Protege(7)

“If you hand me the tape I can slip it under my sweater and do it my—”

He turned to his desk. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Banks. I’m sorry we couldn’t work—”

“Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve and quickly released him as his eyes jerked to her grip. Lips pursed, she lifted the soft pink sweater over her head. Something clattered to the floor. Her clip. Mercifully, all that hair fell in wild disarray around her shoulders.

Her head tipped forward, her gaze fastened to the floor as her shoulders lifted with each breath. Her arms rested at her sides, her sweater choked tightly in her right fist as it hung by her thigh.

He’d seen just about every type of lingerie to ever be invented. Yet somehow her bra took him by surprise. It was a longline bra, the sort that reached the lowest rib. Her modesty enchanted him. Not a single shred of indecency showed through the satin material, as it was sewn of dark navy blue fabric and patterned with pale coral flowers. At the crest there was an overlay of lace, but the satin underlay kept her nipples hidden.

He presumed her to be about a 36DD. Her waist was quite trim, and it seemed absolutely imperative to discover if her panties matched this antiquated bodice.

Using his knuckle, his tipped her chin until she faced him, but her eyes remained closed. “Eyes on me, Ms. Banks.”

As those soft russet lashes lifted, he spotted such fire banked in the depths of those hazel pools, he grinned. “Your bra is very sexy and unexpected.”

Her lashes fluttered as her lips parted. He’d clearly surprised her. Stepping around her back, he lifted her arms away from her body and she gasped.

“Keep your arms out like that,” he whispered over her shoulder as he straightened the tape and slowly wrapped it around her chest. She breathed rapidly and it took some skill to keep the tape in place. Thirty-six, just as he assumed.

The tape dropped and he cupped her breast with his free hand, drawing another gasp from her. “Are you a double D, Ms. Banks?”

“I’m a C, sir. If you don’t mind—”

He chuckled. “No, you’re not.” He ran a thumb over the satin, just enough to have the satisfaction of feeling her nipple bead beneath his touch before his hand fell away.

Keeping her off balance, he swiftly wrapped the tape around her waist and returned to his desk to jot down her size. “Slide off your skirt, please.”

“What?”

“I need the measurement of your hips, thighs, and ankles.”

“Am I being sized for a unitard?”

“No, a partner. We’re nosy. Strip.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her fingers went to the hidden zipper at the side of her skirt. Her clothes were not cheaply made, he noted, wondering how she afforded such things on a teacher’s salary.

When the skirt lowered she quickly bent to fold it in a way that would prevent wrinkles. His cheeks tightened with a full smile when he noted her simple tan slip, complete with lace trim and slit. A hundred dollars said she wore old-fashioned stockings, too, for the simple propriety of it.

“Remove the slip.”

She huffed, but did as he asked after placing the skirt over the back of the chair. Beautiful. Blue satin panties to match the print of her bra. Nothing too risqué beyond the luxurious fabric. Her ass remained mostly covered and her front was disguised enough for the remaining mystery of her body to drive him crazy.

Slowly, he circled her, scrutinizing her attire. The stockings were trimmed with a thick scalloped lace that didn’t require garters. How many times a day did she reach under her desk to adjust them?

As he dropped to a knee to better measure her hips, he breathed in the sharp trace of feminine arousal. His eyes closed, finding her unique scent a touch more tempting than others. Glancing up, he noted that her eyes were again screwed shut, and he smirked. She was a shy little thing.

Taking no mercy on her, he measured her hips quickly but then shifted gears. “Spread your legs, Ms. Banks. Those knees should never be touching.”

“That’s not what I was taught.”

“The curriculum’s changed. Wider.” He slowly dragged his finger up the inside of her leg until he reached the apex of her thighs, and she let out a panicked squeak. Holding the tape he looked closely, breathing her in once more. Her scent was getting stronger.

He took his time with her ankles and thighs. Some of his clientele had very specific tastes; that wasn’t to say one size was more popular than another. There were just as many who sought after petite women as voluptuous. All sizes were a commodity at Fernweh, because their specialty was finding counterparts.

As soon as the last measurement was taken, she let out a sigh of relief and reached for her slip.

“Wait,” he said, and she stilled. Her gaze was punishing as it collided with his. Maybe he should just let her dress. He almost chuckled. That wasn’t happening.

“Well?”

He did chuckle then, not used to hearing that tone from the submissive clientele. “I suggest we finish the interview before you dress.”

“Is there another reason I need to be naked?”

“I enjoy looking at you. And you’re far from naked, Ms. Banks.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t tell him to go to hell. Interesting.

Shaking her head—perhaps even a bit titillated at the idea of being on display—she snatched up her slip and slid it over her thighs. His disappointment faded as she stopped there, ignoring the rest of her clothing and perching on the chair, arms akimbo. Who was she kidding? She obviously liked being partially dressed.