Page 5 of Pleasure Lessons

CASSANDRA

I skip breakfast. I skip lunch. I haven’t been able to think about anything all day.

Anything other than Rhett.

I sit at on the edge of my velvet window seat, one leg hanging lazily off.

I’m still wearing the silk white nightgown I slept in as I gaze out the window at the misty day, arms crossed over my chest. I can’t decide if I am cold or hot.

The weather is chilly, but my heart has been pounding all day, driving a warmth through my body.

That’s all Rhett’s fault too.

He kissed me.

He kissed me like I belonged to him. Like he couldn’t breathe without me.

He leaned in, nearly hypnotizing me with that gorgeous face, and grabbed me like I was delicate and dangerous all at the same time.

And his lips confirmed to me what I already thought I knew: that he wants me just as much as I want him. Maybe even more.

And then he pushed me away, all because Clarisse showed up and ruined everything. What would have happened if she hadn’t? I can’t even imagine.

When I touched his face, told him that I wanted to learn, he looked back at me like he was afraid of me. If he hadn’t gripped me so hard, would he have been shaking?

He told me he’d be back today.

He wasn’t.

I stare out the window at the empty garden paths, the manicured lawn and shrubbery, the cold white gravel path leading to the tennis court, and I want to scream.

It hasn’t even been a full day without him, but I’m feeling such pain, it’s like he never existed.

Like he was just some character from one of my books that I dreamt up.

And I’m just sitting here like a statue, all day, my heart aching. Waiting for something to happen. Anything that will let me know he’s still thinking about me.

“Just don’t vanish on me again,” I told him.

“I won’t,” he said.

Maybe I’m placing too much of the blame on him. Maybe his car broke down or he had a medical emergency. Not knowing makes things so much more painful.

Then, he arrives.

Arthur. The ominous shadow that looms over every second of my life when I’m not with Rhett. My father’s hand-picked fiancé. The man whose eyes make my skin crawl, whose sleazy smile sends a chill through my body every time I see it.

I watch as his car pulls up and his driver opens the door for him. He steps out like he owns even the air around him and brushes his hand across his jacket, disgusted by a possible spot of lint or dust.

He looks up at my window and sees me. I go tense, his eyes narrow, and his lips twist up at the sides.

He lowers his chin, as if I don’t deserve an actual nod or a wave, then heads inside.

I move quickly to the dresser and pull on a bulky sweater that I can use to hide my body from him if he comes to my room. Which he does, of course.

He knocks but doesn’t wait for a response before entering. Why would he? He owns the house, after all–and by extension–me.

“Darling,” he says, stepping inside. Darling? Really? “You look wilted. Like a flower that needs watering.”

What a thing to say to a woman.

I don’t answer. I just pretend to clear my throat and lower my eyes.

He steps close to me. I smell something on him–maybe another woman’s perfume. His hand reaches out for mine, and when his fingers close around my wrist, I flinch. I can’t help it.

“You’re shaking, Cassandra. Have you eaten?” He glances over at the silver dome of my breakfast tray, sitting on the side-table. I pretend to scratch my neck and pull my hand away.

“I have,” I reply, lying through my teeth.

Arthur’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t push it.

He sees right through me. It’s one of his most disconcerting qualities.

He lets things slide, but later, when I’m least expecting it, he lectures me on what he’ll expect from me once we’re married.

What it means to be his wife and carry the family name with “grace” and “discipline.” My heart turns to ice just thinking of it.

That lecture comes later in the evening after my father shows up for dinner. He fawns all over Arthur, his eyes beaming like he’s so proud of their arrangement–the future he’s bartered on my behalf. A deal I dread.

“Look at her.” He smiles, spreading caviar on toast. “She’ll be a princess here, Arthur. She already is!”

He’s tipsy off all the champagne they’ve been drinking. It’s beyond embarrassing. Here they are, talking about me like I’m some Disney princess, when really, I feel like the final-girl in a thriller-horror movie.

I smile and nod, however, like a good girl should, until the dishes are cleared.

Arthur twirls his glass and leans in. “By the way, you’ll be accompanying me to the gala I’m hosting at my club next weekend.

” Arthur owns a golf club, because of course he does.

“A designer will be here in three days to fit you for your dress.”

He winks, as though having a dress handmade for me is suddenly going to make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I guess Arthur just can’t fathom the fact that women don’t want to be bought.

