<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Lauren Embry</strong></span><br/><br/><br/>(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/46/Trilby_Paradise_Lauren01.jpg)<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Lauren watched with wide eyes as the dark one -- Brett -- maneuvered Gabe into the seat next to Monica and took the seat beside her himself.  She had no idea how it had happened, either.  Did Monica give him some kind of a signal?  However it had happened, Brett was sitting next to her, his hand out,and she automatically slid her hand into his.  It was big and warm, and his thumb slid over the back of her fingers.<br/><br/>It was the most sensual touch that Lauren had experienced in years.  Maybe in her whole life.<br/><br/>“Pleasure to meet you, too, Brett,” she answered, staring at their joined hands, not quite able to bring her eyes up to meet his.<br/><br/>Sex with Richard had been a high point in their relationship in the beginning.  He wasn’t her first, but those few early encounters had been hasty, fumbling, and unsatisfying.  Richard, more experienced, was the only man she had ever slept with since their marriage; sex had suddenly become exciting and fulfilling…  and, eventually, inevitably, routine and perfunctory.  It happened; it was the natural course of things, she supposed.  The pressures of children and work had taken precedence over great sex, and most nights they were too tired to think of anything but sleep.  Lauren’s own desires and urges were sublimated into motherhood, home, and being a good wife.  She had never looked elsewhere; and if Richard had, she didn’t know about it and didn’t want to.<br/><br/>And now, after years of unremarkable sex with both her and Richard reaching orgasm but not much more, she had this fabulous male specimen, half her age and full of charisma, sitting next to her, holding her hand.<br/><br/>This was ridiculous.  This wasn’t her.  In a few more years, if everything went well, she would be a grandmother, for God’s sake!  What business did she have fooling around with this college student?  Especially THIS college student?  Wasn’t he much more Monica’s type?  The shy, blonde one -- Gabe -- was probably much more Lauren’s….<br/><br/>Wait.  Wait a minute.  Why was she thinking this way, anyway?  Why was she counting herself out?  For that matter, why had she spent so many years counting herself out to begin with?  She had loved her husband, she had been faithful to him, but he was gone, and he had taken himself out of her life in the cruellest way she could imagine.<br/><br/>Didn’t the universe owe her something?<br/><br/>Lauren let her eyes trail away from their hands, and she turned towards him in her chair.  She let her gaze roam slowly up his body: the broad chest, the wide shoulders, up to the confident, almost arrogant grin and the eyes that were so full of speculation.  She left her hand in his, and let herself admit how good it felt.  Her eyes held his, smiling, and she felt a sense of fun filling her.  And, yes, adventure.<br/><br/>She was beginning to envision something else filling her, and she could feel her heart rate going up.<br/><br/>Across the table, Monica was working her magic on Gabriel.   She was holding his hand in much the same way that Brett was holding her own; and she had turned her remarkable eyes on the younger man.  Monica was beautiful and exotic where Lauren was pretty, voluptuous where Lauren was slim; but her looks weren’t her primary asset.  Monica could enthrall with just the steady, unwavering regard in her eyes.  She should have been a police interrogator, or a spy.   There wasn’t a man on earth who could withstand the weight of her full, focused attention.  Perhaps sensing Lauren’s gaze, Monica glanced at her briefly, meeting her eyes with a quirk of her eyebrow and just the smallest ghost of a smile; then she returned her attention to Gabriel.<br/><br/>It was like a green light, and Lauren smiled.  Sliding her fingers through Brett’s, she leaned towards him, letting him have a view down the top button of her blouse -- not as curvaceous as Monica’s, but still tight and high.  She picked out an oyster from the plate, and fed it to him with a mischievous light in her eyes; then took another for herself, swallowing it in a luscious pool of butter and hot sauce.<br/><br/>“We’re from Maryland,” she answered, lifting her fingertips to her mouth and sucking them clean, one by one, her eyes still on his.  Some sense of caution whispered to her not to give them their hometown.   She lifted her beer to her lips and sipped, her gaze never wavering.<br/><br/>“We’ve only had appetizers,” she said, with a playful smile.  “How about you guys?   Do you feel like eating?”<br/><br/>She hadn’t felt so… so<em>wicked</em>in years.  Maybe in her whole life.<br/><br/>