Wicked Way Interactive 1: Sex, Spies and Photographs

By Daire St. Denis

Have you ever wished you could change the ending of a book? Have you ever wanted to give the heroine of a story a little shake and tell her to smarten up? Well, now’s your chance!

WICKED WAY INTERACTIVES is an exciting new erotic series by Daire St. Denis where you (the reader) actively participate in the story’s outcome. Get started now with the first in the Wicked Way Interactive series...

SEX, SPIES AND PHOTOGRAPHS

Claire Marshall has a hot husband, a nice home in the burbs and an assortment of hobbies to keep her busy. She’s perfectly happy, right? Right?!

So why can’t she stop spying on the new neighbor next door?

When she finds out he specializes in boudoir photography, she employs his services to help spice up her love life with husband, John. However, things heat up beyond Claire’s imagination when the neighbor and his exotic wife turn up at their place and the two couples end up involved in more—much more—than a photo shoot.

The relationship that develops between the neighbors is like nothing Claire has ever experienced, forcing her to realize she’s been living a lie, biding her time in the burbs, waiting for something to happen. Well, now something has happened and she’s faced with an impossible decision.

Claire needs help. Your help. Will you help her?

In this exciting new erotic format, you get to make the decision for Claire. You get to decide whether Claire will find her happily ever after. Or...something else altogether.

Welcome to Claire’s life. Welcome to WICKED WAY INTERACTIVE books by Daire St. Denis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daire St. Denis
• Release date: Mar 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301789276

Daire St. Denis

With a degree in Archaeology, Daire St. Denis was sure she was destined to be the next female Indiana Jones. That didn’t quite pan out but she still managed to experience her fair share of exotic adventures. Some of her most daring escapades include, skydiving in Canada, being trapped in the Great Pyramid of Giza, searching for tigers in the foothills of the Himalayas, touring Germany by motorbike and meeting Medusa in the bowels of Istanbul, Turkey. Daire loves to pen sensual tales full of passion and unexpected adventure and her colorful past has provided ample inspiration for her muse.

Book preview

Sex, Spies

and

Photographs

A Wicked Way Interactive

Daire St. Denis

Copyright © 2013 by Daire St. Denis. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What’s a WICKED WAY INTERACTIVE?

Have you ever wished a book ended differently? Have you ever wanted to shake the heroine of a story and tell her to smarten up? Well, now’s your chance!

Welcome to WICKED WAY INTERACTIVES, an exciting new erotic series by Daire St. Denis, where you (the reader) actively participate in the book’s ending. Get started now with the first in the series…

SEX, SPIES AND PHOTOGRAPHS

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen: John

Chapter Sixteen: John

Chapter Seventeen: John

Chapter Eighteen: John

Chapter Fifteen: Martin

Chapter Sixteen: Martin

Chapter Seventeen: Martin

Chapter Eighteen: Martin

Sex, Spies and Photographs Playlist

Chapter One: How to Train a Lover - A Savage Short Interactive

Other Books by Daire St. Denis

About the Author

Chapter One

HAVE YOU EVER had a moment in life, a turning point, where the decision you were about to make would change the course of your life forever? When you were at that point, did you ever wish you had someone who could help you? Someone who’d make the decision for you?

That’s exactly the point I’m at. My name’s Claire Marshall and I need your help. It’s late and I’m sitting outside on my deck, an open bottle of wine beside me, trying to ignore the noises coming from my upstairs window, watching the faint light flickering from the window of the house next door. I’m at a crossroads and I don’t know what to do. I’m lost. I’m confused and I don’t trust my judgment.

Will you help me?

Before you decide, I’m going to have to give you the background information. I need to go back in time a couple of months, to June 2012.

Wow. That’s it? Has my life really changed so much in such a short amount of time?

Yes. It really has.

Ah, hell.

Okay. Here goes. It all started when the new neighbor moved in next door. His name is Martin Leblanc. He’s a photographer. Hot. Gorgeous. Suave. Seductive. He’s the kind of man who is so freakin’ hot, he’s been banned in forty-nine states, which is why he moved here, to Massachusetts, to a suburb outside of Boston…

***

GLANCING THROUGH THE window at the overgrown yard next door, I said, I invited the new neighbor for supper Saturday night.

Mmm? John, my husband, flipped the page of the newspaper without looking up.

He’s French. Or at least I think he is. He has an accent. Sounds French. I poured the milk into my cereal bowl and sat across the table from him.

That’s nice.

I watched John closely, scrutinizing his tanned face and his soft golden hair that had gotten long enough to curl up at his collar—the way I liked it.

He’s pretty hot.

Is that right?

For a shape-shifter.

I waited but John didn’t make a sound apart from the rustling of the newspaper.

I saw him in the backyard last night, glowing eyes, fangs and all. He had a cat, poor thing, sucked the living daylights right out of it.

Oh yeah?

He dumped the carcass in our trash bin. You should go check to see if it’s still there.

