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‘Why are we at the estate?’ she asked. ‘I’d like you to come have drinks with me, and talk for a while.’ She looked at him doubtfully, but didn’t say anything. She followed him inside. The house was only dimly lit, and there was no sign of Mrs. Martin, or anyone else. Graham led her into his den. She sat down on an armchair as he turned on a small lamp on a corner table, then moved to turn on the gas fireplace. He switched on his stereo, and said over his shoulder, ‘Louis Armstrong, right?’ ‘Um, yes, I love him.’ ‘(When we are Dancin) I get Ideas’ came on, and she fought the nervous laugh, and then the urge to run. He was setting a seduction scene. This was wrong, on so many levels. He was her boss. He was a powerful, dominating man, so not her type. She only dated gentle, easygoing men, because they frightened her less. The last time she’d dated a man like Graham, powerful and sure of himself, she’d nearly been raped. It had made her very cautious with men. She watched him out of. He grips your naked body with his middle finger digging into your butt cheeks and his thumb gripping your pelvis. Totally and completely controlling your hips with his one hand, he lifts your butt and rotates you, so that your face is now forward into the bedsheets. He pulls your thighs back and pushes your knees together. With his other hand he reaches around and pushes your head hard, but with tenderness, down further into the folds of your bed. At first you begin to worry that he won’t let you up for air, then you move your face and gulp. His other hand is gripping your ass so tight you know there will be bruises, but your mind has disappeared. All you can feel is his fingers gripping your scalp through your tangled hair. You can hear his growl. You can feel several of your hairs on the verge of being torn from your head. And that’s when he bites down on your butt.Now your whole body quivers. His breath is hot where the wet spot on you still remains. The hand on your head moves.
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