Yvonne's trembling fingers hesitated as they rested on the buttons of her tailored blouse. One by one, they slipped undone—the first, the second, the third—until a glimpse of her cleavage emerged, framed and vulnerable.

Then, the pristine white shirt slipped from her shoulders and fell soundlessly to the floor.

Left in nothing but her brassiere, Yvonne crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from his gaze. She stood in front of ...