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The Interview: Chapter 33


“You all right?”

I blink up from my dirty daydreaming. Whit’s fingers making a bracelet against my wrist, his attention a tender stroke to the underside as he’s lifted me back onto my feet.


“Sorry. Super busy!” I announce with a bright smile, holding out my hands for the shoebox-sized parcel the man in a security uniform is holding in his hands.

“Looked like you’ve gone to sleep with your eyes open,” he says, smirking as he hands it over.

“It was all internal work,” I answer briskly, placing the box to the left of my desk. “Do I need to sign for it?”

“Nah. The courier will have gotten that when it was left at reception. I just said I’d drop it off on my rounds.”

“Well, thanks!”

The security guard can’t have taken more than a few steps before I find my finger caressing my breastbone as though I were still on my knees, Whit’s body bent over me. It was so hot watching him work himself. Seeing him fall apart. Being the object of his desire, then the focus of his tenderness as he’d helped me up from the floor and swiped up the towel.

You okay?” he’d asked carefully, his thumb on my pulse.

I’d nodded. I didn’t have the words. It was like my mind checked out and my body took over and, just, hell, it was so good.

That was better than any kind of porn,” I found myself whispering. Laughter had burst from his chest, and he’d taken my face in his hands when I’d added, “That was amazing. When can you do it again?

You want me to come on you again?”

Yes, no. All of it. Whit, you make me want to do things I’ve never even thought of. You turn me on so much. I’m not just aroused with you, but I’m safe. I know I can do or say what I think and feel, and—

He’d pressed his finger to my lips. “Don’t date anyone else,” he’d said softly. “Just be with me. I promise not to fall in love with you.”

I fell. That was all it took.

I give in. I surrender to this thing that’s bigger than me. That’s bigger than him. But that doesn’t mean I have to admit to it. As far as Whit is concerned, I’m just making up for lost time. He doesn’t need to know that I’m in love with him. What would that knowledge even do? It might frighten him off. Or worse, it might not.

No, it’s better that he thinks this is just sex. There’s no future for us.

But, gosh, I need to get it together because when my phone rings in the afternoon, and Whit’s name flashes up, my hand shakes like maracas.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” he says smoothly.

“But you rang me.” Okay, so I’m a little slow this afternoon. “Aren’t you supposed to be in meetings all afternoon?”

“Yeah, but I would’ve excused myself to take a call from you.”

“Did you used to skip meetings to take Jody’s calls?” I ask, trying to bring the conversation back to work.

“I wasn’t getting a stiff cock under the boardroom table thinking of Jody naked. Oh, what do you know. It looks like I’ve discovered the cure-all.”

“What are you talking about?” I half say, half giggle.

“The words Jody and naked in the same sentence is an erection killer. It might’ve been helpful if I’d realized that earlier, but better late than never, I suppose.”

“That’s not very complimentary.” I fill my tone with more disapproval than this silly conversation warrants.

“But it’s better for my health this way.”

“Yeah.” My agreement hits the air in a chuckle. “Jody would probably unman you for that two-word sentence alone. She told me last week that the third trimester of a pregnancy should be called the I will cut you stage.” The first is the I want a glass of chardonnay more than my next breath stage, and the second, get your hand off my bump before I snap your wrist. Being pregnant doesn’t sound much fun.

“I can’t tell if you’re playing this really cool or you just haven’t opened the box sitting on your desk.”

“I usually lean more toward dorky, I’m not sure if you’ve realized. Second, there isn’t a box sitting on my desk.”

“According to the tracking information, it’s already been delivered. You’d better get your delicious arse down to reception,” he suggests softly. “Track down your gift before someone else opens it.”

“You bought me a gift?” It’s hard to sound excited and disapproving at the same time.

“Just a little something. Something we both might enjoy.”

The soft hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle. “I hope whatever it is, it doesn’t look suspicious. If I go to reception and they hand me a banana-shaped package, I won’t be happy.”