Mmm, okay.

John?

Yeah?

I snatched the paper out of his hands. Have you heard a word I’ve said?

He had the audacity to look annoyed for all of three seconds. Then he grinned, that stupid boyish grin that had always been my undoing. I heard you. The neighbor. Saturday. Supper. He pushed his chair back and rounded on me, placing a kiss on my temple and whispering, I suppose you’re planning on serving up cat?

I turned and smacked his chest.

He laughed. I know you think I don’t listen to you, but you forget I have this remarkable talent of doing more than one thing at one time. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me hard while grabbing my ass. It’s why you married me.

The man spoke the truth. He was incredibly talented…and he played my body as adeptly as he played numerous musical instruments.

I hear every word you say. His tongue outlined my lips. Every. Word.

Bastard, I said with a smile in my voice.

Heard it.

Cocky bastard.

Loud and clear.

Need to be taught a lesson in humility. I kissed him back and then held his lower lip delicately between my teeth.

Mmm? He moaned in mock pain.

I smacked his ass and he smacked mine back as he pulled away from my mouth and teeth. Am I going to have to take you back to our bedroom, young lady? It sounds to me as if you need a reminder about who is in control of this relationship.

I pushed the breakfast bowls and newspaper aside and hopped up onto the table. Why waste time—teach me the lesson right here, right now.

Is that a challenge? He spread my knees and leaned forward so that I could feel the delicious bulge behind his fly through the thin cotton of my pajama bottoms.

With my hands twined around his neck, I whispered, It’s not a challenge, it’s an invitation.

He hoisted my hips as he ground his restrained cock against my warmth. You are a very, very naughty girl. His lips trailed down my throat and back up nibbling the lobe of my ear. This lesson is going to have to be…

On the other side of the table his phone rang, interrupting him, and I could feel the vibration of it beneath my butt. Leave it, I whispered, holding on tighter than before.

John groaned, untangling himself from my grasp. You know I can’t.

So answer it and hurry up, I said, waving at the offending device. You’ve got a horny wife here. It’s not healthy to leave her unsatisfied.

But John was already walking out of the kitchen, his focus totally and completely on the phone at his ear.

Dammit!

I waited there on the table for ten excruciatingly long minutes and then gave up, sliding off the table and plopping myself down in my chair to finish my soggy Alpha-Bits. When he returned five minutes later, I didn’t bother to look up but kept my gaze on my bowl as if the cereal had spelled out some mysterious message that only I could decipher.

Sorry, he kissed the top of my head. That was Dan.

Of course it was.

I’ve got to go.

I know.

He kept his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. "Don’t be mad. Wright Solutions is a big client, I can’t exactly—"

I’m not mad, I lied, grabbing his hands and kissing them. You work hard so that you can afford to house and clothe me. I’m a ‘kept’ woman. I tilted my head up to him with my fake smile intact. How can I possibly complain?

The truth was John didn’t need to work this hard. I’d gotten lucky with some dot-com investments back when I was in college. The stocks shot through the roof and I sold right before the bust. Neither of us needed to work. You wouldn’t know it by the way John gave up his time—our time—to woo his latest client.

His face softened as he studied me. That’s right. He tweaked my nose. I’m your sugar daddy and don’t you forget it. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me. After I’m done with this account we’ll go away, he whispered against my cheek. "Some secluded island where I can have you wherever I want, whenever I want."

Sounds perfect. I pulled out of his embrace and stretched. Of course, we could also rent a villa in Spain and learn Spanish. Or, I was looking into these really interesting working/living abroad holidays in Southeast Asia…

John rolled his eyes. That sounds romantic.

Not much of a traveler, John was the only person I knew who was more excited on the plane ride home from a trip than on the flight to the destination. I straightened his tie and patted his chest. We’ll talk about it later. Now get to work. I’ve got a date with Mr. Happy this morning. Mr. Happy was the pet name for my vibrator. Bright purple—my favorite color—Mr. Happy was a pleaser.

John groaned. That’s not fair.

All’s fair, baby.

He kissed me softly. It was nice but lacked some of the playfulness of earlier. I knew his mind was already on the campaign he was working on. Don’t forget I’m going to be late tonight. I have a rehearsal with the boys.

Oh right. John belonged to a band, one of the few vestiges of his wild, single days. I went up on tiptoes and kissed him. Wake me when you get home. Even if I’m already asleep.

You got it.

He left and I debated whether to get straight to work on the fresh clay I had soaking, attend to my unquenched physical needs or…to give in to the curiosity of my newest obsession. My potter’s wheel could wait. Mr. Happy could wait. I had to satiate my new fixation. Standing at the kitchen window, just out of the line of sight, I carefully pulled the curtain back so I could watch the house and yard of the place next door.

***

STOP SPYING.

It was Saturday morning and I thought John was still in bed. His presence in the kitchen startled me and I spun from the window, flustered at being caught. I’m not spying.

