Determined to lose her virginity, Lacy Cole meets a compelling stranger in a nightclub. Although she succeeds in her goal, she finds herself entangled in more than the sheets. Who is this handsome man? What are his ties to Russia, and what really happened to his wife? And, most importantly, who is she? As Lacy comes to know the truth about the past, she learns to embrace the future.
Age Rating: 18+
Talking Bodies by Peyton is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.
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1
“I’m doing it.”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid, Lacy!”
Pacing up and down my bedroom I reach for my empty glass, hold it out expectantly and demand, “Fill it up! I need something to help me to stay calm and if that help comes out of a bottle then so be it.”
I raise my chin rebelliously. “I should just look at this as a project. Yes, an assignment of sorts. Just another obstacle to overcome to get me to the next stage of my life.”
Bess tops me up like the good friend she is, but each drop is accompanied with a hefty dose of disapproval as she glares at me through squinted eyes.
“You’ll regret it. This is not the way you give up your cherry,” she warns, her voice full of disappointment.
I childishly give her an exaggerated sigh. “Bess, nobody refers to it as a cherry anymore.” And besides, I’ve made up my mind.
Before putting my glass down, I take more than a ladylike sip then turn to look myself over in the mirror. Okay, I don’t look too bad. The dress goes well with my dark hair but…
“It’s no good, Bess, I look too prim. I need to look hot! You always look hot when you go out. Tonight, I want to look like you.”
I pull the white, little-goody-two shoes dress off over my head in frustration and with a huff, throw it to the floor in disgust.
Mentally rummaging through Bess’s wardrobe, I halt at a little black dress that hugs her body in all the right places and emphasizes every lascivious curve.
“Where’s that black dress you wore clubbing last week? Can I wear that?”
“Lacy, don’t,” she pleads anxiously. “It’s not really you, is it? I mean, it’s a bit on the short side.”
She could be right, it is a bit skimpy and not at all what I would normally wear. Her voice is undeniably full of concern, but I respond haughtily, “If it’s not too short for you then it can’t be too short for me.”
“Err, excuse me, but have you seen the size of your chest? That dress will have no other choice but to ride up your ass. You might just as well wear a neon sign that states, ‘I want to be fucked!’”
Why do your mates always seem to think they know what’s best for you? I can’t see what her problem is.
Every time she goes out she’s like a man magnet. She oozes sex appeal with only the smallest effort on her part. It’s so not fair! I justify myself by saying, “I’m shorter than you so it’ll look just fine.”
“But, Lace…”
“Can I borrow it or not? If not, get me the neon sign, I’ll wear that instead!”
Her shoulders sag heavily. She’s clearly not pleased and she knows she’s not winning, but what is she, my mom?
She tries again by stating in a stern voice, “People will look at you if you go out wearing that dress.”
Finally…
“Exactly! That’s just it. I want to be looked at. I want to look sexy. It’s my twenty-first birthday soon and I’m still a virgin! I’m fed up with being a virgin, Bess.
“I don’t know what I’ve been waiting for or why I’ve been so finicky, so tonight, I’m going to go out there, grab the first man who looks half decent, and bring him back here. And we’re doing it! On that bed!”
I point to my double bed, which I just spent the last half an hour perfecting with my newest purchase.
It’s now exhibiting a charming cream Gaveno Cavailia Script printed duvet cover with matching pillow shams and it’s tastefully embellished with lots of soft cushions. (I love my bed!)
I’ve even bought a box of super deluxe condoms that are in the bedside drawer within arm’s reach.
“If you do this, then believe me, you’re going to regret it, girl.”
Yes, Mom! God, she’s got one on her tonight.
She flops onto my flawless bed and crosses her arms dramatically in a pout. Her perfectly straight, long blond hair splays out over my pillows, making her look more angelic than angry.
She’s just finished her shift at St. Mary’s hospital and she’s already out of her nurse’s uniform and modelling her night attire, which consists of a silky pair of French underpants and the short tank top she wears to bed.
“Look, I know you’re worried, but don’t be. You’ve said it before, I look for flaws in every man so no one’s ever good enough. I’ve been over-selective and look where it’s got me. I’m beginning to think I’m frigid.
“I have never looked at a man and pictured us together that way. When I’m kissing a man, there’s nothing! Shouldn’t I feel something when I kiss them? What if I don’t like men? What if I’m a lesbian and I don’t even know it?”
“Have you ever looked at a woman and wanted to kiss her?” she asks plainly.
“No, but I’ve never looked at a man like that either. I’ve had three proper boyfriends and I didn’t feel anything sexually. I’ve never once had that uncontrollable urge to strip them naked and then let them do things to me.
