Wish Her Well
Wish Her Well by Meg Silver
Information and excerpt(s) for “Wish Her Well”: Episode 7 of Meg Silver’s Fantasy Heights erotic suspense serial.
“Wish Her Well” Description
Episode 7: With one Fantasy Heights performer missing, the rest promote their own goals and agendas. Trouble begins to erupt, and Amanda has to decide which master she serves: her own interests or the people she cares about.
“Wish Her Well” Info
Release Date: 11 November, 2012
Length: 28,900 words
ISBN: (Smashwords Version only) 978-1-3011-3509-7
Edited by: Emma Reynolds
Cover by: Joy Warrender
“Wish Her Well” Purchase Launchpad
“Wish Her Well” Excerpt
There were degrees of bitchiness. Ridley Pierce must have studied hard to earn them all.
She caught Derek and Amanda waiting together in the Viewing Room’s greenroom.
“Well, well, well.” Ridley stood in the doorway, barely decent in a black column dress more suited to a beauty pageant than a VIP mixer. “Scraping the bottom of the barrel tonight, I see. Couldn’t they find a better replacement for Nicole, or did they run out of cardboard cutouts?”
Amanda watched Derek turn a dangerous brownish-red color. She could hardly blame him. Five days with no word from Nicole. Three since the local authorities joined the investigation, and still nothing. Derek was despondent. Ridley should be ashamed of herself for taking such a tasteless shot.
Much as Amanda would like to rip out every single one of Ridley’s red curls, she was still under strict orders from Thomas to set a standard of composure and keep things running smoothly on the resort.
She stood and spoke in a level, reasonable voice. “Was there something you needed?”
“Jerod. Have you seen him?”
“Slipped his leash, huh?” Derek asked.
Ridley tilted her head, giving Derek a long look. “He’s useful.”
So it was true, Amanda thought. All week long, the grapevine had smoked with rumors of a Ridley-Jerod hookup.
“The same way Thomas would have been useful?” Derek asked. “Oh, wait. That’s right. Thomas doesn’t have the Hughes family money in his corner. Off with his head.”
“Is this you, being self-righteous? That’s interesting, because at least I’m honest about it. I don’t hide the fact that I use people to get what I want.”
Derek’s eyes filled with enmity and spite, and he returned fire. “Except you never do get what you want. You’re never quite special enough to play Cinderella, and never powerful enough for evil queen. No matter which party you crash, you’re never quite belle of the ball, are you, Ridley?”
Amanda watched that bullet ding its target. The effect was chilling. Ridley turned from ‘bombshell’ to ‘warhead’ in the blink of one heavily made-up eye.
Whoa. Time to step in again before this got bloody. “Sorry, Ridley. Jerod’s not here. We haven’t seen him.”
Ridley gave them both a contemptuous sweep with her eyes before leaving them in peace.
Immediately, Amanda began the damage control. She put a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Ignore her. She’s just mad because her complaint backfired.”
Derek gave her a begrudged smirk. Ridley’s complaint about their off-script fumble had yielded unexpected results. Instead of landing Derek and Amanda in trouble, their runaway chemistry had pushed them to the top of the VIP clients’ hot list. Tonight, while guests for the Three Sisters Ball kickoff event made merry in the Viewing Room’s gallery, Amanda and Derek would perform a fantasy written by a blue-chip client.
They were the last pair of the night’s seven performances. Yes, they would have to be extra vigilant not to deviate from this custom script, but it was still an honor to be chosen for this top-drawer event. And watching Derek, she had no trouble at all stirring up sexual appetite. A sedate, dark suit accentuated his lanky strength. Even tense and distracted as he was, the man still had those compelling features and unruly hair that always turned her head.
Amanda was glad to see her levelheaded act take effect on Derek. He rolled his neck to dispel some tension, and checked his watch. Then, without warning, he reached over to open the front of her fuzzy yellow robe to peek at her breasts.