John parted the gauzy kitchen curtain and leaned forward, squinting into the bright morning light. Who’s that?

Who?

The guy in the shorts and t-shirt standing in the drive next door.

Um, that guy? I pointed. My gig was up.

Yes, he turned toward me with a wry smile twisting his lips. The one you were spying on.

I rolled my eyes. That’s our new neighbor. Martin.

Arching his eyebrow, John asked, Martin? The one coming for dinner tonight?

"Yes. And he says it like this: Mar-ten. He’s French."

You’re spying on Mar-ten? John said with an over-exaggerated French accent.

"I wasn’t spying. I was observing. You know, trying to get a bead on him. Make sure he’s not a serial killer or something."

Un-huh. Sure. He leaned closer to the window. So what’s the verdict?

What do you mean?

Is he a serial killer? Shape shifter? Vampire? What?

I don’t know, I said seriously. I haven’t figured it out yet. It was true. I hadn’t figured the guy out. It was a little game I liked to play where I observed people I didn’t know. I tried to imagine who they were, what they did, what their story was—their skeletons, all that good stuff.

Hmm. John leaned towards me and kissed my temple. I’ll expect a full report on my desk later, Agent Marshall. He grabbed an apple from the table and poured a cup of coffee in a to-go mug.

Where are you off to?

Tee time. Ten o’clock. I’ll be back this afternoon.

John wasn’t a golfer, but Dan, his client, was. That meant John was still working…on Saturday. I tried to hide my frown. Oh, okay. Have a good game.

I will. He paused beside the fridge and winked. Should I pick up some cat from the butcher’s?

I threw a dish towel at him and he ducked out of the way, laughing down the hall to the garage door. I listened for the sound of John’s car backing out and then repositioned myself at the window. The neighbor was in his backyard mowing the lawn. He’d taken his shirt off and even from the distance I could see his skin glistening in the June sun. Who was he? By the way he was built, he could be a professional athlete or an ex-Olympian. It was hard to gauge his age, even up close.

I knew this because I’d introduced myself on Monday when I’d gone to drop off the Welcome Wagon basket from the community association. He had that ageless quality, strong face, wise eyes, with the body of a virile twenty-three year old. Something told me he was in his mid-thirties, though. Maybe it was the BMW parked in the driveway. Maybe it was the fact that twenty-somethings rarely purchased houses in the ‘burbs.

Unless it was a grow op.

I spent a few minutes imagining the scenario—the police cars, the bust, the media personnel knocking on our door in order to interview me.

"He kept to himself, but there were lots of people always coming and going," I imagined myself saying while the new neighbor was hauled off by the police, turning his face away so the cameras couldn’t identify him.

No. I shook my head. That scenario didn’t ring true. Martin wasn’t a drug dealer, I decided as I watched him cut a pattern through the too long grass. I bet he was married and was getting the house and yard ready for his kids to arrive. But then, he hadn’t said anything about kids and I didn’t see any toys or bikes in the back. Maybe he was recently divorced. Yes, definitely divorced—it’d probably been a couple of years. His wife moved into the neighborhood with the kids and her new husband. He was moving in too so he could be close to them, so they could spend weekends at his house. He was an athlete, a hockey player maybe; I’d seen hockey equipment when he’d moved in, I was sure of it. His wife had left him after he’d had one too many affairs on the road.

Now he was a single dad, living in suburbia. That was all.

Oh, and he just happened to live next door to a neurotic, spying neighbor with too much time on her hands.

I groaned, remembering how I met him; trudging up to his door with the Welcome Wagon basket propped on one hip. I’d rung the bell and waited and was just weighing whether to ring the bell again or give up and try again the next day, when the door swung open.

Jesus!

I swear to God my heart collapsed into a dead faint right there in my chest. My mouth probably hung open too. The man was beautiful. He leaned up against the door in a loose white cotton shirt that showed off his tanned skin. He wore loose trousers tied low on his hips. His hair was dark and wavy and hung down just a bit over his left eye. At least it did until he ran his hand through it, mussing it up just enough to make it look even sexier.

Can I help you?

Oh God. My knees wobbled. There was something seriously wrong with me. But I couldn’t help it. His voice was deep with that trace of an accent. Goddamn I love a French accent.

Welcome to the neighborhood, I’d said as I shoved the basket at him.

His eyes went wide. This is for me? Why?

Obviously, I was dealing with a suburban virgin here. It wasn’t so long ago that I was one myself, and to be honest, after moving from our funky loft in Boston’s Leather District, the jury was still out on the relocation. Though, given the new neighbor, maybe things were looking up.

I cleared my throat and

Reviews for Wicked Way Interactive 1

[mybookaddiction_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A wicked tale of a married couple who look to spice things up in their life by inviting another to share the experience of love, lust and just plain fun. A great story, easy flow and one that I would recommend to friends. Definately a keeper!Rating: 4Heat Rating: HotReviewed by: Roxanne,Guest reviewer for My Book Addiction Reviews