“Would you mind taking off your shoes, when you sit down?” he said, interrupting her thoughts. She looked down past breasts, belly, to her feet. Shining black shoes peeked out below her nakedness; they somehow emphasised it. “Oh, no, sorry I forgot.” “If you sit, he said, I’ll slip those off and help you pose.” He smiled. Damn don’t smile. Completely out of her control her body had responded, her nipples stiffened. She knew they would be so obvious and didn’t know where to look. She found herself looking right into his eyes. She sat down. He knelt at her feet, looking up at her he said “cross your legs, I’ll slip off the shoe.” She did, he slipped it off. Without being told to, she uncrossed and re-crossed the other way around. The image of Sharon Stone doing just that entered her head. She wondered if he had made that connection. If he had, he gave no indication of it. She had forgotten they were not alone, she watched him at her feet as if he were...