by Monroe, Max
With my phone already white-knuckled in my hand, I pull up our ongoing text conversation and shoot him a message.
Me: I’m freaking the hell out.
Thankfully, he doesn’t disappoint and responds in one minute flat.
How do I know this? Because I’m currently a lunatic obsessed with watching the time.
Milo: What’s wrong?
Me: I have the interview, Milo. THE interview. With Beacon House.
Milo: Just take a breath. You’re going to do just fine. I promise.
Me: Oh, trust me, I’m taking breaths. I’m practically panting with nervousness. Soon, my goddamn tongue will be hanging out of my mouth like a dog.
Milo: LOL. For the love of God, kid. Take slower breaths. What time is your interview?
Me: Noon.
Milo: So, two hours. That’s plenty of time to go grab a coffee, take a walk, and try to relax your mind.
Me: That plan is shit, Milo. I’ve been up since five this morning. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. Anyway, I’m here.
Milo: Huh?
Me: Your office. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of some big billionaire meeting, I’m coming up.
Milo: Billionaire meeting. LOL. I’m in my office. Come on up.
Not even ten minutes later, I’ve ridden the elevator twenty flights and I’m stepping past his secretary and into his office.
Milo sits at the center of the room, behind a sleek desk, with large floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city behind him. He looks like some kind of sexy-fucking-dapper-business-suit-clad king. A man with glimmering blue eyes and sin-worthy lips running a billion-dollar empire.
If I weren’t so riled up about this stupid interview, I might find myself drooling. Or, thinking about the one experience I haven’t been able to get out of my head since I wrapped my lips around his cock.
Good God, his cock…
Shit. Focus, Maybe. There is no time for cock right now!
“Help me,” I whine, and I shut the door to his office behind me.
“Well, hello to you too,” he says with a grin.
But I don’t have time to waste on pleasantries. I’m in DEFCON Red—or whichever the hell DEFCON means I’m shitting myself—the apocalypse-is-coming kind of panic mode, and it takes all of three seconds for me to dive headfirst into amped-up word vomit. “I’m freaking the hell out. I want this job so bad, Milo. So flipping bad. I feel like everything is resting on this interview, and it is completely mindfucking me.”
The heels of my stilettos tip-tap across the marble floor as I pace in front of his desk.
“What am I going to do?” I nearly shout. “Am I good at interviews? Do I make good first impressions?” That question sends me into a tizzy. “Oh God. I bet I make horrible first impressions, don’t I? I’m probably one of those people that you meet and immediately think, ‘she’s either crazy, weird, or too awkward to befriend.’ Fucking hell, I’m socially inept! I don’t—”
“Hey,” he says calmly and stands up from his chair. “Just calm down. It’s going to be okay.”
“Calm down?” My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “How can I be calm in a moment like this? How can I be calm when I’m supposed to be interviewed by the editor in chief of one of the biggest publishing houses in the world! I can’t be calm at a time like this!”
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he steps away from his desk and over to the windows that look out toward the inside of the office building. In a matter of seconds, the blinds are shut, and his secretary’s back is hidden from my view.
“What are you doing?” I question. “Are you afraid I’m going to scare away your employees? Though, that’s probably valid.” I keep pacing. “For sure valid since I’m basically a ranting crazy lady in heels right now.”
“Sit on the desk.”
I stop mid-step. “Huh?”
“Sit on the desk, Maybe.” He steps toward me and leans closer so his lips are just barely brushing my ear. “Slide your panties off from beneath your skirt, and sit your sexy little ass on my desk.”
I’m frozen. Still as a fucking statue.
Did he just say what I think he said?
“Do it, Maybe,” he whispers. “Take off your panties and sit on my desk.”
Instantly, goose bumps pepper my arms, and a shiver rolls up my spine.
Holy maple-syrup-pancakes-on-a-Sunday.
The heat in his blue eyes says Milo ain’t playing.
And my now-wet panties say my body is one-hundred-percent down with playing.