I open my mouth to reply, but he’s already talking to my dad again.

They start lighting up cigars and talking business, and I politely excuse myself upstairs.

The second I’m back in my room, I strip out of the uncomfortable dress he had me wearing and the brand-new heels that have been killing my feet.

I trade them for a pair of athletic shorts and a soft T-shirt I’ve worn countless times.

Then I slip my hand under my mattress where I’ve hidden the romance novel I’m currently reading.

I cradle it like a tender little secret. Because it is a secret. It’s my secret. My only outlet into the psyche of a man, until Rhett came along.

I sink into bed and curl up under the covers. My heart still stings from not hearing from him all day. My stomach feels hollow but not because I haven’t eaten all day. The second I open the book and the smell of the paper enters my nostrils, something inside me comes alive.

The scene I reached last time was a spicy scene near the climax of the book, where the heroine, who is desperate for the hero’s touch, finally admits to him that she’s ready.

That she’s desperate for him. I knew I had to stop here or I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, but as I delve in, suddenly the heroine is no longer who I am picturing in my mind.

It’s me.

And the hero is Rhett, looming over me, his jaw sharp, his cheekbones chiseled, his voice gravelly and strong. “If I teach you, it won’t be like my tennis lessons. I won’t be able to take things slow with you. There won’t be any beginner lessons. We’ll jump right into the advanced classes.”

I close my eyes and let his words sink into me.

“You’re mine,” he growled, slamming the door behind him as he walked toward her, his eyes flaming with desire. “Say it to me.”

“I’m yours,” she whimpered, scared but also elated by the pure lust in his gaze.

Slowly, my hand begins to drift beneath the covers, as if moving on its own. Without me even thinking of it.

It’s not something I’ve ever done before–not really. I’ve never really known just what to do or had any real reason to do it.

But now my body is on fire. A slow and steady ache is building between my thighs as I imagine Rhett’s rough, skilled hands on my body, his mouth on my neck, his tender breath against my skin. I think back to how he kissed me, as if he was going to lose his mind if I didn’t kiss him back.

My fingers move lower, beneath the hem of my panties.

My breath catches as I feel how wet I already am. I move even lower, imagining my fingers are Rhett’s as he whispers in my ear, “I’ll show you, baby. I’ll teach you.” And then the hesitation disappears, overtaken by a rush of desire that lights my whole body on fire.

Goosebumps spread across my limbs, and my legs begin to tingle as I touch myself.

My back arches off the bed and my hips sway, moving like they themselves know just what to do, even if my brain does not.

I picture him on top of me–his weight, his warmth, his pressure, the growl in his throat as he fills my ears with talk like from one of my books.

A gasp slips from my lips as my core grows hotter. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I like it. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not when Rhett is filling my mind.

My thighs tighten. My toes curl until my feet start to cramp. I picture his eyes locked on mine, like a hero from a romance novel, heavy with hunger and desire. His callused, skilled fingers slide down my stomach and under the waistband of my pajamas, down under my panties.

“Just like this,” he’d say to me. “Touch yourself like this, Cassandra. You only have a few more seconds before I take over.”

“I want you to,” I say out loud, my voice quivering.

And that’s when it happens.

I go off.

An explosion of heat bursts through my body.

My back bows off the mattress, and my limbs go stiff as my thighs clamp down on my hand.

My breath seizes in my chest as my jaw hangs open, but all sound remains trapped in my throat.

My belly clenches, and I snatch the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring me to the ground.

Finally, I come down. And when I do, I feel…different.

It’s like I’m awake–like my eyes are open. The whole world feels more raw, more primal. That was my first, but it was assisted by Rhett. And now that I’ve experienced that, I am desperate for the real thing.

I need him , and I need him badly. So badly that tears begin to gather in my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they fall down my cheeks, forcing me to wipe them away with the back of my hand.

Tears of joy cause me to giggle as I slip beneath the sheets, shaken and thrilled all at the same time.

I close the book and press it to my chest, which is thumping heavily with the strong rhythm of my heart. And then, I make myself a promise.

Tomorrow, even if Rhett doesn’t show up, I’m going to find him. If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.

I’m not a child anymore. I’m a woman, and I’m ready to learn. And there’s only one man on this earth who can teach me.