Monday Morning Quickie - The Text, The Touch
I guess at the start of the week you need a little spice, just to get you warmed up. Today is no different… enjoy!
The next session of the conference was the real reason I’d attended, so time flashed by. I checked my phone when I left for lunch and saw a text from an unknown number.
‘My shift finishes at noon. I know the best Greek Taverna in the city. Hungry?’
‘Always.’
I smiled as I pressed send. A flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Nipples hard as nuts inside my blouse, hidden by my executive jacket. I shuffled on the spot, my leg muscles trembling as I waited for another beep. Instantly it came.
‘Outside, turn left, walk to the bank on the corner. I’m waiting.’
Fuck, he got me with that one.
No frills, just instructions.
I almost ran out of the hotel. Slicked on lip gloss as I walked. My stride so fast I almost tripped on the marble steps from the hotel. My body on heat. Suddenly I was starving, and not just for Greek mezze or Baklava. I didn’t even care if I looked desperate.
I scoured the crowd and saw him, now dressed in a casual polo shirt and jeans, checking his phone. In my rush, I hadn’t replied. I almost ran to his side, grabbed his arm. He grinned as he bent to kiss both my cheeks. Complete strangers, we greeted each other like long-lost cousins. It just felt natural. He was a tactile guy, not to stereotype, but he was just very Greek.
His powerful hand on my waist, his cheek against mine, his warm breath on my face. It made me want to pull him to me and kiss him passionately right there. But I held back. Instead, pushed my hand into the loop of his arm.
‘Where’s this taverna you promised?’
‘Right this way Mrs J.’
I smiled up at his confident familiarity.
He placed his hand over mine and turned us down a side street. The taverna tucked down a busy alleyway. The smell of garlic invited a hungry crowd.
I doubted we’d get a table. We walked to the front of a long queue, much to the annoyance of some tourists. He turned, apologised, and explained he was family. That soothed some tempers, not all, but then the door opened. A man who looked like Adonis but maybe ten years older stepped up and hugged him.
‘Come in! I’m Costas. My baby brother has a way of finding the most beautiful women. Please, this way.’
He kissed my hand, his stubble tickled my fingers.
Adonis placed his hand proprietorially on my back, guided me through the busy restaurant to a snug little booth hidden near the kitchen. I didn’t think about how many other women he had treated to the same experience.
Costas shouted instructions at his staff and guests. Rushed off to deal with a payment, waved a member of his team to bring us something to eat. Adonis was obviously a regular, no menu choices required.
He placed his hands on my shoulders, to remove my jacket. As I slid my arms from the sleeves, he bent and kissed the exposed back of my neck. I shivered and leant into the gesture. Being courted by a young, horny Greek god hadn’t been in my plan, but I was going to make the most of the opportunity. He made me feel sexy as hell.
I slid down into the bench seat. He hung up my jacket, then casually slid in next to me. A basket of breads and dips arrived, along with a huge jug of retsina and shot glasses of ouzo. We clinked glasses.
‘Yamas.’
Adonis slid his hand over my thigh. I pressed my leg against his, invited his hand to go higher. I looked into those delicious dark eyes and knew I wouldn’t be going back to the conference that afternoon.
That was an extract from Mrs Jackson and Her Valet
Find out more about the series of 26 short spicy cougar billionaire stories HERE
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