About the Author
Eden Davis writes erotica for women of a certain age who are looking for a private and pleasurable reading experience. She lives in the New York area.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Dare To Be Wild Havin’ Your Cake
“Have you tried giving him a professional?” the radio diva boldly asked her caller.
“They always work for me,” chimed in her streetwise, male sidekick.
“A professional what?” Though Livia had not expected a response, sucking sounds, intermingled with soft grunts supplied by the special effects button, was the reply. So this is what relationship advice had come down to in the new millennium? Was oral sex now the modern day Band Aid to whatever ailed him?
“The real question is: Has he tried giving her a professional? Why does it always have to be the woman doing the giving? Thank God, I’m old and past the age of dealing with such mess,” Livia decided and flipped over to 1010 WIN.
At 49, she wasn’t actually ancient but certainly old enough and experienced enough to know that when it came to the game of love, sex was at best a short-term solution to any long-term issues. Particularly when the remedy was, as in most cases, one-sided and service-oriented. Besides, Livia and sex were on the outs these days. Her ex got most of her libido in the divorce. Hell, the truth be told, she’d actually lost that sucker somewhere around year ten. But then whatever smidgen she had left, radiation therapy had claimed as its own.
She didn’t have time to concern herself with that now anyway. To stay on task, Livia started going through her mental “to do” list of every chore she needed to accomplish today. Livia Denise Charles, a list maker. With them, she stayed organized, and felt a sense of accomplishment with every completed job. Without them, she was lost and ineffective. In her life, lists were a good thing.
After this delivery, Livia still had a million things to do before the party tonight. She was the guest of honor. Well, actually, the twins were, and even though her friends were taking care of most of the arrangements, Livia had insisted on making the cake because, well, that’s what she did. All it needed was a few finishing touches, but she had to tidy up both the house and herself before the guests arrived. And as with most things these days, both took a lot more time than they used to. No time to dilly dally.
“You have reached your destination,” the navigation system interrupted her thoughts to inform her.
“Thanks, Minerva,” Liv said, talking to yet another voice coming from speakers in her car. This little baby was well worth the extra dollars it cost her to install. Frankly, anybody who rode with Livia would have pitched in to pay double. Directionally challenged, she could get lost making a U-turn, so anything designed to save her time, frustration and gas money was a worthwhile investment.
Livia pulled her Lexus into the driveway and drove what seemed like another half block around to the back. Her client had left a voicemail, letting her know that nobody would be home and she’d leave the kitchen door unlocked. Since providing the winning cake for the Today Show Throws a Wedding, Livia no longer personally delivered her frosted works of art to private homes, but Naomi Maddox was a frequent and valued client. She was a well-connected part of a social circle whose elite members entertained often and had the money (and egos) required to afford couture cakes. When it comes to business, you gotta love the customers who buy into the ridiculous concept of keeping up with the Joneses, no matter what the economy. New clients, via Naomi’s very lucrative word-of-mouth, had added over $10,000 to Livia’s bank account in the last six months alone, helping to keep her bakery solidly in the black after only three years.
Havin’ Your Cake was fast becoming one of the premier cake suppliers for the nation’s cake aficionados. Thanks to the Today Show exposure, Livia had become the darling of wedding planners, bridal bloggers and brides-to-be across the country. Most thought that Livia was an overnight success, but her family and friends knew that this had been a long and tedious journey. Livia, who earned her MFA at New York University, had originally set out to be an artist. She quickly learned that talented, starving and poor didn’t agree with her upper middle class sensibilities and settled for a job with a large non-profit organization. She spent years raising money for charitable causes before deciding to pursue her second love—baking. After graduating from the Culinary Institute of America with her Bachelors in Baking and Pastry Arts, Livia combined her love of art and baking, and Havin’ Your Cake was born. And just in time to fill her days after her twenty-three-year marriage to Dale Charles ended in divorce.
Livia opened the hatchback of her RX450h, slowly pulled the tray with two large, square boxes toward her, got a good grasp on its edges and cautiously carried it to the kitchen door.
“Hello?” she called out gingerly as she twisted the knob and pushed the door open with her foot. “Anybody here?” Greeted with the silence she was expecting, Livia stepped inside and over to the center island that dominated the large kitchen.
