<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 listened to the casual banter going on around her, fueled by Monica’s sultry, hypersexual glances and the purr of her voice.  She had both the boys eating out of her hand, and even Lauren’s own lame contributions seemed to have caught and held Brett’s attention.  It was so unexpected, so incongruous, that she was a little afraid to open her mouth for fear that she’d giggle, or say something totally stupid, or break the spell.  When he picked up the oyster and fed it to her, her heart and her stomach started somersaulting, quivering with excitement; and in a moment of inspired courage -- or maybe simple one-upsmanship -- she caught his hand in hers and held it to her mouth.  With her eyes locked to his, she slowly sucked each of his fingers clean before letting his hand go, with a wink and a soft sigh.<br/><br/>And all the while, she was asking herself:<em>What in the world has gotten in to you?  Who are you, and what have you done with Lauren Embry?</em><br/><br/>She knew perfectly well what Monica expected to find for herself in Key West, and she knew perfectly well that Monica intended for Lauren to find it, too.  Monica was such a great friend, so big-hearted, such a force of nature!   When she talked about the possibilities, Lauren could actually believe that some handsome, unattached man or even a college aged boy would be attracted not just to Monica, but to Lauren herself.  But when she was alone in her bedroom packing her bags in front of her dresser, or -- far worse -- standing under the harsh fluorescent lights in the airport restroom, Lauren could see all the lines that were starting to form around her mouth.  Every wrinkle over her carefully manicured eyebrows..  Every bluish-grey shadow under her eyes.  It was the face of a respectable matron, someone who hosted elegant dinner parties and chaired arts committees.  Seriously.  Who would look at Lauren and think she was sexually desirable?<br/><br/>To her astonishment -- Brett would.  And the truly stunning part was that he had actually looked both of them over, and had chosen to sit beside her.  He still held her hand, and all that wonderful charisma and attention was focused on her.  On her!  She was almost afraid to move, in case she somehow shattered the moment.  She sat staring up at him, a winsome smile on her face; she wanted to let her eyes roam over his body; tall, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip…  with tight jeans that didn’t leave much to the imagination.  She just couldn’t manage to drop her gaze.<br/><br/>She was still smiling up at him when the conversation turned to steaks at their house, and she could barely believe it was happening.  Their house?  Well, family house, surely.  A house with a pool and a hot tub.  A house with bedrooms.  There should be all kinds of warning bells going off in her head, but rather to her astonishment, there wasn’t a sound.  Not a single breath of caution.  Not a frisson of alarm.<br/><br/>Nothing but the tingle at the apex of her thighs, and the butterflies fluttering madly in her stomach.<br/><br/>How often did you hear about the terrible things that happened to women who got into cars with strange men?  It was reckless, dangerous.  Even suicidal.   But then, what about all the women who got into cars with strange men, and nothing bad happened?  Just wonderful, fabulous, semi-anonymous sex?  That had to happen sometimes too.  Otherwise, why would women get into cars with strange men to begin with?<br/><br/>Lauren knew she was justifying a bad decision.  She knew, and she didn’t care.  In the morning, she knew, she might wake up and find herself drowning in guilt and remorse.  She knew, and she didn’t care.  Brett, and his thumb stroking her fingers, and the whole situation -- who could say no to this?  Who wouldn’t want to feel this way?  Young again, desired again, alive and quivering and so wet with eager desire that she was almost afraid to stand up?<br/><br/>When would she ever have this again?  Or more to the point. when had she ever had it before?  Lauren was the Good Girl, the reliable one, the one you called when you couldn't get away from work to pick up your kids, or the one who called meetings to order so that work could be done, decisions could be made.  When had she ever, in all her life, been brave enough to do exactly what she wanted?  She had always been the faithful adoring wife; the doting, dependable mother; the supportive friend who held your hand when your life fell apart and drove you to the doctor when you had an abortion, and never told a soul.<br/><br/>But when in her entire adult life had she done what exactly what she wanted to do, without concern for how it would affect anyone else?  Well, she wasn't a wife any more, and her children were out of the nest and beginning to fly.  If they fell, they didn't even want her to catch them, and as hard as it was, Lauren had let go of them, so that they could learn from their own mistakes instead of from cautionary tales of mistakes she had made herself.<br/><br/>This might be a mistake.  It might be a BIG mistake, to want this so badly --<em>this</em>-- the feel of Brett's powerful body between her thighs, driving himself into her body; the sensation of her... of her...  of<em>herself</em>pulsing and throbbing and already slick and ready for him.  It might be a mistake to get in the car with these two boys and go off with them to who knows where.  It might all be a terrible mistake, and even if it was, it was going to be the most magnificent mistake of her life, and she was going to do it anyway.<br/><br/>She looked across the table at Monica with a conspiratorial smile.  She gave Gabriel a long, slow once-over, her eyes glowing with appreciation…  and she turned her attention back to Brett.  This time, she let her gaze slowly roam over his body: muscular, strong, lean without being thin, a substantial frame with not an ounce of fat.  Her delight in him -- her sheer physical wanting of him -- was surely obvious to everyone, even the businessmen across the room who were still sitting at the bar, drowning in envy.  Dear God, why was she hesitating?<br/><br/>Lauren rested her left elbow on the table, and she let her eyes drift up to Brett’s again.  She looked at him thoughtfully, as though she were actually thinking of saying No, and ran one slow fingertip lightly along the bow of her lower lip.  Her right hand turned in his, and she stroked the crease of his palm with her two middle fingers.<br/><br/>“A fast car, steaks, a hot tub…. ?” she said, and she could hear the desire in her own unsteady voice, thick and husky.  “Why, that sounds just delightful, doesn’t it, Monica?”<br/><br/><br/>