“It’s not a banana.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So suspicious.”

Our call ends to the sound of his laughter. Of course, I know the parcel isn’t in reception because it’s sitting on his desk. I’d been distracted this morning and assumed it was for him.

I close the door to his office behind me because there is no way I’m opening that box at my desk. Who knows what might fall out. I snicker a little as I round his behemoth of a desk and pull out his chair. Sure enough, the parcel is addressed to me. I must’ve missed it, I think, as I swipe up a fancy silver letter opener that looks like it belongs on a Bridgerton set, and slice the tape. Dropping the cardboard to the floor, I pull out a gift box wrapped in pink ribbon. The box reveals sheets of white tissue paper and a tiny envelope containing a spiky, handwritten note.


Please accept these gifts as a token of my ardent desire.

I can’t wait to see you use them.


PS You’re a little too old and a lot too lovely to have only balding Barbie dolls in your toy box

I shiver, the sense of excitement and trepidation causing a wave of goose bumps to spread across my skin as I peel away the rest of the tissue to find Whit has gone a little overboard in a high-end sex shop. I pull out sex toy after sex toy, laying them on his desk in a row. After a moment of just staring at them, I order them from smallest to largest, scattering the, erm, accouterments, around the very expensive-looking phallic display. Blacks and golds, each comes in a velvety bag and a fancy name tag.

The Luna.



The Blessed Bullet and—


I hold what I’m pretty sure is known as a wand in my hand. I might not have owned sex toys because I shared a room at college, then later, my parents never once knocked before stepping into my tiny above-the-garage apartment. Not to mention Mom insisted on popping in to run the vacuum across the floor or help me out with laundry whenever I was at work. Heaven forbid I do anything that might cause me to break out in a sweat!

She’d have a fit if she saw how sex with Whit leaves me.

No, my living arrangements were not conducive to any sex toy but my hand, meaning my fingers and I are very intimately acquainted.

Where was I? Oh, right. The massive, powered schlong weighing my arm down. The wand named The Pandora, I assume because of the havoc it could wreak on your box.

Placing it down on the desk, I swipe my phone out from the pocket of my swishy skirt and take a quick snap. I send it to Whit, along with a text, as my chest moves with a burbling giggle.

Are you expanding the business? VirTu banking and sex toy parties?

Party for two?

There are enough to share, but I don’t think I’ll mention that, not on the back of our tentative agreement. Just be with me. I promise I won’t fall in love with you.

Is it too early or too late for this heart pang of regret?

He won’t fall for me, which was the point of my fake dating schtick. Maybe not the whole point, but it’s too late to try to protect myself. If I’m honest with myself, which, as a rule, I try to be, I was already fooling myself Sunday morning when I told him of my stupid plans.

But what’s done is done, and I’ve proven to myself this year that I’m a lot stronger than I look. I was strong enough to come here, to stand in the face of my parents’ fear and disappointment. I was strong enough to fight for Whit. When the time comes, I know I’ll be strong enough to walk away. My heart might break, but at that point, what difference will it make?

I forcibly push away the thoughts (compartmentalizing is my jam) as my phone vibrates. It’s in good company, I think with a snicker.

I pull it from the pocket of my shirt dress sparing a glance at all the vibratory things. Plus lube and cleaning wipes and… I’m momentarily distracted by a black satin mask.

I hope you’re not trying to find a polite way of telling me you play well with others…

What? Oh, sex toy parties. Or maybe plain old sex parties would be more Whit’s lane.

I was thinking that maybe you sent me these as some kind of trail incentive. Sort of: sign up to the VirTu banking app and we’ll make sure your banking goes with a bang!

Each one of those toys is an incentive itself, chosen to give you pleasure. Solo or otherwise.

My poor heart, my poor panties, I think as I use my index finger to straighten the tiniest of the toys as a fragment of memory flickers in my head. A little bullet for you to press to your clit when you think of me.

