The man was amazingly quick. With the rapidity of a viper, he seized my open palm, turned it over, then bent to kiss the soft part, the median palmar region, I’d once learned when I was helping Sammy study for her nursing exam. (She failed the first few times, but her efforts had given me the knowledge of the proper names of numerous body parts which remained in my brain cells even when I tried to push them out.)
The man’s lips tingled against the fleshy part of my palm where he was touching me. I felt the touch of those lips clear down to my genital area. Oh, my goodness. My heart raced, my breathing sped up until I wanted to dog pant my interest. My nipples suddenly strained to poke through the dainty material of my silky new bra.
I jerked my hand free and tried to restrain my bodily reactions. My eyes dropped to study the rolled arm of the Sanders’ luxurious couch. The leather felt soft to my fingers and as smooth and pleasing as butter left out on the table, at the exact temperature when it smoothed perfectly over your piece of toast without breaking the bread. My fingers stroked the nail head trim of the couch, finding comfort in that as well.
“She’s shy,” Judy said, breaking the spell that had come over me: the touch of languor, the appalling nature of my arousal, and my sudden case of goosebumps.
I glanced in Judy’s direction, looking for meaning, I suppose, or more likely seeking an explanation for this strange reaction to a man I’d only just met.
“Leave us,” the man ordered, and as a strange as everything else that had happened, Judy and my boss suddenly stood up and walked out of the room.
I think I would have obeyed Mr. Caldwell’s commanding voice if he hadn’t raised up his left hand in the well-known police gesture that required all traffic to stop. Like most drivers, I went into automatic, halting any movement forward.