Missionary No More by Zane

Author:Zane
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: STREBOR BOOKS
Published: 2008-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

Shatira is in her mid-twenties and was born and raised in Northeast Ohio. She started writing poetry and stories as a child, and moved into erotic fiction during college. She is currently working on a poetry book and an erotic collection of short stories tentatively titled, Forbidden Flavors. She enjoys traveling, shopping, and classic Black movies. Shatira can be reached via MySpace at myspace.com/shatira83.

toesies

LYNN LAKE

Ibuzzed Laila’s desk for the fourth time in the last half-hour. And after five long damn rings, the girl finally picked up. An hour late back from lunch. “I want to see you in my office immediately,” I stated.

“All right, Jasmine,” she replied.

Then she took five more minutes to make her sweet-ass way across the tiny office before finally knocking on my door.

“Come in!” I yelled, keeping my eyes on some paperwork. “Sit down.”

The petite, auburn-haired princess with the huge hazel eyes walked across the carpet and sat down in one of the chairs in front of my desk. She was a seemingly shy, demure little thing—until you got to know her; or more appropriately, she got to know you.

“Raif Jensen from CanTech Construction called while you were out,” I intoned, looking up. “Apparently, he still hasn’t received the revised draft of the Happyland Care Home blueprints, and he’s not very…happy.”

I pursed my lips, chilled my eyes, glaring at the girl. She looked back at me, all passive innocence and sweetness, perched on the edge of the chair with her tiny hands folded in her lap.

“There’re only two changes to incorporate into that plan—why’s it taking you so long?”

She shrugged her small shoulders under the soft, pink sweater she was wearing. “It just is, I guess.”

I gritted my teeth and clasped my hands tighter on top of the desk. My budding architectural firm’s reputation was on the line. “Well, that’s totally unaccept—”

I choked on my angry words. Because Laila had leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, bringing her right leg and her right foot up into my field of vision. The girl’s slender lower limbs were clad in sheer white stockings, her small feet in a pair of pink, three-inch-heeled, open-toed pumps, the toes on her right foot winking a clear, glossy finish under their silk wrappings, big toe flashing a silver ring.

I gasped. “I…I want those…blue…blueprints completed and sent over to…”

Laila’s foot was bobbing up and down, half as fast as my heart was beating, her plump-topped brown toes wiggling, waving at me.

“I know what you want, Jasmine,” she said, strumming her toes on the angled leather platform of her shoe. “What you really want.”

I glanced up into her sparkling, mischievous eyes, catching the smirk on her wet, juicy lips. Then my laser gaze was back down on her dangling foot again, my mouth open and lips trembling, tongue unable to rationally respond, eyes blinded to business. I’d never seen a prettier pair of peds, more perfectly formed toes, than when Laila had first strolled into the firm, and into my heart.

Her

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