26 Nights

by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)

  I raised my eyebrows. “You haven’t?”

  “No.” For the first time I could remember, Miss Greenglass avoided my eyes as she spoke to me. “I’m afraid I … I have misled you about my name. My real name.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “You aren’t Miss Greenglass? Anne Greenglass?”

  “I am Miss Greenglass, of course,” she said. “But Anne is actually my middle name. I never use my real first name. I’ve never liked it.”

  “I see.” I looked at her closely, but she was pretending to look for something among the files. “And what is your real first name, Miss Greenglass?”

  “It’s … it’s Zoe,” she said.

  There was a long silence.

  “Zoe,” I repeated.

  “Yes,” Miss Greenglass said. “Zoe. I’m sorry for having deceived you, Mr. Walling.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said. “Ah-huh. So. Then if I had—had accepted your generous offer this morning, I guess I would have won the bet after all.”

  “That is correct,” Miss Greenglass said.

  “I see.” I paused, and just waited, looking at her, until finally she raised her eyes to mine. “Then why did you do it?” I said.

  “Why did I—”

  “Yes. You were doing it because you wanted to win the bet, you said. But you wouldn’t have. You would have lost it. So why did you offer?”

  “I … well, I … you … you didn’t know, of course. You thought my name was Anne. You wouldn’t have—it would …”

  “You mean you would have kept up the deception, slept with me under false pretenses, and then taken the salary raise for winning a bet you had actually lost?”

  “I—Yes,” Miss Greenglass said. She went back to searching the files.

  I sighed.

  “Miss Greenglass,” I said, “you do many things well. You are a first-rate assistant and a fine businesswoman. I have never—till now—seen you attempt anything that you did not carry off with the highest skill and efficiency.

  “But, Miss Greenglass, you are a terrible liar. Just terrible. Take it from one who is an expert in that area. In order to succeed in this world, Miss Greenglass, you have to be a great liar. That is no doubt why I am the head of this company and you are a mere assistant. Well, that and the fact that my father left me the business—but then, he was a great liar too.” I was rambling on like that because I was having strange feelings that I perhaps wasn’t ready to face just yet. But it didn’t seem to do much good.

  “Your name isn’t Zoe at all,” I said finally. “Is it?”

  “No,” Miss Greenglass said.

  I couldn’t figure out what I was feeling, and I wasn’t at all sure I liked it. But whatever it was, there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it.

  “Then why?” I said. “Why did you say that, Miss Greenglass?”

  It seemed like an hour before she raised her eyes to me again. When she did, it was like there was nothing else in the world for me but those eyes and what was in them.

  “I think you know why, Mr. Walling,” she said evenly.

  “Tell me,” I said. “Please.”

  “Because I—I don’t like to see you like this. It makes me sad to see you sad, Mr. Walling. I have—yes, I have feelings for you.” Her eyes never left mine. “And I—I thought I wanted to win our wager, but now it—it seems I want you to win.”

  For a moment it was hard to breathe. “And suddenly I don’t give a damn if I lose,” I said.

  “In that case,” Miss Greenglass said, “my offer is still open, Mr. Walling.”

  I looked at her for a long time. I felt as if I had been on a difficult and exhausting journey and had unexpectedly come to a turn in the road, to discover the object of my search—at the bottom of a precipice. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to jump onto that precipice, but something was already pushing me over the edge.

  Finally I stood up and walked around my desk. She turned from the filing cabinet to face me as I moved toward her. I stopped a couple of feet away.

  “Miss Greenglass,” I said.

  “Yes, Mr. Walling?”

  “Do you think,” I said, “that I might call you Anne now?”

  And then an unprecedented, unexpected and most wonderful thing suddenly happened.

  Miss Greenglass smiled.

  She actually smiled.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think so, Steven.”

  And then I was kissing her.

  As I held her in my arms I understood beyond any question that I had gone over the precipice now and that I would probably never be able to get back out again. And at that moment I didn’t want to. It was as if every woman in the world had suddenly become Miss Greenglass—Anne—and she had become them. I neither needed nor wanted anybody else.

