Never am I more wrong.
Mr. Rose is already on the bed, propped against the headboard, bare chested, arms folded. Everything normal except for . . .
Debra? What is she doing here? Sitting at ease on Mr. Rose’s bed? Unfettered?!
A sheer, light blue bathrobe hangs loosely about her. She stretches her arms overhead; a lioness just awakened from a nap. Debra, so beautiful already, radiates a deeper beauty now, one that comes after having spent a night in her lover’s arms. She lays back on the bed, an open hand blindly finding Mr. Rose’s crotch, and gently rubs his c**k through the sheets.
I’m not the only one surprised. Ms. Lynn appears embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sir. Did I get your message wrong? I thought you wanted Kirsten.”
“You were told correctly,” Mr. Rose says. “But I’ve also decided
