Some Harlequin romances

It doesn't take me long to find what I'm looking for in the local supermarket. After brief contemplation I decide against historical bodice rippers and limit my selection to novels set in the present. I also pass on the two stories that referred to babies; as strongly as Alison feels about pregnancy, it is best to stay away from that hot-button issue. Even with these self imposed restrictions I still have a selection of almost a dozen books and from those I choose three that reinforce my claim that she is one of many women who have fantasies of being claimed by powerful men.

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Ignoring a speculative smile from a mother of two young children, I add the books to my shopping cart and move through the rest of the isles to get the other items I needed. Back home, after I putting away the groceries, I sit down in my chair and skim through the three books. The sex is more graphic than I remember from my sister's secret collection. In two of the books the hero goes down on the young woman before fucking her, and in At her Enemy's Command there is even a scene where the heroine was taken from behind while she was on her hands and knees. The descriptions aren't anywhere near as explicit as the porn I read from the internet, but I get hard especially when I start thinking about Alison reading these same books. Even in this day and age, two of the three heroines are still virgins when they fell into the hands of their ruthless captors and in The **** Surrender the heroine really is ****, protesting and struggling weakly until the very moment her cherry gets popped - and then she surrenders into a passionate orgasmic bundle of hot flesh.

I place all three books on the kitchen counter and turn my attention to making the sauce for the shells. Before I retired I was content to use the sauce from jars, but now that I have time to kill anyways I like to make my own marinara. As stir in some fresh oregano from the garden, I look over at the cover of the Annie West book. I remember pinning Alison on her back in exactly that position and how good she had felt squirming under me, an I wonder if she too will make the connection.

To be honest I don't really have any specific expectations for what is going to happen with Alison next week, but acting out some of the scenes from these romances didn't sound all that bad for starters. That reminded me I had to call my doctor and see about some pills. If I was going to be a desert king plundering my captive bride, I wanted to be able to hold my own.

Alison shows up a little earlier than I expected, the shells had just gone into the oven and I was tidying up when she saunters into the kitchen with an excited grin on her face.

“Hey Mr. P. I hope you made a ton of shells, because I'm starving.” Once again I can't help but smile, it's a definite change, and I try not to think too much about this new attitude. The fact of the matter is that even before last night, I had trouble maintaining my grumpy old man demeanor when Alison's cheerful chatter fills the room. Before I get a chance to give her the expected time for the shells to come out of the oven she spots the three books sitting on the countertop.

“Oh Mr. P,” her voice drops to a hushed whisper, almost like she's afraid her parents might hear her all the way back in Tennessee, “is this my reading assignment?”

“That's right, Angel.” I tell her as she inches closer to the books looking at them like they were the forbidden fruit and I was the serpent that was tempting Eve. “They should be pretty quick reads, but I plan on quizzing you about them next Saturday.” She licks her lips silently as she gingerly picks up the closest paperback.

“I see.” She stacks the other two books on top of the first and grins at me flirtatiously. “Is there going to be a test?”

“Oh yes, but nothing too strenuous,” I assure her, “I was thinking maybe an oral exam.” If Alison picks up on my double entendre, she gives no indication of it, and once again I am reminded of just how sheltered her upbringing has been.

“OK Mr. P.” She cradles the books against her belly and turns towards the dining room, “Let me run these up to my room and freshen up up a little before we eat.” I watch her tight shorts sway as she leaves and have to fight back the urge to follow her like a lost puppy.

When the kitchen is quiet again I start working on the salad and garlic bread. It is nice to have someone to cook for. Alison must have waited until she smelled the garlic, because she shows up for dinner just as I pull the food out of the oven. When I turn back to great her I have to swallow suddenly.

Damn, she looks good, but I thought we covered this in the morning. Is she trying to tempt me?