Page 5 of An Illicit Seduction

“You know the drill. Keys in the bucket!”

Seraph grinned at Jaime’s silly expression and dropped her rectangular car key into the heart-shaped bucket cradled in her coworker/friend’s arms. Jaime was right; after six years of attending the lively—and debaucherous—pajama party she hosted, Seraph definitely knew the drill. It was why she had removed her car key from its packed key ring, dropping the part that held keys to hers and her mother’s home into the glove compartment before getting out of her car and walking up the driveway to Jaime’s two-story house.

A group of four had walked up behind her and were now waiting to be let in, so Seraph quickly gave Jaime a hug and brushed past her, removing her heavy jacket as she exited the foyer and entered the great room. As she passed under colorful streamers hanging from the entrance, she noticed there was a pile of coats on a chair against the wall. She tossed hers on top of the pile and continued deeper into the room. The party always took place the weekend before Martin Luther King Jr. Day to allow for an extra recovery day, and depending on your “activities”, that extra day was a virtual requirement.

Seraph rocked to the nineties R&B that played through hidden speakers as she moved through the room, greeting the few people she recognized from work and smiling at the unfamiliar faces. Although Seraph wasn’t late, the party was already in full swing with a cluster of people dancing on the makeshift dance floor where the coffee table would regularly be. Others lounged in metal folding chairs and on the two sofas, engaged in lively conversation while holding plates of food and signature red cups of legendary parties past.

There were people of all shapes, sizes, and hues but a commonality among everyone in attendance was their state of dress. All the partygoers were wearing pajamas. A few people donned goofy onesies featuring popular cartoon characters or animals, but most of the partiers wore nightwear that trended toward sensual. Jaime’s party was for the grown and sexy, so Seraph had expected as much, which is why she chose a midnight blue, silk short and matching tank set that she'd purchased specifically for this event. The shorts stopped just below the tops of her thighs and were loose enough that she felt a breeze on her ass cheeks when she walked but fitted enough that she wasn’t at risk of them falling off her behind. Her top was loose-fitting like a blouse, with thin spaghetti straps that would have done a terrible job of concealing her nipples if she hadn’t chosen to wear a strapless bra to support her breasts. As she observed the other people in the room, she was glad of her decision because even though she was at a pajama party, she did not feel comfortable being completely dressed down as if she was about to get in the bed. This was still a public party full of people—strangers who she didn’t socialize with on an intimate level.

Unfortunately, not everyone cared or considered that same sentiment. There were a few women who wore negligees—reminding Seraph of the teddies she’d worn for past lovers—where the hem of the gowns barely brushed the tops of their asses, exposing scantily-clad hind cheeks, and triangles of material on top barely gripped their breasts, hardened nipples, and dark areolas on full, obscene display.

The male attendees, however, were not to be outdone. Seraph saw at least one man wearing only a pair of tight boxer briefs, which left nothing to the imagination. She bit her lip at the thickness between his legs and thought that maybe that particular image wasn’t so unfortunate.

Thankfully, most people were dressed appropriately, like herself. Bopping to the beat of Mary J. Blige’s classic hit, Real Love, Seraph danced her way into the kitchen where the center island countertop had been transformed into a buffet. Her stomach rumbled as the enticing aromas called out to her, and she grabbed a plate and began to load it up with the miniature delights that were hidden inside the aluminum trays.

One of Seraph’s favorite things about attending Jamie’s parties was that, no matter what, she could guarantee that she would always get better than your run-of-the-mill party fare. There was smoked salmon crostini, tiny lump crab cakes, and coconut shrimp kabobs, and she packed her plate with some of everything. She grabbed a second plate for the minced teriyaki steak cradled in boats made of endive leaves, various sushi, and an assortment of fresh fruit, crudités, and accompanying dips. One plate in her hand and the other on the counter, she filled a red cup with some unknown, fruity-smelling concoction labeled Passion Punch when she felt someone press up against her back.

She froze as the unmistakable rod of a hard dick nestled against her covered ass cheeks. For a moment, she stood there, contemplating how she felt and what she wanted to do. She knew what kind of party this was, and she was feeling a little frisky. Not to mention, from the feel of things, they were packing some serious heat below the waist. Craning her neck to the side to see who she might be having a little fun with that night, she almost dropped her plate on the floor when she saw that it was Damon standing behind her.

