The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jeffrey Coogan entered the nondescript building through the only door waiting beyond a well-manicured lawn. Nothing distinguished this building from those surrounding it within the Marina District of San Francisco. He double-checked the address, wondering whether he had taken it down wrong from his interlocutor earlier that day.

Inside, he found a charming and welcoming interior lobby, and made a mental note to ask someone about the interior decorator or architect that had designed it. He had been thinking about his new building for SocialCircles, his company, and wanted to demarcate it from other Bay-area headquarters. Maybe something like this would be nice? He tended towards glass and metal himself, but this could work too. Perhaps with a more modern touch. Like a touch more metal. And certainly more glass.

There was no one waiting in the lobby. The only person was a pretty receptionist who gave him a bright smile as he entered.

“How may I help you, sir?”

His sneakers scuffed slightly on the polished floor. He put his hands in his jean pockets, the way he often did when he was confronted with good-looking women in a social occasion. He was not a social person, had never been. He always felt awkward about it.

It was stereotypical, practically a cliché: a big-shot startup guy with social anxiety. He did not mind. It gave him a boost, a fire in the pit of his stomach, and it egged him on and forced him to be better than he would have been otherwise. He remembered hearing on a television show once about Laurence Oliver, supposedly one of the greatest actors of the twentieth century, who claimed that despite of all his success he always got stage fright before any of his performances, and sometimes needed to be pushed on-stage.

Jeff understood perfectly, and wondered idly whether Laurence was a better actor because of it. He made a mental note to check out the work of Laurence Oliver.

“Hi,” he said to the pretty blonde receptionist whose dress was open just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. As usual, he fought the urge to look, knowing it was inappropriate. He had learned to control his urges. He was an adult now. “I’m Jeff Coogan,” he said. “I don’t know if I have the right address. I’m here to see Mister Srinivasan?”

The blonde—Mary, said the nameplate on her desk—smiled. “Of course, Mister Coogan. I believe that Mister Srinivasan is expecting you. Let me check with him.”

“Thank you.”

She made no gesture of recognition when she heard his name. He did not know whether to feel insulted yet. He was certainly disappointed. He was now one of the richest men in San Francisco, but it was still a recent thing. The SocialCircles IPO had gone through a couple of weeks earlier, and suddenly he found himself sitting on top of a lot of money, most of it virtual of course, tied up in stocks and options, but a lot of money nevertheless. A fortune was a fortune.

He idly checked out Mary as she picked up her phone and spoke to someone in a soft voice. He noted with curiosity a tattoo on her little finger, a pale blue set of circles intertwined around the base of her finger. It took him half a minute to realize why it was familiar: Rebecca, his VP Legal, had one just like it. He wondered whether it was a new trend among good-looking women.

Mary put down the phone after a short conversation. “Mister Srinivasan is indeed expecting you. Would you mind terribly waiting for five minutes? Is there anything I can bring you? A coffee, a soda, a tea? Anything at all?”

His ears caught on her statement, anything at all. It made him smile. He thought of a thing or two that she might bring him.

“No thank you. I’ll be fine.”

He sat down, choosing a set from which he could look at the pretty receptionist without being too obvious about it.

What the fuck am I doing here? he wondered. But he knew the answer to that rhetorical question. It all came back to what his friend Salvatore Rivolli had said when he visited him after his IPO. He had slapped Jeff on the back while congratulating him on the success of the offering, a self-serving gesture since Rivolli had invested a fair amount of money himself in Jeff’s company.

“Welcome to the club, boy,” Rivolli had said. “Let me tell you about the Platinum Plan.”

Jeff Coogan followed Mary to the elevator bank, and he stared at her the whole way, taken in by the way her dress clung to her body—it was not a particularly obscene dress, but it did wonders for her curves, and the boots she wore with it gave her a hint of naughtiness that dried Jeff’s mouth.

He wanted to ask her to get a drink with him, and was trying to find the best way to work his new IPO and his even newer fortune in with his pitch when Mary led him inside the elevator. She gave him another bright smile. “Have a pleasant meeting, Mister Coogan.” And she stepped out of the elevator leaving Jeff alone before he could say anything.

The elevator moved by itself, even though he had not pressed a button. The trip was a short one.

The elevator door opened on a lavishly furnished suite, with wall-to-wall carpeting and beautiful paintings on the wall. Jeff decided that they had to be valuable, and made a mental note to add tasteful artwork to his new building when he got a chance. He would ask Jacques, who had some artistic sense.

