“Come here. Bend over the desk.” He rolled his chair back. Monica walked around, bent over so she was half-lying on the desk, perfect bottom almos... at Houlihan’s eye level. “Spread your legs,” he whispered. She did. As delicious as she was, Houlihan didn’t want to actually touch her with his fingers or his body. If it came down to being busted, he wanted to be truthful when he said he never laid a finger on her. In a way, it was a carryover from his Catholic upbringing. He felt that if he. And if I don’t want to play?> Log off and go to lunch.His answer sat there, brooding and silent, the electronic equivalent of Mr. Darcy. There was no follow-up, so it was simply down to me to decide whether to continue. I didn’t want to, but inexplicably the memory of the an earlier night flew into my head unbidden. A date when not only had Richard been late, but the restaurant we went to was rubbish, he’d forgotten to book a table so we had to wait, then he went home straight afterwards. My. More

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