Sinclair pulled out and started frantically feeling me. She was wearing a fuchsia skirt, a low-cut sky blue blouse, black nylons, and fuchsia pumps. 'You can fuss all you want, but you've got responsibilities, and don't think I don't know it.' She shook her head at me, and in death, as in life, her overly coiffed pineapple-blond hair didn't move. 'Elizabeth, what's wrong? Am I hurting you?'įrom my vantage point, my dead stepmother was upside down, which somehow made it all the more terrible, because, contrary to popular belief, you can't turn a frown upside down. Sinclair jerked like I'd turned into sunshine and spoke for the first time since I swept into his office.

To which I replied, 'Aaaaah! Aaaaah! AAAAAAH-HHHHHH! ' Then my dead stepmother said, 'This is all your fault, Betsy, and I'm not going anywhere until you fix it.' I let my head fall back, enjoying the feel of him, the smell of him, his hands on my waist, his dick filling me up, his mouth on my neck, kissing, licking, then biting. And I was almost done with my thank-you notes!

Then I grinned up at him, I couldn't help it, and he smiled back, his dark eyes narrow with lust. I wrapped my legs around his waist, so I could admire my sequined leopard-print pumps (don't even ask me what they cost). It hurt a little, because normally I needed more than sixteen seconds of foreplay, but it was also pretty fucking great (literally!). He reached down, and I said, 'Not the shoes!' so he left them alone (although I noticed the eye roll and made a mental note to bitch about it later). He did that sweep-the-top-of-the-desk thing you see in movies and plopped me on my back. He pulled, and my panties (Target) went who knew where? And I was pretty busy tugging and pulling at his suit (try as I might, I could not get the king of the vampires to not wear a suit), so the cloth was flying. He shoved, and my skirt (Ann Taylor) went up.

He yanked, and my (cashmere! argh) sweater tore down the middle. Meanwhile, due to the aforementioned knee-skidding, I slammed into him so hard, his chair hit the wall with enough force to put a crack in the wallpaper. Surprised, but always up for a nooner (or whatever vampires called sex at 7:30 at night), my husband kissed me back with enthusiasm. My right skidded on a fax Sinclair had gotten from some bank. My left knee dislodged the phone, which hit the floor with a muffled thump and instantly started making that annoying eee-eee-eee sound. Bored, I crossed the carpet in five steps, climbed up on Sinclair's desk, and kissed him.

Undead and unworthy maryjanice davidson