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IT IS THE SUMMER before I start graduate school. The summer I will leave the textbooks behind and live in the moment. The summer I will forget Nick and his anal-retentive rules—and my own self-imposed repression.

Tonight's assignment: Go to the photography exhibit at Zumi Gallery down the street and meet a stranger. I keep reminding myself there's no pressure. I don't have to go home with anyone. Still, before I open the front door of my apartment, I look down at my tight black dress. I can see the outline of lace across my hips under the thin fabric. Balancing on my three-inch heels, I pull off my new silk panties and fold them into a corner of my clutch.

June in the city feels like someone merely bumped up the thermostat a little on spring. Nights are a perfect 72 degrees. I walk down the crowded sidewalk toward the gallery, blushing a bit more with every step. My dress shifts against my front in time with my stride. The tops of my thighs push gently on my sensitive folds. I try to remember if I've ever walked outside without underwear before. For a second, I want to hurry back home and hide in my pajamas. I'm not ready to be out in the world without a laptop computer to shield me from everyone, much less without my cotton chastity belt. I force myself to keep going.

The concrete in front of Zumi glows in the light from the picture windows. I take a quick breath and open the glass door.

Music pours out of the gallery. Young women, maybe college freshmen, mill around in tight jeans and halter tops. Guys alternate between following them and gathering around the makeshift bar in the back. I expected classical music and wine, but this is jazz and beer. And I'm way overdressed. Once again, I fight the urge to turn around and walk away.

No one is looking at the black and white photographs that line the gallery walls. I work my way around the perimeter of the room. Most of the images are landscape and architecture, with unusual angles and lighting, like the photographer shot from the top of a building.

The remaining photographs are all nudes of the same woman. In the first piece, she stands in the middle of the frame, looking directly at the lens, her face stoic. Her direct gaze makes me feel naked, as if everyone in the room can see through my dress. I look behind me at the college kids. One guy glances at me, and then does a double-take. His smile sends a flash of heat down my body. I look down for a minute to gain my composure. When I look up, he has his arms around a girl in his lap. Replaced in the space of seconds. My vow of inhibition suddenly seems immature and hopeless. I escape to the front of the gallery, more than ready to exchange my short dress for the pajamas.

"She's my ex-wife," a man behind me says.

I sigh. Only three more steps, and I would have been out the door. I turn to find him leaning on the counter to the right of the entrance. He's dressed in Dockers and an untucked button-up shirt. More formal than everyone else’s jeans but still less formal than my dress.

"We're still friends. She loves the exhibit," he says. "I love her body."

As he talks, he follows the lines of my dress with his eyes. I blush and move my clutch in front of me.

"She's, um, gorgeous," I say. I take a small step backward toward the door.

He holds out his hand. "That didn't sound quite so rude in my head. Let's do this the right way. I'm Patrick."

A flyer on the counter behind him says Patrick Hall. Of course, he's the host. I shake his hand.

"Anna," I say. "It's a fascinating exhibit. I'm glad I had a chance to see it."

Patrick takes a step forward. His cologne hangs in the air between us, a subtle, clean scent that reminds me of a bedroom with an open window to the ocean. For a moment, I see Patrick and his ex-wife lying together on the bed. She looks at him with that open, intense gaze. He leans over her, smooths her wild curls away from her face, and pulls her in for a long kiss.

"Please don't leave yet." Patrick's voice makes me flinch as it breaks my reverie. I look at his hand and wonder what it would feel like against the back of my neck.

He is tonight's stranger.

I smile. "I can stay a little longer."

* * *

As Patrick guides me through the exhibit, he rests his hand lightly against the small of my back. The warmth of his hand spreads down my body. I wonder if he realizes I'm bare under my dress. When he leans toward the wall to show me a spot in a photograph, his hand slides further down. I hold my breath until he moves it back to its proper place.

At the back of the gallery, he pours a glass of wine for me.

"I was beginning to think this was a kegger," I say, looking at all the empty beer mugs on the counter.

He laughs. "The Photography 101 professor must have assigned my show for a grade."

