Sunday
Aislen preceded Rhett into the office, swaggering her walk so her skirt flicked enticingly. If Rhett weren’t already achingly hard, the look she cast him over her shoulder would have done it. He almost closed the office door and realized that he’d left the shop door unlocked. f**k, he was going to go insane with need if anyone interrupted, he thought, and hurriedly crossed to turn the lock and flick to sign to “Closed for Business”.
He turned to face the office and moaned. Aislen sat on his office desk, her legs spread, and her skirt hitched up. Her underwear dangled from her index finger, as if he could not already see for himself that she wasn’t wearing them.
“Oh f**k,” his blood drained downwards so fast that for a moment he swayed on his feet.
“Something wrong?” She smirke