“Mister Coogan, welcome. I’m Jawad Srinivasan. We talked on the phone.”

Having already talked to Srinivasan, Jeff knew that the Indian man spoke flawless English, with just a hint of a British accent. What he did not expect was for Srinivasan to be nearly a head taller than he was and broad shouldered.

“Hi, I’m, huh, I’m Jeff Coogan.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Coogan. And congratulations on your IPO. You must be pleased.”

Jeff nodded, and felt his hand engulfed in the hand of the taller, stronger man. For a second, he feared Srinivasan would crush it and grind his bones into dust, and Jeff had a flash of those bullies back when he was young taking turns slapping him.

“And before you ask,” Srinivasan continued, not picking up on Jeff’s momentary discomfort or disregarding it, “yes, I used to play cricket. Top batsman in the league.”

Jeff nodded, as if Srinivasan’s words meant anything to him. They did not. He did not watch sports. And as far as he was concerned, cricket was played in resorts with bats with which you smacked balls through little bent mental wires.

“Follow me, Mister Coogan. Would you like something to drink?”

Jeff entered a well-decorated office with dark wooden furniture and leather books lining up bookshelves. There seemed to be a vaguely nautical theme. The office spoke of ease and luxury, and Jeff made a mental note to study a nautical theme and add wood to his own office in his new building.

“No thank you. As I said on the phone, Salvatore Rivolli gave me your name?”

“Ah yes, Mister Rivolli. He mentioned that you might pay us a visit. And I want to personally thank you for doing so, and welcome you to our family. I am delighted to let you know that your application has been approved.”

“I was not aware I made an application…”

Srinivasan had an easy laugh, as he poured himself a Perrier and sat down next to Jeff on one of the chairs in front of his oak desk.

“You did, but not in the way you think. Mister Rivolli contacted us and initiated the process. Our vetting procedure is rather extensive and time-consuming, and we have discovered that it pays handsomely to be proactive about it. As a new successful businessman in a competitive area, I am certain you will appreciate the wisdom of such an approach.”

Jeff nodded. “Sell before they realize they want to buy.”

“Exactly right. And while we’re on the topic, I have to admit that many of us have been watching your IPO with great interest. You are a wealthy man.”

“I do okay.” But Jeff was pleased with the attention.

“Wealthy and humble. Exactly the sort of client that we seek. Mister Rivolli showed great insight sending you our way.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask: what exactly is it that you do? Sal was pretty mysterious when he talked about it—he only said I really must talk to you.”

“Mister Rivolli was cryptic because he was required to be. But to address your question: we are in the business of pleasure.”

“Pleasure? You want to sell me luxury items?”

Srinivasan laughed again. His laughter was infectious, neither snide nor forced, and Jeff found it difficult to repress a smile of his own. He wanted to laugh with this man.

“In a way, Mister Coogan. May I call you Jeff?”

Jeff nodded.

“Then call me Jay. Yes, in a way, this is about luxury. But in a different way that you might think. How do you feel about women, Jeff?”

“Women? I… huh… I like them just fine.”

“As you should. Well, to put it bluntly—because as a successful businessman, I know that you value direct and succinct pitches—we facilitate access to women. Beautiful women, hired exclusively to cater to your pleasure and to make your life comfortable and happy and fulfilling.”

Jeff digested this information. “Are you talking about…” He looked around, unsure what he was worried about. “Are you talking about an escort service?”

“Oh, this is much more than an escort service, Jeff. We have access to a vast network of women that have joined as members to offer their services in exchange for the benefits that we provide. These are women that are perfectly normal, that you could meet in the course of your everyday life, and that have a, shall I say, kinky side to them that we can put to good use for the mutual satisfaction of both the woman and our client.”

“What do you mean, a kinky side?”

“That is part and parcel of the product we offer, Jeff. Let’s say that you meet up with a woman in our network. This woman will not acknowledge you any differently than any other man, until you tell her a secret code that identifies you as our client. That code that you exchange with her will let her know what kind of role she is to play, and she will start acting according to your stated preference. It is a sort of role play, a sort of game that these woman we hire simply love playing. Frankly, they get off on it. And you benefit.”

“That sounds… Wow.”

“Yes, wow, that is a good word for it.”

“And how many women do you have in your… network?”

“Enough to keep you satisfied for a very long time, Jeff. We have been in this business for more than ten years, and we have accumulated a large catalogue over the years. I’m actually proud of the fact that we rarely lose members—once a woman join our network, she rarely leaves. We treat our members very well.”