When I look around the room this time, several of the girls are watching Patrick and me and whispering to each other. My anxiety disappears. I want to make a scene for the freshmen. I set my wineglass on the bar and lean into Patrick. He flinches at the unexpected touch but quickly recovers. He slides his arm around me again, resting his hand on my ass. I tilt my head up and press my lips to his.

This time, he responds to my touch with a deep kiss that makes me forget we're in the gallery. I close my eyes and give into the slow turning sensation as we explore each other's mouth. His lips are full and warm on mine. His tongue tastes of dark, smooth beer. I reach around his neck and pull him even closer.

I slowly become aware of the noise in the room again. Cat calls and whistles. I have the attention I wanted.

I let go of Patrick's neck and shift away from him. He gives me a boyish smile and motions for me to follow him. When we walk past the group of students, he reaches into his pocket and tosses a small set of keys to the guy who smiled at me earlier.

"Ted, lock up and brings the keys to class in the morning, please."


* * *

"You're the professor!" I say as soon as we enter his studio. "Don't you think that's a little desperate?"

He takes my purse from me and sets it on a small table by the door. "I couldn't risk an empty gallery. My pride wouldn't survive it."

He encircles me with his arms and pulls me full length against him. I can feel his breathing speed up. He is already hard against my belly. Currents shoot through me at this discovery. He leans down to my ear, his breath teasing me.

"Be my model."

I nod. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my trembling body. I don't want to shake in front of the lens. He leads me to a changing screen and points to a rack of clothes behind it.

"Pick out whatever you want. I want you to be comfortable, okay?"

Instead of answering, I point to a padded bench next to the clothing rack. "Sit there."

When he sits down, his erection shows clearly through his pants. I take my heels off and make a production of bending over to line them up along the edge of the screen. I keep my back to him as I grasp the bottom of my dress and pull it slowly up my body. I almost wish I had more clothes on so there would be more to take off. I draw out the dress as long as possible and hang it over the screen. I hear Patrick draw a breath.

I unclasp my bra and hang it next to the dress. Before I turn around, I see a reflection of myself as his ex-wife. My body is relaxed yet strong, my eyes speak my truth. I am sharing this body with a stranger with all the trust of a long-time lover.

When I turn around, I see that Patrick is leaning back against the wall, staring at me. I take the few steps to the bench and lean down to kiss his upturned face. He puts his hands on each side of my face and pulls me tight against his lips. He is breathing hard as we push inside each other's mouth, tongue against tongue.

Without breaking away, I step over the bench with my right leg. He drops his hands to my waist and helps me swing my left leg over so that I am sitting on his lap, facing him. As we kiss, I undo the buttons of his shirt. Every time my fingers brush the bare skin of his chest, he sucks in a breath. I reach the last button of his shirt and move straight to the button on his pants. He leans back.

"Do you have a last name, Anna?" He smiles. It's obvious he's trying to be polite and give me a chance to change my mind.

"Possibly," I say. I work the zipper down carefully over his erection. I then free him through the front of his boxers. His cock strains at the edges of the fabric. I feel a rush of wetness as I look at it. This is so different from the programmed intercourse I had with Nick. Thinking about the way he controlled every movement in the bedroom breaks the moment with Patrick. I shake my head.

"What's wrong?" Patrick says.

I lean on his chest, careful not to crush his erection as it pushes into my belly. "I just went backward for minute. It's nothing. Ancient history."

We resume our kiss. Patrick reaches around my hips and lifts me up. The head of his cock grazes my clit, making blood pound to my groin. I moan and push deeper into his mouth. He reaches down and rubs his cock against me. Then he pushes me back a little on his lap and dips two fingers into me.

I'm so wet, his fingers slide easily in and out. I bear down on his hand. He pulls out and teases my clit with the wetness on his fingers, barely touching it. The sensation is maddening. I grab his hand and rub hard against the palm. With my other hand, I circle the head of his cock with one fingertip, teasing him like he did me. He breathes harder. My hips move faster. I wrap my fingers around him and slowly move them down to the base of his cock. His hips buck a little as I reach the base.

He whispers in my ear. "Careful."