Also, maybe I should move you to the marketing department.

Would it be a promotion?

My phone vibrates with a call in my hand.

“You’re going nowhere.” His voice takes on a husky edge. “Unless you count riding my cock as some kind of promotion.”

“It sure is an incentive.” I find myself matching his tone.

“Bad timing,” he utters unhappily. “I was hoping to be there when your new toy box arrived.”

“Oh no.” My answer is wavery with amusement when it should be full of warning. “Between office hours, ours is a professional relationship.” Whit begins to grumble, but I just talk over him. “It’s no good complaining, these are your rules.”

“Rules are made to be broken.”

“Such a bad example to set, Mr. CEO,” I reply, picking up one of the more ergonomic sex toys. It sort of looks like a pebble and fits into the palm of my hand.

“As is my prerogative, Miss Sexy Secretary.” His stern voice sends a zing of something down my spine.

“That’s Miss Executive PA to you. Miss Sexy Executive PA, even.”

“You’re such a hot fuck, Miss Sexy Secretary. I wonder, what would you take down for me if I was there?” My body reacts viscerally to his base suggestion, a throbbing pulse running through me like the beat of a sensual drum. “And I don’t mean like memo.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I think you know,” he purrs in return. “In fact, why don’t you do it now?”

“What?” Is it me, or has someone turned off the air in here?

“Take down your underwear.”

“That sounds suspiciously like it falls under the category of shenanigans.” My voice sounds a little reedy as I drop into his extremely comfortable leather chair and literally fan my face. Vibrators and sexy talk on a weekday afternoon? The man has no boundaries. And I like it. “And as I’ve already explained, Mr bad boy CEO, I’m a good girl who doesn’t like to break the rules.”

“You lie because you’re most certainly sitting in my chair.”

“Ha! You can see all the way from across the city, can you?”

“No, but I can heard the creak of the leather.”

“So I’m not allowed to sit in your chair?” In an act of unseen defiance, I kick up my legs, placing my heels on the edge of his desk.

“Only if you promise to get the seat wet.”

“That also comes under office shenanigans.” Closing my eyes, I let the thought possess me for a beat. It’s hardly the first time I’ve imagined him bending me over his desk, only now I have a lot more to work with. I know how my name sounds groaned from his tongue, and I’m intimately acquainted with the hum of his body as he comes. I know how deliriously happy it makes me when he stiffens above me, his body shaking as though he hasn’t another ounce to give. I know how it feels to have him inside me. Oh yes. I’m intimately acquainted with Whit’s sexual voodoo.

“Live a little,” he chides. “How many times will you get to say you got yourself off in the boss’s chair?”

“If it’s up to you, probably plenty.”

His laughter is as dirty as a drain. “Seriously, though. I’m about to head back into a meeting. You must have something a little sweet to share with me. I won’t even ask you to choose your weapon.” His words trail off as the penny drops.

“You can’t mean—”

“Just use your hand for me.”

“Why don’t you just use your imagination,” I retort.

“You mean like you did when watched me in the bathroom, fucking my own fist?”

The images his words paint, the fragments of memory rising like steam. “It’s not even as if I’ll get to watch. I’ll just get to enjoy a little audio.”

“I am not masturbating in your office.” I’m not. Then why is my hand inching toward the hem of my dress?

“Start slow. Just loosen a couple of buttons on your dress. Maybe two at the top and two at the bottom.”

“I should’ve known you were up to no good this morning when you suggested I wear this.”

“When I said your tits looked wonderful, you mean? You could wear a rice sack and still look totally fuckable. Just a taste, darling. I bet the door is closed.”

“Be reasonable, Whit.” But there’s little contest in my tone.

“Let me hear those sweet moans. I’ll talk, you just listen. And play.”

“I could just pretend,” I retort in a last-minute half-assed attempt. I don’t know why I’m fighting him.

