The Interview (The Whittingtons, #1)

by Donna Alam

Inappropriate was when I lifted my skirt because you told me to. Inappropriate was when you slid your hand between—”

“I don’t want to turn the clock back.” Relief rushes through me at the admission I thought I’d never hear. “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.”

The answer is fuck yes. I can’t stop thinking about all that I could show her. I can’t stop imagining it, and I just… can’t.

I blink, glance up, then scowl as I notice Mimi standing on the threshold to my office. And here comes the start of another hard-on.

“Shut the door and come in, for God’s sake. I’m not going to bite you.”

She crosses the space between us, coming to a stop at one of the Le Corbusier chairs placed on the opposite side of my desk, close enough for me to see the tiny pearls she wears in her ears but far enough away not to be tormented by her scent. Frangipani, sunshine, and holidays. It sounds ridiculous, but since her car confessional, I’ve tried very hard not to be within sniffing distance. The scent of her makes me want to press my nose into her skin.

Uncross your legs, darling. That’s it. Press your knees nice and wide. Slide your skirt a little higher. Let me watch you grow wet with my words.