Stomach now churning, she gasped and stepped away from him. “Oh my god! Damon, what the hell are you doing?!

He stared at her, his normally dark brown eyes now nearly black. His full lips curved into a wolfish grin that was borderline sinister. She'd never seen him smile like that before, and it unnerved her. The feeling intensified as he leaned down and smelled her hair. Face scrunched in confusion, she eyed him. He wore a light gray, ribbed tank top and a pair of silk pajama pants in the same shade of blue as her short set, which rode low on his hips. The “v” of his musculature was just barely visible above the waistband of his pants, and she swallowed hard and averted her eyes. She wasn’t oblivious; she knew Damon was attractive, but she kept that undisclosed in the deepest recesses of her brain that was never accessed. The replay of his dick pressed against her ass was knocking on the door of that reality and causing her distress.

“I just wanted to see what you had on your plate.”

Damon’s normally husky voice had taken on an even deeper note that made something slick and hot slither up her spine and caused several warning signs to blare in her head. What the hell was going on with him?

Flustered by how weird he was acting and her unfamiliar reaction to him, she copped an attitude. “All you had to do was ask. No need for you to get all up on my back like that. I thought you were some random man that I was going to—” She paused. No need to tell him the lascivious thoughts she’d had before she knew he was the one molding himself to her back.

He bit his lip and her thighs quivered. She needed to get away from him, and quickly. This was lust, plain and simple, and he was just an innocent bystander. Once she returned to the great room, she could find someone to work out her sexual frustrations on.

“Yeah,” he drawled as he stepped closer to her, “I could have asked, but what would have been the fun in that? Besides, you smell…delicious.”

His voice dropped another octave on that last word, and her nerves morphed into concern. This was not the Damon she knew. She would bet all the money in her bank account, and her car, that Damon had already begun drinking and more than likely taken some sort of party drug. From the way he was leering at her, she’d bet it was the new sex drug that she’d heard about. It had similar, euphoric effects to ecstasy but without many of the adverse repercussions. Knowing Damon, he probably took it to help overcome his nerves of being in an unfamiliar crowd and then sought her out for a familiar face just as the effects of the drug began to set in.

“That’s just my perfume. I can give you the name of it so you can pick some up for your future girlfriend.”

Shaking her head, she walked to the other end of the island and grabbed a napkin even though she already had one tucked up under her plate. Slowly, he walked toward her, and she had the distinct feeling of being hunted.

“What if,” he enunciated each word as if they were sentences in their own right, making the moment seem more intense than it should have been, “I only want to smell it on you?”

She gave him a crazy look and laughed. Oh, he was definitely high or drunk—or both.

“Bye, Damon.” Lifting her cup in the air, she flicked a pinky at him and walked out of the kitchen to return to the living room. Finding an empty spot on the couch, she sat down and began eating her food, thoughts of that awkward encounter pushed to the back of her mind.

When she was nearly done cleaning her second plate, Jamie plopped down beside her, dressed in a baby doll teddy that had her large breasts pushed damn near up to her throat.

“Girl, you look so cute in that outfit!”

Seraph grinned and struck a pose. “Thank you, I didn’t want to hurt ‘em too bad, but I had to do a little something, you know?”

Giggling, Jamie nodded and sipped from the cup of punch she held her hands. “Did I ever tell you about that weird lunch that Damon and I went on a couple of weeks ago?

Brows furrowed at Jaime’s suddenly serious tone, Seraph shook her head. “No, you never told me anything about it.”

Jamie exhaled a gust of air and sank back against the couch. “Girl, it was so weird. First, he wasn't saying anything at all, which I expected because he’s always so quiet and shy at the office. I was trying to ask him to go out with me this weekend, but he brushed me off, saying he was going to a bachelor party in New Orleans. I wasn’t sweating it, but other than that, he didn’t say much at all. I understood that to be his character and knew that going into it, so when I started telling him about the pajama party and he still didn't say a word, it was fine with me.” Jaime gave Seraph a look she couldn’t decipher. “Until… I mentioned that you would be here.”

“Wait, what?” Seraph lowered the salmon crostini from her mouth and gave Jaime her full attention.