this. In fact, this bathroom is beautiful, but I think the bed will serve a much better purpose for what I have in mind.”
They left the bathroom with Randall unbuttoning this and removing that as they went. By the time they reached the bed, he was down to tee and boxers, having removed his shoes as soon as he’d arrived. Jacqueline eased onto the bed, naked and available, poised on one elbow with her head resting against her hand. She watched as he removed his T-shirt. Their eyes locked as he slid the Calvin Klein extra-large from around his hips.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, looking at his dick standing at attention.
She didn’t speak; only nodded. What she saw made her pussy clench and her mouth water. For two days she’d wondered how it would be to fuck the successful scientist. Now, she was getting ready to find out.
CHAPTER 9
I t was Friday afternoon. The conference had ended. Randall and James sat at a table for ten in Kerry Simon’s restaurant, LA Market. They were joined by esteemed doctor Darshana Chatterji—the Western-trained Indian MD who was boldly and somewhat controversially presenting modules on using Eastern spirituality to facilitate healing—along with six other world-renowned guests.
“Who’s missing?” one of the colleagues asked when everyone had been seated and an empty chair remained.
“A person from the media will be joining us,” Dr. Chatterji explained. “Wait,” he continued, holding up his hands to ward off their protests. “She comes as my personal guest, not as a reporter. She will not bring a microphone and notepad but rather will simply listen to our table talk. She herself is quite intelligent and I believe might add beneficially to our conversation.” He looked up, standing as he did so. “Ah, here she is now.”
Eight pairs of eyes followed Dr. Chatterji’s. What they saw was perfection personified. Jacqueline fairly floated to the table, simply arrayed in a dress of turquoise silk, with simple silver high-heeled sandals and understated jewelry. Makeup was minimal and her hair was in a conservative ponytail, emphasizing her almond-shaped eyes, pouty mouth, and long, kissable neck. Every man’s thoughts were exactly alike. She looked magnificent. As one, the table stood as she reached them.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, making eye contact with each man as Dr. Chatterji pulled out her seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Chatterji said, his sixty-plus-year-old eyes bright with admiration. “We only just arrived. Gentlemen, I present to you Ms. Jacqueline Tate, whose article on holistic healing was recently recognized by the Harvard Medical School and debated as a class project.”
Appreciative comments went around the table. Jacqueline heard them, but her eyes settled on Randall, whose brow arched in speculation as if to say, “You didn’t tell me that.”
Her eyes shifted in response. A smart girl never reveals all of her secrets.
Their conversation moved from technology to taste buds as the waiter approached with their drinks and waited for their orders. The men deferred to Jacqueline, who acknowledged their manners in asking her to choose first. “Thank you, guys, but really. I just arrived. Please place your orders and by the time it gets back to me I will have decided.”
They did, their choices ranging from decadent orders of crispy pork belly, prime fillet, and lamb tagine to the more health-conscious Dr. Chatterji, who ordered a haricot vert salad with citrus vinaigrette. All eyes were on Jacqueline as she voiced her choice.
“I probably should choose the salad, Dr. Chatterji, as you have. But I must admit, I have a ravenous appetite.” She let that double entendre hang in the air for just a moment before she looked at the waiter and said, “I’d like the Angus burger with extra bacon and mayo and, oh, could I get a side of mashed potatoes?”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter responded,
They left the bathroom with Randall unbuttoning this and removing that as they went. By the time they reached the bed, he was down to tee and boxers, having removed his shoes as soon as he’d arrived. Jacqueline eased onto the bed, naked and available, poised on one elbow with her head resting against her hand. She watched as he removed his T-shirt. Their eyes locked as he slid the Calvin Klein extra-large from around his hips.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, looking at his dick standing at attention.
She didn’t speak; only nodded. What she saw made her pussy clench and her mouth water. For two days she’d wondered how it would be to fuck the successful scientist. Now, she was getting ready to find out.
CHAPTER 9
I t was Friday afternoon. The conference had ended. Randall and James sat at a table for ten in Kerry Simon’s restaurant, LA Market. They were joined by esteemed doctor Darshana Chatterji—the Western-trained Indian MD who was boldly and somewhat controversially presenting modules on using Eastern spirituality to facilitate healing—along with six other world-renowned guests.
“Who’s missing?” one of the colleagues asked when everyone had been seated and an empty chair remained.
“A person from the media will be joining us,” Dr. Chatterji explained. “Wait,” he continued, holding up his hands to ward off their protests. “She comes as my personal guest, not as a reporter. She will not bring a microphone and notepad but rather will simply listen to our table talk. She herself is quite intelligent and I believe might add beneficially to our conversation.” He looked up, standing as he did so. “Ah, here she is now.”
Eight pairs of eyes followed Dr. Chatterji’s. What they saw was perfection personified. Jacqueline fairly floated to the table, simply arrayed in a dress of turquoise silk, with simple silver high-heeled sandals and understated jewelry. Makeup was minimal and her hair was in a conservative ponytail, emphasizing her almond-shaped eyes, pouty mouth, and long, kissable neck. Every man’s thoughts were exactly alike. She looked magnificent. As one, the table stood as she reached them.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, making eye contact with each man as Dr. Chatterji pulled out her seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Chatterji said, his sixty-plus-year-old eyes bright with admiration. “We only just arrived. Gentlemen, I present to you Ms. Jacqueline Tate, whose article on holistic healing was recently recognized by the Harvard Medical School and debated as a class project.”
Appreciative comments went around the table. Jacqueline heard them, but her eyes settled on Randall, whose brow arched in speculation as if to say, “You didn’t tell me that.”
Her eyes shifted in response. A smart girl never reveals all of her secrets.
Their conversation moved from technology to taste buds as the waiter approached with their drinks and waited for their orders. The men deferred to Jacqueline, who acknowledged their manners in asking her to choose first. “Thank you, guys, but really. I just arrived. Please place your orders and by the time it gets back to me I will have decided.”
They did, their choices ranging from decadent orders of crispy pork belly, prime fillet, and lamb tagine to the more health-conscious Dr. Chatterji, who ordered a haricot vert salad with citrus vinaigrette. All eyes were on Jacqueline as she voiced her choice.
“I probably should choose the salad, Dr. Chatterji, as you have. But I must admit, I have a ravenous appetite.” She let that double entendre hang in the air for just a moment before she looked at the waiter and said, “I’d like the Angus burger with extra bacon and mayo and, oh, could I get a side of mashed potatoes?”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter responded,
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