Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee Read Online Free PDF

get back from the ladies to find our main courses in front of us – prawns with basil and chili for me; beef in tamarind sauce for him. As we start to eat, I can feel him watching me, but I don’t rise to it straightaway – partly because I like him admiring me, and also because OH, MY GOD, THAI FOOD IS GORGEOUS! (Why has no one ever mentioned this before? All spices and sweetness and heat.) Anyway, finally he puts down his chopsticks, takes a swig of wine and leans towards me properly. ‘I hope you don’t think me rude,’ he says, ‘treating you so directly. I find you very attractive. And the fact that you have such taste in shoes … well, frankly, I got hard the moment I met you and haven’t calmed down since.’
    I flush, unable to meet his gaze. ‘Oh my,’ I say, ‘you’re very forward, aren’t you.’
    ‘It’s my way of saying, “This is who I am.”’ He pauses for a beat, as I look into his eyes. Then, with the most devilish smile I’ve ever seen, he murmurs, ‘I want to screw you, Deborah. Over and over again. And as I think you know, we’ll be leaving your shoes on.’ If I don’t feel the same, he says, I should speak up now. Like Gladys would, God love her.
    I laugh. ‘That’s Gladys for you.’
    ‘I’m not really thinking of Gladys right now,’ he says, pressing his knee against mine. Oh, gosh, his attention is wonderful! It makes me feel all precious and twinkly – I haven’t felt like that in years. But I don’t know how to respond. And I know I should hint that I’m not a sex-on-the-first-date girl. Suddenly, I don’t want to look at him, so I gaze at the fish tank by the entrance, where large fish in all sorts of colours spread their glamorous fins.
    ‘I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?’ he says, at last. ‘Forgive me. It’s the Dom in me. I should share some more about myself. Let me tell you about my own workplace.’
    He talks on and on about his big fancy office, but I’m not really listening. I’m full of delicious spices and the feel of his breath when he leans in close, and the way he talks about his clients as if they don’t matter a jot. What a lean, mean man! And oh, my gosh, how sexy! As for me, I notice how fascinated he seems by my own work situation. He wants to know story after story of shoe sales – including what sort of women buy what, and why.
    Anyway, we eat dinner, exchange small talk and have coconut ice cream for dessert. Oh, my goodness! And when I insist on splitting the bill, we have a small tiff before he caves. ‘Gone are the days when a man could buy a lady a meal,’ he says, with a glare.
    To which I say, ‘Instead, we have the days when a woman can pay for whatever she darn well chooses.’
    He raises one eyebrow, but a smile plays over his lips. ‘You’ve caught my weakness, Deborah dear.’
    ‘Control,’ I say. And I have a sudden image of me sitting astride him riding up and down, while he grasps one of my shoes in his left hand and one of my breasts with his right. I’m going at it hard, with my wrists bound behind me, and he’s glaring at me, fiercely, like an angry dog and his lips are parted and wet with saliva. And I ride and ride, letting out cry after cry as he groans beneath. ‘All over your shoes,’ he moans. ‘All over your fucking shoes.’ But he comes inside me, long and hard, calling out my name.
    Anyway, Kitten, I digress. Let’s fast forward to outside the restaurant, where I tell him he shouldn’t drive because he’s been drinking. ‘I’m going to drive regardless,’ he tells me, cool as butter, but he also reaches up and smoothes a curl of hair from my face. It’s begun to rain a little, but it’s more like a fine mist – like when film stars spray perfume into the air then walk through it, to make sure of an even coverage. (That’s what it says in
Cosmo
. I’m more of a ‘squirt and go’ kinda gal. These Hollywood women have more time than sense.)
    So I tell Guy, ‘Fine, but I’m getting a