some kind of secretary or ass-kissing position.”
Hannah sighs. “Ah, professional ass-kisser. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
We crack up. “Honestly, though, this is a great opportunity. I know that I’m ready, but I’m still nervous.”
“Good,” Hannah says. “Welcome to the real world.”
I frown, playing with a fishtail braid I keep doing and undoing. “I do get nervous, you know. Just not for minor things.”
“Being nervous for the first date with the Most Handsome Man Alive is not a minor thing.” I can hear the ice in Hannah’s voice, even though she’s now happily dating Roger, AKA the Most Handsome Man Alive.
“Sorry,” I say. “Different things freak us out, I think.”
“Have you ever gotten freaked out over a guy?” she asks.
“Nope, not since James stood me up for that Grade Eight dance, and I don’t plan to start now. Anyway, how’s Anchovy doing?” I’m surprised I forgot about my cute little fat ferret for this long.
“Escaping every other hour, sneaking into Giselle’s and pissing her off,” Hannah informs me.
“Our dearly beloved neighbor hasn’t moved out yet?”
“She’ll never move out. She exists to spite us.”
“Well, you did get promoted over her. And didn’t Anchovy shit all over her Peruvian rug that one time she tried smacking him with a broom?”
We crack up, although I yawn mid-way through. “Think I should get some sleep. I basically got none last night.”
“I know, I was there. But yeah—you have a good sleep. We’ll talk soon. Good luck with your awesome new job and sexy new boss. If you decide to jump his bones, I want details!”
“Han!” I hiss, but, laughing, she’s already hung up.
“Jump his bones,” I mutter to myself ruefully.
Although the thought had crossed my mind, even during the interview itself—Greyson Storm is six feet four inches of dark-haired sculpted gorgeousness—I’m here for the job. Sex would just get in the way.
I close my eyes and slow my breathing. Now, if I could just get a good few hours of shut-eye…
I open them to a hand on my shoulder. It’s Greyson. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Yeah?” I say.
A smile plays at the corner of his lips. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Although I’m less sure as soon as he’s beside me. He smells… attractive, and I’m not a scent girl. Neither did I think a guy smelling like pine would be at all a turn-on, but here I am, biting at the inside of my lip to avoid practically drooling over his alluring scent.
Then there’s how he’s sitting, legs sprawled lazily so that they touch mine. His voice is equally lazy as he speaks to me, although he doesn’t as much as look my way. “You sure you’re up to this?”
Something tells me he’s not talking about the job.
“What are you doing?” I ask, craning my neck.
I don’t see anyone nearby, and the overhead lights are down, meaning most people are probably asleep, but still…
Next thing I know, his hand has slid over casually, his voice a murmur: “What you want me to.”
His fingers slowly trace the outline of my thighs, up and down, up and down.
I sink back into my seat, don’t manage to fully swallow back the groan coming out of my throat. Oh, it feels good alright.
But are we really doing this?
A sidelong glance catches his, and he just smirks. I smirk on back. Fuck this guy, new boss/Greyson Storm or no.
If he wants to play this game, we’ll play it.
My hand grabs for his cock, finds it hard.
My eyes meet his with a challenge—How do you like it now?
His other hand grabs mine, while his thigh-resting one strokes up, higher and higher, applying more and more pressure, until he presses the firm pads of his fingers into… there.
Fuck. Yeah, I’m wet.
I don’t bother fighting his other hand as it moves mine away from his cock. What he’s doing now, where he’s touching me, feels too damn good.
Although something flits at the edge of my consciousness, half-remembered, yet still annoyingly important.
“What about…” I begin.
He presses a finger to my lips. “Shh.”
His other fingers slip under my velour track pants and press into the wet of my panties.
I arch my back as a moan rolls out of my throat. My eyes flutter shut. Goddamn does it feel good.
His fingers press and swirl and dip under the wet satin. Until they’re all under, playing with my opening, until they’re…
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter.
Inside me. He flits his finger in and out expertly, and I can feel myself getting close. The problem is my groans: they keep