The Interview (The Whittingtons, #1)

by Donna Alam

Warmth floods between my legs, and I’m pretty sure I whimper. “Such a pretty sound.” I feel the loss of his heat immediately as he leans away again. “Hurry now. Show Daddy what he wants.” If show me made me warm, Daddy feels like a burst of wildfire across my skin. Why that flutters my button, I don’t know, but I do know Daddy Whit is so freakin’ hot.

“You’re such a good little slut for me.” That. I’m not into that. No way. Except for right now

“I’m not going to shove her anywhere,” I mutter as I imagine her expression as I shove her on—full of?—something very hard and very specific.

I must make some kind of noise or reaction because then his low voice rumbles, “Behave yourself.” Not even! No way! Not when I’m this close to exploding again. Yep, that’s what I said xxx-plode.

How old is she again? It’s me. I’m the office pervert. I am so, so screwed.

She smiles a little provocatively before bestowing Stefano, the server, with a dazzling smile. The kind that inexplicably makes me want to punch him in the face.

“We can’t have this conversation. It’s inappropriate on so many fucking levels.” “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—” “Jesus Christ, will you stop!”

I also don’t believe him. I was there. I saw the way he watched me. Sensed his desire through his fingertips.

“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.” A blush runs across my skin, my eyelashes fluttering as I take this all in. That right there sounds like a beautiful sort of work-life balance.

“And you’re just a tease.” My stomach turns to a lump of fucking concrete. Is she flirting with him? “Am I?” Brin asks with a chuckle I think I might ram down the back of his throat. With my fist.

“They do the best canelés,” he adds, not giving her the opportunity to brush him off gently. “Cannolis?” “No.” He gives a soft laugh. “Canelés,” he says, pretending he’s a native Parisienne.

Suddenly, she looks like the cat that licked the cream. She draws her foot up the bed and drops her knee provocatively. “I can be good, Whit. In fact, I think I can be really good. Ditch the condom, Daddy. I have the implant.” I don’t answer, at least, not immediately. I think my heart might’ve stopped working for a second. Skipped a few beats? Fuck her bare; did I just hear that right?

“People who get out of bed with a smile on their face are to be treated with suspicion.”

“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.”

“Come on, Amelia. Fuck Daddy like you want to.”

Maybe there’s a class they teach somewhere. Driving: How to Make it Look Hot. It shouldn’t be sexy watching him reverse.

Doreen’s lesser fans takes me aside to tell me I ought to protect “young Amelia’s impressionable mind” because Doreen is a “goer” and a “man stealer.” Apparently, all the men of a certain age in this borough know Doreen can “suck a golf ball through a garden hose.” Might it be a family trait?

“I am not having a Julia Robert’s moment with you,” she says, trying to snatch back her hand. “Is that the one where she gets fucked on the piano?” “Whit!” she castigates in a shocked whisper. “I thought I was Daddy?” My own volume carries. “No—no it’s not. You are not my daddy⁠—” “You say that now but…”

“I’m beginning to think you’re the kind of person who, when faced with a red flag, just sprinkles glitter on it.”

“Prompt number two says, ‘dating me is like… taking a mouthful of water and finding out it’s actually vodka. Surprise!’ Anal,” he adds in a low murmur. “What? It does not say… say that!” I make to grab my phone when he holds it out of my reach again. “If Greg is the kind of bloke to give you vodka when you ask for water, he’s definitely not going to think twice about trying to shove his dick up your arse with an ‘oops, wrong hole!’”

“This arse.” He spreads his fingers wide as though to maximize the contact. “This arse was made to be fucked by me.” I guess I must squeak as he adds, “Yes, fucked, Amelia. I’ll worship this arse when you give it to me.”

“Use your mouth for something other than back talk, Amelia. Tell me you understand that if you want me to fuck you, you just have to ask.”

“Look how wet this makes you.” A brush. A promise. The sight of his fingers, silky with my arousal. “Stop talking.” “I don’t think I will. In fact, I have an idea.” His hand strokes as though painting art on a canvas. “I’ll send you out on your little dates with my cum dripping between your legs, and I’ll⁠—” It’s almost as though I hear the sound of his hand moving through the air the second before it impacts. “Oh!” “Spank you for deserting me when you get home.”

“Please, Daddy. I need you.” “What do you need? Be more specific.” “I need you to fuck me.” “That wasn’t hard now, was it?” “It had better be—oh!”

“Fuck, yes. That’s it,” Whit growls, his body pressed tight and undulating against mine. “Who gets to fuck you, Amelia? Who is it that fucks you so well?”

In my hands, she feels so good. All soft skin and womanly curves, but it’s more than that. I want her with a strength that frightens me. I want to keep her, bind her to me. I want to make her happy. Be her mornings and her evenings. Her friend and her lover, her shield and her confidant. I love her so much I want to keep her forever.

My raspy voice brims with all the things that I can’t yet say. How I want her to be by my side always, how my hands can’t touch enough, how my heart can’t love enough as I clasp and knead her body, pulling her closer.

“Give me this chance, darling. I will love you fiercely. Constantly. Inventively.” She laughs again, her walls gripping me like a glove. “I will give you more love than you’ll ever need. I will worship you eternally.”