Page 89 of Touch of Class

“Wasn’t that the gist of your diatribe? You see me as good at everything, or if not everything, at least all the things that matter to me.” Gillian paused to let her gaze sweep over this woman once more. “And what I’m about to do to you matters to me a great deal, Daphne. This matters to me on a great many levels, not the least of which is how much I want it.”

“What about what I want?”

“You want this,” Gillian said matter-of-factly as she popped open enough buttons of her shirt to feel cool air on flushed skin.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because one of those many things I’m very good at is reading people.”

“And you think you’ve finally got me pegged?”

“Maybe not about everything,” Gillian admitted, “but I do know that, if I were wrong about this one, you would’ve already taken great pleasure in saying so by now.”

Daphne pursed her lips and stared up at her through thick lashes.

Gillian popped the final buttons. “Come on, Daph. Tell me, am I wrong this time?”

Daphne worried her lower lip with her teeth, and Gillian’s arousal ratcheted up several more notches.

“Or maybe you’d like to try something new.” Gillian stepped forward, allowing her thigh to slip between Daphne’s knees and press lightly into the side of the bed.

“What’s that?”

“You could do the unthinkable and tell me I’m right.”

Daphne laughed, but this time Gillian wasn’t a teenager. She understood where the impulse came from. She felt something similar rumbling inside her own core. This was absurd. It was unreasonable, maybe even unhinged, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t also right.

Removing her shirt completely, she lay it lightly atop her blazer before reaching for Daphne’s shoes. They slipped off easily, one in each hand, as did her socks. Gillian took a moment to cup one foot in both of her hands, working her fingers in a kneading motion from the heal to the toes.

Daphne squirmed and let out a whimper.

This was going to be satisfying. The woman had never kept a reaction to herself. While Gillian hadn’t seen an upside to the trait before, she anticipated being proven wrong on that point as she eased onto the bed over her.

Daphne wore her usual work attire, a baby blue, waffle-weave Henley, and soft, gray pants with a drawstring at her waist tied in a neat bow. Gillian tugged it loose, then slipping her fingers inside ever so slightly, thrilled at both the touch of skin and Daphne’s gasp.

Pulling the waistband over the lush curve of her hips and down her legs, she began to fold them.

“Oh my God, Gillian,” Daphne groaned. “I get it, you’re a very deliberate perfectionist here, but you’re killing me.”

Gillian smiled down at her. “You wanted something different from me?”

Daphne covered her face with her hand and rolled lightly from side to side. “You are really going to make me say it?”

“I wouldn’t make you do anything.” Gillian drew out the words from the pure pleasure of wielding her newfound power. “But we both know that the absence of a ‘no’ does not equate to a ‘yes.’”

“You are maddening.”

“You haven’t even seen the half of it.” Dropping the pants to the floor, Gillian ran her hands upward again, and when she reached the apex of those magnificent thighs, she slipped off the last barrier. Sliding the purple underwear completely off, she had no urge to tuck them neatly away, not with the sight of Daphne splayed out before her, her top still fully clothed but her bottom half completely and gloriously exposed. It was such a vulnerable position, but Daphne bore it like a work of art, and a tantalizing one at that.

Spreading her legs slightly, she said, “I can’t take this anymore.”

“It’s barely been five minutes.”

“It’s been twenty-two years,” Daphne said, her voice low and thick. “If this is how it ends—”

“Ends?” Gillian smiled down at her. “I’m only getting started.”

Daphne gave another little shiver. “God, I liked it better when I thought your confidence was put on.”