I put my arms around his neck and focus on the texture of his fingers against my clit. I feel myself shrink to that one part of my body as pleasure begins to pulse faster and faster through me. I breathe hard into his neck. His breathing matches mine as I begin to pant and then whimper. So close. So close. So close.

With a cry, I come against his hand. I go limp against him as the waves continue to ripple through me. His cock pushes into my belly, insistent. I instinctively rub against him, making him groan.

"Wait," he says. We untangle ourselves from the bench, and he leads me into a bedroom behind the studio. His bedroom. It's minimalist: a bed, two dressers, a nightstand. One of the dressers is covered in small, framed photographs. From the middle of the group, an unframed picture of his ex-wife stares at me.

Patrick steps out of his pants, and after a minute of struggling with his erection, drops his boxers. The way his hands flex as he rolls the condom down makes me burn inside. As soon as he has it in place, I pull him onto the bed and wrap my legs around his waist. He kisses me hard, and then rolls us over so I am on top.

He grabs my hips and lifts me onto the head of his cock. I reach down and guide him in. I feel myself drip onto him as I push down a few inches and ease back up. His hands fall to his side. I'm in control now.

I pull up my hips until his cock falls out of me. Bending down between his legs, I lick the hot, moist skin of his sac. He moans and whispers my name. I smile and lick the other side. The soft skin melts under my tongue. I keep lapping at him until his thighs shake against my cheeks.

"Please," he says. "Please, now."

I climb onto him and lower myself to the base of his cock in one smooth motion. His hips lunge against me. We find the rhythm, and I ride through the crashing waves. Cries escape me at every crest, echoing Patrick's hoarse shouts. When he begs me to do it harder, I pound him into the mattress over and over until he shouts and his cock jerks inside of me.

* * *

Afterward, we lie next to each other on the bed, floating in the silence of the studio. I drift into a daydream of his ex-wife here in the bed, sitting on top of him like I was, grinding him to orgasm. I wonder if he whispered her name as she teased his balls, begged her to let him inside, shouted when he came.

Patrick's light snores bring me out of the dream. I slip out of bed and go back to the studio. I put on a silk robe from the clothing rack.

The studio is larger than I thought, with six areas separated by curtains suspended from the tall ceiling. Each area has a theme, like western, ancient Rome, a flower garden. In the area decorated like a formal living room, I find a digital camera sitting on a side table. I pick it up and head back to Patrick's bedroom.

He's still asleep. I turn on the camera, set it to automatic, and focus the lens on his face. As I take pictures, I think about who he is. A stranger. A photographer. A divorced man. I wonder if his sandy brown, two-day beard growth means he's busy with the studio or just wants it to match his longish, wavy hair. I move on to his chest, which shows more muscle than hair. I snap picture after picture of his arms, hands, and legs.

During the photo session, he turns onto his back, and his cock stirs again. I focus the camera and take a time-lapse sequence as it starts filling and lifting itself toward me. Nick never slept in the nude when we were together. To him, nudity equaled loss of control. I force Nick out of my mind again and return to the show in front of me. Watching this happen in the quiet bedroom with Patrick unaware of it gives me a voyeuristic charge. His cock is thick and slightly curved when fully erect. I run one of my fingertips from the base to the head. He shifts but doesn't wake up. I set the camera on the night stand and kneel by the bed, letting the robe slide to the floor.

I lean over Patrick and kiss the velvety head of his cock. It jumps a little at my touch. Another rush of pleasure surges through me. I spread my legs and cup my hand over myself as I lick his cock slowly from his sac to the tip. He stirs again. I dip my finger inside of me and trace a circle around my clit while I take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck. Patrick opens his eyes, looks at me without recognition for a minute, and then puts his head back down on the pillow. I climb onto the bed and straddle his leg, rubbing myself as I draw in more of him. He grows even larger in my mouth and fills my throat. I hold my breath. His moans urge me to rub myself faster. I suck harder as I move up and down his cock.

He comes without warning: Hot semen shoots down my throat. I swallow and pull him out of my mouth. I lay my head on his chest and keep teasing myself closer and closer to the edge.

