Boys and Toys Read online

  “Uh...thanks, Dad.” Liv hated lying to her parents, but she also couldn’t see how she could be honest with them, either. Aside from her secret college boyfriend, she’d never lied on this scale to her parents before. This was her first big rebellion, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

  Liv hung up and opened her laptop again. She’d never intended to lie to her parents this long, but she also had drastically underestimated how bad the job market was at the moment. Her phone dinged with another message from Porter.

  Come to my place. 2622 N. Orchard. Come hungry. I’m serving dinner.

  Dinner? That threw her. This was sounding like more of a date than a sex party. Was Porter interested in more than a casual hookup? Liv shook her head.

  She thought about texting right then and there and calling the whole thing off. Why was she even seriously considering going? Jordan was wrong. Porter wouldn’t tell her dad, not if he valued his place at the firm. But what if that wasn’t true? Even worse, what if she went through with the party, but then Porter found out just how little she knew about the sex that went along with her toys?

  She’d have to stall. Put him off. But could she do it? She thought about how little her willpower had mattered in the elevator.

  As her fingers hovered near her phone, she remembered what Jordan had said, about Porter getting mad and telling her dad everything.

  She couldn’t risk even a remote chance that Porter would do that.

  She still remembered the look of pure anger on her father’s face when he’d found that Cosmo magazine she’d hidden under her mattress in her room when she was in eighth grade, the one that blatantly offered tips on blow jobs right on the cover. It wasn’t her fault, exactly. They’d never even dreamed of sitting her down and explaining the birds and the bees. She had to get what she could from fifth-grade sex ed and magazines.

  No, she had to do it. She couldn’t risk calling Porter’s bluff. She’d have to go through with the party, but she certainly didn’t have to sleep with him. Unless she wanted to, a little annoying voice whispered in her head. She texted back before she lost her nerve:

  I’ll be there.

  Chapter Four

  “This is a bad idea,” Liv told her reflection as she stared at her long, shiny hair, which hung past her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes lined with smoky eyeliner that accentuated the corners. She wore her most modest hostess outfit: a just-above-the-knee knit black dress, long-sleeved, with a scoop neckline. But she couldn’t decide on shoes: sky-high silver strappy stilettos, sensible black pumps, or full-on dominatrix lace-up knee-high black stiletto boots?

  “The boots!” cried Jordan, popping her blond head in, her neon green headphones hanging around her neck.

  “Are you trying to get me into trouble?” Liv demanded, hands on hips.

  Jordan shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe if you show him the whips ’n’ chains first, he’ll get all scared and cut the party short.”

  “Oh, great, and then he’ll go back and tell my dad I’m not just into sex toys, but I’m into S&M? That’s all I need.” Liv reached down to the pile of shoes at the bottom of her open closet. “Sensible pumps it is.”

  “You look like you’re going to a funeral.” Jordan leaned against the door frame of Liv’s room as she chomped gum.

  “I am—my funeral if my parents find out what I’m doing.”

  Liv slipped into her second shoe and studied herself in the mirror. She hated the frumpy rounded-toe pumps. She kicked them off and went for the flashy silver strappy stilettos. There, she thought. Not quite dominatrix, but not Sunday school, either.

  “I hate to be the one to bring this up,” Jordan said. “But what happens if he wants a sex party every weekend?”

  “It’s a sex toy party.”

  “Right.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure sex party is going to be more accurate.”

  A small smile tugged at the corners of Liv’s mouth before she wrestled it under control. “It’s going to be purely professional.”

  “Do you need my extra can of pepper spray?” Jordan offered it from the back pocket of her jeans. It was decorated with a pink skull and crossbones.

  “No,” Liv scoffed, and was surprised that she meant it. She trusted Porter. “He’s a nice guy.”

  Jordan let out a disgusted snort. “Right, because all blackmailers are nice guys. It’s just a cheap trick to get into your panties, Liv. Period.”

  “He’s not like that. He’s buying me dinner.” Liv was surprised at how quickly she rose to his defense. She tried to put into words the pull between them, the surprisingly strong current in their first kiss.

