The Interview (The Whittingtons, #1)

by Donna Alam

“I won’t flatter you like the spider,” he murmurs, “but I might let you come when I eat you later.”

“That’s it,” Whit encourages, and oh my God, I know I shouldn’t be turned on by his praise, but I am. “You’re such a good little slut for me.”

week. About how good Mimi Valente’s nails felt pressing into the skin of my forearm. How fucking amazing it was to watch her come all over my fingertips.

how perfectly she followed instructions and how beautiful she looked as she unraveled, gripping my arm and pulsing against my fingertips.

She sighs, and I try not to notice how her chest rises and falls with the action. Try and fail. I’m a pervert. Too old for her. And then there’s the promise I made to her dead brother. Oh, so that’s the antidote to my stiffening cock. Good to know.

“I’m resourceful and innovative and an independent thinker. I’m proactive, and I work well under pressure,” she continues, leaning closer, her gaze solemn and her tone passionate. “I’m a hard worker, creative and detail-orientated. I can work on my own initiative, but I take instructions well, too.” Dead brother, dead brother, I begin to silently chant as my cock perks up, beginning to pay attention. “Given time, I think you’ll come to appreciate having me around.” And that’s what I’m worried about. “I’m very thorough. I never leave a job half done.” Fuck, I’m half done. The dead brother trick didn’t last long.

“I am. I am so, so curious. Especially in light of recent developments. You see, I have this insatiable”—his eyes flare—“curiosity.”

“Oh, we passed inappropriate a few miles back,” I argue. “A few days back. Inappropriate was when I lifted my skirt because you told me to. Inappropriate was when you slid your hand between—”

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t be anywhere near me. Because every time you step into my office, I won’t see you professionally. I’ll be remembering how wet and warm you felt. How your body bent for me. And every time your mouth moves, I’ll hear the sounds falling from your lips and think of how exquisite you are when you come.”

I’m wrong. Wrong for wanting to bend her over my desk in nothing but a garter belt and stockings. Wrong and such a cliché.

I was holding a cucumber, and he said, ‘ah, a lonely lady’s favorite companion.’”

Meanwhile, I wince at the sharp ping of the elastic on my wrist because her wrists are not made to be pinned to my bed. Thwap! I do it once more because I’m looking at her arse again. This time, the bright-blue rubber snaps. Was it a sign? Probably. A sign that I’m going to need a lot more rubber bands.

“I can’t think what job you want dressed like that.” “Can’t you?” “What is it you want to do?” His low spoken words feel like a taunt, and my heart seems to be in my throat as I answer, “You.” He freezes—not one muscle of his seems to move. Panic floods my system, my mind flicking over a dozen ways to take it back. I need a joke to steer this back on course, some kind of time machine to make it go away. He’s my boss. My pseudo-big brother. I’m nothing but his PA. A friend of the family. But then he pushes languidly from the door and begins to move toward me, those tiger’s eyes of his unrepentantly staring at my ass. He comes to a stop, not beside me but behind me. I force myself to turn my head over my shoulder. God, those eyes. So full of heat and dirty promises.

“My God, you’re so hard.” The recognition is a throb of desire between my legs.

“Whit.” I press my hand over his and pull it from between my legs. His eyes darken as I lift it to brush a kiss to the back of his fingers. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I’ve wanted you.” Clasping it flat to my stomach, I slide his fingers into my panties, curling my hand over his. “You were the first boy I touched myself to. The one I held all boys up against.” And they never stood a chance. “The night I lost my virginity, you were the one I imagined.” It’s hardly complimentary to Adam whatever his name was, but there really was no other way for it to play out. “Jesus Christ.” His hand tightens on my pussy as though in ownership, my hips tipping as my body wills him instinctively on.

“You prance around my office, looking like sunshine and smelling like flowers, dressed in your tight skirts and sensible blouses. But underneath, underneath you’re a hot little fuck in gossamer lingerie.” Gathering my arousal, he paints it across my clit. “Admit it,” he demands, “you’ve gotten your kicks hiding all this from me.” “Oh God, yes!”