You can tell a lot about a woman by her house. And if the kitchen is indeed the heart of the home, judging from this pristine room, Naomi Maddox was a direct descendant of the tin man. Nary a smudge, crumb or smear could be found in this stainless steel and granite space. With a floor clean enough to perform surgery on, Livia detected a sanitizing whiff of lavender and lemon. No lingering scents from last night’s spicy beef stew or this morning’s cinnamon buns, no unwashed dishes from a mid-morning snack or orphaned coffee cup. This was a show kitchen, a room designed to showcase wealth and good taste, neither of which had anything to do with food or family.
As per Mrs. Maddox’s instructions, Livia found the cart designated for her latest creation—a three-dimensional pinup of Naomi’s mother looking like she was kneeling on a floor of plump red pillows. The image was recreated from a photo taken when she was 22 with a young husband off fighting the Korean War. Liv found it to be an interesting choice, as the woman was turning 80 years old today. But hey, it was her job to fulfill the client’s sugar and spice wishes, not determine them.
Remembering her pressing schedule, Livia quickly assembled the cake and wiped away any excess frosting. She cleaned up the remaining debris and with her ever-ready digital, took one last photo for her portfolio.
“Livia Charles, here’s to another job well the hell done.” She congratulated herself with her ritual shoulder brush. Livia turned to leave and that’s when she heard them—the muffled sounds of low moans and groans, distinctly female, coming from down the hall. Fear turned her blood cold, causing her muscles to freeze as she pushed her face in the direction of the noise, straining to hear.
It sounded like someone was in trouble. God, was the birthday girl here? Had she fallen and couldn’t get up? Livia’s first impulse was to rush toward the sound and help the poor old lady out. However, the thought that kept her feet in place was the idea that the person who was in trouble might also be in the presence of the troublemaker. She’d already gone through her stint of staring death in the face. Did she really want to go through all that again?
Liv slowly edged her way over to the cordless phone and picked it up from the base. She’d just dialed the 9 and 1, when the thought crossed her mind that the last thing Naomi Maddox would want was a houseful of cops combing over her property when she was expecting an army of caterers.
There it was again, this time co-mingled with a deeper, more masculine timber. Muffled and unintelligible, Livia couldn’t make out any words, but the tone sounded demanding. She had to do something. She took a quick look around the place and mapped out a plan. First, she went over and opened the kitchen door in preparation for a swift exit. She then picked a gleaming butcher knife from the block. Like the rest of the appliances, it looked as if it had never been used, so the blade had to be nice and sharp.
Yeah, sharp enough to fillet me if it got into the wrong hands.
She replaced the knife and looked around for another weapon, one that would maim instead of kill. Her eyes immediately were drawn to the set of keys hanging on a hook near the door. She pulled them off the wall and positioned the longest key between her second and third fingers.
Yeah, go for the eyes, she thought.
Armed with the key in one hand and the cordless phone in the other, Livia took a deep breath and went over her quickly concocted plan one more time—ninja down the hall, peek in, access the situation. If it’s bad, dial 9-1-1, drop the phone for all to hear and burst into the room, weapon at the ready, sounding buck wild and acting crazy. Capitalize on the element of surprise and pray that God and some of her self-defense lessons kicked in.
That was the plan. She didn’t know how good of a plan, but a plan nonetheless. Livia stepped out of her sandals and as stealthily as possible, tiptoed down the hall in the direction of the whimpers. She didn’t have to go far before the noise became louder and more intense. It was coming from a room that, through an open crack in the door, appeared to be an office/den of some kind. Slowly, she pushed the door further into the room, grateful that Naomi kept the hinges in her house well oiled. Liv leaned in slightly and what she witnessed stole her breath and caused her to jerk back into the hallway. She collapsed against the wall and slid down the partition, placing the phone and keys at her side. Weaponry was not going to be necessary.
Somebody was getting worked over all right, but it wasn’t Naomi’s mother. There was a man in the room watching porn and getting himself off. Livia’s torso turned back toward the kitchen but her behind had other ideas. And without her brain’s consent, it scooted across the floor, back to the door.
She couldn’t see him. He was seated in a high back, yellow leather chair facing the opposite wall. All Livia could see was one golden-brown, muscular thigh flexed with sexual tension. His blue jeans were pooled around his ankles and his arm made peek-a-boo appearances as he stroked himself into bliss.