  “Dinner? Oh, that changes everything,” Jordan said, skepticism clear in her face. “Well, when he answers the door in a fuzzy leopard-print man-thong holding a strap-on, don’t come crying to me. I’ll say I told you so.”

  * * *

  Liv caught a cab to Porter’s posh Lincoln Park neighborhood, the driver gliding quickly through the darkened streets of Chicago’s North Side. The sidewalks were crowded with people hurrying to dates and dinners, concerts and clubs. She swallowed down the ball of nerves in her throat as the driver stopped in front of Porter’s building—a sleek, three-story luxury brick townhome just south of Diversy. Butterflies zigzagged dangerously in her stomach as she stepped out of the cab, pulling her wheeled suitcase filled with every naughty kind of adult fun imaginable. She tipped the cabbie and then made her way up the walkway to the front door, her stilettos clicking against the concrete.

  When she got to the buzzer, she hesitated, wondering if she ought to turn around and flee. Was she doing the right thing? If she went in there, would he find out she was a fraud? She glanced behind her as the cabbie sped away from the curb, red brake lights flashing at the end of the block. Porter must’ve been watching her from the window, because the door swung open before she even hit the buzzer.

  Too late to run.

  “Liv, right on time.” Porter was wearing a long-sleeved crew neck that showed off the taut muscles of his chest. His brown eyes gleamed as they took in her black dress, short leather jacket and stilettos. Under his appreciative gaze, she wasn’t sure if she felt glad or regretful of her outfit choice. Glad, she admitted. Deep down, she wanted to impress him.

  “Please, come in.” He held the door and helped her with the heavy rolling bag, picking it up effortlessly. She stepped into his expensive marble-floored foyer and marveled at his taste: modern, but not too clinical. His townhome was huge, at least three bedrooms, she guessed, which for Lincoln Park might as well have been a mansion. The first floor was clearly for entertaining, with a huge open living room and an attached kitchen equipped with sleek stainless steel countertops and appliances, calling to mind a professional kitchen at an upscale restaurant.

  She smelled the delicious aroma of tomatoes, onion and garlic in the air.

  “Smells good,” she said as Porter showed her the way to the kitchen. “Did you order Italian?”

  “Did I order,” Porter scoffed as he stopped and turned, so that she almost collided straight into him. The close proximity made her suddenly disoriented, as if he existed in a place where the air was just a little bit thinner than everywhere else. As she craned her neck to meet his sharp brown eyes, she felt a little light-headed and giddy. He moved closer to her and touched her arm.

  “I cooked.”

  “You did?” His words were barely even registering, as he was so close she could smell his aftershave, something expensive and earthy. He had nicked himself shaving, and she focused on that small little cut—the only flaw in his otherwise perfectly chiseled chin.

  “I made my mom’s chicken Parmesan, which should give you the energy you need to last the night.” Porter’s voice dropped to a whisper as he moved even closer. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart beat madly
. She certainly hoped so.

  No. No, no, she told herself. No ripping off his clothes inside of five seconds. She was here for a reason, and she needed to get to it. Sex toy party. Not sex party. Jordan was not going to be right about this.

  “My roommate bet me that you were going to answer the door in a furry leopard-print ‘man-thong,’” Liv said, trying to keep the moment light, deflect with humor.

  Porter laughed, a deep, affable rumble. “Who says I’m not?”

  Liv glanced down at Porter’s crotch and laughed.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starved,” she breathed, using the opportunity to move away from him, out of his gravitational pull. Maybe if she ate she wouldn’t be so eager to jump him. She’d forgotten to have lunch. She’d been anxious about coming over, about what would happen when she got here. She realized she really was running on fumes. Porter had place settings at the breakfast bar at the end of his stainless steel counters. Sleek high-backed chairs sat together at the end, expensive china laid out in front of them with linen napkins. She tried not to look surprised. She wasn’t used to guys who owned linen napkins, much less who cooked. The best meal her college boyfriend had offered was takeout from a Thai place, eaten straight from the cardboard containers.

