Twenty seconds after that the low vibration and solitary ping of an answer machine message. Mark could imagine the brusque recording: 'Beth, where the...hell are you? I need the Mitchell account summary. Call me.'Instead of tending to her boss' whims they'd both skipped work. Bottle of wine and a succulent steak lunch before taking the swanky hotel room, him the debonair playboy, her his escort.Mark eyed her. "Relax, Beth. Come on. Breathe. Like it says in here." He indicated the book.She did. A. She took her hand away from mine and used it to grip my shirt as her juices flooded over my fingers. She broke away gasping and slumped against me, both of her hands grabbing fistfuls of my shirt. “All better?” I asked, holding her after pulling my hand out of her pants and out from under her shirt. She didn’t answer for a long time, trying to compose herself. “More?” she asked innocently, looking up at me with her big grey eyes, trying to look as cute as possible. “Aw, no baby,” I. More

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