Free The Matzo Ball Heiress by Laurie Gwen Shapiro Page A

kind of sick trying? My guest makes no indication that he’s changed his objective, so I turn the dimmer to a seductive level of light. Steve compliments my modernist black-and-white decor, which I proudly already know is in very good taste, not too trendy, not too decorated. He also admires my one collection I chose to add subtle color to the room: twelve cat’s-eye paperweights. I put on a Nina Simone CD that Vondra swears by as an aphrodisiac and join him on the sofa.
    Steve pats one of the seat cushions. “Is this comfortable. I could sleep on this.”
    Nina sings about being misunderstood, and Steve drapes his spiffy suit jacket over the nearby chair. In moments he’s beside me stroking my hair. It’s been so long since I’ve been in this scenario that I have to think about what comes next. Should I pull off my dress or ask him more about his job?
    “I love how you smell,” I say finally.
    “And how’s that?” he asks in a velvety voice.
    “Musky. Manly.”
    “That’s a relief, because it sure ain’t cologne.”
    I laugh.
    He looks at me and the stars line up as he leans toward my lips. No awkward saliva, no dry tongues. We kiss each other for at least five unbelievable minutes.
    “Man,” I say when we finally come up for air.
    “Can I make a confession?” Steve whispers again.
    “Yes?” I pant.
    “I can’t say this—”
    “Don’t hold back on me now.” I smile.
    He grins like a bandit in a bad John Wayne film. “I had a hard-on all through your interview yesterday. You’re so damn cute. You must know that.”
    “Really?” I breathe harder.
    “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I even dreamed about you last night.” I graze his fingertips and Steve leans over and unbuttons the top of my dress. He kisses between my breasts. “What did you dream about last night?”
    I think, which is very hard in such a state of arousal. “You really want to know?”
    “I do.”
    “I was floating like a magic carpet over the matzo factory.”
    Steve kisses my neck and says, “Elevation while sleeping usually means the penis is rising, so it’s not that. But it could be the clitoris rising. Maybe I slipped into your consciousness.”
    “Could be,” I say, stirred and damp.
    He slips his hand into my gray cotton Calvins and with one-handed dexterity slides two callused fingers between my legs. He works his long fingers so fast it feels like a hummingbird is inside me. He’s already a champ in my book, but he ups the ante by sucking my right breast until my nipple is rock hard.
    I come with a yelp.
    When’s the last time I did that? Steve holds me until my pulse lowers. Nina Simone finishes her last note and Steve bites his lip in triumph.
    Steve guides my hand to his fly. He’s hard and hot. I smile knowingly and guide him to my bedroom and work open the buttons of his shirt. A three-inch silver cross is draped around his neck. Whoa. Not that I have a Jews Only policy—but man that cross is intimidating straight out of the gate.
    “You must be German-American?” I whisper nervously as I caress his light chest hair.
    “Why do you ask that?” He smiles.
    “That cross. With your last name I wasn’t sure you if you were Jewish.”
    He smiles again even more enigmatically. “I believe in time. Time is infinite—if you imagine it, it will occur.”
    “What? Why the cross?”
    “Why do you think it’s there?”
    “Uh—you’ve got me stumped.”
    “Maybe it’s an amulet. Maybe it’s a shield.”
    Okay. What’s going on here? Why is my sexy romp turning into a cloying Hal Hartley art-house film?
    He kisses my nose, his cock still fat with expectation. “I’m so excited by the special,” he coos.
    I’m considerably less hot and bothered. “What special?”
    He kisses my ear. “I thought I mentioned it.”
    “No—”
    He strokes my cheek and mutters, “We’ll talk later. I can’t wait to hear your family’s reaction.”
    My family? The idiot should have waited for the blow