  She took a seat and shrugged out of her jacket.

  “I hope you like red,” he said, showing her a bottle he’d already opened. She liked red, but she would’ve drunk anything to calm her nerves. Her heart thumped a little as she took the glass he offered. She took a bigger gulp than she’d planned, and inwardly ordered herself to slow down. Porter set a steaming hot plate of food in front of her that smelled delicious. He slid into the seat next to hers.

  “This looks amazing,” she said, and it did: breaded chicken with a marina sauce and melted mozzarella and baby asparagus tips drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette, with a generous helping of baby portobello risotto.

  “You made risotto,” she said, staring at the dish, knowing exactly how painstaking it was to make it since she’d tried—and failed—not to burn the slow-cooking dish at an Italian cooking class at Old Town last summer. “I’m impressed.”

  “That’s the idea,” Porter said and winked. “My mom’s Italian, so I learned all the tricks from her.”

  Liv glanced at the care he’d put into the food on her plate and wondered why he’d tried so hard. He seemed to be doing his best to make this an official date. But the mouthwatering aroma of food soon drowned out her reservations, and Liv dug into the meal. The food literally melted on her tongue. She hadn’t tasted anything this good since her Mom’s famous beef and snow peas Szechuan stir-fry. The amazing food and wine instantly relaxed her, and she found herself falling into easy conversation with Porter. She learned he liked being a lawyer, but that it wasn’t his passion. He loved to sail, which he did every summer out on Lake Michigan. He was saving up to buy his own boat. Compared to the men she usually dated—a string of aimless musicians or fast-talking sales guys living in cramped one-bedroom apartments with two other roommates—he was light years ahead. He had ambition, he could cook, and he had a great job. He was the first guy with real relationship potential since, well...ever.

  But she knew he’d go running the very second he found out she wasn’t who she appeared to be. A sex toy party hostess with barely any experience! He’d be expecting a porn star in the bedroom, but instead he’d get a complete newbie.

  He’d be just like the other two guys she’d slept with. All eager at first, and then couldn’t wait to toss her aside for the next person they met.

  All too soon, the meal was over, and Porter poured the last of the wine into her glass. She realized she’d have to get down to business soon. She stared at her black suitcase sitting in the corner and took a big swig of wine to shore up her confidence. She’d never felt this nervous before. Even at her first sex toy party she’d been strangely at ease. She knew how to play a part. That was something she did at home with her parents every day. And with a roomful of people, she knew she didn’t have to do anything real. She just had to pretend. She was good at pretending.

  “So I’ve been going on far too long,” Porter said as he set his knife and fork down on the plate. “Tell me about you. How did you start doing...what you’re doing?”

  Liv took another sip of wine. She told him the whole story, how she’d failed to find a marketing job out of college, how her friend had offered her the business.

  “So this isn’t what you want to do for life,” Porter said, moving his plate away so he could rest his elbow on the counter.

  “Disappointed?” Liv dabbed at her lips with the napkin.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that.” Porter leaned forward, his knee grazing hers at the breakfast bar. She felt the instant zing of heat and felt very aware of his body close to hers.

  “Tell me the truth. You were shocked when you first saw me at the party,” Liv said, carefully folding her napkin back on her lap as she crossed her legs, very much aware that her ankle swung closer to his leg.

  “Not shocked.” Porter clasped his hands in front of him. “Surprised, that’s all. I had thought you were...shy.”

  “Hardly,” Liv scoffed.

  Porter watched her closely. “At all the family parties, you never said much.”

  “I was bored,” she said, toying with a corner of the linen napkin on her lap. “That’s all. Mom and Dad, I love them, but they want me to be someone I’m really not.”

  “Lots of parents do. Mine wanted me to be an electrician, not a lawyer. Nobody in my family likes lawyers all that much.”

  Liv barked a laugh. “You’ve got a strange family if going to law school made you the black sheep.”

  “You have no idea.” He laughed ruefully.

