My husband, Timothy, tells me, “Don’t get attached, Vonnie.” I remain silent, unwilling to admit it’s much too late.
Avery moves like a dancer even though he’s just a lowly journalist. He’s from here, this silly, romantic city of Charleston, but he doesn’t have the uneducated twang. He is a man who has traveled, not as much as me, but enough to have lost the Southern accent I so abhor. Why do men find it so charming? Timothy does, I know. Why?
I’ll never understand men, and I admit I gave up trying long ago, in the dark corridors of a Tangiers brothel. Oh, yes, I gave up trying to understand their desperate, fumbling fingers, their paid-for platitudes. Men are not to be understood. They are to be enjoyed.
Perhaps that is the certain something that makes he crave Avery Collins. In the boudoir, he is quite enjoyable. When he leaves my bedchamber, I sometimes feel empty, as though he’s taken something with him, but that’s nothing an absinthe can’t fix. I’ve found there is little in life a bit of booze will not make better.
As I sketch Avery, I do a careful study of those dark eyes, and that is when I realize. That is when I recognize what is so special about Avery, what makes him different from my husband, my dear Timothy.
Avery Collins feels.
The first time we made love, his eyes watched me, and I saw he felt guilt at being so entwined with a married woman while her husband watched. I swallowed his guilt as I swallowed his kisses and found both delicious. He feels joy, too, of course—that much I’ve seen. He laughs with abandon. He feels confusion. He feels pain. Perhaps I’ve never met someone who feels so much, and that—that—is what makes Avery my obsession.
I wonder what else we can make him feel, my husband and I? Could I fool him into feeling love? Could I force him to feel fear?
What a tempting thought.
Men are such fragile, weak creatures. They wear their stiff suits and stand up straight. They sneer at each other and use brute force to best their opponents. They don’t know, or won’t acknowledge, women hold the power. We hold their cowardly hearts in our delicate hands and we squeeze.
Timothy wants to hurt Avery physically, tie him to our bed and leave marks on that pale flesh. I wonder if I could hurt his soul. First, I will paint him. I will paint his portrait and keep him young and flawless forever like Dorian Grey. Then, I will see what I can do to Avery—if he can survive this woman’s touch.
Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sP-hz7_li68
My website: http://SaraDobieBauer.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/SaraDobie
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSaraDobieBauer
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Wolf Among Sheep on Amazon: Will get this to you on the 27th
About Wolf Among Sheep:
Avery Collins is an ambitious young journalist in early-1900s Charleston, South Carolina, when exotic newcomers Timothy and Vonnie Duke spot him at a fancy gala on the Battery. The Dukes like bringing pretty playthings to their marriage bed, and with a promotion in mind, Avery entertains their advances not knowing lust can quickly turn to love — and love to murder.
My bio:
Sara Dobie Bauer is a writer, model, and mental health advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She spends most days at home in her pajamas as a book nerd and sex-pert for SheKnows.com. Her short story, “Don’t Ball the Boss,” was nominated for the 2015 Pushcart Prize, inspired by her shameless crush on Benedict Cumberbatch. She lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she would really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is the author of Life without Harry, Forever Dead, and Wolf Among Sheep. World Weaver Press will publish her novel, BITE SOMEBODY, this summer.
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