I knew he couldn’t see my pussy, but the prospect was clearly on his mind. “I am looking forward to seeing more of you,” he whispered. His eyes met mine and I knew what he wanted. I wanted to give it to him, but I didn’t want him to know that. So, I dropped my pen to one side by “accident” and when I leaned over to pick it up, my legs splayed apart and in the time it took me to retrieve the pen and sit back up, Bob got a clear view of my pussy, slightly parted no doubt, and for all I knew, glistening.
He made no bones about staring between my legs and I think he was going to say something suggestive when his secretary appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Martin, the management team is waiting for you in the board room.”
I stood up and extended my hand, “Good to meet you Mr. Martin.”
“Call me Bob.” He placed my hand between both of his and said, “Tell George I am okay now and that I want you to be my account representative. No one else.”
“Of course, Mr. Martin, I mean Bob. I will be happy to service you and your company.”
“I look forward to that,” Bob said.
When I got back to the office, I reported to George and he was ecstatic. “Thanks so much and sure you can be his account rep. I hope he wasn’t too lewd to you, Sandra.”
“No worries,” I smiled. “I have got him where I want him.”
I landed two more contracts that day, both from men who I discovered also enjoyed my unbuttoned blouse, though I did not put on the show I did for Bob.
When I got home, I changed into yoga pants and a tee-shirt. When I went downstairs, I found Mark in the kitchen, stirring a pasta sauce. He was wearing gym shorts and a gray tee-shirt that was lined with sweat.
“Were you working out?”
“Yeh I was putting on a few and thought a run would do me good.”
“Nice. And you are cooking to boot.”
Mark beamed. “I know you like my sauce,” he said.
“I do,” I said.
It was then that we both clued in to the double-entendre of the word “sauce.”
I just shook my head. “Bad, bad,” I mumbled.
Over dinner I thought we might talk about what had happened last night. “I am sorry about yesterday, Mark.”
Mark finished chewing his pasta, set down his fork and looked me in the eye. “I am not sorry, mother, and neither should you be.”
“Oh,” I murmured.
“I know I shouldn’t, but I liked hugging you that way and seeing your breast was a nice way to end the evening.”
I hadn’t expected that, much less what came out of my mouth next. “I rather…enjoyed it, too,” I said, noticing how husky my voice sounded.
Then we endured at least a minute of silence, each of us processing the obvious sexual tension between us and our shared appreciation for what had happened.
I broke the silence. “Mark, it’s good we have no regrets but let’s not create more regrets, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s agree that yesterday was an anomaly which we enjoyed but should not repeat.”
Mark furled his brow. “Oh.”
“There is a line we should not cross, Mark. We both know that.”
Mark looked at me. He had something to say but it wasn’t coming up.”
“What is it, son?”