I clambered up onto his desk, aware of both Lucy and Sir watching me. So I sat on the middle, my knees up, arms over my knees, looking at them. He said, “Good girl. Now skootch a little further back. So you’re on the far side of the desk. When my chair is.”
I skootched. His desk was oak. The wood was so hard and cold, under my bottom and thighs. “Sir?”
But I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here.