Scissor Link Georgette Kaplan (best self help books to read .TXT) 📖

no reason she should be working these late hours. In the morning, she would ask Elizabeth to find her some decent applicants. With any luck, a few of them would work out, and she’d be able to delegate better.

Maybe Roberta was right. She couldn’t do everything herself. She had to let others do some of it before she became a holy terror of micro-managing. Napoleon on Elba.

As she left her office, pulling on her gloves, Janet looked across the floor to the front partition of Wendy’s office and was relieved to find no light pushing through the opaquely pebbled windows or under the door. Then she was amused, if darkly, at her own relief. What did she have to fear from Wendy Cedar?

Why did she still have a flutter in her stomach after she’d decided it was inadvisable?

She walked through the darkened offices, exchanging greetings with the cleaning crew as they filtered in, and then she entered the elevator.

Wendy Cedar was inside.

She wore the same respectable suit she’d had on when she’d entered Janet’s office—a dark knee-length skirt, a white blouse with subtle polka dots, the sleeves rolled nearly to her shoulders. Her jacket was in her hands, folded over her purse, and Janet could see the power of her musculature, trickling down her arms in tension and tautness.

Janet faced her evenly as she stepped beside her, then looked straight ahead. “What floor?”

“Whatever’s good.”

“Were you waiting for me?”

“I thought you might have something to say to me.”

Janet pressed the button for the lobby. She pulled her hand back, seeing her and Wendy’s reflections in the glossy metal that surrounded the white buttons. Even blurred and stretched by the impromptu mirror, Wendy drew her gaze.

Wendy’s finger went back. It pressed the Stop button. With a shrill jangle of an alarm, the elevator stopped. Without the hum of its movement, the silence begged for something to be said.

Janet turned her head slightly toward Wendy, barely enough to see her out of the corner of her eye. “If I had fucked you, you’d know it.”

“That’s what I said,” Wendy insisted. “The way you talked to me, the way you looked at me—”

Janet turned her attention fully to Wendy. Looked her in the eye. Nothing more than a vexing issue. An itch. A tingle that had to be addressed.

She could deal with that. “You’d know it,”she reiterated. “And right now, you don’t.”

“Okay,” Wendy said. “I don’t. But you got to at least third base with me.”

“This is a lesbian relationship, Ms. Cedar. Third base is as many bases as there are, to my knowledge.”

“Okay, second base. There are a lot of things that count as second base, and that was one of them.”

Now Janet turned slightly. Canting her hip as she placed one heel closer to Wendy. “Is that what you’ve waited all this time to tell me?”

“I wasn’t waiting to tell you anything,” Wendy said. She dropped her purse and jacket between them. And, her cheeks flushing, her eyes demurely glancing away, she reached to the hem of her skirt and pulled it up her thighs.

Janet watched. She watched idly wondering if she should, could, look away, even when she could think of no reason to. It itched that she couldn’t look away—that she didn’t want to.

Wendy’s thighs were firm and flat, not rippling with muscle, but potently taut with it. They gleamed with a little gold sheen, and if Janet could’ve thought, she would’ve registered envy. But Wendy’s side was facing her, and she was turning slightly as she raised her skirt, so that her ass was facing Janet. Her panties. There was no crass logo on the back, no forced slogan, just the simple fact of white fabric stretched to translucence by her pert buttocks, the simple heft and lift of them revelatory, taking everything of Janet’s away but lust.

It didn’t make herlust for Wendy. It just stripped away everything in Janet until she was aware of the sheer want that was in her.

Then, with her skirt raised high above her ass, Wendy let go of it with one hand and brought that hand down on her cheek with a sudden, resonant smack. Air shot into Wendy’s mouth as she inhaled sharply, sounding discordantly loud; the flesh jumped with a jiggle beneath Wendy’s panties as red flooded in under the gauzy fabric. She’d struck with real force, even mewled a little with pain, and long after the bounce had settled, Janet found herself staring at the skin. The little bit of suffering it was imbued with, that fading, replaced with the creamy hue of Wendy’s girlish health.

Her eyes flicked up to Wendy’s expression and her heart skipped a beat. Something about Wendy’s look was even better than her little display. There was something of pain—that grisly pride some took in being injured that always struck Janet as tomboyish. But there was also an eagerness to please, a keen curiosity as to whether she had pleased, even an affection, all of which Janet found utterly irresistible.

Wendy exhaled, a breath that was dragged out of her, flowing softly out from between parted lips.

Janet inclined her head to Wendy, putting her hand around the fingers of Wendy’s left hand and pulling it back from her skirt to let the thing fall back down. With her other hand, she smoothed it out, plying it back down Wendy’s legs to fix her appearance.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, feeling unnecessarily solicitous, but wanting to know.

“Not anymore. It was just one slap.” Wendy smiled at her, looking pleased with herself.

As pleased as Janet was.

“You think I’ve never had my ass slapped before?” Wendy asked.

Janet saw her and raised her. “If it doesn’t still hurt? Not really.”

Wendy bit her lip, giving Janet a look that was mostly curious, and all Janet could think was that most of the time when you were trying to fix a plane, even if it broke down again, you could always fix it up some more.

The elevator’s phone rang. Wendy jumped nearly out of her