“I’ve never been curious enough to see what it’s like. Even I know that’s not normal. What’s the matter with me? Why did it always feel wrong?
“Every girl dreams there’s a Mr. Right out there for her somewhere, but it’s not like I’ve been saving myself for him.
“I just haven’t been able to go all the way because it always felt wrong. So maybe if I just do it once, I’ll know what I’m missing and want to do it again.
“I don’t want to reach twenty-one without experiencing love,” I grouch melodramatically. “I start my new job on Monday and I just think it’s the time for new beginnings in everything—and I mean, everything!”
Bess slaps her hands on the bed either side of her then yells out at the top of her voice. “Greg… come in here and talk some sense into this idiot.”
“I’m doing it tonight, and that’s final,” I state stubbornly.
“Doing what?”
Greg saunters in practically naked, eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. Our other flatmate looks as impressive as always sporting a tight pair of black Calvin Klein boxers.
His tall, chiselled, slightly over-tanned body is totally noteworthy. He’s also totally gay!
We call him our flatmate, but the title is completely honorary because he doesn’t actually live with us. He might as well, though.
Despite the fact he has his own flat across the hall which he only ever uses as a shagging pad, he prefers to be in here with us, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. We love him to bits!
“She’s going to pick up the first man who takes her fancy and she’s going to let him do it to her.”
“Oh, baby-cakes, it’s about damn time!” Resting his hand on my shoulder, he kisses the top of my head.
Bess flounces off the bed, swipes the pizza from his hand and stomps out, calling over her shoulder, “You won’t be experiencing love, honey. It will be a quick drunken shag that will haunt you for the rest of your life!”
Greg sucks his fingers clean one by one, then picks up my hairbrush, and pushes me onto the chair at the dressing table. “So, why tonight?” he asks enthusiastically.
I look at his handsome face reflected in the mirror as he concentrates on brushing my hair.
“You’ve overdone the tan a bit, haven’t you? I thought you were going to wait another few weeks before topping it up,” I scold. He’s addicted to tanning salons and I worry he’s going to do himself some harm.
“Don’t get your undies in a twist, sweet girl, it’s fake. It’ll wash off in the next shower… I hope. Now, don’t change the subject, tell me! What’s changed your beautiful, untouched mind?”
“I’m just fed up with waiting for that certain someone. I really do think I’ve been unconsciously saving my virginity for when it really mattered.
“But I’m beginning to think it never will. So, I’ve thought it over and I don’t want to hold on to it any longer while I’m waiting for Mr. Right. I’m going to settle for ‘Mr. He Will Do’ and I’ve decided, it’s going to be tonight.”
I down the rest of my wine and hold up the empty vessel. Greg empties what’s left of the bottle into my glass and raises his eyebrows. “A whole bottle?”
“No,” I tell him indignantly. “Bess had half a glass too.”
“Okay, if you’re determined tonight’s the night, then you let me vet him first, agreed?”
“Oh, really and how will you know? You’ll be working.”
Greg tends the bar at Monica’s Closet, the club we’re going to tonight. It’s a posh gay nightclub that’s popular with everyone in Paddington.
We go there often even when he’s not working because one, we get in for free and two, because he’s stalking this really cute guy that comes in with his girlfriend at least twice a week.
Greg’s convinced the man is gay and he’s just waiting for the right moment to make his move.
“Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll know, and I’ll be watching out for you. When you decide which one it’s going to be, point him out or bring him up to meet me.”
Still holding the brush, he stops to clap his hands. “This is so exciting! Who have you arranged to go with tonight?”
“Some of the girls are meeting up there later. I told them I’ll tag along, but I’m not planning on staying with them all night, if you get my drift.” I wink cheekily at him through the mirror.
I think the wine is having the desired effect.
The girls I’m referring to are my ex-colleagues. We were all made redundant when the factory we worked at closed down.
Working as a Team Leader in their Resourcing Department put a good stamp on my CV that helped to land the new job I start on Monday.
Bess returns, carrying her little black dress, and tosses it carelessly onto the bed, then walks over to my wardrobe and pulls open the doors. “If you’re wearing one of mine, I’m wearing one of yours,” she informs me.
She pulls out my favourite shimmering gold halter and holds it up against her. It’s definitely sexy, but it looks good with jeans or trousers.
Tonight, I want a dress. In my own humble opinion, my legs are my best asset and I want to be able to show them off. I also do not want any obstructions later on.
“You’ve only just got home. I thought you weren’t coming out tonight.”
She turns around to face me. “If you think I’m letting you go out on the pull on your own, you’ve got another think coming, girl!”
Oh, how I love my flatmates!
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2
Monica’s closet is heaving. As we enter, the heavy thud of the bass accompanying Seal’s “Solitary Brother” sets my heart racing with anticipation.
