Richard

Georgina Felton is a very bad habit.

I've slept with dozens of assistants. They do for a week or two, until their needs eclipse the pleasure of the chase and conquering. Then it's all about what are we, really? And what am I to you? And who is she?

Georgina never asks any of these questions.

Why?

I take her to bed night after night, each one better than the last. She learns very quickly. I knew quickly that she was competent in her work, that in PR and philanthropy, she knew control and every rule. But in sex, she is new and demure. Every climax she has feels like a point won, new territory plundered.

But she isn't always shy in the sheets. I see the subtle change in her. Soon enough, she is asking for what she wants — yes, there deeper, harder fuck me right here, Mr. Platton — and better, what I want.

But still, never once does she ask what we are, or how I feel about her. Why?

And why, when I see her walking or chatting with Blake Tanner of all people, am I filled with inexplicable,