A Risky Business #SYTYCW15 #CarinaPress

Chapter Twenty Eight

A beautiful Barbadian morning – it's all a bit of a working holiday for Damien ...

*Damien*

Mrs Farringdon draped herself over the island worktop in the middle of the large kitchen. The edges of her silky dressing gown fell obligingly apart and revealed acres of skin, golden from just over a fortnight in the Barbadian sun. I eyed her cleavage.

"What shall we do today, Damien?" she purred.

"Whatever you'd like to do Mrs Farringdon," I replied, my eyes still on the curves that were slowly unveiling themselves as she prowled around the room.

"Mrs Farringdon?" she laughed, a light tinkly little laugh. "You haven't called me that for months. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I lied.

Suddenly she was right in front of me. Her eyes wide and her full lips pouting seductively.  She reached out her right hand and gently stroked the dark stubble on my chin. She pushed her breasts out a bit further.

"Come on, something's happened. Something's changed. I've felt it since we got here. Tell me all about it."

I couldn't answer. For one thing, I didn't really know what to say to her, and for another, I was too busy concentrating on resisting the urge to run my hands across her body, to untie the silky material and let it slip to the floor.

She must have known my resolve was wavering, she knew me well enough by now but, surprisingly, she walked away.  She moved over to the large window that overlooked the estate's lawns and gardens, and beyond those, the sea. She bent slightly to survey the brilliant blue skies overhead. She wiggled her backside and, once again, I found it difficult to tear my gaze away.

"I think I'd like to play tennis this morning," she declared.

She turned to face me and said, with only the very slightest smirk,

"Will you knock up with me?"

"Yes, of course Mrs Farringdon. Perfect weather for it," I replied, secretly relieved that we were going to be able to escape the confines of this kitchen which was becoming increasingly steamy.

"Great!" she enthused. "I'll go and get changed. See you back here in twenty minutes?"

"Sure thing," I said and watched her walk through the kitchen and make her way upstairs to her dressing room.

"And then maybe we can cool down with some champagne in the Jacuzzi later ..." she said almost under her breath, but just about loudly enough so that I could hear.

So, if I'd thought I was being let off with just a game of tennis, it seemed that I had another think coming. And this was rather confirmed when Mrs Farringdon re-appeared in the kitchen, as promised, twenty minutes later, in the tiniest tennis dress I had ever seen. Purest white, it showed off her long legs and delicate shoulders perfectly. She had tied her long, expensively highlighted hair back into a ponytail which bounced prettily as she walked.

"Ready?" she asked brightly.

"Ready," I said, collecting the tennis rackets and balls from the side where I had lain them while I was waiting.

*

Down at the tennis courts Mrs Farringdon was making me sweat. My strength was no match for her flexibility, placement and deft touch. Seemingly effortlessly, she had me running from left to right, up to the net and back to the baseline.