lean and raw boned, with big wrists and hands. His chest looked powerful, his arms strong. His hair was black and cut short. He was graying at the temples. His face was ruggedly masculine and handsome.

His most dominant feature was his eyes. They were large and deep set in large eyeholes, under thick, long black lashes and below heavy black eyebrows. Their color was a startling, deep, blue. They were compelling eyes, demanding eyes, eyes which might well be cruel. Those eyes could be soft and kind, too, as they were now.

He sat on the couch with Polly next to him, both her hands hidden by one of his. His voice was very pleasant, a well-modulated baritone. Its smoothness, the easy rhythm of his words, the timbre, all were pleasing and reassuring. It was hypnotic.

I was dressed in a long flannel nightgown which covered me head to toe and wore over it a thick and fleecy terry cloth bathrobe. But when he looked at me, I felt naked.

Polly was ecstatic, beaming brightly in her joy. She extended her hand to flash a solitaire diamond engagement ring. Her wriggling fingers distorted our view, but its size and quality were self-evident. I noticed a new necklace around her lovely neck. It was a gold choker with a small ring in front. From the ring dangled another diamond which matched the one on her finger.

We visited about wedding plans and their future. My eyes were constantly drawn to his, requiring conscious effort on my part to look away. They were as hypnotic as his voice. He enjoyed our eye game and my distress from it. Once a special smile flickered across his face. It made me shiver. It was the smile a man gives a woman when he intends to have intercourse with her.

I don't know why Polly and George were oblivious to his flirting with me. Couldn't they see what I saw? Couldn't they see how he appealed to me, how I wanted him? Couldn't they see this seduction in progress? Couldn't they see I was helpless?

Polly's exuberance invigorated us, but it was the presence of Eric Winston which energized me. We'd talked almost an hour when Eric changed the topic.

"Polly told me a few things about your business problems. That's my area of expertise. I'll be happy to assist you anyway I can," he said.

We talked until two in the morning. George and I unburdened ourselves, releasing our business worries like a dam burst releasing the water of a thousand brutal rains. Eric acted truly interested. His knowledge, insight and certainty impressed me. Every thing about him impressed me.

During those hours, our eye game continued. I saw that look again and again. Its implications were constantly in my mind. As a mother, I was angered my daughter's fianc‚ would look at me like that. As a wife, I resented his giving me that look in my own living room with my husband present. As a woman, I was terrified. He wanted me. He'd stop at nothing to have me. My anxiety bubbled like a cauldron.

Karen, it's you that's flirting with him. Stop it, a voice in my head said. It's not me, I thought in reply.

"I think I can help," Eric said. "When can I take a look at the books?"

"I've got a golf tournament with my biggest customer this weekend. How about Monday?" George answered anxiously.

"I'd like to do it tomorrow," Eric replied. "Karen's the accountant, isn't she?"

"Of course! She can show you everything. You two won't need me," George said.

"No, I couldn't," escaped me.

"Sure you can, honey," George said emphatically.

George's tone of voice and expression were clear. He wanted me to meet Eric on Saturday. Polly still hadn't noticed Eric's dance with me. And Eric smiled at me in a way which drove me mad. I was horrified I would be spending the better part of my Saturday alone with him, no matter the reason. I hid my reservations, warmly saying I'd be glad to meet him. We set a time and ended our evening. After he left with Polly, George and I went to bed.

"Karen, he's the answer to our prayers. Don't hold anything back. Give Eric whatever he wants," George said intently.

I slipped out of my bed and walked to his. I knelt beside it and took his hands in mine.

"I love you, George," I whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied. "Why are you crying? You've sure been teary this evening."

"It's been an emotional evening, what with Polly getting married and help in the business," I lied.

"Can you believe it, Karen? Eric may help us. He's the first person in two years to give us hope. Real hope. We've got to make it work! There's something about him that makes me trust him. I know this will work, unless we blow it. We can't do that."

"What if he wants more than you're willing to give?"

"He can't," George said with a snicker. "I'd give anything. Damn it, Karen. This may be our last chance." George patted my hand. "But I'm exhausted now. I'll sleep the sleep of the dead tonight."

"I hope I do," I replied.

"Get some sleep. You need to be sharp for him tomorrow. He'll probably run you through the wringer."

"I'm sure he will," I said and kissed him on the cheek.

Sleep was long in coming. I was dreading tomorrow. When sleep finally came, I had an erotic dream, a dream stronger than I had in years. The dream was of Eric Winston . . . and me. Agitated and fearful, I awoke in a sweat. George's snoring and my labored breathing were the only sounds in the room. I prayed for strength and fell asleep again.

I was tired and confused in the morning. I selected my least appealing outfit. I wore no makeup and old, scuffed, flat-heeled boots.

George greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss. He was ready to walk out the door to go to the golf course.

"Karen, you look frumpy. Put on something nicer. Something with some oomph. We want Eric to think the best of us," he said.

I cried when I redressed. My husband had ordered me to make myself prettier for a man who wanted me. My emotions were overloaded just thinking about Eric Winston. As I looked at myself in my full length mirror, I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. No, you don't, the voice in my head said. You're looking forward to it. No, I wasn't. I wasn't.

As I drove to the plant to meet him, I reviewed my situation. It was surreal. I was eight years older, his mother-in-law to be, and married to someone else. He was considering assisting my husband and me in our business. For him to give me such sexual signals didn't make sense, not in my experience, at least.

The drive to the office was slow. I talked to myself the whole way, telling me this was wrong. The last block of the drive I saw Eric in a blue Mercedes in my rear view mirror. He followed me into the driveway, parking beside me. Apprehensively, I watched him walk toward me. He was dressed in a button down, Oxford cloth, blue shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers. He looked long and lanky and strong, like a modern day westerner.