“Yeah, lick her good,” a deep, buttery voice requested. “Make that pretty pussy wet. Take those panties in your teeth and pull them. Snap ’em. Yeah, that’s it. Now play with your titties. Let her know how hot she’s making you.”
Livia watched, mesmerized as the women on the flat-screen followed his every instruction. It took a second or two to realize that he’d obviously seen this movie a time or two hundred. She could probably hit the back of the chair with the phone and he wouldn’t even notice. Those two women—one chocolate, the other vanilla—had his full attention.
She was embarrassed to admit it, but they had Livia’s as well. In fact, in her head, she even gave them names. Coco was lying back on a cream leather couch with her long, shapely legs spread, one over the back and up the wall. All she wore was a tiny g-string and high heels with strings that laced up her legs. She had a great set of breasts, real, Livia determined, with quarter-sized, yummy brown areolas and erect nipples begging to be sucked. Her lips, pouting with pleasure with each stroke of the blonde’s tongue, allowed the frequent escape of a grateful whimper. Nilla was on her knees, her apple bottom ass high in the air with her head between Coco’s pretty brown legs. Livia watched as Nilla licked her pussy through the whisper sheer panties, getting as hot as the two of them. Well, three, when you count the guy in the yellow leather chair.
She was sitting there, Vikki The Voyeur, a peeping Thomasina, getting turned on by watching other people have sex. Livia couldn’t tell which version—the real man or the video vixens—was turning her on more. He was a stranger lost in his fantasy, pleasuring himself, and here she was intruding without his knowledge or consent. They were an erotic fantasy, soft and sexy beautiful women turning each other out. All of it made Livia feel freakishly naughty. And she liked it.
“Yeah, touch yourself, baby. Finger your pretty pussy while you eat hers.”
The sound of his deep voice, alternately shouting out orders and getting wrapped up in his own physical pleasure added to the heat. Despite his crude language, his directives were forceful but stopped short of being demanding. More like requests that teetered on the line between a beg and bark. The kind that, from the right man, were impossible to deny.
Following his directions, and without conscious consent, Livia’s hands joined the party. They slid down her skirt’s waistband, separating her 100% cotton panties from her full pubic thatch. With his voice in Liv’s ears, her eyes stayed on the screen, watching Nilla suck, lick and tug Coco’s clit into crazed ecstasy. She parted the hair with her middle finger, reaching deep inside to find the creamy middle, lubricated her nib with her own juices, and furiously began to finger herself. As her legs began to tense with approaching orgasm, Livia bit her lower lip, forcing the sounds of carnal satisfaction back into her body to join the energy circling around her engorged clitoris. Judging from the sounds emanating from inside the room, the four of them participating in this secret and disjointed orgy were all about to explode. Liv couldn’t speak for the others, but it had been so long since she’d been this hot, even longer since she’d actually had sex, that she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to. She came deliciously hard and silently, and then leaned back against the wall, gratefully gasping for breath, as her body attempted to recover.
A chorus of “YES,” singing out in soprano and dominated by a baritone, first made her smile and then forced her out of her afterglow and back into reality. She was sitting in the hall of her best client’s home, with her hand down her skirt, masturbating. Livia needed to get the hell out of there and fast. She picked up the phone and keys, got up, quietly power-walked back into the kitchen, and returned everything to its proper place. Quickly, she slipped on her shoes and went out the open door and into the safety of her car.
Livi glanced at the clock before backing out of the driveway. She’d spent nearly forty-five minutes on an errand that should have taken her twenty, tops. She conjured up her task list again and began checking off each completed job starting from number one. Anything to distract herself from dwelling on her most recent and inexplicable behavior.
Order more cake boxes. Check. Confirm the design for the Johnson cake. Check. Deliver Maddox cake. Check. Secretly give myself a mind-blowing orgasm in the company of strangers. Check. Check.
She drove about three blocks before pulling over to the curb and bursting out into crazy, what-the-hell-did-I-just-do laughter. Jasi, Aleesa and Lena were never going to believe this. Shit, she couldn’t believe it herself. Then again, they’d never know, because Livia had no intention of telling.
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