Decadence by Monique Miller Read Free Book Online

ride back to the condo had
always been reserved for light conversation. Keep the questions to
a minimum and let her talk. If you ask her about herself, keep it
on the surface, don’t get too invasive, lest you get the
invasiveness turned around on you, and trust me, you don’t want
that.
    A secondary rule under the first was to
compliment her, but don’t be corny or creepy with whatever you
say.
    I mentally assessed what we knew about
Candice besides the name she’d give us. She was actually five feet
two inches tall; I’d asked her as I helped her put her clothes back
on in the car. She’d kept her heels on the entire time and they
were a pair of cute four inch heels she told me she got from Petit
Peton. I wondered if they were actually hers or if she was
borrowing them from a friend or a sister. Either way, the fact that
she had chosen to wear them told me she had good taste.
    The perfume she wore that I couldn’t seem to
get enough of on her was a brand by Clinique, one she’d been
wearing for years.
    What else could I say besides her kisses
tasted of strawberries and she smelled like a June sunset ought to
smell when the day hadn’t gotten too hot? She had a hood piercing,
that’s what I could add to the list. I’d felt that little ball in
the back of the Beemer. She had a little freak in her, but I
could’ve told anyone that, piercing or not.
    Also, there were a couple of tats on her hip
that dipped down more into her pelvic area. Chinese characters were
what she’d had inked on her body, symbols for virtues: Love, hope,
and peace. Plenty of people had Chinese characters tatted on their
skin and had no idea what they meant or how to read Chinese
characters at all before they got to the tattoo parlor, but if she
did know what she’d put on her body she sounded like an optimist,
someone who saw the glass half full, who was seeing the world as a
place with endless possibilities, a person whose dreams hadn’t been
completely killed off yet.
    An optimist’s outlook suited what I’d seen
from her so far: Constantly smiling, wearing bright happy colors,
had a good attitude.
    Rule number one was about being observant,
getting to know your prey, feeling out the object of your
desire.
    Then there was the third secondary rule under
the first one: Talk to her like a friend, not a conquest or a
potential notch on your bedpost. If you talked to her like a common
whore on the way to your place, I can guarantee you she’ll be
regretting meeting you before you two ever reach the front door of
your destination. If she’s uncomfortable, her mind isn’t going to
be as open; she’s not going to be one hundred percent willing to go
on that journey of exacting maximum pleasure and trying any and
everything with you.
    The whole idea is to get her comfortable and
keep her that way, which is what rule number two is all about,
which I’d already partially broken in the car. The secondary rules
under that one are the only thing saving me from having obliterated
one of our top rules: A) Cut the predatory stares and behavior and
be subtle and seductive; B) Get her in the mood.
    Maybe what happened in the backseat of the
car wasn’t supposed to have happened the way it had, but I didn’t
regret it. I could still smell her on me and it was a nice scent,
one I wouldn’t be too quick to wash away.
    As far as rule number three goes, Chris and I
have our own version of foreplay that didn’t exactly entail
romance, but foreplay is foreplay and you adjust it to yourself and
your partner(s).
    Foreplay is about mental stimulation more so
than physical stimulation. That hadn’t been foreplay in the back of
the Beemer that had merely been a preview.
    The only secondary rule under number three
were words to live by, a statement that I knew to be true: Most
women have a Girls Gone Wild side to them; it’s just up to their
partner(s) to help them release it.
    That was a huge part of the problem with a
lot of people in committed