“And use it,” he adds.
“Yes.” I sound a bit breathy, because I wouldn’t object to him using me.
True, my experience of this sort of thing is precisely zero.
But Mr Anderson?
Welp. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d made me suck him off to get this job. I’d love it. I’d do it with sloppy and inexperienced enthusiasm. I’d try to make it as good for him as I could, with every tip from a glossy magazine and smutty novel. Those things I’ve read and wondered about the actual practicality of doing. Covering my teeth. Being intimidated by a man’s size. I’m not big, just five-foot-six. He’s so huge, I bet he’d barely fit.
I wonder if he’dmake metake it.
My pussy clenches on nothing and before I can stop myself, my thighs press together, and a short pant has escaped my lips.
“Good girl,” he replies, and this smile is softer, sweeter and makes me melt like chocolate spread on warm toast. And the words.Good girl?
I will not cry with happiness that I’m his good girl in these precious seconds. I’ve never been anyone’s good girl.
Have I ever actually pleased anyone before?
What would it be like to have Mr Anderson smile and call me his good girl when I’d satisfied him in bed?
Good grief, I have lost it. And yet, I still press my thighs together and savour the pulse of pleasure that flares out from my core.
“Thank you.” The attempt to sound normal and not as though I’m fantasising about my boss—my new, older boss who is being so generous in giving me an opportunity—fails.
Dragging my gaze away, I peer into the box, blindly taking in the mug, employee handbook, a pack of red cherry and purple grape-flavoured lollipops, and forms to fill in.
My mind isn’t so easily distracted. He could bend me over the desk. That sort of thing happens in movies, doesn’t it?
Panic seizes at my heart. What if the subject of my desperate crush is married? How awful. Subtly, I look to the side, swivelling only my eyes until I can see his left hand.
My chest relaxes infinitesimally. No ring.
Some men don’t wear a ring though. And although Mr Anderson is so freaking hot, he could crook his forefinger and narrow those violet eyes and every woman’s knickers within a ten-mile radius would melt, I bet he doesn’t. He has this strict control about him. If he were married, I bet he’d be faithful.
That’s a good thing. For his wife, present or future.
Bitch. I hate her.
I’ve lost it. One hour-long interview with Mr Anderson and a job offer, and every cell in my body thinks he’s mine.
“Do you have any questions?”
Are you married? Would you marry me and give me babies? Could I be your precious toy? Your beloved whore? Can I suck your dick, and would you make me choke on it and my eyes water?Please, please, please could you never get married so I can watch you and kid myself that one day you could lookmy way and use me. Just once. Would you take my virginity and tug my hair and call me your good girl?
“Can I start tomorrow?” I think of that luxurious apartment then my brain stutters. I have to go to the bank, I have to buy proper clothes. I can’t work here in this shiny office, in myOne More ChapterT-shirt, and naked beneath my shorts.
“Why?” he snaps, brows lowering.
Yikes. He’s terrifying when he’s serious. But it’s the delicious, tingly type of fear darting down my back. Like a scary movie.
“I need to run some errands. Sort something out with the bank and…” I trail off. Buy some new clothes so I’m not a girl in a pair of cut-offs in his fancy glass and metal office.
“Tomorrow then. You’ll have a desk in here with me.”
How am I ever going to get any work done with my hot boss nearby? “Yes, Mr Anderson.”
His mouth twitches into a smile, and it lights his eyes, and all the scariness dissipates. A soft, generous smile. “Kane. Please.”
