The Scent of a Woman

By A. L. LaFleur

The Scent of a Woman is the tale of an American woman who, after being burned by love, with resulting single-parenthood in its wake, chooses to take her success in life into her own hands. Despite societal rules that have become the norm that "good girls" go by, she chooses to use her sexuality to gain success; action which leads her into some dangerous situations, and some erotic situations.

The book contains descriptive scenes of highly sexual situations that will leave the reader aroused and wanting to read more. Suspense and plot twists abound in the novel, that will leave readers quickly turning the page to learn what happens next. Further, the story challenges some of the problems associated with gender inequality and interpersonal violence that many face in the world today. Quite truthfully, the book may contain the next modern-day heroine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496931733

A. L. LaFleur

A. L. LaFleur is a feminist and a professional whose expertise has encompassed areas of forensic nursing that relate to interpersonal violence and violence against women. As such, she has developed robust knowledge of the dynamics and issues involved in those types of situations. Further, having personally experienced some of the aforementioned circumstances, she has chosen to take a stand and speak out against some of the social injustices that continue to plague women. LaFleur lives in a historical neighborhood in Oklahoma City, where she thoroughly enjoys spending time with friends, family, and the occasional walk to the local bar.

Book preview

THE SCENT

of a Woman

A. L. LaFleur

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

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© 2014 A. L. LaFleur. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/06/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3174-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3173-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913930

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Prologue

The morning sun peaked in through the partially ajar curtain, alerting the person sleeping in the bed that she had way overstayed her welcome. With a stretch and a start, she jumped out of bed and out the door of her bedroom to race upstairs and wake her sleeping children. Rolling her eyes at the irresponsibility of her children who only seemed to wake when she awakened them, she stopped to take a deep breath before proceeding to begin their day in such a stressful manner. Be a Calm Parent. Be a Calm Parent, she said to herself. Since Steve had left, this mantra was her constant companion. That and the white Zinfandel she kept herself constantly supplied with.

Stacia, are you awake, she asked at the door to her 15-year-old’s bedroom. She opened it to a groan and her daughter who was beginning to sit up in bed. Mom, there’s no school today. It’s Martin Luther King, Jr day, remember? Morgan could not believe she had forgotten that. It must have been the remnants of the wine she probably still had in her system from the night before.

Recovering face to her teenager, she said, Yes, I remember, but it’s, pausing to look at her watch, she continued, 10:30. You don’t want to sleep your free day away, do you? I wanted to take you out driving today since I don’t have a client to show around. Stacia rolled her eyes and Morgan knew she hadn’t fooled her.

Okay, Mom. I GUESS we could do that today. You know I don’t really like it when you’re in my personal space and I hate when you barge into my room without knocking, but I guess I can spare a few minutes away from my friends. As Morgan turned around and descended the stairs, she yelled over her shoulder, I’ll be ready in 15. Meet me in the car.

When the two returned at noon it was to the smell of eggs burning on the stove and her four-year-old screaming, Da house is on fire! Da house is on fire! Mommy, where did you go? Benny is twying to burn tha house down. Why did you go away from me?!

As much as Morgan wanted to cringe at the smell of the burning eggs, the stricken face of her child was heartwarming. Especially coupled with the gallant act of her 13-year-old Benny, who was making eggs in an attempt to be man of the house.

As Morgan bent down to pick up her youngest child, she brushed her cheeks and neck with kisses. Your brother was only trying to help, my little stinkeroo. The house is fine. I’m here. I just went for a quick drive with your sister.

Jennie sniffled and buried her face in her mother’s neck. She had calmed down until the silence was broken by the hellion that Stacia sometimes could be, stomping in and yelling, What the hell! I knew that retard was gonna burn the house down someday. What an idiot!

Jennie continued to tuck herself into her mother’s collar bone as Morgan shushed Stacia and shooed her to her room, chiding her for her choice of words.

With a deep breath, Morgan told herself that as stressful as her life could be sometimes, she would likely look back on these times with fond memories. Setting Jennie down, she got to work on de-scorching the burnt skillet on the stove.

___________________________________

Jimmy Martin hobbled to the corner for the fifteenth time that night. The new billboard that had just gone up was just too much to bear, and he simply wasn’t having it. True that he had spotted the jezebel in some of the billboards around town, but so close to his home camp it was unbearable. And he knew this for a fact because he was an apostle, called upon by God to cleanse his city of unrighteousness.

As he looked upon the face of the beautiful, scantily clad woman, he was reminded of the whore that had birthed him from her loins. Tossed into the street like trash at such a young age by the whore, so that she could partake of pleasures of the flesh, he knew how evil blasphemous tramps could be; just as surely as he knew that he was a prophet sent from God that would do his bidding and end the treacherous reign of sinners.

As fixated as he was on the slut in the billboard, he didn’t feel his erection. As he hobbled back to his hovel in the middle of the makeshift tent city that dwelled in downtown Oklahoma City, the throbbing between his legs became a nuisance that he began punching at.

When he finally arrived at his own abode, it was to an unexpected visitor. So caught up in searching for his treasures was she, that his presence was unknown to her. He watched her for a moment as the aching in his groin became more acute until finally he decided that as a messenger from God it was his right to partake of that which would offer him enjoyment.

With this entitlement owed to him in mind, he tackled the unsuspecting creature into the corner and ripped at the shirt at the same time. When it would think to fight back he ripped its shirt open and bit the beast’s breast, causing it to submit. After a weak struggle it stilled and he knew he could have his way with it, cleansing it of its filthy sins. As he did his rightful duty, he thought of the cunt on the billboard and what he intended to do to her and decided that the whore whose body he currently inhabited was lucky to have his seed inside her.