“So let me get this straight. I sign up with you, and I get access to your network of… women… with which I can make an appointments and spend time with and do… what exactly?”

“Anything you want. There are no real limits. Our members have been selected explicitly for that purpose. And before you ask, they are carefully screened for diseases and followed closely by our best medical services. And they are extremely good at their job.” Srinivasan’s complicit smile gave a clear indication what he meant by that statement. “Also, and this is probably one of the best feature of the plan I am about to offer you, there is no need to set up an appointment or anything of that sort. When you see one of the members of our network, you simply tell her your code, and she will make herself available to you. Don’t worry, they know all about discretion.”

Jeff was impressed. What Srinivasan was telling him explained much about Rivolli’s innuendos and teasing asides when they talked.

“And how does… payment work?”

“What we are offering you is a subscription plan. It’s called the Platinum Plan, our best offering on the market. For a yearly fee, you have access to our full member network, without any restriction of time or access or quantity. The Plan is renewable annually, subject to your satisfaction and your good standing.”

Jeff nodded. He liked that.

“As for our rates—” Srinivasan started, but Jeff interrupted him. He had no desire to talk about money. He could afford it—what was the point of having money if you could not spend it? He was rich now. He could do what he wanted.

“How do I know who’s a member?”

“Ah, that’s a beauty of our system, one that I’m sure you will appreciate. Our members all have a mark on their body, indicating that they are members of our network, and are available to our clients. The mark is meant to be inconspicuous, or at the very least easily explained by the member, but instantly recognizable to our clients.”

“A mark?”

“Yes. A small tattoo on their little finger, a series of intertwined bands circling the base of the finger as if it were a ring, usually in a pale blue ink. Whenever you see that tattoo, you will know that the person in front of you is a member of our network.”

“And she will recognize and respond to the codes you will give me?”

“Exactly. The codes will identify you, and she will know that you are requesting her services and will be more than happy to satisfy your demands.”

“No matter what she is doing at the moment?”

“As I said, we explicitly make sure that we hire members with… a kinky streak. They love the fact that they could be called upon for services at a moment’s notice. As I’m sure you will like as well…”

Jeff did. It was like a game. And he liked games.

Srinivasan watched Jeff, gauging his reaction to his words, never losing his easy smile. He took another sip of his Perrier before continuing. “In the last year, we have actually introduced a mobile app that you can use to identify members near your location. It has proved very popular with our clients. Once we finalize your subscription, I can talk to Tech to get it installed on your mobile device. We support all major devices. The app is biometrically locked for security, and require a thumbprint to activate.”

Jeff nodded. But he was already thinking of something else. Mary, the cute receptionist, had a pale blue ring tattoo on her little finger.

And then the second thought hit, on the heels of the first one. His VP Legal had a pale blue ring tattoo on her little finger as well! Jeff’s head spun.

“The app,” continued Srinivasan, “also helps you with the codes that are available and that the members have learned and will understand. Historically, this has been the most arduous part of the process, remembering the available codes. Now, the app is proprietary, and as I explained to you on the phone, this conversation and the details I am giving you are all confidential. You have verbally agreed to a non-disclosure agreement, and it is enforceable. Your subscription is nontransferable, and while you may share the members with whomever you like, you cannot tell of the details of the transaction. Our network and its existence is proprietary information. Do you understand, Mister Coogan?”

Jeff snapped out of his reverie—he was still trying to process what it meant that Mary and that his VP Legal were both members in this network that Srinivasan was describing. Could he really…? Would they…?

“Yes. Yes, I do. Non-disclosure, confidentiality. Basically, I do not reveal your existence, or the details of what’s going on.” Like Rivolli, he reflected. The man had directed him here without telling him why, or explaining any of this.

“Exactly. You will have the detailed restrictions on the app, where you can peruse them at your leisure, including what we consider abuse of our network. You should know we have an enforcement division ensuring that such abuses are punished. You do not want to run afoul of our enforcement division, Mister Coogan. Bad things happen to people that do.”

Jeff laughed. “Are you making a threat?”

Srinivasan gave a little laugh himself in response, but never answered the question.

“Shall we make a deal, Jeff?” Srinivasan’s smile was still warm and easy.

Jeff, thinking of Mary, thinking of his VP Legal, nodded.

When Jeff Coogan emerged from the elevator back into the lobby, the waiting room was still empty, and Mary was still at her desk, typing away at the computer. She lifted her head and smiled a bright white smile at him, her blonde hair dancing about her face. She was more than just cute, he saw.

