Going Too Far by Unknown Read Free Book Online

back but satisfied with what he would find I put my one skirt (the polymer Liquorice Allsorts one) and my one good top (long sleeves, low necked and stretchy jersey) over the rest and made some coffee while waiting to ask if he’d had a nice day at the office.
    Despite my tiredness the night before I’d registered that Carlos looked pretty good in black jeans and turtleneck, but in a cream linen suit and collarless white shirt he was as inviting as a double vanilla ice cream and I could have licked him all over. I know, the cream linen suit is such a Latin cliché, but give a girl a break. I’m sick of hip Kip and the fashionistas at work and was happy to wallow in Carlos’s conventional and quite frankly stunning look. He smelled faintly of a musky aftershave or cologne, and though usually I like men to smell of nothing but men it suited him and I even quite liked it.
    I poured him some coffee and he raised his eyebrows at the shoes. ‘Did you find everything you want?’
    It was going to take time to get used to the fact that despite looking Spanish and having decidedly American cultural leanings his accent is as English as mine. Or did he speak with an American accent when in the US? I liked the thought that he could become three completely different people.
    ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I said innocently. ‘You said to help myself.’
    ‘Sure, I meant you to.’ He smiled, and what a brilliant smile. Slightly dark skin, like a very good tan, so that his teeth were really white against it. Mouth wide with thin lips. Nose long and broad but straight, horizontal lines across it at the top, surprising for someone his age, forehead also slightly lined. Eyes such a dark brown they looked almost black, Tia Maria mixing into a Black Russian, as he sat with his back to the light. Hair black and thick, shoulder length, pulled back in a ponytail, though it was loose last night. Oh yes. I wanted to tell him he could help himself as well but I guessed that as I was wearing his shoes and obviously a bit more of his besides he’d take it as read.
    He did. After the small talk about my day and night he gestured towards me. ‘So you dressed up for me?’
    ‘Well, Kip said you liked it, and after I found the stuff I thought you’d left it there for me . . . is it OK?’
    A smile played round the corners of his mouth. He had a faint outline of stubble, just enough to be sexy and not too much to be George Michael-y.
    ‘Maybe, depends what you’ve got on. I was actually planning to dress you myself . . . well, never mind. Kip told me you’re headstrong.’
    I wished I’d waited for him to dress me.
    ‘Oh did he? I suppose he told you he’s into gay masochism?’
    ‘Wasn’t he always? So, you want to show me what’s under the skirt and top?’
    Did I ever. Without even explaining the miracle fabric I whipped the skirt off and pulled the top over my head before he could change his mind.
    He walked round me as though I was a live gallery exhibit, his eyes moving up and down, assessing me. I liked it. Just occasionally I enjoy being treated like a sex object.
    ‘I can do better,’ he pronounced finally. ‘Red and black; a bit tacky, don’t you think?’
    ‘Your red basque,’ I pointed out. ‘Shall I take it off – or will you?’
    He smiled, his lips not quite meeting, giving me just a tantalising flash of those white teeth.
    ‘You. There’s something slightly unappealing about pulling elasticated garments off flesh.’
    That told me. As appealingly as I could I rolled the basque down and off after making the most of undoing the suspenders.
    ‘What about the rest?’
    He nodded. ‘Not bad. I like the socks. And your legs; long legs, longer in those heels. Don’t you feel sexy?’
    ‘Yeah, but is this it?’
    I felt decidedly disappointed. He was supposed to like dressing up and I wanted to comply but quite frankly black pants and holdups, even when propped up by massively high heels, didn’t seem too