10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  Under the table, Clement rested his hand on my thigh. First, he patted it as though to placate or soothe me, but after the last pat, it remained a hot weight on my thigh. I scooted farther away from him, and with my free hand, brushed his hot hand off my leg. I did it slowly, but firmly, so that he would understand that its removal wasn’t an accident. It didn’t go far. The side of his hand still rested next to my hip. His little finger lay flush against the fabric of my skirt.

  “He did seem a little agitated at the meeting,” Clement mused.

  I shrugged, assuming nonchalance. Now she had Clement speculating. I wish she would just let it go already.

  “Sounded like somebody was trying to break a wild horse in there.”

  I could feel the heat rush up into my face.

  Clement laughed, so I smiled. “Such colorful language. Where are you from, Claire?” he asked.

  She ducked her head and blushed. “I’m from here, born and bred. I think it’s a line from a movie. I watch a lot of movies.”

  Our food came and we talked about movies as we ate. Claire liked romantic comedies—no surprise there—but I was surprised by her knowledge of the vintage divas Monroe, Stanwyck, Colbert, Lombard and even Norma Shearer. After indulging us for a few minutes, Clement steered the conversation to directors Kurosawa and Tarantino, two of his favorites. We ordered another round of beers and shared a basket of fries while we recounted our favorite scenes and shouted good-naturedly over one another when a detail was missed or someone’s description ignited a related thought. It was fun. Clement, being the gentleman he is, insisted on paying the entire bill. I objected strenuously, but Claire’s objection was weak at best and in the end, Clement handed over his Visa. We walked three abreast back to work, Claire animated, almost dancing at Clement’s side.

  Only fifteen minutes late, we slipped back to our respective desks. I had just pulled out a set of contracts and was scouring my desktop for my favorite fine-point red pen when Claire rushed into my office.

  “Alex Rodriquez is in with Mr. Davies,” she said, making this funny “eek” face. “They wanted you to go to lunch with them. I told them we just got back, but Mr. Davies wants to see you anyway.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thanks, Claire.”

  She nodded and gave me a sympathetic shrug, but before she pulled the door closed, she turned back with, “That Clement is really cute.”

  I smiled and nodded a yeah.

  “Do you think he liked me?” she asked, hopeful.

  “He seemed to enjoy the lunch,” I said.

  “Me, too.” She smiled.

  “You and he aren’t—” she stammered.

  “No.” I shook my head. I wasn’t sure whether it was a lie or not, but with Davies acting like such an ass, it was probably best to keep Clement out of the mix.

  “He’s a nice guy.” I added just because I thought I should say something else.

  “He is,” she agreed, and pulled the door closed.

  * * *

  I pulled out the mirror I kept in my pencil drawer, and checked my hair and make-up before heading through the adjoining door.

  Alex stood when I entered.

  “Glory,” he said, extending his arms, his eyes alight. “They said you’ve already eaten. Maybe you could join us for a drink.” He squeezed my hand and pressed his lips to my cheek.

  “I’ve got a set of contracts on my desk that I promised to turn over to Legal by three.”

  “Bruce won’t hold you to that. The client’s needs come first, right, Bruce?”

  Alex’s ex-wife and business partner, Sophia, stood next to the set of decanters and glasses on the far wall. She held a pair of tongs over the ice bucket as though she was searching for the perfect ice cube. I pulled my hand out of Alex’s grasp and crossed over to her, pressing my cheek against hers.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Glory, you must come along. I don’t want to eat alone with these two ex-jocks. You understand the product. And I must tell you about the new shoe designer we’ve just hired. These are his work.” She pointed the tongs at her shoes and stepped away from the bar so that I might see them better. “A bit daring, but I love them.”

  She was a tiny blonde, whose genes, frequent spa treatments and flighty but very expensive little haircut, snipped away at least fifteen of her forty-five years. The shoes were a sling back with an open toe, covered in a jungle-print textured fabric that favored a deep green. They had a four-inch heel and a one-inch platform sole. They were cute and she wore them well.