Patrick hooks me under the arms and pulls me up. He motions for me to turn around and sit back against him. He takes over my masturbating. I let my legs fall wide against his as he buries three fingers into me with one hand and squeezes my clit with the other. He breathes into my ear, and I almost explode from the tickling down my spine. I move my hair off my neck to encourage him to kiss me there. His lips leave a trail of goosebumps across my neck and shoulder. My hips jut against his hand over and over. I cannot control myself now. It feels like his hands are all over my body at once.

I climax, my body shuddering. He holds me tight until the aftershocks subside.

* * *

We sit locked in the same position until our bodies cool and I start to shiver. Fatigue sets in.

"I have to go," I say.

He releases me. "Are you hungry? Breakfast?"

I shake my head and smile. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I retrieve the robe from the floor and walk over to his dresser, where the loose picture of his ex-wife sits. I pick it up and tuck it under the robe.

Behind the changing screen, I dress and return the robe to the rack. I then hurry to the door of the studio and stash the photograph in my clutch.

He joins me at the door a few minutes later. He's wearing a T-shirt, a pair of rumpled blue jeans, and that calm, easy smile.

"It's not very light out yet," he says. "Let me walk you home."

"Too far. I'll call a cab." At the front door of the gallery, I give him a hug and brief kiss. He smooths the back of my hair before letting me go.

Outside, the pre-dawn air is still a perfect 72 degrees. As I walk the five blocks to my apartment, the breeze feels like the lightest touch of fingers against my skin.

In my bedroom, the first thing I do is take the picture of Patrick's ex-wife out of my purse and prop it against the jewelry box on my dresser. I kick off my heels and sit cross-legged on my bed, gazing into her eyes. I pull off my dress and touch my legs, my belly, my breasts, imagining it is her fingers on my body.

The end … for now



Follow Anna into her next adventure in Strangers: The Executive. Daniel is an executive who knows how to mix business and pleasure. When he and Anna meet, she discovers the thrill of indiscretion and submission. She then takes control of her insatiable executive and shows him who's boss.

Strangers: The Executive Excerpt

THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE my graduate advisor's office is empty. It's summer, and I'm supposed to leave the textbooks behind and live in the moment. And I will … as soon as I get through this meeting with Dr. Scott.

My summer dress lets the icy air conditioning slip through to my skin. My nipples harden against the thin fabric, making me think of my night with Patrick two weeks ago. Since then, the temperature has flared in the city, and I've left my bras and panties in the top dresser drawer. I love the secret thrill of wearing nothing under my dress as I walk through the market or a gallery. Especially the Zumi Gallery, where I can give Patrick a quick hug and sneak another look at the oversized nude photographs of his ex-wife Sophie. I haven't had the courage to ask him if I can meet her.

A man's voice slices into my thoughts.

"Dammit, John, you swore you would not come back wanting margin relief," he says into a cell phone. His voice echoes against the walls. "We're at the bone here."

He's wearing a suit much too dark for the temperature outside. It's cut well against his tall, lean build. His tie is perfectly knotted at the throat of the starched white shirt. Silver cufflinks catch the fluorescent lights as he paces outside one of the classroom doors. I laugh to myself as I look down at the large flower print of my dress and my "toning" flip-flops. Even in the heat of his conversation, he hears me and smiles. His eyes drop to my chest for a second before he turns away.

"Two percent. If you come back for more, I'm shutting you down." He ends the call without another word to poor John. After another lingering look at me, he pockets his phone and strides back into the classroom. I feel my breasts tighten again, but this time it's with warmth.

Dr. Scott sticks his head out of his office. "Come in, Anna."

* * *

Half an hour later, I start walking the nineteen blocks home from campus. I wish I had an umbrella to block the noon sun. It bears down and reflects off the store windows. Even though I'm wearing sunglasses, I have to squint. I don't notice the car pulling into a parallel parking spot next to me until the driver lowers the passenger-side window.

"Can I drop you somewhere?" The man says. I almost wave him off, but then I recognize his voice. I lean over to look in the window of the convertible Mercedes. His smile pulls me in. I decide I'm old enough to get in a car with a stranger. I open the door and slide in.

Strangers: The Executive is available now on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords.



COMING SOON: Look for more stories in the Strangers series as Anna seeks to fulfill her long-repressed desires.

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