By Lauryn Poynor
|Rated: R for sexual situations|
"I think it passes my rigid inspection, Mr. Steele. Every inch of it. Long, smooth, perfectly contoured. You don't know how long I've waited to see it completely bare.."
"Laura, if I'd known you'd be in such transports of delight, I would have done this years ago."
"That was a great idea of yours, I have to admit. Hiring that efficiency expert, Mr. Sumner, to evaluate the office ergonomics. No more files piled to the ceiling. This wonderful desk. My office has certainly gotten a makeover." Laura's fingers caressed the smooth surface of the desktop.
"No more than you deserve, Miss Holt. Of course, my own desk is a penultimate example of the furniture maker's art. One should expect no less. Entirely in keeping with my status as head of the agency."
"Penultimate example?" snapped Laura with irritation. "This desk can do anything yours can do, Mr. Steele."
"Really, Laura. Far be it from me to dampen your newfound enthusiasm for hardwoods, but your desk is simply not up to the challenge."
"And exactly what challenge is that?"
"Laura! You cut me to the quick. Remember that night at office, after we left Bingham Perret, the heir apparent to the King of Caviar, to do battle with his father."
"Get to the point, Mr. Steele." Laura perched on the edge of the object in question, arms crossed in a posture of skepticism.
"That discussion we had about your shattered lamp, my collapsed bed? The sturdiness of the office furniture? Followed by a certain experiment we conducted in my office?" Steele slid his hand across the cool desktop until he encountered the warmer surface of Laura's thigh. He ran his fingers lightly up to her waist.
Laura blushed furiously as she recalled that adventuresome evening. After a heated argument on how much to charge Bing in damages, they had stripped each other completely bare, and made love from an infinite variety of angles, on every square inch of the polished exterior of Steele's desk.
Laura tried and failed to
banish the carnal images from her thoughts. "I hardly think this was what
the efficiency experts
"Top drawer? Very funny, Mr. Steele. We'll see who has the last laugh." Laura kicked off her shoes, stood up, and began to unbutton her blouse, quite briskly, but in a most unbusinesslike way.
Unable to believe his good fortune, Steele gaped, barely breathing, as inch by inch, more flesh was revealed.
Laura pulled her blouse free from her skirt and began to unhook a nearly transparent peach lace bra. "What are you waiting for? The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval? This stress test was your idea."
Galvanized into action by
this unexpected floor show, Steele yanked his tie free and lost a few buttons
on his shirt in his haste to comply before her impetuous mood subsided.
Steele managed to struggle out of his shirt without further
Laura put her hand over his. "Allow me, Mr. Steele." Now clad only in a pair of sheer lace panties, she used the belt to pull him to her, stopping briefly before working the clasp to press her palm hard against his zipper. She trailed her fingers insistently down his length, and lower, until a surprised moan of pleasure escaped him.
His belt undone, she pulled down his zipper and quickly peeled him from his trousers. Laura surveyed the desktop speculatively. "How do you want it, Mr. Steele? Full surface contact? Side angle? On the edge? We want to make sure we've covered everything. I wouldn't want you to accuse me of cheating."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Steele considered the possibilities. "On the edge, eh? Let's live dangerously,
Miss Holt." Steele
"On the edge, it is." Laura perched on the edge of the desk, straddling him as he stood expectantly before her.
"It may surprise you to know I've learned a few things from the experts. Our Mr. Sumner, for one."
"Laura! The man's old enough to be your grandfather."
"Ergonomics, Mr. Steele. For instance, when engaged in a series of repetitive motions, one must always be sure of the proper angle and positioning."
Steele ran a fingertip along the inside of her thigh. "Wise man, for a grandfather. Care to test that theory, Miss Holt."
"A comparative study?"
Steele looked at his watch. "From desk to dawn?"
"You're on, Mr. Steele. May
the best desk win."
[ Steele A State Of Mind ]