Her protest was mostly artifice. “Hey!”
“Yeah, but admit it. You stopped worrying about me for a minute.” He winked and sent her onto the set to begin the show.
The Viewing Room stage—a large box of two-way mirror—was dressed as a bedroom in rusty reds and pine green. As she came on set, she crossed to the vanity table on the far side of a king-sized bed. Following the script to the letter, she leaned forward, examining her face in the mirror. She traced the pad of her ring finger over her bottom lip as she tilted her head this way and that, regarding herself and her features.
The whole time, she wondered where the fantasy had come from, whether this was a reenactment of something the client had seen or done before. Whatever the case, she moved onto the next step and shed the robe, draping it over the back of the vanity chair.
Instead of her face, she began to examine her body in the mirror, turning slightly. She arched her back and subsided again before raising her hands to trace a playful line along the outer curve of her breasts. She made multiple, undecided repetitions before fingering a nipple, feeling the soft flesh tighten and watching it do so in the mirror.
Heat flickered to life between her legs. Always her undoing, masturbating in front of someone else. Apparently it made no difference whether she could see them watching because already she wanted to skip ahead. Strip off the panties, put one foot on the edge of the vanity, reach down and rub her clit, watching in the mirror.
Script. Script. She returned both her attention and her hands to her breasts, feeling the increasingly sensitized skin and watching a blush redden beneath her skin.
Her body responded with a hungry rev when she focused on her nipples. Pinching. Twisting. She could feel her breathing deepen, and she paused to enjoy the needful current flowing between nipple and pussy.
Now the panties could come off. She wished the script had contained more mirror play. Instead, she had to move to the bed, where she lay down at the very end, feet on the floor.
Slowly, delicately, she began to run her index finger from pubic bone toward her clit. Playing at it, at first. Of course, it didn’t feel like playing. Her blood was already steaming with liquid appetite. She wanted to spread her knees wide and bang herself. Sink her fingers in as far as she could. Pinch and roll her clit. Rub it hard. But she had to go slow. Prolong this part. Work up to the more incendiary parts.
Little by little, she spread her knees wider, rubbing up and down with more force. Her fingers were good and wet by then. Derek had better hurry up. She could feel that ring of pleasure forming inside, an orgasm flirting with her already. Involuntary gasps and pleas flowed from her. She had to transfer her fingers to a safer rubbing point.
When Derek did finally come in, her startled jump was not entirely pretense.
He slammed the door behind himself. “What the hell?”
Caught, she grabbed at the duvet in an attempt to cover herself.
Derek moved to stop her. His long legs crossed the distance between them in a couple long strides. He caught her wrists, ending any hope of finding refuge under the duvet. He was so much stronger, he had no trouble at all flipping her over onto her belly.
Derek kept her hands trapped behind her back while he climbed onto the bed. With a knee on either side of her bottom, he sat down on the back of her thighs. Wriggling and writhing did no good. He pulled off his necktie and used it to bind her wrists. The struggle was limited to a futile kick or two with her feet. Her imagination took a carnal detour, wondering how it would feel if he were to back off the bed, pry her knees apart, and fuck her right then.
Too bad the script had more foreplay than force involved. Derek did back away. He hauled her upright, stripped the blankets from the bed and tossed them to the floor.
Back onto the bed she went, face up, while he stripped. The whole time, her eyes devoured increasing amounts of bare skin covering that powerful, hard body. She hoped she could be forgiven for forgetting to struggle while he shed the boxers. She couldn’t take her eyes off his cock, wishing it was pounding into her.
Nude now, he made her kneel on the very end of the bed. Guided by his hands she bent at the waist, leaving her backside in the air. Her head and one shoulder rested on the mattress.
Derek pushed against her forearms, clearing her hands out of the way before delivering a sharp smack to her left buttock. The blow was more provocation than punishment but the sting and impact hurt. Her inner muscles tensed. A scorching hot point of arousal formed near her clit.
