"I-uh-I was hoping to find you," she says. "These are great photos."
"Those are my parents. They're dead."
"I'm so sorry," she says.
"Don't be. It happened years ago."
The way she's looking at me right now makes me want to press my lips to hers. I want to take her over my shoulder in animalistic lust. I'm already mentally undressing her. Can you blame me?
It takes me a moment to remember that we're both standing here in my office. Her hand is on my chest, and she keeps it there. My heartbeat increases with anticipation.
I should let go of her hips-I should walk away-maybe help her out of the building and into her car or something. I'm now her employer. This should be the one woman I don't go for-she's an Illicit Entertainment employee now. I have enough of those women around here. And yet …
But I don't move. For some reason, I remain in that position. I can't seem to help myself. There's a moment of silence before I speak.
"I see you like the parents, but what about this mug shot?" I ask with a smile, pointing to my face.
"Not bad, I suppose," she says with a smirk. "Those lips of yours are looking especially delicious right now." As she says this, she brings one hand up to my face and brushes her fingers across my bottom lip, tracing its edges. My cock twitches at her advancement. I'm already growing hard under her slight touches.
"You'd be surprised what these lips can do," I say.
"You think so?"
"I know so," I reply, my eyes locked on hers. Our gaze intensifies, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. The room feels at least ten degrees hotter.
"Are you flirting with me?" she asks. It's a loaded question. I can tell by the smile on her face.
"If I were flirting with you," I say, "I would reach into my desk over there, pull out the bottle of rare top-shelf bourbon that I've hidden, buried underneath a stack of files-a bottle that I've been saving for a woman like you-and I would drizzle it down your chest."
"What else would you do?" she asks, her eyes smoldering with desire. She's breathing heavier now. The air around us is thick with longing.
"If I were actually flirting, I'd reach down and place my lips and tongue on your breasts, licking the bourbon off of your bare nipples before traveling down the rest of your body."
Her lips part into a smile. "I like a man with a plan," she says, ginning. She's raking her nails through my hair and when they touch my scalp, an electric current runs down my spine. "That's a map I can follow."
I lean in, bringing my lips an inch from her ear and whisper, "What I'd like to do to you right now is anything but professional. And given my position in the company, I'm not sure that's wise."
She doesn't move; her one hand is still on my chest. There's an electric current binding us together, and it's palpable. It's like someone has flipped a switch and it's an unbreakable circuit. I almost detect a moan from her lips, but it's so soft that I can't be certain.
I lean in again, my breath on her neck, and I move my mouth down to her exposed shoulders, dragging my lips across her bare skin. This time her moan is audible and loaded with an insatiable craving.
As soon as my breath hits her neck, and my mouth touches her shoulder, her lips part. I want to grab her hair and bring her mouth to mine.
Instead, I slide my right hand around to the small of her lower back. She doesn't resist my touch. I feel her moving in closer, and I take that as my cue to move my hand from her back, even lower. I move below her waist now, and cup her ass cheek in my firm palm.
"Ethan Kane," she whispers. "I guess what they say about you is true."
"And what's that?" I ask.
"That you're larger than life," she says. "And you're hotter than a lightening rod."
"I'm seconds away from picking you up, placing you over one shoulder, and carrying you out of this place-caveman style-and show you exactly what kind of fucking rod I'm packing"
"Now, that wouldn't be very professional," she grins. I read her grin like a dare.
"I'm not done," I say. "And you know what I'd do next? I'd take you back to my place, bend you over, and run my lips all over the secret fucking corners of your body, head to toe. Where do you want my lips, Brittney?"
I watch as she looks up at me, her blue eyes flashing with desire and her cheeks growing a deeper shade of pink.
"But what about all of this?" she asks, pointing around my office. "I'm pretty sure we'd be violating all of those code of conduct papers I just signed."
"To hell with those papers. This is my fucking company."
She smiles. "I suppose that's true," she says.
My eyes have moved down from her face to the deep crevice between her breasts. It's taking everything in me to not reach down and grab them. To slide my hands under their warmth and take them into my mouth.
"Dinner. Tonight. I'll pick the place," I whisper into her ear. "All you have to do is say yes."
She looks up at me, and for a moment I don't know how she's going to answer, or what's going through her mind. Finally she grins.
"Okay then," she says. "My answer is yes."
I smile.
This is going to be an interesting night.
98
Brittney
I look out my apartment window and see a black limo pull up to the curb. The limo's windows are deeply tinted, so I can't see who's inside, but I know it's Ethan Kane.
He's right on time.
I check myself for the last time in a full-length mirror turning around in a full circle to consider how this dress looks from all angles. I smooth the fabric with my hands.
Based on our last encounter where he nearly made my heart leap through my throat by sneaking up behind me-I wasn't expecting him to find me like that, but I guess I should've been more careful-I knew I needed to gain his trust and attention tonight.
I bought this dress specifically for tonight's dinner. The goal was to find a dress that would stop traffic. I don't want him to be able to take his eyes off of me.
On the tag for this dress, the color was listed as Russian Roulette Red.
I figured that's exactly the kind of high-octane stakes I'm faced with, and I bought it.
This was a good purchase, I say to myself, after coming to the conclusion that it's going to be a good fit. I'll admit that it fits me better than a glove.
It's an iconic cocktail dress-the kind of dress that hugs your every curve like a second skin. The neckline is built to plunge deeply between my breasts and is held up with a single halter-top that clasps with a gold buckle. My back is exposed, and the dress's hemline ends well before my knees.
I think this dress will do the trick tonight.
I've added an extra wave to my hair with a curling iron, and I carefully applied a smoky eye shadow with a healthy layer of mascara. And this look wouldn't be complete without a classic red lipstick, so I add that too at the last minute.
I hear another knock at the door, and I open it.
Standing outside is Ethan. He's wearing a suit that looks like something out of a James Bond movie. My god he's hot … so clean cut and … chiseled under that form-fitting suit.
"You look beautiful," he says, extending me his hand. He carefully walks me to street.
"I'd say you clean up nicely as well," I grin. Together we walk to the limo where his driver is holding a door open for us. We slide into the cold leather seats, and I scoot close to him, inhaling his masculinity.
"Where are we headed?" I ask.
"Are you ready for amazing views of the city?" he asks.
"I'm intrigued," I say. "And I do love a good view."
"Rockefeller Center," he replies. "We're going to the very top."
"You certainly have good taste," I purr, running my hand across his chest. I lean in and bring my lips to his, pressing against him softly-just enough to give him a taste-and I pull away. He gives me a devilish grin, but before he can say anything, the limo stops and the driver opens our door, ushering us out.
That was a quick ride. Time flies when you're with a hot man.
We walk into Rockefeller Center, and once we take an elevator up to the restaurant, I find myself with a world-class view of New York City. Thousands of lights glitter and dance across the landscape as if a diamond necklace has been draped across the skyline.
I don't care how many times I've seen this view. It never gets old.
The waiter approaches and offers us a wine from their extensive wine list. Ethan orders us a Pinot Noir. I watch as it's carefully poured into an oversized wine glass and the deep aroma fills my head before the alcohol does. I take a sip and feel myself floating on its rich, velvet blanket of earth and berries.
I extend my foot under our table until my heel reaches Ethan's leg. I slowly drag it upwards until I know that I'm inches from his cock.
He shifts in his chair and we lock eyes. He reaches toward me with his own leg, but I move just out of reach. He seems disappointed, but the waiter interrupts and brings us a dazzling plate of oysters on ice, which momentarily diverts our focus.