“You take my fingers so beautifully. Will you throb as hard around my cock?”

“Feel how hard I am,” I rasp, pressing it tighter. My balls tighten as the animal in me strains to take over. “You did this to me. You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Oh God!” she cries out as I finally inhale her swollen clit. “Oh, Whit!” Her hands reach for my head again before they drop back to the bed.

“Please, please, put your mouth on my clit. Suck on it—fuck me! I’ll come so hard for you, I promise. Just please let me!”

She is a gift. A fucking gift.

She’s so—Jesus! I’m not sure a word has been invented for how her body feels wrapped around me. Hot. Tight. Silky. All those words and more. Buried to my hilt, inside her, she pulses around me. Her hands scrabble at my back as I withdraw, her fingers almost piercing as, with a snap of my hips I drive into her again, my grunt countering her cry.

I groan, undulating above her, not daring to move. “Amelia, I can feel you coming around my cock.”

His shoulders over me, blocking out the light, made me feel so small. The way he’d moved inside me, he owned me in those moments. The taut length of his neck, his expression almost pained as he’d pressed himself to me, undulating as he’d reached his climax.

Because every time we’d settle, skin flushed and a little breathless, Whit might throw his arm around me or maybe my leg would be over his thigh. We’d snuggle—yeah, snuggle. There’d be whispers in the dark, then tiny strokes that would ignite. Before long, we’d be back to that rolling, raging inferno of can’t get enough.

“It’s not a competition.” I reach for my mimosa. “And even if it was,” I say, putting it back down. “You’ve already won.” “Yeah?”

“You won before he’d even set eyes on me. You won again when you ordered me lunch that day, and when you made sure I got home when my skirt split. I’m not interested in your brother, Whit. There is no competition.”

Dark amusement skitters up my chest. No. That’s not what this is. “You’re having second thoughts?” Even as the words leave my mouth, my brain contradicts the possibility. I made her come so hard she lost the power of speech. She went to sleep at least once on my chest, her expression one of bliss.

“I’ve never slept around.” Her hair swishes as she shakes her head. “If you want the truth, I’ve never had another man make me feel the way you do.” She inhales deeply, as though fortifying herself, her gaze lifting to mine. “I’ve never had another man make me come.”

“What are you doing?” she asks nervously. “I would’ve thought that was obvious.” Another button, and again. “But in case it’s not, I’m about to remind you why you’ll only come for me.” Parting the sides of the shirt a little wider, I press my lips to the warm skin of her breastbone. “You can tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Are you going to eat it or torment me?” It doesn’t sound at all like a complaint. “Eat it or eat you, should be the question.”

“Good answer.” I bite back a grin. “Open wide, sweetheart.” I slide my fingers into her mouth, my cock aching as she sucks on them. Licks them clean.

“I’m going to send you off on each of your little dates with my cum dripping between your legs.”

“You look so beautiful riding me.” My tempo increases with his compliments, my thighs beginning to sting as I work myself over him. “Fuck yes, fuck me harder. Like that. Fuck me until I tell you to stop.” “Oh God, stop—stop talking before my head explodes.” “Don’t stop until Daddy tells you to,” he adds with an unrepentant grin. “Fuck!” He draws the expletive out on a groan as my body bows, my walls contracting around him. “No denying how much you love the sound of that.”

His hands slide up my back, curling around my shoulders, his grunt countering my cry as he thrusts up into me. “Come on, Amelia. Fuck Daddy like you want to.”

I wasn’t supposed to feel like this about him. It was just supposed to be sex—his heart and his feelings weren’t supposed to be my concern.

I shrug. Whatever. Secretly, I’m thrilled. “You’re like sunshine, you know.” “Bright and cheerful?” I reply with a tiny preen. “Deceptively dangerous. Something tells me if I’m not careful, you’ll leave me burned.”