  “Nice,” I said, and meant it.

  She smiled, “I knew you’d appreciate them. You must come along. I’ve brought his design book.” She gestured to a binder that sat in one of the upholstered chairs before pouring a dollop of scotch over the ice.

  Bruce stood behind his desk. “Legal can wait,” he spoke decisively. And then softening his tone slightly, he said, “Go on. Get your things.”

  Well, I guess that was that. The boss had spoken. Alex beamed and Sophia sipped her drink and looked at me with speculation, as though she actually expected me to contradict Bruce. I went back to my office, got my purse and jacket, and we headed out.

  It wasn’t as much fun as lunch, but it was pleasant and the new designer had talent. In front of Sophia, Alex behaved himself, more or less. He did try to feed me some of his Beef Wellington because it was “so tender and seasoned so well,” and he “didn’t like to see me sitting there with only wine when everyone else was eating.” While dodging his fork, I explained again that I’d eaten earlier. Sophia grinned into her glass.

  We talked about the campaign, the series of television spots that the firm had developed for their clothing line, the demographics of the shows selected, the success of the recent store opening and their plans for the furniture line.

  “Johns, the new guy, is reviewing your current webpage. He’s working up a list of internet sites and strategies for creating possible links and buying ad space,” Bruce said to Alex, and then his eyes found mine. “Glory had lunch with him today.” He skewered a bit of tomato and popped it into his mouth. “Did you get any insight into his plan? A preview?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “No. It wasn’t a working lunch.”

  He nodded and chewed.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait for the formal report,” he said after swallowing.

  Alex inclined his head briefly as if to say “No problem.”

  Sophia talked about her current passion, their newest shoe designer. She planned to feature his new line in the fall.

  Alex said, “She’s fucking obsessed with this guy. If he wasn’t such a fairy, I’d swear they were fucking.”

  Taking the slap in stride, she smirked and said, “If he wasn’t such a fairy, I would fuck him.”

  Knowing that the sniping could easily escalate into something more volatile, Bruce quickly turned the conversation back to the status of the ad campaign outlining the strategy for the company’s fledgling furniture line. Taking Bruce’s offering, Sophia gave him a smile and listened attentively, asking questions in the appropriate places. Alex sent me a smoldering look that I dodged by becoming an active participant in the ongoing conversation.

  On our way out, Alex allowed Bruce and Sophia to precede us. I tried to speed up, but he caught me by placing a hand at my waist and pulling me backward. He nudged his nose around my ear as though he was trying to smell me. “We could meet at the hotel in about half an hour. I’m at the Roosevelt,” he whispered as his teeth tugged at my earlobe. Unseen, I rolled my eyes. As if he ever stayed anywhere else. I held still, trying not to shove an elbow into his gut or initiate a struggle to free myself from his grip. I was not in the mood for this.

  “I’ve got work,” I mouthed, gently pulling out of his hold and moving toward the exit.

  “After work?” he asked as he kept pace with my hurried stride.

  By then we were standing in front of the restaurant as one of the sleek black town cars leased by the agency pull
ed up in front.

  “You two can take this one,” Bruce said to Alex and Sophia as he reached out to clasp my elbow and pull me back to his side. “You’re both going in the same direction. Glory and I can ride back to work together.”

  The driver had come around and was opening the door for Sophia. Alex looked a little put out, but unless he wanted to air his business, he could do nothing but follow his partner as she slid into the cool darkness of the car.

  The long black car slid easily into the throng of traffic and the second car pulled up in front of us. Bruce opened the car door. I climbed in and he slid in after me. As the car made its way out into traffic, Bruce told the driver to take him to his town house. I just sat back. I said nothing, because there wasn’t anything to say. I was beginning to feel like an indentured whore who’d let out her vagina for the duration of her employment at Davies and Birch. What began as a little fun was becoming a duty.