Chapter 1

Morgan Freeman entered her office quietly, hoping that her lateness would be overlooked by her boss. She sometimes worried that she was one tardy away from getting canned. Had her boss not had a semi-permanent hard-on for her, she probably would’ve gotten pink slipped ages ago. But that was something she had cultivated in him as soon as Steve had left over a year ago. Not that Mack wasn’t interested in her before then; she just had never encouraged it while she and Steve had subsisted in their marital purgatory. She just wasn’t the type of girl that cheated, or had affairs.

And had never been the type of girl that used her sexuality to get herself somewhere. But now? Dressing to sell the multi-million dollar homes that were her specialty was only part of her business strategy, as well as the reason she often wore the low-cut blouses and short skirts that apparently had become her trademark. The other was that her boss, Mack Jansen let her get away with much more when he took pleasure in looking at her.

Shameful to use her sexuality to succeed? Maybe. But when you were a single mom, you tended to ignore some of the social rules that good girls abided by. Especially if it meant keeping your kids happy, provided for, and off of welfare. Besides, it wasn’t as though she were lying on her back to make a living. Not that she had any desire to be intimate with anyone. Ever again.

So it was one thing to flirt a little with Old Mackey and sometimes her multi-millionaire clients. And even show a little cleavage and lead some of her clients on. But after what her two exes had put her through, nothing was happening with her, or TO her, ever again. And that was fine with her. She was very skilled at completing her own orgasm. Adding another human being to the mix only led to complications. And heartbreak. And why was she even thinking of this today? I need to get off tonight, she told herself, and in a big way.

The kids had kept her occupied all weekend. All three long days of it. It had been great and fulfilling to spend that time with them, but when your four-year-old was obsessed with sleeping in your bed on non-school nights, there wasn’t much time to service yourself.

Get your head in the game, Morgan told herself as she opened her office. Congratulating herself on avoiding her boss, she dropped her Coach purse on the floor next to her chair. With a plop it landed, spilling the contents behind her desk. She knew she shouldn’t be dropping her expensive purse onto the floor the way she did, but part of her hated it.

That type of finery just wasn’t her. It was part of the image she worked to cultivate. If her big wig clients thought she toted around an old diaper bag, which was her favorite, or a journalistic shoulder bag, they wouldn’t give her the time of day. So the Coach was a necessary evil. And it seemed to work. She was at the top of the real estate market game, selling sometimes three houses a week. Pretty fantastic considering this was one of the worse housing crises in history.

Her reverie stopped abruptly when her boss appeared in her doorway.

Freeman, you’re late again. What is that, six times this month? If you weren’t my top producer, you’d have owed me big time years ago. As he spoke, Morgan noticed him eyeing her expressive nipples. He kept the thermostat at 66.5 degrees year round, even when he was clearly freezing, wearing his thick vests and scarves.

Morgan encouraged his leering by rearranging herself on the edge of her chair, and replied to his comment with a sly smile, knowing what he liked, and that it would give him blue balls so hard he would practically have to run to the men’s room to relieve himself when he left her office. Yes, she said quietly.

Yes? he asked in a husky voice. She could see his boner growing as he stood against the frame of her door, and leaned forward to give him a little more wood for the fire- figuratively? She thought to herself with a mental smirk.

I believe it has been seven times this month. As he stood against her door as if it were holding him up, the silence seemed to stretch with him looking from her nipples to her face and her looking him in the eye, but noticing the impressive bulge in his middle in her periphery. When he began to stammer, she put him out of his misery, by adding, Late, however, is a relative term. Isn’t that what you told me?

Grunting, and still unable to speak coherently, as it seemed, Morgan continued for her boss. Yes, she breathed. Yes, that is what you said last month at your Christmas party, when you spoke to me alone in your kitchen. And you added that if my sales kept up this way I could come in at midnight if I liked. Pause; deep breath for effect. Weren’t those your words? she persisted, licking her lips, and pointedly looking at his erection. At this point, Mack groaned and turned around. The next thing Morgan could hear was the door to the men’s bathroom slamming shut, and the water turning on.

Success! Morgan thought, as she put away her previous thoughts and got to work. Powering on her laptop, she took a sip of her coffee to warm her hands as her computer buzzed to life. Scrolling through her emails, she double clicked on the third one down that had an interesting subject line: Saw the advertisement for your house- interested in details. Clicking to open the message, Morgan was a bit excited that her day-old listing in the exclusive neighborhood already had a nibble.

Her excitement abruptly ended when she saw who the message was from, however: John Kennedy. His interest in the home across the street from his could only mean one thing, and that was heartbreaking to Morgan. As she began reading the message, her suspicions were confirmed.

The couple who bought their current home from her had seemed to be so in love but had decided on an amicable agreement which would include John moving to the house across the street. Interestingly, his email ended with him asking Morgan to meet him at their current home as soon as it was convenient for her. Scrolling through her cell for his number, she hit the green phone button and gave him a call.

Forty-five minutes later, Morgan found herself in the Kennedy’s neighborhood and in front of the manse she had previously sold to the family. Just as with most of the houses in the neighborhood, this one was quite large, but very different from all of its neighbors. Looking like an expansive Irish cottage, this home could nearly be called a mansion, but was built to appear cozy and quaint from the front. It wasn’t until one stepped