Two smacks. Three. Neither as hard as the first, but both were followed by that afterburn and surge of pleasure.
She almost forgot the next part of the script until Derek sat down on the end of the bed and forced her to change positions. Then she lay across his lap, his erection pressed against her side. She wanted to concentrate, to keep a nice sharp focus but things never worked that way with Derek. He gave her another couple of smacks before turning his palm up and working his middle and ring finger into her pussy.
When he began to pump them inside her in long, slow, inflammatory strokes, she groaned out a whimper of gratitude. His fingers felt so good. He took his time, pressing them in as far as they would go before pulling them out again. Firm and studious, making sure to repeat any motion that seemed to make her mewl or writhe more than others.
She was deep into la-la land when he dipped the index finger of his other hand into ample lubrication. Without any prep or warning, he pressed the tip into her ass, clear up to the second knuckle. Thinking became strictly optional for a while. All her attention scattered as her body responded to the lavish stimulation he doled out with those fingers. In her position, she was utterly powerless to move, let alone grind against him. As it was, she let her body undulate as it would while he deepened his strokes into her pussy, multiplying a warm, electric static into heat lightning.
It was too bad the clients couldn’t hear the things Derek said to her while driving her to the point of screaming. He talked about how wet she was. How much he liked the sounds she made. How badly he wanted to fuck her, and how hard he wanted her to come on his hands.
She would have happily obliged him but he stayed faithful to the script. All too soon, he moved her again. The floor this time. Derek lay parallel to the glass. She straddled him, hands still bound behind her back.
This part required no thought whatsoever. Derek helped guide his cock into position and she scooted and tilted until his tip was inside. She wanted to sit right down on him, drive him in as far as he would go, but she had to have patience. She worked up to a slow grind that had him clutching at her hips, head thrown back, eyes glazed with affectionate passion that didn’t gibe with the script, but was part of what made them click.
If only her hands weren’t tied, she’d be making fists in that hair of his. And poor Derek never stood a chance. The grind turned more purposeful as she lowered herself down and clenched hard, grabbing at his balls with her buttocks and bound hands. She felt his torso and thighs go rigid beneath her as his body passed the point of no return.
Her own body recognized that sensual threshold. She renewed her effort to squeeze and rub him into pandemonium. Too bad she wasn’t paying attention to her own escalation. As soon as he hit orgasm and the tip of his cock reached its hottest, all that glowing and pressure crunched down, paralyzing her inside its grasp. She was suspended there with the pleasure broadening and spreading until a frenzied pulsing began and her breath stopped.
The orgasm drew her behind a veil of awareness where everything was sensual and chemical, and entirely hot and good. And she stayed there longer than usual, her body stubbornly prolonging the pleasure, dissipating stress and nerves better than any other remedy.
She came back down to find Derek staring up at her. One of their small, conspiratorial smiles warmed his eyes. She returned it while he untied her wrists, and then she stretched, languid as a cat while his hands slid up her thighs and climbed to her breasts.
Derek only allowed a moment or two of petting before they returned to the greenroom. There, Derek caught her up in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “Slam dunk. For once, we didn’t mess anything up.”
“Hey, the day is young.”
He tightened the hug into rib-crushing mode and kissed her neck before letting her go. “Amanda, I need to confess something. What Ridley said about using people.”
“You don’t have to confess anything. She was just being vindictive.”
He shook his head. “No. Not entirely. You know the lead in specialty fantasies, right? Phillip Irving?”
Amanda nodded. Phillip worked with only the most exclusive tier of clients. Their paths had yet to cross.
“A couple months ago,” Derek said, “he told us he’ll retire from performing soon. Nic and I will both be up for Phillip’s job. I got arrogant and made some really dumbass remarks about who deserves what. Nic got offended enough to start doubting herself. Next thing I know, she and Ridley are going to one of those so-called self-actualization workshops at DriveRate.”
