Substitute by Isobel Rey

it hard to get at the supplies. She leant over it to reach the cups. She couldn’t quite reach, and had to strain forward.
    ‘Can I help?’
    She wheeled round to see Tony. He’d come in silently and was closing the door behind him.
    Alexia couldn’t form a word.
    ‘I just thought I should say hello properly as we haven’t really been introduced – formally, that is. Tony Schaeffer, at your service.’ He extended a hand.
    She looked at it but didn’t move. He didn’t seem to be as wolf-like as he had on Friday night. His smile was warm and seemed genuine. She put out her hand and he took it. It was softer than Nathan’s grip, but his skin was warm and it felt good. He didn’t let go.
    ‘You’re still holding my hand,’ said Alexia, her eyes never leaving his. He was very pretty; not handsome but pretty. His boyish face was framed by blond curls. He looked like a slightly fallen angel.
    ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d rather not let go.’
    He held on to her hand with his right and, with his left hand, he traced up her extended arm until they were standing too close and his fingers rested by her armpit, grazing the side of her breast.
    She gasped, but didn’t move; she couldn’t. There was nowhere to go in this tiny space. But then, she didn’t want to move. Her breast was aching with the brushed touch and it wanted more.
    ‘I’m sorry you saw me with Phillipa on Friday. I’m not always so rough. She likes it like that. You, on the other hand –’ He thought for a moment. ‘I think you deserve to be treated more gently , don’t you, Alexia?’
    He knew her name. He was speaking softly as if trying to calm a skittish horse. She felt that now familiar spurt of wetness between her legs. His hand slid gently under her right breast and cupped the weight of it. His eyes never left hers; big, blue pools she could dive into. His face was angelic but, now she studied him, his mouth seemed quite cruel; his lips had a curl to them that wasn’t quite in keeping with the rest of his face.
    He inched towards her. As he closed the distance between them, he bent his head and brushed his lips against the side of her mouth – not a kiss, but almost. She couldn’t breathe.
    ‘Very gently,’ he repeated.
    He was right up against her now. She could feel his hardness, and she knew what was straining beneath the cloth of his trousers; she’d seen it on Friday. The hand she’d extended to shake his had found itself resting against his chest and he put his hands on the sides of her ribcage. He would be able to feel her breathing hard.
    The wetness in her pants was getting warmer and her pussy was aching so much she felt as if her juices would stain her skirt. She wanted to press her pussy against his cock. She could picture it, just as she had seen it days before: rock hard, circumcised, the helmet marble smooth.
    But he pulled back and looked at her. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Without taking his gaze away from hers he put his hands to work undoing the buttons of her blouse. The fabric was tight around her breasts, which seemed to have swollen, straining the buttons.
    He expertly undid the fastenings, travelling down from her collar bone to her waist. Then, with one sudden tug, he lifted the sides of her blouse clear of her skirt, leaving her lacy white bra exposed. The shock of it made her gasp, but she didn’t move; she was transfixed. His gaze travelled down from her eyes.
    ‘Oh beautiful,’ he breathed. ‘Really magnificent!’
    Her chest was heaving as he studied her breasts. The shock of his gaze on her exposed chest terrified and excited her. Carefully, with strong fingers, he teased down the fabric of her bra and lifted each straining breast so it was free of its cup. It made her tits stand even higher and prouder as they rested on top. Her nipples were engorged and pointing straight at him; dark pink, quivering, desperate to be touched. But he wasn’t going to give her what she