The Walk-In Read Online Free PDF Page B

sex lives will suffer. One person always feels trapped by the other, and not in the good way.
    A little trapping and constriction can feel good , I thought as I held my wrists together behind my back and leaned over a round table I’d moved far away from the window.
    I wiggled my butt and imagined one of those big, thick-fingered hands I’d seen on Mr. Thorne, smacking my bottom.
    The thought gave me a tingle. The more I thought about the tickling, tingling sensation around my openings, the greater the sensation got. I arched my back, pushing my butt higher into the air. The tingling moved down, circling around my folds and nub, pulsating now with every heartbeat.
    Again?
    I’d just gotten off the day before. When I was a teen, I was a once-or-twice-a-day kinda gal, but until recently, I’d been working up an orgasm maybe every two days, going the occasional dry spell for a week.
    The room could wait, I decided. And besides, I was nearly finished.
    I dragged myself off table and draped my body across the two-seater sofa. My skirt slid up easily, and I threw one leg over the back of the sofa.
    I gazed up at the ceiling, at the mirror. I’d moved the bed away from the mirror, yes, but now the sofa was directly underneath the reflective surface, and there was the girl, red-cheeked with sexual excitement and staring down at me.
    I ran one finger down the front of my body, giving myself a shiver that I not only felt, but saw, in the mirror. No wonder men were so obsessed with mirrors and visuals! For a moment, I understood their perspective just a bit better.
    My blouse practically unbuttoned itself, and I took a good look at my breasts, cupped in the bright pink bra.
    Had I locked the door?
    Oh, who cares , I thought, running my hands over my pink panties. I could have slipped them off, revealing even more pink to the mirror above me, but I felt strangely shy, so I kept them on and stuck my hand inside, which felt naughtier anyway.
    No sooner had I got my fingers where they wanted to go, as I realized I was being watched. Someone was at one of the windows.
    He didn’t know I saw him, because he didn’t move away, but I closed my eyelids nearly all the way and turned my head slowly to get a better look.
    It was the man in the hat, the sexy gardener who’d let me in. He must have been up on a ladder, perhaps using the excuse of cleaning leaves, or washing windows.
    Let him watch , I thought, and the naughtiness of it all gave me a shiver that nearly sent me over the edge way sooner than I wanted.
    So he stayed there, watching, and I arched my back and writhed around on the sofa, giving him the show of his life. He didn’t move. Why wasn’t he doing anything? He should have come to his senses and climbed back down, or something.
    I rubbed harder with my fingers, but the area was going numb, because my mind was distracted.
    I was annoyed. Who did he think he was? Standing out there on his ladder, getting a free show, and worst of all, not helping me in any way.
    Nothing was happening in my downstairs zone, so I stopped and rolled onto my side with a sigh. Tomorrow was another day, and, besides, I still had work to do in the room, including moving a few of the paintings.
    I stared at the garden painting, wondering what it might be worth.
    Someone tapped on the window. Gently at first, then with more conviction.
    The gardener. I’d almost forgotten about him. He waved when I looked over at him.
    I stood, pulled my skirt down, and walked over to the window, my blouse still open.
    The darn window had a complicated latch, and the gardener was pointing at the latch and laughing at me when I got the thing open.
    “Thanks for nothing,” I said to him. “Don’t you know spying on someone like this is a crime?”
    He looked down at his feet, on the ladder. “You going to sue me?”
    “No, but I should have you fired.” I should have been angry at him, but he had such a nice face, and those hungry eyes.
    “Please don’t have