  Liv reached for her wineglass and was shocked to find it half-empty already. She’d lost count of the number of glasses she’d had: Porter had been steadily refilling them. She tossed her napkin on the counter and hopped down from her chair and found herself a little tipsy, but not too much. The wine warmed her, sending a nice, light buzz through her temples.

  Just the right amount of liquid courage, she thought.

  “Well, shall we get down to business?” she asked, dusting off her hands as if readying to get down to serious manual labor.

  “Don’t make it sound so...not fun,” Porter teased.

  “Pardon me,” Liv apologized, making a little curtsy. “Are you ready for dessert?” she asked Porter in one of her most exaggerated sexy-girl voices. She put a hand on her hip and jutted it out.

  Porter laughed. “I’m ready.” He moved over to his expensive leather sofa and slumped down, stretching out his long legs on the top of his sleek steel-and-glass coffee table.

  “Well, then, what would you like to see first?” she asked him, unable to stop flirting, the wine having made her bolder than she would’ve been sober. Porter’s eyes grew serious as he gazed at the full length of her body, making a slow, deliberate sweep downward. She’d been partly joking about dessert, but the way he looked at her gave her the distinct impression she was on the menu.

  “Why don’t you open up your bag of tricks, and let’s see what we have?” He took his legs off the coffee table and leaned forward. Liv obliged, gently laying the rolling suitcase on his glossy, bare wood floor. She knelt beside the bag and unzipped it expertly, showing off rows of dildos, vibrators and colorful boxes of all sorts. Even, in case, a box of extra-large condoms.

  His eyes widened a little at the diversity. She’d added a few more toys for shock value that he hadn’t seen at the bachelor party, including an oversize corkscrew-shaped jelly-green vibrator. She held it up in front of him and powered it on. It undulated at high speed, like a massive drill, flopping in disturbing circles. She laughed as his mouth dropped open.

  “Is that supposed to be what women want?�
� he asked, as the vibrator spun around in a wide circle. “Please tell me that’s not your favorite toy.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said and laughed, switching it off and tucking it back into the suitcase.

  “Thank God,” he said, wiping his forehead in an exaggerated show of relief. “Why don’t you show me your favorite?”

  Liv hesitated. She had tried some of the toys, it was true, but she’d found most of them too plastic, too vinyl, too fake. In her mind, a toy could never replace the warm, living body of a man. That’s why she preferred the simpler ones, with fewer bells and whistles. Her favorite vibrator was actually surprisingly small, just the size of an egg. She felt the color on her cheeks rise as she reached in and fished it out, a golden egg that fit exactly in the palm of her hand.

  She met Porter’s gaze as she sat next to him on the couch and handed him the small vibrator. He said nothing as he weighed it in his hands. She leaned over, her leg pressing into his, as she showed him how to turn it on.

  “Not too fast,” she said, tapping one of her burgundy-colored nails on the switch. “Medium is the perfect setting.”

  “Is it now?” Porter’s lips parted just slightly as he leaned closer to her, his brown eyes intent on hers. He held the egg in his hand, and gently placed the vibrating tip just to the inside of her knee. She shivered in surprise as he rolled the egg farther up her inner thigh. She froze, wondering if she should stop him, realizing that she didn’t want to.

  He moved even closer then, putting his lips on hers and kissing her ever so gently, a teasing kind of kiss, as he moved the egg in dizzying circles, closer and closer to where she willed him to go. His tongue teased hers, and she found herself opening up for him, her knees inching apart. She prayed he didn’t stop.

  Chapter Five

  Porter didn’t. He pressed the small egg-shaped vibrator upward to its intended target, sending delicious vibrations straight through Liv, in a wave of pleasure so naughty she couldn’t help but enjoy it. Instantly, she became slick with desire, her skirt inching ever upward, his large hands warming the egg and her at the same time. If he kept it up, she would come right there, fully clothed on his couch, but she was too far gone to care. She deepened the kiss, even as the warm sensations below her waist made her groan into his mouth. She grabbed the front of his shirt recklessly, untucking it, sliding her hands across the smooth, taut muscles of his chest. He sucked in a breath of air as he withdrew the egg with an amused growl.