“Oh, shit! It’s my neighbor,” I say when I recognize Mrs. Wilton. I brighten my expression and smile as I wave back at her, so my dismay won’t be obvious.
“What’s wrong with that?” Dante asks.
“She’s really nosy,” I explain. Since tonight is a fantasy, for some reason I didn’t expect to see people that I know in the real world. It also didn’t occur to me that any of my neighbors would dine here at the resort, though of course many of them could easily afford it. Just because Nick and I didn’t go out and enjoy nice things doesn’t mean other people don’t.
Maybe I should have requested that our date take place somewhere off the island.
“You’re afraid she’ll ask questions about tonight?” Darian asks.
I’m afraid she’ll spread the news that she saw me, a recent divorcee, here with two young strippers. And oh shit, what if she saw me earlier when Darian made me come right here at the table? “She likes to gossip,” is all I say to the men.
I don’t want to be rude and make them think I’m embarrassed to be seen with them, but I’ll be the talk of the neighborhood if I’m spotted with one young hunk, much less two identical ones. Thank goodness there isn’t a neighborhood newsletter, or I can see the woman snapping a photo of me and printing it for everyone to see. I really hope she’s too old to do her gossiping on social media.
“Is it really a big deal that you’re out on a date?” Dante asks.
“People talk about everything,” I explain. “It’s bad all over the island, and even worse in my neighborhood.” It’s then that I remember the men are also landscapers and have other customers on my street, and my stomach sinks. Not that dating gardeners is as scandalous as dating strippers.
When I glance back at Mrs. Wilton’s table, she’s eating her meal and talking to her husband. I wonder if they’re talking about me, and I try to read her face, but I can’t tell.
I’m not usually a person who cares what the neighbors think, and I didn’t give the idea of gossip a thought when Nick left, but this is something else entirely.
Why should it be, though? Would Nick care if he was spotted out with two young women? He’d be proud, probably, and other men would congratulate him. Why should I worry about being judged by antiquated, sexist standards designed to keep women in line?
“You’re right,” I tell Dante. “It’s just new for me, dating after my divorce. I don’t know why I’m worried about what people think.”
“Great,” he says. “Want the last bite of my steak?” He holds his fork out to me, and I force myself not to care whether or not Mrs. Wilton is looking as I lean in to take the food he’s offering me.
I’m going to ask them to keep their hands off my pussy for the rest of the meal, but I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m enjoying their company.
Even though the restaurant has tempting dessert options, I suggest we skip it and return to our room. The box of chocolates awaits, as do two very delicious-looking men.
We pass by my neighbor’s table on our way out, and I slow down to say hello, but I don’t stop to introduce my dates. I do hold onto their arms, though, and it’s liberating, enjoying them without caring what anyone thinks.
As soon as we exit the dining room, all thoughts of Mrs. Wilton or anyone else in the real world leave my mind. I have more important things to focus on.
23
Dante
Lorraine and her sexy body have distracted us from the real goal for tonight, which is to make her feel like the only woman in the world, taking inspiration from the stage act that she enjoyed so much.
Tonight isn’t about our lust, it’s about making her feel good — or, to be specific, feel good in ways other than orgasms, or — in addition to orgasms.
When we get back to the room, I put on a sultry playlist and take her in my arms. “Are you up for dancing?” I ask.
Her brows lift in pleasant surprise. “Maybe if I take these shoes off,” she says, wincing as she smiles.
Without a word, I pick her up and carry her to the nearest chair. Once I set her down, Darian and I each bow at her feet, working the straps open and slipping off her heels, each of us laying a kiss on her legs as we finish.
Darian toes off his shoes, and I do the same before offering a hand to help Lorraine stand.
“Do you want to take your jackets off, too?” Lorraine asks. “Get more comfortable?”
“Great idea.” Her eyes track our motions as my brother and I shed our suit jackets and drape them over the chair.