She's trying to seduce me

“Wow, don't you clean up nice.” I tell her as she strolls into the kitchen. “Is there something special going on?”

“It's just you're being so nice to me,” she hesitates shyly, “I thought I'd dress up a little.” It's a kind thought but there is something about the way she is looking at me that keeps me on high alert. By five minutes into dinner it is clear to me that Alison is doing her best to seduce me. It's not just the sexy dress and the scent of her flowery perfume; every lingering gaze through her thick lashes and the way her lips linger on the fork with each mouthful seems designed to pump me up. Almost immediately, Alison turns the conversation to the Harlequins I bought for her.

“I read the teasers in the books you gave me, Mr. P.” She tells me with a sly curve of her lips. “I understand now why my parents worked so hard to keep those out of the Walmart.”

“Do you believe me now when I tell you that your fantasies are not that unusual?” I ask her as I take a sip of water watching closely as she grapples with a new world of sexuality. I can't help but wonder how she would have reacted if I had assigned for her homework her some books from my collection of erotica stashed away in the basement.

“I guess. It seems so wicked though.” She matches me by taking a sip of water herself, leaving a faint pink imprint from her lips on the edge of the glass. “Is that why you gave me those books to read, Mr. P? Do you fantasize about having some innocent young woman fall into your hands?”

“That's certainly part of it.” I shrug casually, trying to ignore the way that one of the straps from her dress has slipped off her shoulder. I didn't notice her do anything deliberate but considering everything else she is doing I have to believe that it cannot be accidental. Where does a sheltered young woman like her learn to pull off a trick like that?

“What would you do if you had a sheltered damsel completely in your power?” She seems to notice the wayward strap and modestly pulls it back into place, even managing to look bashful as she adjusts the dress so it doesn't reveal quite as much cleavage. “Would you seduce her slowly until she submits to your desires with a whimper of surrender,” setting down her fork, she licks her lips almost in anticipation, “or would you be more demanding, taking out your **** on her trembling body as she begs for mercy?”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” I can't believe how quickly I've lost control of this conversation. “Have any of the released tapes from Woodward's interviews shaken your faith in the President?” Alison was a unabashed Trump fan, and I thought she might take the time to defend her man from the leftist media attacks on the president, but she refused to be distracted.

“Oh no, Mr. P.” Her laughter keeps the tone light, but she is not letting me change the topic. “This is your idea remember? I've shared my deepest fantasies with you, now I want to know what excites you.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger but her big expressive eyes never leave mine. I stall for time by taking another bite of stuffed shells, but Alison is merciless in her interrogation. “In the one set in the Arab Emirates the heroine seems resigned to the inevitable, allowing herself to be bathed and rubbed with scented oils and dressed in silks for the Imir's bed, but in the other one, in the blurb inside the first couple pages makes it sound like the billionaire ignores his new secretary's protests and just takes her without mercy as she struggles beneath him.”

“It's exactly what you were saying last night, Mr. P about me not being the only one who has fantasies like those. Does it excite you too?” I've never really thought about supermarket romances as being particularly risque, but to someone like Alison who was raised on a diet of classic literature and PG movies, those extracts inside the first couple pages must read like triple-x erotica. Alison looks at me with barely concealed excitement. “As a man, would you rather have someone resigned to her fate, or struggling like a wildcat even though she knows her situation is hopeless?” The foot tapping rapidly against the table leg is the only sign of how tense this young woman really is as she follows up again. “Come on, Mr. Patterson, answer the question. What would you do to a woman if you could have her any way you wanted?”