Red Grow the Roses by Janine Ashbless Read Free Book Online Page B

her tongue. It evokes the first stir of a reaction in the region of my crotch, just as she intends. Tease works.
    â€˜All right then.’ I look up and down the corridor. The diners will be well into the bottles of Krug by now. And it’s not as if I’m the only political adviser the mayor’s got to hand. ‘Down here.’
    I need a room with a lock on the door, which means a guest toilet unfortunately: I pick the one furthest from the dining hall. It’s an exceptionally well-appointed toilet of course. It also happens to be occupied, because as I lay my hand on the door I hear a voice within. A man’s voice, deep and measured. He’s talking to someone, although the other voice is not audible.
    â€˜Blast,’ I mutter. I might think about heading to another location, except that Penny takes the opportunity to lean against the wall and brush her fingers up my fly, a furtive tickle that deprives me of the will to move anywhere. Her eyes are bright, her breasts plumped up even more than usual to create a mesmerising cleft. ‘Careful,’ I admonish weakly. ‘We need to be discreet.’
    â€˜How can we be, when I’m gagging for your cock?’ she mouths. I love it when she talks filthy, which she knows, of course. That perfect, preened exterior combined with whorishly low speech makes for a delicious frisson.
    Then the door opens. A man comes out, looks at us both, nods with a faint smile and walks away. I think for a moment that I recognise him but the familiarity is fleeting. Penny’s eyes follow him down the corridor. ‘Who was that?’ she asks with undisguised admiration.
    I sigh and steer her into the bathroom. That’s certainly one sign she’s ovulating: she becomes a rapacious flirt. Another man in my position might not take it so well. ‘I don’t know him. One of the Spanish group, I should think – they’re in the running for a contract on the integrated transport initiative.’
    â€˜Well, he knew you.’
    â€˜Did he?’
    â€˜He called you Richard.’
    I blink, nonplussed. I can’t recall him saying anything to me at all. I can’t actually remember his face right now, come to think of it. He was tall and looked like he might have been Spanish; that’s all I recall. ‘Did you yank me out of dinner just to talk?’ I’m a little brusque, I admit, to cover my confusion. Penny rolls her eyes.
    â€˜OK, love.’ She stalks over to the sink and drops her handbag while I give the room a once-over glance, just in case the conversation we’d overheard had been taking place live and not over the phone. But the room, though spacious for a toilet and slightly over-furnished – an antique armoire against one wall, a small but fiendishly ornate sofa upholstered in brocade, a huge matching gilded mirror over the marble counter that cups two sinks and a large vase of fresh roses – is empty of all human forms but our own. I push the door-bolt to.
    â€˜So what are you wearing?’
    â€˜Come and find out.’ She smiles at me, heavy-lidded, in the mirror. I walk over behind her, Mr Dick already doing his wake-up stretches under my uncomfortable goddamn boxers. ‘Inappropriate Behaviour’ while working is strictly forbidden even if it is with one’s spouse; there’ve been more than enough embarrassing headlines in the press about waste-of-money politicians and public employees gadding about when they should be doing something worthy and abstemious. The fact that this could get me into terrible trouble adds a distinct spice to the occasion. Standing behind her, I watch in the mirror as she lifts her hands and rubs lazily at her breasts, slipping the shoulder straps of her dress to reveal more of those delectable twin slopes – so pale they make me think of snow, so smooth I want to ski down them into the ravine between.
    â€˜Show me,’ I whisper, and my voice is