I have a question for you, he had asked Srinivasan earlier as the Indian was reviewing the contract that Jeff was to sign.

Go ahead, had replied Srinivasan.

I’m not sure how to ask this, Jeff had said.

There are no bad questions, Jeff. Our goal is to make you happy.

Your receptionist…

Mary.

Yes, Mary. Well, she’s…

Srinivasan had smiled. She’s a member, yes.

Ah. And so I can…?

Srinivasan had grinned a knowing grin, a complicit grin, a grin that made Jeff feel that Srinivasan was on his side, a buddy ribbing a buddy, a wingman having his back. Of course, Srinivasan had said. If you remember only one thing about our members, it’s that they’re always available, always ready, and always eager to please. They enjoy what they do, truly. And if you would like to sample Mary’s expertise before you leave this facility, then by all means, indulge. That is exactly what you are paying for with our Platinum Plan: the license to indulge.

The license to indulge. Jeff liked that. It sounded good. It sounded like the tag line a successful company could build a business on. He wondered if SocialCircles’s tag line was as good. He would ask Jacques about it.

“Have a wonderful day, Mister Coogan,” Mary said with her sing-song voice. Jeff focused on her lips, the way they moved and formed the words.

Is she really up for anything?

It was difficult to believe.

“Thank you… Mary, right?”

“That’s right.”

He still resisted the urge to gaze where her dress opened up, the top three buttons undone, leading down toward breasts that he fantasized to be young and perky and wonderful to play with.

“Mary,” he said, hesitating for a second, remembering the exact wording that his new mobile app had given him a few minutes earlier. He almost whispered the rest, even though they were alone in the lobby. “Adjustment code C006, member 8JHC3487.”

He was too nervous to spot the change in her demeanor, to spot the slight stiffening of her spine, the change in focus in her eyes.

Fuck lust, said the app for code C006. No other explanation. He wondered how Mary would interpret it, how she would role-play it. He half expected her to laugh in his face, and he was gearing himself for the experience.

Even before she laughed, part of him was getting angry that he had been duped, that he had been bamboozled, that it was all a setup to humiliate him. How could Rivolli do this to him? Was he jealous of his success? He was richer than even Rivolli now, by a lot—was this a way for Rivolli to get even?

Jeff clenched his teeth, unable to believe what a fool he had been.

He was an idiot.

He would have left on the spot, possibly to plot out some later revenge that his newfound wealth would enable, some way to get back at Rivolli, at this bastard Srinivasan if that was even his real name, at this whole place that he would buy and then level out, if not for the moan that came from Mary.

He looked at her, and she was looking right at him, and there was no mistaking the expression in those bright blue eyes. And if Jeff had entertained any doubts about what she might have been thinking, the way her lips parted and her tongue darted out, the way her body shifted as she pushed her chest out, the way she tilted her body upward towards him swept all those doubts aside.

Jeff stared. When Mary stood, his eyes dipped on their own to the valley of her breasts. Had she undone one more button of her dress?

Mary navigated around her reception desk, swaying her body in a way that she had not done before. The dress still clung to her, but now given the way she moved it was tantalizing. And Mary was staring at his crotch, without trying to hide it. She stopped a pace away from him. He remained frozen in place.

“Hi,” she said, breathily.

“Hello,” he replied automatically, feeling stupid. He was rich, goddammit. And he was still acting like the tongue-tied teenager he had always been.

“I saw the way you stared at me.” Her voice was low, as if she had to keep it that way to maintain control. She pressed her hand against his chest, and was he imagining it or was her hand scorching hot?

“You… did?” Jeff was amazed. She was like a completely different person. She had been jovial and smiling and cheery before, and she remained that way but there was an edge now, a thread of something… of lust. Fuck lust. She was horny. Out of her mind horny. Even he could see it.

“Oh yeah.” She nodded her head, her eyes lifting up from his crotch to his face. She was breathing hard. “I saw you wanting to stare at my tits.”

Her words were a shock to Jeff. Until that point, it could have all been happening in his head, just his mind casting a particular interpretation on reality. But hearing her voice, her words, ripped off any interpretation and exposed the underlying raw reality.

Mary, who was almost as tall as he was in her high-heeled boots, was leaning over to whisper in his ear. It was too much—her closeness, her warm breath on his face, her hand on his shoulder.

“They’re very pretty you know? My tits? They’re round and firm and super sensitive. My boyfriend really likes them. When he sucks on my nipples, sometimes, he can makes me come, just like that.” She snapped her fingers, softly, teasingly.

