Free Regular Sex ~ Issue 8 (The Regular Sex Series) by Kitty French Page B

here.'
    So far, so good.
I cross to his desk and perch my butt on the edge of it. If it surprises him,
he doesn't show it.
    'Let's say you
wanted to memorise the bones in your hand,' he says, then lays his left hand
flat on the desk. No wedding ring, thankfully.
    'The bones in
your fingers are called phalanges,' he says, and then he writes the word along
his finger in bold blue rollerball ink.
    I nod and repeat
the word.
    'And here?' He
strokes his fingertip down the back of his hand. 'These are your metacarpals.'
He writes the word again. 'And then right here are your carpal bones.' He writes
on his skin again, close to the base of his thumb.
    I'm looking at
his hands and imagining them sliding up my skirt.
    'So you write on
your hands to remind yourself?'
    He lifts one
shoulder in a relaxed shrug. 'Not just my hands. I find if you label your body
in the morning and keep checking it, by the end of the day you've pretty much
got it fixed in your head.'
    This is an
unexpected direction for our conversation to head in, but not an unwelcome one.
I can work with this.
    I pick up his
pen and write on my own middle finger as he did. Phalengas.
    'Nearly,' he
says, with a little twist of his mouth. He takes the pen from my hand. 'If
you're going to try this method, it's kind of necessary that you spell things
right.'
    He hovers the
pen over my hand. 'May I?'
    I nod. Yes, oh
yes, you may correct my deliberately bad spelling. He draws the roller ball
slowly through my writing, a light pen stroke that goes all the way along to my
red fingernail.
    I watch as he
twists himself around to the right angle to write on my index finger instead.
    'There,' he
smiles. 'That's better.' He looks at me again over his glasses. 'Shall I do the
others for you?'
    'Yes, please.' I
make my voice soft, barely more than a whisper.
    Mr. East shifts
a little in his chair and then lays his free hand over my fingertips to hold my
hand still.
    'So here, in the
back of your hand,' he slides a finger up from my wrist to the base of my middle
finger, 'are your metacarpal bones.'
    His pen follows,
gliding over my skin, spelling out the word. While he's there he marks my carpal
bones just as he did on his own hand.
    'See?'
    He places the
pen down, but interestingly he leaves his other hand resting over my
fingertips. I like that.
    'I think this could
work for me,' I murmur, then read each of the words out loud for his benefit. For
kicks, I close my eyes and say them over again, touching the appropriate place as
I speak.
    'Very good.
You're a fast learner, Jessica,' he says when I open my eyes again, and his
blue ones glint with approval. He smells of warm spice with a background of
lemons, lingering hints of his shower gel or aftershave perhaps, and of
something else too, something less tangible or identifiable. It's sexual and
manly, and it makes me want to bury my head in the open neck of his shirt.
    'Do you write on
other places than your hand, too, Mr. East?'
    He raises his
eyebrows at my question and pauses for a beat. I sense that this is a crucial
moment; he could say no and that would pretty much shut me down.
    'Anywhere I especially
want to remember.'
    I smile. 'You
must have got through some shower gel when you were studying.'
    What kind of an
idiot thing was that to say? He probably thinks I'm a nutcase . I am.
    He doesn't
respond, probably because there isn't very much he could say to my inane
waffle. I need to get this seduction back on track. I want him to see me as a
femme fatale, rather than a vaguely hysterical 1D style fan girl who might lick
his face at any moment. I mean, granted, I might lick his face at any
moment, but we haven't quite reached that stage in proceedings yet.
    'Here, for
instance,' he picks the pen up as he speaks, and then he writes radius in
bright blue, looping letters on my forearm. I gulp, because he's moved his
other hand from covering my fingertips to holding my hand, and then he flips my
hand over to reveal the underside of