And that was the way they spent their first evening together. With Lauren topless, stripped to her wine-colored tights. She nervously crossed her legs, still a little ill at ease, yet strangely excited by the perverse thrill it gave her. While opposite her sat Genna Matthews fully clothed, smoking a cigarette and studying the graceful symmetry of those white shoulders, the supple lines of that nubile, pleasingly feminine torso, the stretched nylon shaping the girl’s nether regions with its smooth plastered-on appearance, streamlining sleek hips and mounding thighs and fine-muscled legs. She eyed her young student up like an artist critically appraising a new model, while Liszt’s Preludes played in the background.
Genna knew she had quietly made a conquest. Knew it the second the wavering
