Snorty, bored with the business conversation, shifts his position.
"Now enough of this late-night scribbling, Miss Maddie," I say, putting Snorty on the floor as I move to her side on the couch. "What are you working on at this hour?"
She smiles. "A report. According to the itinerary, we're meeting with Henry Lemon tomorrow. So I’m preparing a detailed summary of the autism program I expanded at my school."
"You're going to pitch the sponsor?"
"'Pitch' is a strong word. I just want to be prepared when I talk to him. And set the tone for a real conversation down the line."
"Conversation about …"
"Henry Lemon has a son on the spectrum. That’s why proceeds from your concert go to autism research. This isn't just a tax write-off for him. It's personal."
"And what’s this to you?"
Maddie shrugs. "I didn’t want to bore you with what’s going on at the school where I teach. But we could really use his help."
I watch as she folds up her keyboard and turns off her phone. A playful smile crosses her red lips.
"Now. Shall we continue where we left off?" she says, her voice huskier than I’ve heard it.
"Sure. You don’t look much like a schoolmarm at the moment in that silky robe."
"It was one of the surprises Antoine snuck into the 'regular clothes' he purchased for me this weekend. Like it?"
"Very much."
"Antoine insisted on buying me some goodies along with the more conservative outfits," she says, fingering the silk belt of her robe.
"Should I tell you, or show you, what he bought for me to wear underneath?"
"Hmm. Hard choice." My mouth goes dry.
"Why don't you show me?"
When she stands, I peek at her feet. She's wearing red stiletto sandals with straps that crisscross up her ankles. Heels must be five inches tall.
My cock rises as she walks to the center of the room. She performs a little runway twirl, and then lets the robe slide off her shoulders.
Holy shit.
I can't even blink. Maddie's wearing a see-through black bra that barely covers her nipples.
Her erect nibs are a perfect shade of rose gold against her pale skin. The matching panties amount to a triangle of lace with thin straps that disappear between her ass cheeks.
And those stockings—black, sheer, coming up to mid-thigh where they're held by lacy garters. The kind of style I’ve only seen in vintage pin-up magazines.
"Wow," is all I can manage to say while my dick instantly hardens against my jeans. "Antoine really knows his stuff."
"Now," she purrs, walking toward me with little hip swivels that make her ass look even rounder. "May I get you a martini, sir?"
Then she does this move where she bends her knees but keeps her back straight, sticking her hip out. It's a move straight out of a classic pin-up poster.
I can smell her perfume, sweet and spicy. And somethingmuskier mixed in with that perfume that isn’t a manufactured scent at all.
I’m getting a whiff of her arousal.
"Yeah. A martini sounds fine," I croak, my voice suddenly gone. All I can focus on is how close her perfect ass is to my face and how badly I want to grab it.
