Meet Me By the Kama Sutra (Regular Sex Issue 4) by Kitty French Read Free Book Online Page A

the one thing I’m not
is a marriage wrecker. A marriage wreck, maybe, but not a marriage wrecker.
    I force my eyes
back to my screen in case she spots me watching her when she turns around.
Count backwards from five slowly, Huey. Five. Four. Three. Two. Don’t look, don’t
look, oh shit.
    She’s just sat
down opposite me at my table.
    I lift my eyes
slowly, and surreptitiously watch as she opens her notebook and clicks the end
of a pen she pulls from behind her ear, poised to write something. Then she
raises her eyes to mine and our gazes lock. It’s the oddest feeling, as if she
looks inside me, all the way in, and her eyes sparkle with undisguised mischief.
    She looks down at
her pad for a few seconds and then writes something down, rips the sheet from
the book, and slides it across the table to me. It’s far enough that she has to
stretch, and I reach out wordlessly and pull the paper towards me.
    ‘Am concerned
that my blouse is inappropriate for work because that guy over there keeps
staring at me. Tell me something... can you see my bra through it?’
    Now, I’ve been
married for six years, so I’m out of practice, but that’s a come on, right?
Just to be sure, I grab my pen and scrawl something on the paper, then push it
back over the table.
    ‘Are you asking
me to look?’
    She reads my
request and the smallest of smiles tilts her lips as she lifts one eyebrow and
nods, her eyes flickering around the quiet library to make sure no one’s
observing us. Mac man has his back to us, and there’s no one else in this side
room but us.
    I swallow hard
and lower my gaze to her breasts. Her black blouse is kind of sheer, just the
right side of respectable but still sexy enough for me to be able to register
that her bra is black too.
    It’s hard to look
away now that I’ve been invited, and even harder not to imagine what she’d look
like without her blouse. I take my time, and then catch my breath because she’s
just slipped her top button open to reveal more creamy cleavage.
    She writes
something down and slides the paper back.
    ‘Well? What do
you think?’
    I snake my tongue
over my suddenly dry lips, my eyes on the freshly revealed curves of her
breasts.
    ‘I think I might
need more to make a closer inspection.’
    The words fall
from my brain onto the paper, and when she reads them she replies then folds
the paper in half, moves it towards me, refastening her button as she stands up
to leave. Shit. Did I push too far?
    ‘Meet me in the
reference room in five minutes.’  
    Fuck, yes! I
watch her walk away, studying the feminine sway of her shapely ass, and then I
panic because I don’t even know where the frickin’ reference room is and she’s
left the room now and I need to wait a few minutes before I follow because my
raging hard on will give me away, even if my guilty eyes don’t.
     
    SYLVIE
     
    I’m a librarian
for a reason. Well, two reasons actually. The first is that I love books. The
second is that I love sex, and the vast majority of men have a thing for
librarians. I think it’s got a lot to do with the enforced silence of the library;
it gets them all pent up with the need to roar like lions. You have to be
careful in here though, because the men who use the library generally fall into
one of three categories.
    One - the obvious
perv. You can tell these guys a mile off because they generally don’t wash as
regularly as they should, usually wear macs, and are quite often bald. They
tend to hang around the newspapers or sometimes in women’s fiction, which is a
bit obvious, isn’t it?
    Then you’ve got
the uber-geeks, the ones who are genuinely too caught up in their studies or
their books to notice the sensual world around them. Every now and then I’ll
have a crack at one of these guys if I’m feeling like a challenge, and I’m not
ashamed to admit that they can be slow on the uptake. There was a guy earlier
this year, a mature student who was actually hot as hell beneath his