It’s as if it knows I’m on the hunt and it’s beating out the drums, encouraging me in the thrill of the chase.
I’m wearing Bess’s little black dress that, as predicted, rides almost up to my butt. It’s thoroughly ruthless and just what I wanted, although I will need to make sure I don’t bend over.
I’ve taken the plainness off by adorning it with a thin, long flat silver necklace that loops down over my boobs to my belly.
My slate gray and black eye makeup is heavier than I would normally wear, but my buddy Greg has assured me I can carry it off and I trust him completely.
The sultry look actually flatters my complexion. I remember my mom telling me once she was certain we have a Spanish throwback somewhere deep down the line. Whoever it was—they have my gratitude.
Greg has once again done a brilliant job with my hair and has curled it to perfection, so I’ve left it loose.
What I call “dull mud,” he lovingly calls “silky chestnut” but whatever, tonight it’s on my side and looks shiny and vibrant as it tumbles in organised disarray down to my waist.
My patent red stilettos and matching clutch complete my “come and get me” look, and if say it myself, I’ve succeeded: I look hot!
Bess, I suppose, looks okay too in my gold halter and her black slim-fit trousers… I’m being mean, she looks uber-sexy, as per usual.
Greg drags us both by the hand to the bar and gets served straight away. Within seconds, he’s handing us our large glasses of complimentary white wine. I have no idea what it is, but it tastes divine.
Adding this to what I drank before we arrived, I feel my confidence level undeniably elevating and I feel ready to take on the world, or at the very least, this club.
Even though we’re nowhere near the dance floor yet, as we strut our way closer, we’re dipping our shoulders and nodding our heads to the thrum of the music.
I’m really glad we set out early because now, Greg still has half an hour before he needs to start work.
Seal morphs into Madonna and before long, hands are framing faces as everyone mimes along to “Vogue.” God, this club is so gay—I love it!
From our perfect vantage point, we brazenly check out the whole room, admiring man after gorgeous man while the music transforms from one great dance beat to the next, bringing us up to date with a bit of Kiesza.
“What about him?” Bess shouts as she points through the crowd to a sexy, great-looking hunk who’s enjoying himself moving from one girl to the next.
He’s thrusting his hips into each new dance partner’s backside, spreading his love around.
“Gay!” Greg confirms loud enough for us to hear. Then, sure enough, the hunk turns and repeats his move on the leg of the man dancing nearest to him. His target looks delighted!
We continue to scan the room for men, picking out and then disparaging each of them for one reason or another.
The more I look, the more obvious it becomes. I should not have come man-hunting in a gay bar.
Every other night there seems to be a near even split, but because I’m on the lookout—nothing! I do however notice a number of men eyeing up my best friend.
“There’s that guy you danced with last week, Bess. I think he’s trying to attract your attention. He’s staring at you,” I yell.
She turns her back on him. “Nah, I’m working a shift with Doctor Dreamboat on Monday and I’m determined that this time he’s going to notice me.
“I’ve got it arranged so my shift ends at the same time as his. I’m not complicating my life with anyone else while I’m still in with a chance with him.”
Poor Bess, she’s desperate for a date with a doctor she adores at her hospital, but he doesn’t even notice her. She’s acting like she’s totally in love, but she hasn’t even kissed him!
Greg leans in to call into her ear, “Honeybun, if you’re having so much trouble, why don’t you just go up to him and show him your tits? He’ll soon get the message.”
“Gregory Thatcher!” she howls as she playfully thumps him in the chest. “We are not all as brazen as you. By the way, did that guy you like come in last night?”
“Yeah, he was here,” he calls out despondently, “But, he never looked my way once all night. Even when I served him he wouldn’t make eye contact.”
“That just proves you’re right,” I shout with a smile. “He knows as soon as he gets a good look at you, he’ll be a goner.”
Bess adds, “You should just show him your cock. He’ll soon get the message.”
Greg gives her his “har-har” face. “At least my cock is bigger than your tits!”
“I’ll have you know that if I did choose to get my girls out for my Doctor Dreamboat, he wouldn’t be disappointed. They may not be as big as Lacy’s, but they’re definitely worth a good grope!”
While they’re busy discussing their anatomy, my travelling eyes abruptly come to a halt.
He’s about eight yards away. Leaning with his shoulder against one of the pillars that surround the dance floor he’s watching the antics of a group of lads as they cavort to George Michaels’ “Let’s Go Outside.”
He’s too far away for me to get a good look at his face, but his sure, controlled stance as he leans with one hand in his pocket and his other holding a bottle of something I can’t make out, makes him look intriguing.