“What is DriveRate? Everyone always talks about it but no one ever explains.”
He sighed. “Ninety-nine percent of what DriveRate does is harmless. Mostly it’s a bunch of over-privileged, entitled sheep like Ridley trying to make themselves relevant with rallies and ‘I’m so awesome’ seminars. But there’s a contingent inside DriveRate that’s more hardcore. There’s been some seriously freaky accusations about brainwashing and financial shenanigans. I felt bad and guilty, worried Nic might do something foolish, so I tried to prove those people are frauds. My efforts on that score have been somewhat less than honorable. Ridley found out. She’d been slugging me with it ever since. It’s my own fault, so don’t waste your worry on me. I don’t deserve it. Save it for Nic.”
Amanda blew out a breath. What was she supposed to say, here?
She said the only thing she could. “Well, let’s hope Nicole calls someone soon.”
Derek nodded in agreement. He sent her off with a reminder to be at the Prescott house tomorrow evening, precisely on time. The Accord would adjourn their final planned session that night. Their invited guests should be ready and waiting for a get-together afterward.
According to Thomas, Amanda had received an invite to the adjournment mixer because the rest of the Accord wanted to meet her. No pressure, there. Small mercy that she hadn’t much time to worry about it the following day. That afternoon she reported to wardrobe, genuinely looking forward to a change of pace. With the Three Sisters Ball events in full swing, the owners were looking to keep blue-chip clients happy. Lily Briggs wanted to give Amanda to her husband Brandon as an early birthday present-slash-reward for winning an important court case. The owners were obliged to allow a rare offsite fantasy.
Amanda didn’t mind the rule bending. Eric would be with her every second. Tony would assist with security. And since she hadn’t yet worked one-on-one with Brandon, Amanda had to admit to plain old base curiosity over what it would be like to have sex with Brandon Briggs. Back in her banking days, he’d been one of the most talked-about players in the financial system. If she had met him on the street or socially, she wouldn’t have dared speak to him, let alone seduce the man.
More than once during the hour-long drive to his office, she recalled that moment last time in The Zoo. She had a fleeting impression that Brandon wasn’t as adventurous as Lily and Tony. This time, Lily’s vague notes on what she wanted done to her husband were relatively vanilla. Probably she had the right idea to keep their trial run tame so Brandon wouldn’t feel pressured, merely relaxed and indulged.
The law offices were smaller than Amanda had expected, a single-storey brick and glass building on the outskirts of a nearby town. Tony met them at reception where a wine bottle sat cockeyed in a trashcan. Plastic cups, cake plates and other debris rested on counters and end tables.
Tony explained. “We had a big party earlier in the day. Don’t worry, though. Everyone’s gone home except Brandon.”
He led them down a hallway and knocked at the last office.
Brandon hauled the door open a moment later, looking annoyed at the interruption. Until he recognized her, at least. She saw the realization click, and an instant, corresponding change in his demeanor. The tall, gaunt Brandon morphed from brooding to intrigued. His eyes filled with a perplexed curiosity once he’d taken a good long gander at Amanda’s brown and extremely uptight jacket and skirt.
“So you’re the special delivery,” he said.
Amanda, who had learned Thomas’s lessons well, didn’t speak, only gave Brandon a faint, delicately carnivorous smile that sent him backing out of the doorway to let them in.
Brandon’s office, though beautifully decorated in greens and golds, was a mess. The destruction centered on his desk and a conference area where files, books, laptop computers and coffee cups littered every available surface. Not a lot of room to work with, but a couch placed before some bookshelves had escaped much of the wreckage.
Good enough, she thought, while Eric and Tony together made a quick pass through the room to close drapes and blinds. She set a small carrying case near the couch. Eric took up post beside the door while Tony made himself scarce. Once the door had closed behind him, Amanda patted the back of the couch. “Have a seat.”