“Open your legs for me, Amelia.” He uses that tone, causing a shiver to roll down my spine. “Open your legs and take your fingers for me like a good girl.”

“This is madness,” I whisper, lifting my heels to slide my legs farther apart.

“Don’t fight it. Slide your hand inside your underwear. Are you wet?”

“Of course I’m wet,” I mutter as though I’ve been given a chore, but I’m still doing it.

“It was a rhetorical question, my love. I know you’re always so ready for me. Slide your fingers farther down. Feel how soft you are. How wet. Slide them inside, Amelia. Feel yourself pulse around them.”

“Whit stop,” I beg a little breathlessly. “I can’t, not here. Not in the office.”

“I know you want me to bend you over my desk. You’re a good girl who loves to be made to be bad. Be bad for me, Amelia. Slide those fingers into your pretty little cunt.” His words slide into a groan and everything inside me pulls tight at the sound.

“Are you…” Do I dare? “Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m at the far end of a room full of people, but all I can think about is you.”

I both love and hate that I can’t resist him as I drive my fingers hard inside. I gasp, my body bowing from the chair, making the forgotten vibrator slip to the floor.

“What was that?”

“I dropped something.” My heart hammers in my chest, the throb of it echoing between my legs.

“Better pick it up, little girl. Now,” he adds when I don’t answer. “Then slip off your knickers.”

Knickers. The name sounds so ridiculous, but I can’t help how delicious it feels growled against my skin. “Maybe I’m not wearing any.”

“You’d better be,” he says, the warning clear in his tone. “Especially as I watched you slide them on this morning.”

“Maybe I couldn’t wait for you to be bad. Maybe I started without you.”

“Fuck.” The hard fricative is all frustration. “Just wait until I get my hands on you.”

Pressing my palm against my clit, I moan. “Sounds like, for now, I’m just gonna have to use my own.”

But then the door opens and there Whit stands, looking like a cat that’s about to play with a juicy mouse.


As I wrap my fingers around the handle of my office door and push, the muscles in my chest and shoulders taut. There’s every possibility Mimi will be doing something other than what I’m imagining, like scanning her socials while pretending to indulge me. But then she wouldn’t be the most perfect girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I promised I wouldn’t fall in love with her, and I wasn’t lying. On a technicality only. I’d already fallen for her at the point I’d said that. Fallen hook, line, and painful sinker. I can’t think what comes after this. How things will work out beyond her six-month mark. I only know that I have to be with her—to try to make her see there is a chance for us. That love is worthy of that chance. The details, the who will live where and how we’ll navigate the obstacles, can come later. Even if it means bailing on more meetings and blowing up Doreen’s house.

Meanwhile, I play my part well. I’m just here to fuck her. That’s my cover. Meanwhile, I just need to figure out how to steal her heart like a thief.

As I push the door open, my aching muscles relax as I find her seated in my chair, her heels on my desk… and her hand pressed between her legs. She jerks upright, instinctually closing her legs.

Probably because you’ve still got the door open, dickhead.

“Stay where you are.” I slip into the room, closing it behind me before sliding the lock closed. “Well, Miss Valente. What have we here?” Despite sounding like I’m a truncheon and a funny helmet away from a bobby on the beat, the sight of her almost takes my breath away. Such a stunning vignette, one hot enough to make any police officer’s truncheon ache.


Her panic feels like a blessing and gives me an idea.

“That’s Mr. Boss Man to you, Miss Valente.” I drop my voice and octave, making my tone very stern.

“Oh.” She catches on to my direction quickly, her smile so brief it would’ve been easy to miss… say, if you were staring at her tits. Her top two buttons of her shirt dress have come loose unless she’d unbuttoned them. The second prospect is much hotter, but I don’t mind which is the culprit.

“So this is what you do when left to your own devices.” My stance wide, I fold my arms across my chest as I stare at her, my expression severe. “I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to HR.”

