Indecent...Desires Read Online Free PDF Page B

unfasten his trousers, to do it right now, right here in front of me. And he would do it, I know he would.
    That realisation hits me right in the pit of my stomach.
    â€˜Please,’ he says. ‘All you have to do is tell me to unfasten my trousers and take out my cock, then wrap my fingers tightly around it and pump away until I shoot my load.’
    I blink. ‘I am not going to tell you to touch your cock.’ I can’t believe I said that word out loud, in here, right now. I can’t believe any of this is happening. But it is.
    Lucas makes a strange sound, a pained sort of moan. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he says. ‘Please say I can, Ms French. Please say I can, and that you are going to stay here and make sure I do it properly.’
    Oh, god.
The temptation is almost beyond me, close to unbearable, a hot rush of desire that makes my mouth water and my skin tingle and my clitoris ache. This is worse than anything I felt watching him through the safety of my window, when he was so far away and I was anonymous and it was nothing more than a fantasy, and I want to oblige him so very, very badly.
    But I can’t. It would be inappropriate and wrong. He is so much younger than me, and I am in a position of power and authority. And there is the real possibility that we might get caught. And the even more terrifying possibility that if I say yes to him now, if I do this, it will open up something inside me that I’m not sure I want to be opened. I have to control the part of me that is excited at the thought of bossing him around, of punishing him for his behaviour.
    I close my eyes for a long, long moment, bite down on my bottom lip. ‘Please,’ I say, my voice quiet. ‘Please don’t make me do this.’
    And then I turn on my heel and march out of the room.
    Three days later, I am still in a state of unbearable, exhausted anxiety. Lucas has appeared at his bedroom window each night, just as he always does. The first two nights, he did nothing more than undress. Then last night, he placed a chair in the window and sat on it with his back to me. I could see from the movement of his shoulder that he was pleasuring himself, but he didn’t let me see. And the less I could see, the more I wanted to.
    It’s almost as if he is taunting me.
    I haven’t put another note through his door. I gave myself away and so I have to end the game. It’s for the best, I know it is. But I can’t stop myself thinking about it, or wishing that things were different. I won’t send another note. I won’t. But I want to. If I’m honest, I want to more than ever. Every move that he makes – from turning up late, to leaving early, to that performance last night – is designed to annoy me. He’s goading me, I know he is. Seeing how far he can push me before I surrender and give him what he wants. He wants me to punish him, make him see the error of his ways. What Lucas Brady wants, I now realise, is to have a woman tell him what to do.
    But I am not that woman. I can’t be. I want a nice, sensible husband, the sort who earns fifty grand a year and can choose from a wine list and knows how to change a tyre. A mature, responsible man ready for marriage and fatherhood. Someone who won’t bring out the bossy side of me, the side that my ex-husband so hated, the side that destroyed my marriage. I don’t have time to get tangled up with a young, beautiful man. There’s nothing at the end of that path except more tears, all of them mine, and an awful lot of embarrassment, again, all mine.
    And that’s why I have to keep my distance from Lucas Brady. I sit at my desk, listening to the slow drip drip drip of the coffee machine and staring mindlessly at my computer screen, where I am running a game of Patience in lieu of doing any work. I can’t seem to get anything done, to focus on anything, and I am making so many mistakes that other people have started to