There was a slight pause when she didn’t move. He didn’t either and their world stood still. Slim nodded at her and recalling the previous evening, Taylor reached behind her, fumbled with the buttons on the blouse.“No,” he said, speaking for the first time, “Let’s see what’s under the skirt.”She bent slightly, casting a shadow on her cleavage as she threaded the button through its slit, and then unzipped the skirt allowing it to fall to her feet then stepped out of it, leaving her in garter-belt, thong, stockings and the pseudo Valentino heels.“Turn around, let me look at you.”A smile formed on her face. The nervousness that had caused her to break out in a sweat vanished, and the confidence only a young woman who knows she is prized filled her blood to its highest temperature.She turned for him.“You have a lovely ass. Most women are always worried about their asses. ‘Do you think my ass is to fat?’ And shit like that. You, Taylor, will never have to worry about that. I’m telling you. And large type."He leaned back in his chair. The TV remote was in the top drawer of thedesk. It wouldn't do to have it out where it might be photographed. Hereached for it, then stopped. He didn't feel like Fox. He wantedsomething _more_, something _special_. He flipped the intercom."Genna, no calls - no _nothing_ for the next two hours." Yes, Mr. President." Staff was used to such requests. They came on aweekly basis, more often, sometimes.He stood up and walked over to a small door set in the south wall of theOval Office, barely noticeable next to a bookcase and half-hidden by acurtain. He opened the door and walked through, carefully closing itbehind him. He turned the small knob that locked it."The Nap Room," he called it. It was a small room, probably a closetoriginally; no furnishings except a lamp on a small dark wood bedtable,a rack for his jacket and tie, and a _very comfortable_ couch. Awatercooler and a supply of paper cups stood next to the door. It.
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