"Mr. Winston," I said coolly.

"Mrs. Phillips," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Shall we begin?"

Eric and I worked hard. Like a huge vacuum, he sucked up information I struggled to feed him at the pace he demanded. His clarity and precision of thought, his quick mind, had me in awe. However, I lived those six hours in fear of what would happen later. I was constantly aware of his maleness and dominant air, even as we discussed such mundane and non-sexual things as lease financing. I felt the sexual tension the entire time.

It wasn't my imagination. He touched me every chance he got. First, it was finger tips on my hand when I passed a file to him. I didn't respond, telling myself I didn't want to offend him. The touches became bolder. When he looked at me, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking about taking me. He wanted me to think about it, too. I could think of nothing else.

His toying with me was discreet except for one overt comment made after we'd been there about four hours. I'd finished telling him the relationship with our largest customer.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked.

"Tell me, is your pussy wet from wanting to fuck me?"

The room reeled as I started to faint. He grabbed me, his strong arms around me, his body hot against mine as he guided me to a chair and eased me into it. His hands slipped down my body, leaving a trail of fire.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"What? What did you say?"

"I said, 'Tell me your percentage net on the Fulton contract'. What did you think I said?"

Was I going crazy? He hadn't said that! Had he? Had he asked a question so innocuous? No. No. He was playing with me. He must be. He must. I couldn't read his expression. Had he said it?

"Oh. I thought you said something else."

His hands were on my knees. The pressure was gentle but increasing. He was trying to pull my knees apart! No. Was he trying to hold them together? Oh, god, what was happening? I started to cry again, burying my head in my hands as I sobbed. He disappeared and returned with a Coke. He took my hand and wrapped it around the cold can. I shivered from the coldness. Or was it from his touch?

"It's going to be all right, Karen," he said softly. His hand stroked my hair.

Stop! Stop! Don't touch me! I wanted to scream. I'm a wife, not a slut. I'm a mother. My daughter is your fiancee. This is wrong. It's wrong for me to want you so much.

I fought for composure. Eric waited patiently. When I was ready, we started the business review again. He continued his game of cat and mouse, leaving the mouse exhausted and her feelings raw and exposed.

After six hours, he said we were through with the business review and excused himself. I collapsed in the chair at my desk as I tried to sort through my confused mind the reason behind Eric's treatment of me and my acceptance of it. Acceptance? No. Desire. Why was I silent when he touched me? That's the reason his touches became bolder. The last time his hand slid down my back to stroke my bottom before pulling away.

When I looked up, he was sitting in the straight chair across from me. One leg was bent, his foot on the edge of my desk; the other was splayed straight, foot on the desk. He was displaying his crotch to me.

The bastard was teasing me! I felt the blush rise. My face was beet red. My hands trembled. I took several deep breaths, trying to control myself. I could feel his eyes burning into me, see him rocking gently back and forth as he leaned back in the chair. Finally, I looked him in the eye.

"What do you want?" I asked. My voice was tense, forced.

"I know what I want," he replied quietly. "I know what you want. We both want the same thing. The question is how do we start."

No. Not now. I'm not ready to resist. I'm too weak right now. Please god, give me strength.

"What do you think of the business?" I asked.

"Don't change the subject," he said. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he means something else.

"What do you think I want?"

Why did I say that? Why?

"You want to be hot and sweaty and naked, writhing in desire on my bed, begging me to fuck you."

"You disgust me, you perverted bastard!" I spit out at him without thinking.

I was in a rage! Every muscle and sinew tightened. I shook in anger at this overbearing male. My fists were clenched, my jaw set. In my mind, my own mother stood over me. Was that what my resistance was about? My mother's mores? My mother's prejudices?

"I'll tell my daughter! And my husband! How dare you treat me like this!"

He laughed. The sonofabitch laughed at me.

"I'm glad you're resisting, Karen. I love playing the taking game with a woman, particularly a woman who desperately wants to be taken."

"Touch me and I'll charge you with rape!"

He didn't respond as I glared at him. His expression was inscrutable. His eyes held mine. The emotion drained from me. Anger ebbed; frustration and helplessness flowed. I looked away as I started crying again. I couldn't stifle my sobs. He waited, letting me stew in my own juices. I was unable to get away. A prisoner in my own office, I sat awaiting his next comment. It seemed hours before he spoke.

"Karen, look at me."

He spoke so quietly I had to struggle to hear, but there was no doubt it was a command. Once again, I looked at him. Those eyes. They held me as if he held me in his arms.

"Karen, if I'm wrong, get up and walk out. Walk out the door and leave. I won't stop you."

Stand up, my mind screamed. Stand up and run from him. Run. Get away. Hide. Don't look in his eyes. Fight for control of your emotions, Karen, Polly's mother in me said. Oh, please god, help me. The tension's killing me.

"Eric, I can't leave."

"Yes, you can. Go ahead."

"I can't. Our company needs you."

"I'll assist the company no matter what happens between us. This is between us, you know. I want you and you want me. You're afraid to admit it, that's all."

"I can't trust you to help us if I don't give myself to you," I gasped out. Of course you can trust him, you stupid woman, the voice said. You've told him how to take you. Isn't that what you want? Eric Winston to take you? Yes! No, no! I don't know.

He looked puzzled. Then a big grin crossed his face and a devilish gleam appeared in his eyes.

"Ah. I understand. I'll build a box around you so you'll have no choice."

No choice? I already had no choice. I wanted him so much I was dying inside. Couldn't he see that? A storm rose on his face, but the sunlight glimmered through the clouds in his eyes.