I feel a definite pull that makes me want to close the distance. There’s something about him that I can’t quite pinpoint, but my heart definitely just missed a beat.
All I can tell from here is, he has dark hair, black shirt with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms and he’s wearing black trousers. He looks… assertive. Distant yet disciplined. I need a closer look.
As Years and Years “Ties” begins to hammer out over the speakers, I shove my wine and clutch at Greg then grab Bess’s hand, hauling her onto the dance floor.
“Where are we going?” she hollers.
With shoulders bouncing in time to the hefty beat of the intro, I turn around and, raising my arms, dance backward, beckoning for her to follow me.
I smile, widening my eyes at her until she gets the message. She mouths a big “O” and nods her head knowingly.
Please god, don’t let him be gay!
As soon as we’re close enough for my maneuver not to look planned, I gracefully spin around so I’m facing him and, oh dear mother… I stop dead.
Be still my beating heart… he’s positively gorgeous!
This is so not what I was expecting. Talk about being drawn in! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as drool-worthy as he is.
It’s completely thrown me. I realize I’m staring and totally screwing this up, so I turn quickly and try to decide my next move.
Play hard to get or make it blatantly clear I want him? Jeez, would he want me?
I was hoping for semi-good-looking and praying I would at least have a little spark of interest in him, but he’s absolutely magnificent and it hits me, I don’t just want this man as a means to an end, I want him.
I want it to be him! I want to feel what it would be like to be touched by him, to be kissed by him. I want to feel his lips on my skin. I want my first time to be with him.
I look around and realize Bess has disappeared and I’m on my own, but I want him badly so, taking a deep breath, I turn again to face him.
He’s watching me. I maintain eye contact, bite my lip, and continue to move as seductively as I can as I communicate exactly what I want with my body and pray he doesn’t start to laugh.
Long, painful seconds drift by and… well, he’s not laughing, but he’s not doing much of anything else either.
In fact, I think he may actually be scowling at me. His face is so severe. Maybe he is gay. Maybe I just look like a prat and he’s not interested.
God, I wish he would smile or give me some indication of what he’s thinking—anything!
Still observing me, he coldly takes a swig of his Peroni and I can take it no longer.
I turn around, filled with embarrassment, and start to move away when suddenly, a strong arm swiftly yanks me back into an exhilaratingly firm, warm body that grinds itself against my behind and I know, finally, he wants me too!
The evidence of just how much sends exciting tremors through my body.
I breathe a drunken sigh of relief and placing my hands behind me, I find his thighs and shimmy my way raunchily down his front. He can’t fail to get the message I’m sending, I’m being so bloody obvious.
He turns me around to face him and I at least expect to see the hint of a smile or the smallest trace of attraction, but he looks as menacing as ever!
His eyes seem to bore into my very soul, but instead of feeling fear, I gasp as my excitement level shoots up a notch, turning that spark of interest I was hoping for into an electric bolt that shoots straight between my legs.
I take a deep breath and slowly move around his body as suggestively as I can manage, touching and drinking him in as I dance my way full circle.
When we make eye contact again, his hungry, aggressive look shocks me so much I turn quickly and press my back against him again, but I’m energized! I’ve never been so turned on.
He’s taller than I first realized, at least five-ten to my five feet and his heavenly musky scent has me almost salivating.
His hair, not quite as dark as I first believed, is cut short, but not too close, the top slightly longer than the rest.
If I had to guess his age I would say, late twenties or early thirties, but I don’t care how old he is. Tonight, I just want him for his body parts.
The song switches abruptly into Tove Lo’s “Talking Body” and he completely surprises me by pulling me into him, twisting and bending me to the music.
Wow, this man can dance! I relax into him and let him lead me, giving him back as good as I’m getting as we move in perfect harmony together. It’s as if our bodies have known each other forever and are in flawless sync.
It’s as sexy as hell and I’m burning up with anticipation. It’s almost as if we’re making love on the dance floor. I can only imagine what he would be like in bed. I just hope I get to find out.
As the song nears its end, he takes hold of my hand and gestures his head to the side in the direction of the exit.
Okay, I didn’t think we would be doing this quite so soon, but I’m all for it so, I breathlessly nod my agreement.
Before we leave, he drags me by the hand over to the group of lads he was watching earlier then still holding my hand, bends to talk to one of them.
The other man has his back to me, but I can see he takes something from his pocket and covertly passes it over. He pulls me away again, this time toward the door. God, I hope it wasn’t drugs!
I give a little discreet wave to my two gawking friends as we make our way out to the front and straight into a waiting black cab.
Greg’s expression told me he highly approved of my selection. There may even have been a little bit of jealousy in that over-admiring look that he gave me that clearly endorsed my choice.
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