A Very Personal Assistant Read Free Page A

just touched her sex—well, nearly—and
her panties were nestled in his jacket pocket.
    He led her to the cottage and let her in, the soul of courtesy.
It was almost the way he was with her at work when he let her in and allowed her
to precede him.
    “Well, here we are.” The genial host, he pulled out a chair for
her, one of several set around a small kitchen table covered with an
old-fashioned wipe-down cover.
    Miranda slid onto the seat, her skirt rising a bit. He was
looking at her with that sweet devil-imp smile again, teasing her. Not telling
her what to do, yet not exactly subservient.
    “What happens now?” She hung her bag over the back of the
chair, still feeling off-kilter. “Do you spank me or fuck me, or what?”
    “We can do either, or both, or neither…. But I really would
like to see your pussy now.” Eyes on her all the time, he shrugged out of his
jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby armchair. “I’ve been wondering
what it looks like since I first came to work for you.”
    “Really…it never occurred to me that you were interested,” she
lied. Subliminally, it had occurred to her.
Subliminally, she’d thought about it all the time.
too.
    Patrick took his seat, too, stretching out his long legs in
front of him. His pose was elegant and relaxed, one elbow on the table, his
other hand resting on his thigh, and yet everything about him suggested quiet
power and readiness.
    For what?
    “Of course, I’m interested, Miranda,” he purred, tilting his
head on one side. He’d ruffled his hair somewhere along the line, and his blond
curls looked even more boyish and angelic. His eyes looked like Lucifer’s, sharp
and blue. “But you wouldn’t think much of me as P.A. if I perved you all the
time, would you?”
    “I suppose not.” She placed one hand on the table, mirroring
his, fingertips just inches away from his.
    “Well, then…now we’re on neutral ground. Why don’t you put me
out of my misery and show me the goods?”
    Her heart thudded, leaping in her chest while sweat popped out
all over her body. She’d had plenty of sex in her time, even a little kink now
and again, but this was different…strange, ridiculously thrilling and forbidden.
Feeling as if she wanted to gasp for breath, she hooked the hem of her suit
skirt with the fingertips of her right hand and edged it up again. Patrick’s
eyes followed every movement, unwaveringly, even though his body was still and
quiet. She loved the look of him in his classy waistcoat, with his shirt open at
the neck, a tantalizing combination of the formal and the casual. As the edge of
her skirt reached her groin, he took in a breath.
    She hesitated. He smiled. She bit her lip. He shook his head,
as if despairing of her. In a rough, impatient gesture she hauled up the hem,
showing him the triangle of dark hair covering her sex and rumpling her skirt in
a bunch at her waist.
    “So now what?” she demanded, edging around a bit on the chair.
She felt as if she had an engine running in her sex, creating a build-up of
energy. She wanted to make wild movements, do extreme things. The urge to part
her legs wide and push her pelvis forward, opening to him, was a rampaging
hunger.
    Patrick didn’t speak. He just quirked his blond eyebrows at
her, his eyes flicking to her pussy, then to her lips, and then back to her eyes
again. His smile widened.
    He’s got me right where he wants me. He
doesn’t even have to touch me and he’s driving me crazy.
    “Well?” she persisted. She was worked up, wound up, and wanted
action.
    “Feeling horny, are we?” Patrick just stared at her, his
fingertip moving in a tiny circle on the smooth, shiny surface of the
tablecloth, so close to hers. The action was suggestive beyond belief, and his
next words came as no surprise. “Why don’t you masturbate?”
    Her first thought was, I can’t! But
she knew she could. She knew she wanted to, desperately. There was nothing she
wanted more, other than to