Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,40

third-wave feminism, independence and equality. Drinking a mimosa, flipping through a copy of Vogue while my paramour—Lover? Boyfriend?—made million dollar deals as if that were chump change, did not fit in that life.

But Leanna had suggested I give myself up to it, embrace everything, at least for this weekend. And wasn’t that what feminism really was about? About having the choice to do what one wanted? Even if it meant choosing an outdated historical paradigm for one’s life?

All of this was ridiculous anyway because this wasn’t a permanent situation. One weekend. That was all I had agreed to.

A sudden heat seemed to fill the climate-controlled cabin. I looked up, found Daniel watching me. With that look. That subtle look that, now that I knew him better, wasn’t so subtle. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that the flight attendant was in the galley at the back of the small cabin.

Daniel reached across the aisle, rested his hand on my bare knee.

“I’m so glad you came.” In that moment, with his voice gravelly and aroused and with him looking at me as if I were the most amazing, important thing in the world, and his hand—his hand simply on my skin—every sensation was heightened. This moment, now, not the future or the guilt, the past or the worry about tomorrow, only this moment mattered.

I laid my hand over his, caressed the edges of his fingers, enjoyed the feel of his well-manicured nails against my own sensitive skin. So what if the flight attendant was in the back? I lifted his hand to my mouth, turning it as I did, and kissed the place where his wrist met his hand. I had the pleasure of watching his eyes darken, the intensity of his gaze deepen. That made me shiver, gave me another sort of pleasure. I licked the place where I had kissed. Moved my lips to another small area of skin. Licked.

Kissed.

Licked.

Stroked the skin with my fingers, massaged the muscles of his palms.

Kissed.

Licked.

Daniel groaned. And I heard it. Smiled against his hand. I’d make a good mistress. I could focus on pleasure.

• • •

The minute we stepped off the plane, the mixture of sun and wind brought a smile to my face. Daniel took my hand, even as he greeted the driver who met us. I loved the feel of his fingers wrapped around mine and, with that connection, was content to follow.

A simple black sedan waited for us. I slid into the back seat. Daniel came around the other side, reached for my hand again. Pleasure curled up within me, spread out in warm spirals. Each breath I took felt deeper, fuller—freer. I looked around at everything as we drove on the country roads. Tall hedges lined either side and I knew that behind those green walls were fairy-tale estates.

We drove through one of the small villages, past the main street of stores, and then into another residential neighborhood. There were only brief glimpses of the water that surrounded the land. Seeing the names of all the villages and hamlets brought back memories of my childhood. Summers with my father and his rotating cast of girlfriends, the other children at the country club. I’d been just like every other budding socialite, from tennis to horseback riding. I had even competed and placed in the Hamptons Classic when I was ten.

Finally the car turned into one of the breaks between hedges, down a long drive and through an open wrought-iron gate. The house rambled, looked like a farmhouse plucked up out of the country and stuck on the seashore. Only, it was some wealthy person’s idea of a farmhouse, like Marie Antoinette at Petit Trianon.

“My mother chose it,” he said, as we walked through the rooms. The mention of Lucille Hartmann grabbed my attention. He never spoke of his parents. We had that agreement, as if the past could ruin everything about the present. Only the past was why we were here now. “Not exactly to my taste but … ”

But he’d kept it just to be close to his mother. I could read between the lines. I wished sometimes we could simply talk about it all. I had the sense now that, whether or not Daniel knew the truth of the matter, he believed his father had been wronged. He wasn’t some evil man out to get everyone. From what he’d told me about his father, and what I knew of his mother, they’d both pretty much abandoned him at the