Free At Risk by Kit Ehrman Page B

felt my pulse pick up.
    She had long blond hair that tended to frizz
when it rained, stunning green eyes, and a body so sensual in
design and proportion, she ought to be illegal. I looked back at
the television and tried to ignore her. She crossed the room and
sat next to me. I glanced at her and managed a weak smile, then
looked at the apple in my hand and couldn't imagine finishing my
lunch.
    She wriggled around on the sofa and slid her
leg onto the cushion, like she was going to sit Indian-style, but
she left the other leg where it was so that her knees were spread
apart. She made sure her shin was pressing into my leg. My gaze
drifted downward. Her skin-tight breeches left little to the
imagination, and I felt frozen, sitting there like some damn idiot,
completely under her control.
    "Hi, Steve," she said in that husky voice of
hers that always got me wondering what she sounded like when she
wasn't putting on an act. Or maybe she'd played it for so long, the
act was the only thing that was real.
    "Hello, Mrs. Timbrook."
    "Elsa."
    I cleared my throat. "Elsa."
    "Oooh, you've hurt your face." She leaned
forward and brushed my cheek with her fingertips. "What
happened?"
    I was surprised she hadn't heard, but the
rest of the boarders, the majority being female, left her strictly
alone. "I, eh . . . got hurt."
    She leaned closer, and the scent of her
perfume filled my nostrils. "Poor honey."
    Elsa put her hand on my knee, and it was then
that I noticed her ring. I'd often wondered what her husband was
like, though she probably never did it with him--the thrill for her
was the chase. The more you resisted, the more determined she
became. The woman liked control as long as she was the one who had
it, and I almost felt sorry for him.
    She looked at the TV. "What are you
watching?"
    "'Rider Position and Technique,'" I
mumbled.
    "You don't need to watch that." She slid her
hand farther up my leg. "I can teach you everything you need to
know about position and technique."
    Christ. I bet she could. I felt my face
flush, and it was getting damn uncomfortable sitting there like
that. I needed to adjust myself in the worst sort of way. Maybe
she'd do it for me, and imagining that made it worse.
    I shifted on the cushion just as she slid her
hand off my leg in a slow upward movement. Her fingers brushed
across my crotch. I exhaled sharply.
    Elsa's eyes were strangely unfocused under
heavy lids, and she was breathing through her mouth. She
straightened and unzipped her coat, then reached up with both hands
and shifted it off her shoulders. It tumbled onto the cushion
behind her and slid to the floor in slow motion. Her sweater was
softly luminescent under the florescent lights, the swell of her
breasts pressing against the fabric.
    She reached over and stroked her fingers
across the top of my hand. Her touch sent a jolt through my body,
like electricity was coursing through my veins instead of
blood.
    Elsa moved her hand beneath mine and took
hold of the apple I had forgotten was there. My grip was so tight,
I had to force my fingers to relax as she pried it from my grasp.
As she turned it in her hands, I noticed that her nail polish was
the same deep red. She had great hands. Long slender fingers, long
nails, a light touch. I bet she was good with her hands. Practiced
anyway.
    When she had the apple just so, she gazed
into my eyes, slid her tongue across the skin, and took a bite
where I'd last taken one. I imagined our saliva mixing together,
and one thought led to another.
    I grabbed her wrist. She started, then I
watched transfixed as the expression in her eyes and on her face
shifted from surprise to daring. She parted her lips, and her warm
breath brushed my cheek.
    I laced my fingers in her hair and kissed her
roughly on the mouth. She pushed her tongue between my teeth, and I
was vaguely aware of the taste of apple. When I moved my hand over
her breast, she sighed. A quiet sound, barely audible. Beneath the
gauze-like fabric, her