  Her lips were soft and warm, and for a time I was conscious only of the sweetness of her mouth and my unaccustomed new feelings. But soon I became aware of her body pressed so tightly, intimately against mine as we clutched each other—the yielding firmness of her breasts, the soft pressure of her loins, the whole of her leaning into me as if in final surrender—and I began to get hard. At the same moment her mouth opened under mine, and the nature of the kiss changed swiftly for both of us. I slid my tongue between her lips and she met it unhesitatingly with hers, a small sound of something like release coming from her throat.

  My hands moved on her body then, slid over curves and hollows, tugged blindly at clothes, thrilling at the touch of her even through the barriers of silk and cotton. As one hand found and caressed her shapely buttocks, she panted softly into my mouth, and I felt her hands moving downward on my back. Our tongues entwined and explored and probed, our bodies strained to get even closer, and I knew then that I had always been right about the inner fire that burned, banked and invisible but never extinguished, behind the calm beautiful eyes of this most extraordinary woman.

  As if with one accord, still kissing, we sank together to the carpeted floor. We landed in a tangled heap, excited but confused, and after a moment we reluctantly broke the kiss and moved apart, both breathing heavily. I gazed at her lying there, more disheveled than I had ever seen her and more gorgeous, her dark hair mussed, her blouse awry, her skirt riding up over her lovely legs, and a passion in her eyes that I had only dreamed about till now. “Undress me,” she whispered in a new, husky voice.

  So I did.

  I unbuttoned her blouse with one hand while with the other I stroked from her neck down over the swell of her breasts, tracing their shape through the soft material as she caught her breath. The blouse came open, and again I was struck by the pellucid quality of the smooth flesh above and below the black brassiere. I slid the blouse from her shoulders and in the same movement reached beneath her to unclasp the bra and pull it off.

  Her breasts, which I had caught only a swift glimpse of that morning, were now displayed to my leisurely gaze, and my hasty impression was confirmed: they were perfect, round quivering hemispheres, large enough to stand out from her body even in her recumbent position, yet firm and solid. The pinkish-red nipples were stiff and almost pulsing as I kissed them. I kissed them for a long time, my hands moving on her, on her thighs, beneath her skirt, until she was moaning gently, and I felt her hands at the buttons of my shirt.

  I helped her, and my clothes came off swiftly. I moved down to unfasten her skirt, and she arched her body for me as I pulled it down over those finely curved legs, and I took her panties with them.

  I had seen bodies that were more voluptuous, probably more spectacular, but I had never seen one as exquisite as hers—never one so magnificently put together, one whose beautiful parts merged into such a surprisingly marvelous whole—or one which I wanted more than I did hers right now. She looked at me, too, and her hands touched me, too, bold and tentative at the same time. I gasped as I felt her moving fingers on my stiff, turgid phallus. My hands were on her silken thighs, and I looked into her eyes as I felt her widen her legs.


  “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Steven. Now.”

  I moved between those thighs, which widened to receive me. I found her soft moist entrance and paused, looking into those fine, steady brown eyes that gazed up at me with a new vulnerability, taking me inside her as surely, as willingly as her body was about to.

  “Yes,” she said again. “Please.”

  Our eyes still held as I slowly moved into her. We gasped simultaneously as the penetration was made and we were finally together. I held back, but she pushed forward to urge me on. When I was completely inside her, she tightened the clasp of her thighs and encircled me with her arms, moaning. I think I moaned too.

  Then we moved together, beginning with a slow rhythm that was not much more than a gentle rocking, savoring the sensations of our naked bodies clinging to each other. I could hardly believe that this was really. Miss Greenglass I was making love to, whose flesh I was caressing, whose body was moving beneath me; and yet there was no doubt of it, for I knew that no one else had ever or could ever make me feel what I was feeling now. I had made love with women who made me groan, made me scream, made me laugh or cry or go crazy, but never one who made me feel as if I was home. And strangely enough, that seemed to be the most exciting feeling of all.