As she opens her mouth to respond, I press my teeth to her neck in reprimand, or maybe encouragement as she makes the kind of breathy moan that makes my dick rock hard.

The event that springs to mind is the one that got me into trouble in the first place. It was after such a gathering that I’d found I was pleasuring—fingering?—the sister of my deceased best friend instead of the woman I’d anticipated.

Our eyes lock, but he doesn’t smile, the moment too dark for flippancy as he pushes inside. Whit grates out a sound, though it might’ve easily been me, the shock of being so full of him is so sinfully delicious. He rolls his hips, then thrusts harder, pleasure radiating through me, my body clenching a greeting around him. “Oh Jesus,” he groans in a plea for mercy. “Do that again.”

He groans, thrusting firmly, changing tempo at once. This time, he offers me no mercy, which is just the way I want it as I meet him cry for thrust. An exquisite tension builds inside, the intensity mounting and twisting with the collision of skin. Higher and higher it spirals, pushing all the air from my chest until I come loudly, my mind fragmenting, my body flexing and arching through its chemical release.

I duck my head to hide my smile, knot my hand in the waistband of his pants and hop down from my stool. My happiness is easier to hide as he wraps his arms around me. My insides turn to goo at the low “hmmm” he makes as I bury my nose in his T-shirt.

“You’re really weird.” “No, gorgeous, I’m hard.” His hand covers mine, sliding it between us to where his sweatpants already leave little to the imagination. “Commando,” I whisper, rubbing my palm against the head. “Great minds think alike.” Before he’s finished speaking, I find myself twirled and bent over the island. The marble is cool under my palms, Whit’s hands hot on the cheeks of my ass, sliding the loose sweatpants down before his hands drag liquid fire up the back of my legs.

I want more sensation. More pleasure than pain. I want this to be a prelude more than anything, but I can’t find the words. How do you form words for something you can’t comprehend? Instead, I fall back on what I know works for us as I turn and press my aching breasts against the marble. Lowering my head, I stretch my arms out in front of me like a supplicant. Or someone who’d just offered herself on a platter as I whisper, “Please, Daddy. I need you.”

He fills me again and again, his hand curled around my shoulder to keep me in place as he gives and gives. As my body receives. My pleasure registers somewhere outside of me, sounds that are hardly feminine, rough sighs and sharp gasps, whispered encouragements that overlay Whit’s masculine grunts. And then it happens—I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am because there is no soft buildup, just a burst dam of sensation that fractures through me as my fingers scrabble against the counter as though it could keep me from falling.

Is she upset? Regretting it? Fuck knows I didn’t spank her as hard as I wanted to. The thought of her being with someone else made me want to paddle her arse hard.

Fuck, she looks like a dessert. Like a crème brulée. Sweet-scented and sugary, but deliciously decadent underneath. She makes me want to roll my tongue over every inch of her. Her pussy is the bowl of cake batter I want to lick clean.

“Don’t be. I really like how you are with me.” “How am I with you?” I pull back and note how her eyes look like hazy, smoked glass. “Demanding. Spontaneous. You make my head dizzy and my insides kind of fizzy when you’re near.”

If I’m going to hell, I might as well make it worth it as I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, registering her wide eyes the second before I press my lips to her ear. “I really want to see you touch yourself.” I want to taste that little gasp and swallow her soft moan. “I want a replay of those moments when you bought yourself lingerie in my name.” “I don’t know—” “Yes, you can, darling. You’ll do it for Daddy.” “You are a wicked, wicked man.” “And you are slut for the d-word.” “I just don’t get it. It’s not like anyone would look at us and think is he her dad or her daddy? It’s not like you’re that much older than me.” “Daddy is a mindset, darling. It doesn’t come with age restrictions.” “Daddy is…” Her eyes slide over me avariciously. “So hot on you.”

Don’t make a hole in your life for me. I’m not going to be here long enough to fill it.