“Oh, please, no,” she says breathily as her feet slide from my desk. “Please don’t report me.” She tilts her head demurely as she slides her phone into her pocket, unable to hide the amusement in her gaze. “I can’t lose my position here.”

So much emphasis on the word position. So many options.

“What sort of boss would I be if I allowed you to squander company time, Miss Valente?”

“A kind one. Compassionate?”

“Kindness doesn’t keep us in business.”

“Please, sir. Don’t report me.”

Fuck, she pleads so beautifully. I wonder how many times she’s watched something similar in porn.

“It goes against everything I stand for.” I bring my hand to my chin as though torn. “Despite the very hard case you’re making.”

“Hard. Yes, of course it is.” Her eyes dip pointedly. “Only, I’m so desperate for this… position.”

My mouth tips. I can’t help it. Such innuendo. Such fluttery subservience.

“I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” The word comes out in a low rumble as though she’s caught me off guard—as though we haven’t both been waiting for this since I stepped through the door.

“Yes, sir.” She nods, her gaze rain filled. “Just tell me what I can do to make this better. To make it up to you.”

Fuck, yes. “You know what I’m going to say.” I stalk across the office, shedding my jacket and dumping it on the sofa as I pass.

“No, I don’t.” She shakes her head in denial, her chest rising and falling in tight little breaths as I draw to a stop in front of her.

“No, sir.” Along with the correction, I slide the backs of my knuckles over her breast. “You’ve done something wrong, and you need to be punished. Doubly so.” My gaze drops to the floor, where one of the vibrators seems to have been dropped. “Mistreatment of merchandise. Pick it up.”

Her gray eyes flare, wide and expectant, and she laughs a little. Nervousness mixed with anticipation. But bends and swipes it up.

“Take out one of the wipes and clean it.”

Confusion ripples across her face as she reaches for the packet, tearing it open.

“Clearly, you don’t deserve nice things.”

“No, sir.” She holds out the vibrator, cradled in her palm.

“Put it on the desk with the others, then take off your underwear.”

“Here?” She pauses in the act of setting it down next to the others, her big, innocent eyes blinking back at me. “While you watch?”

In answer, I hold out my right hand.

“I’m sorry, sir.” She angles her gaze away as I notice she’s lined up the vibrators in size order. “I don’t understand. Specifically which bit of my underwear?” As she turns back to face me, her hand is a teasing slide into the already open neck of her dress.

“The tiny strip of lace barely covering your delicious pussy.” But I know what she’s angling for as I lean closer, my answer a rough whisper in her ear. “Take off your knickers, you naughty girl.”

“Oh, shivers!” She gives a little shimmy, and her smile reins free.

“Hurry now, Miss Valente. Slip them off and hand them over. Phone,” I add in a bark.” Hand outstretched, I curl my fingers inward. Give. “No doubt you were using it to talk filth to someone.”

“Yes, I was.” As she reaches for her pocket, she ducks her head, but I see her amusement, anyway. “I think maybe he needs punishing, too.”

“Not my concern,” I mutter, glancing at her dress pointedly. “Do I have to strip you myself?”

Her hands immediately slip under the hem of her dress, and I spot a flash of pink lace.

“An unproductive worker and a liar to boot.”

She lifts her gaze but not her head as she realizes what I mean. “You didn’t really expect to find me walking around bared-assed, did you?”

Catching her chin in my hand, I raise her head. “What I didn’t expect to find was you sitting in my chair, rubbing your pussy.” A blush immediately tints her cheeks. “But now that I have, I hope to see it again. Maybe from a closer vantage point.”

“You are so bad.”

“No, Miss Valente. You’re the one in trouble here. Surely a man of my position shouldn’t be required to supervise you every minute of your day.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To watch me.” There’s so much encouragement in her reply, but I don’t break character.

“You can’t even pretend to be contrite. I can see I’ll need to force you to see the error of your ways. Punish you for your behavior.”


“No need to answer.” I release her chin. “Take off your underwear.”