  Gradually our movements grew faster. I kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, stroked her straining body. I heard her beautiful gasps and whimpers and cries as she moved with me, taking and giving, matching my pace and urging me on. It was almost as if we were one person. After a while I slowed down a bit, conserving my strength and not wanting things to end too soon. Anne looked up at me, not saying a word, and with one accord we rolled over so that I was on my back with her astride me.

  I let her set the pace now, watching her body rise and fall, her lovely breasts bouncing gently, until I had to put my hands on them. She panted softly as she worked herself up and down my straining pole. Then swiftly the panting became louder, turned into a series of sharp cries as her body arched backward and she convulsed in sudden unexpected climax. I let her ride it out and then, with a moan of completion, she collapsed on me, gasping into my mouth as she kissed me fervently.

  I rolled her over again, maintaining our connection but lying still on top of her until she had recovered, smiling up at me and telling me with her eyes and body that she was ready for me to continue. I began slowly again, but very soon the passion between us had risen higher than before, and I was moving hard, harder, thrusting into her eager, pliant body as her cries mingled with my hoarse panting. Both of us now strained to get closer, to become one with each other in every way. I felt that we had done just that when at last I felt her tense and gather herself, shuddering for a long moment on the brink before exploding into orgasm once again—this time so strongly that she screamed and dug her hands into my back. When her climactic writhing and spasming brought me past the point of control, I released everything I had into that delicious and delightful and most wonderful body with a rasping shout of my own.

  I don’t know how long we lay there holding each other and getting our breath back. The carpet in the office wasn’t that thick, but to me it felt like a cloud.

  “Damn,” I said finally. “That was the greatest bet I ever lost.”

  She laughed softly. “I think we both won.”

  “I’m sure as hell not complaining,” I said, stroking her behind idly. “But the fact is you’re the winner, and you are now probably the highest paid assistant in this country.”

  “I told you I don’t want the money,” she said. “Really, Steven.”

  “I know.” I leaned over to kiss her. “But as I said, I always pay my debts.” There was a pause. And then I said something I had no idea I was going to say. When I had said it, it surprised me as much as it did her. Maybe more.

  “Of course,” I said, “if we got married we could keep the money in the family.”

  And then I said, “Holy Christ!”

  Anne laughed out loud, a sound I had never heard before. It was a wonderful sound. “Is that a proposal, Steven?” she asked.

  “Damn,” I said. “Well. Well, I—Jesus. I guess it is.” I looked at her then, and suddenly I was sure. Well, almost sure. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is. Will you marry me, Miss Greenglass?”

  For answer she kissed me. For a long time.

  “I intend to continue working, though,” she said, during a pause for breath. “Regardless of salary.”

  “I think you’d better,” I said. “The business would fall apart without you.”

  “That is quite true,” Anne said. And then we resumed kissing.

  “I’d better put a couch in here,” I said at the next break. “We’ll probably be having a lot of—ah—business conferences and so forth, and it would be more comfortable than this floor.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “We’d never get any work done that way. Perhaps we had better dedicate the office to business only. We’ll have plenty of other time together, Steven.”

  “Mmm,” I said noncommittally, and kissed her again.

  “However,” she said huskily, “we don’t have to put that into effect immediately, do we? Tomorrow will do.”

  “Or the next day,” I said.

  “Steven,” she whispered as she reached for my cock. “Let’s have another conference right now.”

  “An excellent idea,” I said. “But I may need just a few more minutes to recover from the last one.”

  Miss Greenglass smiled.

  “Want to bet?” she asked.

  ALL BETS ARE ON

  AND ALL CLOTHES ARE OFF!

  * * *

  Here’s the wager—it’s as easy as A-B-C. Make love to twenty-six women across the alphabet, from “Abigail” to “Zelda.” Our hero beds divas and debutantes, playgirls and politicos, evangelists and entrepreneurs, throughout the boudoirs, boardrooms, and bedrooms of a great American “sin” city. And win or lose, it will be a romp between the letter—and the sheets—that spells nothing but pleasure. From the pages of Penthouse magazine comes an erotic novel that gives an all-new meaning to the ABCs.