The story of a woman named Valentine who meets a charming writer of risqué stories. As she is seduced by his words she is also confronted by the guilt of playing his taboo games. Will reality live up to the dirty fantasies?
“You mentioned the story about the blonde,” he said, with his eyes on her legs.
His gaze made her feel sexy. She sipped the bourbon and winced a little as it burned in her throat.
“Right. I think it was one of your earlier stories. There was a man and a blonde girl. She was younger than him. They were in a restaurant and he was telling her what to do,” she said, trying not to look at him so that she could speak without being embarrassed.
“What did he tell her to do?”
She took another sip, for courage.
“He told her to pull up her skirt when the waiter wasn’t near,” she whispered.
“And touch herself.”
He smiled again. She wanted his hands on her, like in the cab. She wanted him.
“Pull up your skirt,” he said.
“I’m not one of the girls in your stories,” she said with a laugh.