“Here?” Big, innocent eyes blink back at me. “While you watch?”

In answer, I hold out my hand. “Hurry, Miss Valente. Hand them over.”

I spot the ghost of her smile as she ducks her head, slipping her hands under the hem of her dress. A moment and a suggestive wiggle later, something pink and lacy slides down her legs.

“Sir.” She passes the warm fabric to my hand, a spark of electricity passing between us as our fingers inadvertently touch.

“Bend over the desk, Miss Valente.”

“What?” Is it nerves or excitement that makes her voice wobble?

“Press your palms on the desk and bend over this end.” I point at a spot away from my chair.

She does this without a word of complaint, bringing the vibrators into her immediate line of sight. “I feel so…”


“Now that you mention it.” She swallows audibly.

“Do you think you’ll have a favorite?”

“I guess I won’t know until I try them out.”

“All of them. But not at once. “This one,” I say, leaning over her but not quite allowing my body to touch hers. “I think it’ll be this one.” I put down her phone and rest my finger on the bag containing the wand. She immediately begins to giggle and splutter her denials.

“It looks like something to work the kinks out of your shoulders.”

“Oh, I think there’s no working the kinks out of you.” I pull away, and the soles of my shoes scrape against the floor as I study her from several vantage points.

“What are you doing?” She glances over her shoulder, her gaze skating down my body, bold and possessive. I fucking love the way her eyes stick on the way my pants tent. I palm myself as I step closer.

“I’m staring at your delectable arse.” I lift the back of her dress higher with a deliberate gentleness. Folding it across her back, I run my hand over the roundness as she gasps. Her tension unfurls in a long sigh as I slide them along her bare pussy. “Wondering when you’ll let me fuck it.” I almost feel her flutter against my hand. “Open wider for me, Miss Valente. Let me see what I have to work with.”

“This is a strange punishment,” she whispers as she steps her feet wider.

“This part is just for my enjoyment.” My hand slices through the air, the connection of my palm making her flesh quiver. “That was part of yours.”


“Say thank you.”

“For what—”

I slide two fingers inside her pussy, and the way she groans feels like a lick to the underside of my balls.

“I’ve barely touched you, and you’re making such a mess of my fingers. It looks like I’ll have to work harder to make you more contrite.” I press my fingers deeper, twisting my hand at the wrist. She begins to whimper and thrusts back against my hand. “What was that?”

“I said I’m s-sorry, sir. Please don’t stop.”

“This.” My fingers slip wetly away as I lean over her a second time, pulling a notepad and pencil from across my desk. My fingers glisten with her silky pleasure as I scratch out a note. “Read it,” I instruct, sliding it to face her. For all my formal commands, I can’t help but graze my mouth over the corner of hers. She smiles shyly, and the flash of that gap between her teeth makes me feel like I could climb inside her. I’ve had a lot of sex. Fucked a lot of women in a lot of places (holes and otherwise), but I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. It’s like I can feel it in my guts and bones, the gnawing sensation that I’ll never have enough of her. She feels like home. She feels like she belongs to me.

And she will, but I turn down the volume on my consciousness for now.

“Go on, little fly. Read.”

“I must not touch myself when I’m at work.” I hear her swallow. Imagine her licking her lips. It makes me wonder which part of that turns her on—the doing or the getting caught?—it makes me wonder if her pussy is pulsing emptily. “Not without permission.”

“Well done.” I bring my hand down on her right bum cheek, hard and fast.


“Read it again.”

“I must not… jeez!” My second slap turns her skin a fresh pink. “I must not t-touch myself when I’m at work.” My third a slightly sharper sting and causes her to suck in sharply. I don’t worry that it might’ve been too much as she picks up where she left off in a breathy tone. “Without an audience.”

“Without permission,” I correct, taking her flesh in both my hands. I squeeze and need, relishing her moans as she drops her head. And that answers my earlier question. “Freudian slip, my love?”