That passing reference to her boyfriend—was that code for something? Did that change anything? Why would she become member of Srinivasan’s network if she was involved in a serious relationship?

Jeff understood computers. Jeff understood statistics. Jeff understood cultural trends and population behavior. Jeff did not understand relationships.

“Would you like to see my pretty tits, Jeff Coogan?” Mary purred into his ear. “Would you like to caress them?” Her voice held such promise.

“Yes,” he managed to groan, kicking himself for his inability to play it cool, as if he was still that awkward kid from South Dakota and not the head of the most successful IPO of the decade.

“Come with me,” she said, and without waiting for his answer she took his hand and pulled him after her.

Jeff stared at her freely now, as she pulled him towards a door in the back of the lobby, behind the reception desk, stared at her legs, wondering what they might feel like under his hands, wondering what she wore underneath that dress, whether she dressed this morning knowing that she would be asked to service a client that day, wanting to, hoping to.

Mary followed Jeff inside after opening the door and practically throwing him into the small supply room that lay beyond. She shut the door by pressing back against it. Had Jeff known where to direction his attention he would have noticed her hips twitching toward him, but he was staring at her fingers, which were playing with the top button of her dress.

“Is this what you want to see?” She undid the button. The top of her breasts came into view, tantalizing.

“How about we make a deal?” she asked. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? You must like deals.”

Jeff managed to snap out of his reverie. “I’m listening.” His voice was not as secure as he might have wanted it to be.

“How about I show you my tits? How about I let you play with my tits, caress them, touch them, paw them?”

“And… and in return?”

“In return, all I want is something hard and hot shoved deep inside my pussy.”

She undid another button. She was breathing harder, her eyes glazing over with lust. Where did they find this girl? he wondered. Any further thoughts were flushed away when she undid another button. “So?” Her bra was one of those flimsy shelf bras whose only purpose was to push a pair of breasts up, and this one did it well. The cups barely covered her nipples. Jeff wanted to extend a hand and touch them.

“Wow,” he said.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she said. “Tell me you’re gonna fuck me. Tell me you’re gonna fuck me and my tits are all yours, baby.”

He nodded.

She laughed, a joyful, happy, victorious laugh.

Jeff thought she would pull her dress open, but instead, she reached down underneath her dress and pulled down her panties. They were flimsy, matching the bra, and when she pulled them up he could smell her on them, an intoxicating sweet smell. She wrapped them around her wrist, and then opened up her dress before pulling down her bra, letting her breasts pop free.

She had been right—there were round and firm and topped with little nipples that stuck out like hard erasers. Jeff could not resist any longer and he palmed them with his hands and Mary moaned and thrust her chest out to facilitate his mauling. He pressed them and squeezed them and kneaded them, and Mary seemed to enjoy every moment of it.

“Are they as nice as you imagined them to be when you were undressing me with your eyes? Do my tits please you?”

“God yes,” Jeff growled, unable to tear his eyes away from them.

“Then fuck me while you grope them. Feed me your cock, baby—I need it so bad!”

In a flash, with one hand never leaving her soft flesh, he had fished out his cock from his trousers and Mary took over and by wrapping a leg around his welcomed him inside her pussy and to Jeff it was like sinking his cock into a hot tight furnace. Mary gasped when he penetrated her, and she hung on to Jeff for balance.

“Fuck me, baby! Fuck me!”

And he did, one hand against the door, one hand on her breast, his hips thrusting in and out, while Mary moaned and groaned and shifted her own hips to help him out.

“Suck on my tits, baby! Suck on them hard!”

He managed to twist his body and suck on a hard little nipple while still thrusting into her, and the sensations must have been what Mary had been looking for because her moans turned into little squeals of pleasure, and she gripped his hair to keep his head in place as she humped back against him.

In a flash of inspiration, Jeff bit on the nipple in his mouth lightly, and it sent a shock of pleasure through Mary who bucked hard against him. He bit on the nipple again, rolling it between his teeth as he heard Mary’s squeals turn into a song of rapture punctuated with occasional “fuck yes!” Her pussy clenched hard around his cock, and it was almost a surprise to him when he realized that Mary was coming, and coming hard.

It sent him over the edge, and feeling him explode inside her must have done something to her for her orgasm seemed to hit overdrive and she bucked wildly against him, urging him to bite her nipple off and fuck her out of her mind, her hands never unclenching from his hair.