  Bruce didn’t say anything, either. I couldn’t help but glance at him, a quick cut of the eye. He sat close to his window, pretending a fascination with the yellow cabs and towering office buildings that glided by as we rode through town. I knew his heart was beating fast. He would be afraid that I would lash out at his presumption, afraid that I would deny him. I crossed my legs and let the short skirt ride up my thighs just enough so that he could see the black lace of my thigh-high stockings. His head tilted slightly so that he could look without turning toward me.

  The car pulled up in front of his town house. He slid out and held the door for me. I walked up the short flight of stairs, while he gave instructions to the driver.

  He opened the door and stepped back so that I could enter.

  I looked back at him briefly, a question in my brow.

  “Tonya has a half day today.” He closed the door behind him.

  Tonya, a woman in her late fifties who spoke with a heavy Eastern European accent, was an immaculate housekeeper. The living room, done in masculine but airy beige and burnished browns, looked as though she had vacuumed then polished every centimeter. Two long, plush sofas bracketed a large square cocktail table of gleaming and intricately paneled oak. I pulled a very expensive cashmere throw pillow from one of the sofas and plopped it onto the center of the table. Then I slid the straight black skirt of my suit up over my hips so that I could slip off my thong and he could get a glimpse of snatch and taut thigh. With my skirt still riding my hips, I turned my back to him under the guise of placing the pillow just so. I wanted to give him a clear view of my tight ass, its smooth, well-oiled skin and its high rounded lobes. I bent over, just a bit farther, to pull the pillow forward. My ass aimed at him, my dampening sex peeking at him from just beneath my ass. Then, with my back still toward him, I stood back to survey my handiwork. He, in turn, would have a moment to take in the effect of the dark lace that topped my thigh-high hose, to consider how stark it was against the paleness of my skin, how the pale flesh peeked out of the gauzy eyelets before giving way to the sleek length of long leg and the perfectly turned calves. The three-and-one-half-inch spike heels could always be counted on to do their part.

  When I was satisfied that he’d gotten a good look, I sat, scooting onto the pillow as it lay near the edge of the sturdy table. Bruce, barely breathing, stood in the entryway watching. I emptied my small handbag onto the table next to me, found my lipstick, a bitchin’ red, and opening my legs, proceeded to paint the lips of my vagina while he watched. I dabbed the long stick of creamy red color down and around my already moist labia, drawing it over the lips and along the thin line of perfectly waxed hair. His eyes grew dark and he moved to take off his suit coat.

  “No,” I said as I worked to perfect the line. “Leave it on.”

  He, of course, complied.

  When I was done applying the lipstick, I widened my legs to admire my handiwork. Then, I put everything back into my handbag, zipped it up, and, finally, turned my attention to Bruce. He was sweating, droplets clearly visible on his forehead.

  “Kiss me,” I said, opening my legs to him.

  He took two long steps toward me and dropped down between my legs. With his large hands caressing my thighs, he buried his face deep in my sex. He was good at this, his long thick tongue plunging and rasping between the lips and then dipping deep to circle my clitoris as though he’d happily found a ripe juicy melon with a pleasing and extremely addictive surprise. When his tongue slurped around my clitoris and then sucked at it gently, I could barely sit still, but he held me in place, his long fingers anchoring my hips. But when his tongue curled and began to thrust into my opening, even the strength of his fingers couldn’t hold me still. My thighs began to tremble and clench around his head, and my fingers blindly sought and found his short thick locks of hair and pulled. Ignoring the pain, he continued the assault until my womb began to tighten and spasm. My thighs became a vise around his head, and I could see stars, even though my eyes were closed.

  He held my backside with one hand as he moved up my body, his mouth burrowing beneath my jacket to open over the peak of a very sensitive nipple dampening the cloth that covered it. I could hear him fumbling with his zipper with his other hand.

  “No,” I said, and slid back, taking the pillow with me.

  He looked up at me. Smears of red lipstick and shiny dampness covered his lips and his cheeks, and there was a longing so fierce in his eyes that a lesser woman would have given in.

  “No,” I said, and he leaned in to kiss me. I moved my face out of reach. “I don’t want your kisses.” I pushed him away.