“Without my boss as an audience.” Her words are muffled as she drops her forehead to the desk, pressing back into my hands.

“And anyone in the vicinity who might happen to use a telescope.”

“What?” Her head jerks up, her worried glance sliding over her shoulder.

I use my hand to turn her head. “Keep going.”

“I must not…”

I know she hears the soft zvvt of my zipper, the rest of her words slightly garbled as I press the head to the very center of her.

“I must not—”

It’s as far as she gets before I drive myself home with a lust-soaked groan.

“Oh yes!” Her hips rock back, chasing my retreat, and I don’t fucking know where to put my hands. The curve of her hip? The swell of her arse. I want it all. I want to touch, own, devour as I begin to fuck her solidly.

“Read,” I growl, slapping her arse again, making her internal walls greedy.

“I must not… oh, you feel so big.”

“Compliments are unnecessary. This isn’t about your enjoyment.”

She stretches like a cat beneath me, the paper still held between her two hands. I pull back at the sight of her, my cock hard and glistening between us.

Fuck!” With a snap of my hips, I drive myself inside her, my fingers leaving red marks on her hips. “The words, Amelia. Read the fucking words.”

“I must not… I must not… Oh, I think I’m going to.”

I press my palm flat next to her head and cover her body with mine. “Your position here depends on you coming only when I tell you to.”

“Oh God, Whit. I don’t think I can.”

“Yes. Yes, you can. Concentrate,” I grate out.

In profile, her gaze seems to turn inward, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as I continue to fuck her, slow and steadily.

“That’s it, good girl. I knew you could do it.” God, that fucking blush will be the end of me. “But can you do it like this?” Reaching for the clitoral vibe she’s just cleaned, I flick it on, and cradling it in my palm, I press it between her legs.

“Fuck!” she cries, crumpling the paper as she almost collapses under me.

I actually laugh out loud, the sound breaking free from my chest with absolutely pure fucking delight. “So that’s what it takes to get you to curse?” I drive myself inside her again. “Fucking technology.”

“L… l… literally?”

“Clitorally,” I amend, slipping the softly pointed end deeper.

“Oh. Oh. Oh!”

“No coming. Not until I say so.”

“Can’t… fuck! Sh… shiver my timbers!”

I laugh again. Laugh and fuck and pressure her joyously. This is the best way ever to spend a weekday afternoon. Of course, as though the thought summons reality, her phone dances across the desk. As name flashes up on screen, an evil thought skitters from my brain. Reaching out, I accept the call and flick it to loudspeaker.

“No!” Amelia whines, dropping her head.

“Mimi?” Brin’s voice drifts out from the speaker. “Are you okay?”

“I’m f-f finnne.” Her answer stutters with my thrusts. I’ll say she is. “I just dropped something.”

“Yeah,” I whisper in her ear. “The f-bomb.”

“Oh, okay,” Brin answers. “I’m just calling to apologize for not turning up on Monday.”

Monday? What Monday? Using my middle finger, I press the clit vibrator hard against her and give another flex of my hips.

“Are you still there?”

“Mm-hmm.” The noise carries, despite how she seems to be biting her forearm.

“I meant for coffee. I was going to take you for one of those cakes, remember?”

The hostility drops out of me because I’ve already beat him to it. I’ve beat him to all the things.

“I remember,” she squeaks. “No worries. That’s okay. Sorry, I have to go now. I’m kind of in the middle of something big!”

“Yeah, you are,” I assert as her finger ends the call. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Can I? Please,” she begs desperately.

“Come for me, sexy little secretary.”

With that, she arches her back and very thoroughly begins to milk my cock for all it’s worth.

Turns out, it’s not worth much more as white heat barrels down my spine. I give a strangled moan that sounds like her name that heat jets from my cock. It’s a good thing my brain and mouth are uncoordinated as I pitch forward and almost collapse on top of her because all I can think is mine.

She’s mine. All mine. She just doesn’t know it.


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