Let's stick to the Romance novels

This is not working out like I expected. Yes, there is an appeal in capturing an innocent maiden, but just because I sometimes fantasize about helpless princesses chained in dungeons doesn't mean I have to act out these impulses. The last thing I want to do is push Alison out of what she is comfortable with.

“Listen, Alison, I think we should take this slow.” I can see the confusion on her face as she tries to guess what I'm going to say. “How about we stick to one of those silly Harlequin heroines.”

Alison gives a shrug of her bare shoulders, but she smiles back almost shyly. “Well Mr. Patterson, you can always capture me some other time.” She stretches out on the bed invitingly. “You know, locked up in this high tower waiting anxiously for my new master to come claim me.” She pulls the sheet over her naked figure and reaches for the Harlequins waiting on the nightstand by her bed. “Besides I have a reading assignment to finish.”

“I'll get out of here then,” I step back slowly wondering if I've lost my mind. “If you change your mind about the tiramisu, I'll save a slice for you.” Back downstairs the kitchen feels even more empty than usual, but I set to work cleaning up the dishes from dinner and find myself replaying the scene with the mobster and virgin. There is something about that coed that gets me going and it is a wonder that I was able to resist her siren call. It is not until I set aside a plate with a piece of tiramisu that I start wondering which of the three Harlequins the sheltered young woman is reading as she lies on her bed. Perhaps, like me, she is distracted by the mental image of a dark-haired beauty at the mercy of a vengeful mafia boss or sadistic Inquisitor.

The next few days pass relatively normally, the only change in the routine is that Dick does not come over for his usual booty call on either Monday or Tuesday. I try to explain my satisfaction at this change in routine to the fact that I won't have to listen to her bed banging, but I'm pretty sure that there is more to it than the peace and quiet. On both days Alison disappears to her rooms after dinner instead of watching TV with me and I miss her quiet company. Monday, she comes downstairs for a cup of decaf and a flaky apple pastry at halftime, but on Tuesday evening she is unusually quiet during dinner and her snack sits uneaten by her perch on the couch.

Wednesday I finally get to the doctor's office, and I return home with a little bag from the pharmacy and a grin on my face. That smile fades quickly when I hear a weird scraping sound from upstairs. On Wednesdays Alison has her 4-8 class, but I'm pretty sure there is someone or something upstairs. I live in a relatively quiet neighborhood not far from the college, but we do have the occasional break-ins, especially during the day when the houses are empty. With 911 dialed on my phone and my thumb hovering over the send button, I quietly make my way up the steps ready to confront whoever it is muttering in Alison's room. Her door is open just enough for me to peek in and the source of the rhythmic scraping sound that I couldn't place earlier becomes clear.

Not only is my normally studious tenant playing hooky, but she is also sprawled out on her bed and playing with herself. Completely naked except for a pair of ankle socks that somehow make the nudity even sexier. The steady rocking of her hips is enough to keep her bed scraping against the wall, it is not the loud thumping I am familiar with but loud enough to be heard from downstairs. What I thought might be a muffled conversation between two burglars is instead the inarticulate grunts and whimpers that escape in gasps from her gaping mouth.

The source of Alison's arousal is not hard to divine. On the floor, discarded some time ago is one of the Harlequins I presented to her. I look carefully but cannot determine which of the three books has her so excited. Thankfully, Alison is well into her masturbatory play with her head is pressed deep into the mattress and eyes shut so she does not see me gawking at her like a pubescent teen.

With a grin, as I remember how close I had come to calling the police, I step silently back down the stairs. I doubt very much Alison would have forgiven me if I let a squad of police up to her room to discover her in that compromising position. Once safely downstairs I bang some pots and pans loudly enough to alert my tenant that she is no longer alone in the house. I could have let her finish, but I figure the more frustrated she gets this week, the hotter the sex will be on Saturday.

When Alison appears in the kitchen, red-faced and disheveled I do a pretty good job of acting surprised as I look up from the half-diced onions on the cutting board.

“I thought you had class?” I make the statement into a question.

“Yeah, but uh, it is just a review day,” Alison stammers out, clearly not used to lying, “so I thought I'd stay home and help cook dinner.” I hide my smile as I recall the cooking that I saw my hot young tenant working on. Instead of teasing her though, I pass the onions to her and head for the pantry. Together we put together a curried lentil dish. It is surprisingly nice having the company in the kitchen, but more than once I am distracted by the thought of her naked in front of me with her ass raised for my cock and her delicate wrists wrapped tightly in a fine silver chain.

Alison must have picked up something of my mood because we eat together in a comfortable silence. It is not until we are almost done eating that she answers the question that has been nagging me since I saw her on her squirming on her bed.

“I made my choice, Mr. Patterson.” She is once again the shy young woman I am used to, “You know, from the Harlequins you gave me?”

“Oh?” I do my best to feign indifference, “Which one?”