She had seen the way Brandon watched her while she’d been in the shadowbox. Her client was a visual animal. When he sat down on the couch, she immediately went to work on her jacket buttons.
Brandon wasn’t as quick to slide into the spirit of things. He sat stiffly, looking painfully uncomfortable as she peeled the jacket off to expose the thin ivory silk shell beneath. The only way past the discomfort was distraction, she figured. Off went the skirt, shell and her brown suede pumps, leaving her in a white lace pushup bra and tiny matching thong.
As expected, however hesitant Brandon might have felt at first, his eyes were drawn to the bra that was just sheer enough to show a hint of nipple but not sheer enough to satisfy his curiosity. And she let him look until he seemed like he might want to touch. She wouldn’t allow that. Later, yes, but not now, when he was only beginning the ascent to arousal. She watched it begin, seeing his penis begin to swell and stiffen, trapped inside his trousers.
Her inner pilot light began to burn with a bit more urgency when Brandon made another visible shift. He leaned back against the couch and spread his knees enough to ease the pressure on his erection.
Good boy. Feeling now would be an interesting time to reveal more of what Lily had in mind for her husband’s visual pleasure, Amanda picked up the carrying case and set it on the couch beside him. The bag unzipped into two halves, revealing the dildo and the lube.
Brandon stared at the contents a moment, then back to Amanda. His pale hazel eyes were glassy with arousal, but still uncertain.
She didn’t let him wonder about her intentions long. She got down on her knees between his, forcing them farther apart. He flinched as she took two fistfuls of expensive cotton near his waist and pulled his shirttails free. Then she began to unbutton him, moving slowly and watching his tension begin to rise again. To combat it, she leaned forward, bringing herself into contact with his inner thighs. A burst of powerful arousal ignited behind his eyes. She liked what she saw next. He leaned back once more, surrendering.
A flicker of a thought, a quick substitution of Thomas surrendering in that way, and the mild arousal she’d felt before surged with new force. She didn’t feel exactly guilty, thinking about Thomas while with a client. Brandon could only benefit, but it troubled her all the same. Unsettling, the way Thomas crept into her thoughts all the time. Sure, Josh, Neil, and her mystery client did, too, but Thomas most often nabbed the spotlight.
God, how she wished she had never gotten that stupid phone call from Shelley. Had never gotten into that shower with Thomas, and more than anything, she wished he hadn’t trusted her enough to reveal any vulnerability. Even worse to watch him re-armor himself in front of her. As if the physical attraction wasn’t potent enough, to see for herself that Thomas wasn’t as hardened and cynical as he pretended to be, that he had a major weak spot where she was concerned, had a dangerous effect. The attachment could turn to concrete if she fed it any more electricity.
No. To entertain ideas about Thomas would be foolish in the extreme. She hadn’t come here to get involved with anyone. Just the opposite, in fact.
Amanda jolted away from any such thoughts to focus once more on her client. She was maybe more forceful than necessary while stripping off his shirt.
Brandon Briggs was in damned good shape for his age. He must be nudging fifty, and though he was skinny by nature, he still had nice muscle definition. Lots of hard bumps and ridges beneath patches of hair a shade or so darker than the pale brown version on his head. She swept her hand across pectorals that flexed beneath her palm. Farther down, she lowered her head to place a light kiss below his belly button.
Brandon let out an aroused sigh. She felt yet another rise in her own excitement, but the flavor of it caught her up short. She felt powerful, knowing she could make a man like Brandon Briggs surrender.
That, too, she shoved away. Wrong. She hadn’t come to Fantasy Heights for anything like that, either. Her job was to give him pleasure. A simple transaction and she was compensated with more than money. She’d wanted the adventure. The experiences. This job took a hell of a lot more mettle than she’d expected and every time she conquered a challenge, it made her more than she’d been before.
Once again, she heard Thomas’s voice in her head. Do the job.