  He looked at me and then lowered his head as though he knew he’d been bad and was ready for whatever punishment I doled out.

  “Go sit in that chair.” I pointed to a straight-back chair that sat against the wall.

  He did as he was told.

  “Push your pants down around your ankles.”

  He complied and sat back down. Legs wide, his cock stood on full alert, a beacon that made the muscles of my pussy twitch. His hands gripped the arm rails of the chair.

  I stood before him, and just because it was so tempting, I leaned in and sucked the tip of his cock. He groaned and lifted his hips. I stopped and pulled back. He held his breath.

  I stood up and looked down at him.

  “Did I ask for your help?” I asked.

  He wet his lips and waited, hoping that I would resume. Instead, I turned my back to him, slid my skirt farther up my hips and lowered my wet pussy onto his soldier-hard cock. He groaned and lifted to greet me, thrusting upward, hard, his eager flesh filling me completely.

  “No,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him. “I want to do this. You are just a tool. I will take what I want. I decide how much.” I pressed down, the dampness of my thighs mingling with his. I clenched around him, stroking his cock as I rose. He groaned and his hands came up to grasp at my waist.

  “Don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll leave.” His breath was ragged; his cock so hard and hot I wanted to scream. I rotated my ass, the flesh of my cheeks and my pussy strumming and stroking him before I began to rise again, tugging his length up with me. His hands gripped the arm rails. I placed my hands on top of his and peeked at him over my shoulder, biting my lip as I clutched at him with my pussy.

  His breath came hot and fast on my neck as his stomach tightened and his body surged toward mine. I leaned back and slid down, down, down and pressed my heated flesh against his groin as the muscles of my sex sucked at him. He thrust upward as though he couldn’t help it; his eyes now glued to the rise and fall of my ass as he clutched the chair. I let him move because it felt so good. His flesh grew wider and became more rigid as he strained upward, each eager thrust seemed to find a narrower path.

  To slow him down, I leaned back again and rocked back and forth, feeling all of him as his heat and hardness scorched and massaged my walls. My skin, my sex, my flesh were awash in sensation. He groaned and leaned toward me; his mouth pressed against my back. I shook him off, bucking against him.r />
  The urge to ride him pulled at me and I was dragging my sex up and down, up and down, my finger gripping his forearms, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The tingling stars took me and I couldn’t rise because of the throbbing, so I began to rock back and forth, back and forth, the speed increasing of its own will. He cried out, a hoarse roar, before he grabbed me, his hands at my waist, my hips, my buttocks, my breasts, his lips on my neck, my back.

  “No,” I said, shaking him off as I pulled away, the width of him still lodged deep inside of me. I squirmed off of him and stood, but he was still coming, thick spurts of sperms spilling over the sweaty sheen of his thighs and dripping onto the upholstered seat of the chair and off the wooden edge onto the carpet. His eyes were closed and his teeth were buried deep in his lower lip.

  “I said don’t touch me,” I ground out as I pulled my skirt down over my hips, gathered my handbag and made my way to the door. I heard him groan once more as I let myself out and pulled the front door closed behind me.

  * * *

  Clement stood in the doorway of my office, his forearm leaning against the lintel. “All work and no play...” he said, shaking his head. I smiled up at the grin he offered, and then scooted my chair back and stretched.

  “Trying to catch up.”

  “I’ve come to rescue you from yourself.” He held out his hand.

  I grumbled for show, but I was ready for a break so I rose and slipped my hand into his. He led me just down the hall to his suite of offices, past the empty desks that belonged to his staff and into his office, which was larger than I thought it would be. It boasted a sizable view of the city, but there wasn’t much in the way of furnishings: a desk with a thickly padded leather chair and a couple of the black-and-blue visitors’ chairs that graced most of the other offices. His desk, cleared of paperwork, now hosted a plaid throw. A couple of stemmed glasses, a bottle of wine and an assortment of cheeses, fruit, deli meats and baguettes were artfully arranged on high-end paper plates in its center.