When they had recovered—after collapsing to the floor in a sweaty heap—Mary bore a satisfied glowing smile, and she unraveled her panties from her wrist and offered them to Jeff. “A souvenir,” she told him. “Besides, they’re pretty much ruined now. I must have leaked a gallon of juice in them before.”

She straightened up her dress, and buttoned it up.

“Thank you, Jeff Coogan,” she said before giving him a kiss on the lips and heading back to her reception desk.

Jeff Coogan biked back to the new SocialCircles building, at the edge of the Financial District. He had improved his biking skills ever since his undergraduate degree at Stanford, where he developed the basic idea underlying SocialCircles, and where he had met Jacques Montreuil, his partner and co-founder of SocialCircles.

He nodded to the receptionist, and he thought back immediately to Mary. He wondered whether she might be willing to be taken out on a date, whether she might enjoy a play or a concert—he had access to rather exclusive events now, and in any case, he could in fact create those events, invite a band out for a private performance or something. That might woo the pretty receptionist. It opened all sorts of possibilities.

He wondered whether there were any restrictions about his dating one of the girls in the Network. Questions he had not thought of asking Srinivasan. The man had told Jeff the various restrictions about asking members about their work in the Network, such as men they had been with, or even just the mention that there was such a thing as a Network and a Platinum Plan. Srinivasan had been adamant on the subject, raising the specter of the enforcement division.

Jeff wondered if it was too early already to call her and invite her somewhere.

His office was an open area encased in glass—he liked glass, although he could not help compare his office to Srinivasan’s, feeling a pang of doubt, wondering if he should maybe have gone with mahogany or oak wood instead, and plush carpeting, and bookshelves filled with old books. He determined to talk to Jacques about it, get his input.

He could not chase Mary out of his mind, the way she felt on him, around him, the way she moved, the way she fucked. He got hard again.

He walked to the row of vintage video game machines against the wall—Pac-Man, Zaxxon, Rampage. He always played when he needed to calm his mind. He was a big fan of Call of Duty, but sometimes the classics were what was needed—the sound, the feel, the touch of physical controls. It was retro, it was cool. He made a mental note to purchase some more arcade machines and put them in the lobby so that employees could play as well. They would enjoy that, he thought.

Soon he was immersed in playing, letting his subconscious sift through everything that had happened: the Platinum Plan, Mary, sex, SocialCircles. He wondered for a moment whether they should switch away from Hadoop the way Google had done, whether it was a mistake to cling to technologies of the past. Then he wondered whether Mary would prefer smooth jazz or indie rock.

He lost himself in the sounds and the noise of Rampage.

Until he was startled out of the zone by a quiet cough behind him.

He turned around, knowing who he would find, appreciating the anticipation.

“Hello Rebecca.”

Rebecca Delamy-Montreuil. His VP Legal—Vice-President of Legal Affairs, the one who had shouldered the brunt of the legal aspects of the IPO, and accessorily the wife of his partner and best friend, Jacques Montreuil.

Jeff, helped by her husband Jacques, had snatched her away from her previous position as a corporate lawyer for a much larger company, where she had been stuck into a role where she was underutilized, with a promise of heading the whole legal department of SocialCircles.

“Jeffrey, can I have a minute of your time?”

“For you, always,” he smiled, trying to act nonchalant.

Rebecca had always fascinated him. She was beautiful, tall and thin with shoulder-length dark hair and a sharp features, always dressed to the nines in tailored suits that emphasized her femininity while also radiating the poise and power that befitted a higher executive. She knew what it took to survive in the legal world and went to ruthless lengths to achieve it. How Jacques had managed to land such a hot babe was beyond Jeff’s ability to comprehend. Granted, Jacques was by any account a catch, having a form of French charm all of his own—Jeff had once overheard female employees saying that his smile was devastating. Rebecca clearly went for that kind of man, the kind with a devastating smile, and deep pockets.

Jeff wondered how Rebecca was in the sack. He had wondered for a long time, but Jacques was tight-lipped about his sexual proclivities. But Jeff knew first-hand that she was a phenomenal lawyer who had managed to navigate the difficult path to the IPO with efficiency and implacability, and that sort of drive and hunger had to reflect itself in her sexual attitudes.

She had to be an unsatisfiable tiger in bed.

“Jeffrey, are you here?”

“Sorry, Rebecca. Just… thinking. What did you want to see me about?”

“I just need to run some numbers by you.”

“By all means.”

Rebecca sat at his desk and went over figures with him.

But Jeff barely followed her. All he could do was glance over and over again at the tattoo on her finger.

He could not believe she was that kind of woman.

After all, she was his best friend’s wife.