[continued from
here]There was a man who had met a girl. The party had been interesting and he'd learned about the society he had found himself in, but in the end it came down to the girl. The man walked her home and paused at her doorstep, the very picture of a gentleman. He didn't push, not even for a kiss. He simply made polite conversation and
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Maureen probably should have recognized that he was saying and doing all right things, which was in itself suspicious, but it had been so long since a man had been like this with her that was just eating it up. She regaled him with tales of New York, and told him about the musicals she'd starred in here on the island. He'd seemed genuinely interested, and there were a few times when she'd caught him checking her out that.
When he took her hands, she took a step backward and pulled him through the doorway. "I don't have anything to drink," she said softly, "but you should come in anyway."
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"And now that I've got you alone..." he purred, moving closer and closer until he had her in his arms and was kissing her again. This time it wasn't nearly as sweet. This time his intentions were clear. He took the lead and claimed her lips.
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"So glad you asked me in," he grinned. "You've got a nice place."
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"Wait until you see the bedroom," she said, and pulled away from him, walking back. She looked over her shoulder at him with a come hither expression as she moved to the bedroom.
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He was drawn to that look like a moth to a flame.
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She could still put on a good show of it. And now, when she untied the back of the halter dress and let it fall and slide down her curvy hips, revealing white lacy panties underneath and a braless set of breasts that due to her youth still seemed to defy gravity, she seemed for all appearances to be completely confident about her body and her sexuality. But the truth was, she desperately needed Patrick to want her.
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"You are so beautiful," he said, toying with her hair. "I think I'm a lucky guy, meeting a woman like you."
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"How old are you, Maureen?" he asked, stroking her arm. She looked young. He liked young.
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"Twenty-six," she lied, but then laughed. He was older, after all. "Okay, twenty-nine."
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"You're so young," he chuckled, then buried his face against her throat to kiss her hungrily there.
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