Free Games with Friends by Stal Lionne Page A

her first trip to her desk in the morning, which she walked towards with a subtle strut, keeping her full breasts rested inside of Natori plunge bras that played well with the silk blouses she wore freely around the office. The rest of the day, she was either in meetings with strategists and account people, or talking clients down off the ledge. The bottle of Bullet Rye she kept under her desk helped to deal with some of the stress.
    The first meeting of the day was a big prep for the client presentation for the new social networking site – the latest in a long line of electronic replacements for a good rub around the clitoris. Countless hours of strategy sessions passed with people talking just to be heard, caused her, like most women in offices who have to deal with the egos of men who never went anywhere with their dreams, to reach in to her Words With Friends game to keep her occupied and interested.
    T he head of strategy was making it past page 46 of his Power Point presentation and said the word intuitive for the 5 th time, when she received and invite to play a game from Dominic Conrad, a copywriter who she’d hired a few months ago and had been doing breathtaking work despite his being the only head of hair sporting a little bit of salt and pepper that always seemed to have a lock falling out of place.
    She remembered the interview and how she wanted to brush it back where it belonged. When she asked him why he was still a copywriter at 40 years of age, he replied that he loved writing and hated the bullshit of managing. She hired him right on the spot, and remembered the firmness of his handshake – how the motion was strong but the bottom of his palms were tender.
    His only condition when he got hired was that he didn’t want to be cooped up in the office, and though he’d be there for meetings when he needed to be, he had to write around the city to be creative. When she saw the quality of work he was turning in, Amabel had no problem with his conditions, and appreciated his uniqueness in an office full of same-kind-of-cookie men.
    He started out with the wor d HUNTER. There was a small quiver that shook the inside of her thigh, and she was sure someone else might have felt that vibration, but subtle movements of pleasure were never noticed by the same cookie crowd. She countered with the word REVEL, and just as she submitted, a message came in from Dominic.
    Looking forward to seeing how you play.
    She responded with:
    I’ve never been beaten.
    She loved the little back and forth, then put her iPhone down and turned her attention back to the meeting, but when she did, she found the same mindless talking still going on. She stood up, straightened her Fendi skirt, and headed for the door.
    “Where are you going Amabel ,” one of the other cookies said. “There’s still more of this presentation to get through.”
    “When you start saying something I haven’t heard a million times before, you’ll have my full attention. I’ll be ready for the presentation. Sometimes it’s best to leave something in the gun for when you shoot, you know what I mean? No, probably you don’t.”
    His eyes glanced down to her blouse that was only unbuttoned once at the top, but her breasts still pushed out the fabric enough to keep the other cookies eye’s searching for something between the spaces of the buttons.
    She walked past the rest of the men and women typing away at their desks trying to look busy, when her phone vibrated again. Dominic had sent in the word VENTURE, with another message:
    Don’t be mad if I take you down. I’ll be gentle.
    She smiled at both the word he played, as well as him mentioning being gentle –as gentleness never had much to do with strength or pain for Amabel. It was all about intent with her. The men she’d been with as of late never seemed to take their time. Sure, the first time they made love, it was gentle and slow, with him taking off everything slowly and touching her over