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She sat in a wicker chair with a wide, rounded, richly crafted backrest and a cream leather seat. She dress in a silver silk robe, her loose breasts marking the fabric, her straight hair tied on top of her head. Her legs were elegantly crossed, and tanned, her feet dangling inside white leather sandals.The newspaper lying on her thighs shows a headline: ‘Berlin Surrounded! The Reds stop American convoys. The Cold War begins.’She turns the page looking for other subjects. She bends down and without taking her eyes off the headlines in the paper takes a sip of a steaming cup of coffee in a delicately made Chinese porcelain cup.“Madame. Mr. Patrick wishes to see you. May I send him kocaeli escort bayan in?”She runs her finger over her forehead as if organizing her thoughts. She takes a deep breath and faces the butler standing in front of her.“Good morning Albert! My husband has traveled, I don’t know what Patrick could want with me?”“Neither do I madam, but he seems agitated. If you don’t mind my saying so.”She takes a deep breath, leans back in her chair, closes the newspaper, and drops it on the floor.“Yes, send him in. And Albert, leave us alone, you may retire. Thank you.”Before long, a young man in a well-cut suit, with shiny hair, approaches with, an expression of concern. He holds kocaeli sınırsız escort a brown envelope in his hand.“Monique.”“Patrick. Please, sit down.”The boy who could be your son is her husband’s nephew.“Trouble? Your uncle went to Dallas, the firm’s business.”“I know. But it’s not him I want to talk to. It’s you.”“Me? What did I do this time?”She says, lighting a cigarette, and crossing her legs in a way that shows her brunette thighs. The young man smiles and hands over the envelope.“Yes, I think you will recognize the people in the pictures.”Monique tries to control the urge to scratch the face of the cheeky boy sitting on the other izmit anal yapan escort side of the table. Like an angry cat. She opens the envelope and examines the photos of poorly dressed men, her old acquaintances. She has a surprise with the last photo, her laughing with her friend, Tom, the hotel owner, where she has her ‘dates’ with such clients.She bites her upper lip, and the cigarette ash breaks and splatters on the glass table. She itches her thumb with her finger.“Have you spent family money to watch me, Patrick?”“Who are They, Monique? Friends?”She takes a deep drag, making the cigarette glow. She puffs the white smoke like a cannon shot, her green eyes shining.”Isn’t it your business, dear?”“It’s the family’s business, the company’s business. Imagine if my uncle finds out, your children?”Monique laughs, a laugh that makes her shoulders shake, and her breasts sway loosely in her silk robe. She glares at the impertinent young man, her teeth showing.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