“Do you want me to do it for you?” he asks, and I nod.
At least, I think I nod. Hell, I don’t know what’s happening. I mean, I like it. I’m digging it. I’m so down for this panty-less cause, I’d sign a blood oath to go commando for the rest of my life, but I have no idea what is going on right now.
His fingertips graze the skin of my thighs as he reaches down with both hands and slides my skirt up toward my hips. Slowly, inch by inch, more of my legs are uncovered until my white pencil skirt is bunched at my waist, revealing the panties he apparently wants gone.
Go figure. Apparently, I did nod.
Those devious hands of his move to my lace boyshorts, and before I know it, they’re making a deliciously slow path down my legs.
My skin tingles. My nipples harden. And all I can do is stand there, naked from the waist down, still in my heels, and watch him.
He rises to his feet and doesn’t waste a second. A true man on a mission.
His big hands are beneath my bare ass, lifting me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the desk.
He is thick and hard and aroused beneath his suit pants, and I’m damn near panting by the time he sets me on the desk.
“Right now,” he says and stands between my spread thighs. “You have one responsibility.” With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he licks his lips and reaches out with one long index finger to feel how wet I am. “You just focus on relaxing, and I’ll do the rest.”
The rest? The rest of what?
But I don’t have to ask.
He sits down in his chair, flips his tie over his shoulder, grips my trembling legs with his strong hands, and moves his mouth to the apex of my thighs.
The instant I feel his tongue pressed against me, my back arches.
“Oh God,” I moan, and Milo looks up at me from beneath his lashes with a devilish smirk etched across his perfect mouth.
“God’s not here right now, sweetheart. This is all Milo.”
Well, fuck.
I bite my bottom lip when he flicks his tongue against my clit.
And I have to grip the edge of the desk when he starts eating and licking and sucking at me like I’m his most favorite treat.
“Ah…oh…ohmygod, that feels good,” I whisper through erratic breaths.
Because fucking hell, it does.
It feels so damn good, I start to lose sight of why I came to his office in the first place.
Pleasure rolls up my spine and my hips start to move of their own accord, trying to hurry his pace, and my body puts on its gym shoes and tries to race to a climax.
But he doesn’t speed up.
And he doesn’t slow down.
He just keeps going at the exact same pace, not too slow, not too fast, but goddamn, not quite enough to push me over the edge.
It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s painful-glorious-mind-blowing-bliss.
“Please,” I start to beg, damn near desperate. “Please, Milo.”
He ignores me completely, and I reach down with my hands to grip the lush locks of his dark hair.
“Please do it. Oh God. Oh please…fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying at his point. I just know I want to come.
“Such a pretty girl. Such a dirty mouth,” he whispers against me, and it only spurs my need for climax deeper. “How bad do you want to come against my tongue, Maybe?”
“Bad,” I wh
imper. “S-so bad.”
“But you taste so good,” he says through a moan. “I don’t want to stop.”
“F-fuck, Milo. N-now isn’t the time to be s-selfish.”
His responding chuckle vibrates against my pussy, and the constant, incessant ache turns to an outright throb that is so hard, so relentless, I swear to everything, my heart has migrated its way to my clit.
“Okay, greedy girl,” he whispers. “I guess we’ll do this your way.”
And then, I’m falling. Floating. Sailing. Losing my mind as waves of pleasure crash into my body like a freaking ecstasy hurricane.
I pant. I moan. I whimper. And every muscle in my body shakes.
My orgasm feels like it lasts forever, and the whole time, Milo keeps his tongue pressed to me as my hips ride it out against his mouth.
Holy fucking shit.
“Now,” he says and leans back in his chair. “I think someone is relaxed enough to go to their interview.”
Interview? Who has an interview?
It takes my brain a good fifteen seconds to compute the reality.
Oh, that interview. My interview. Holy post-orgasm amnesia.
“You did all of that so I would be relaxed for the interview?” I ask.
Milo smirks. “Well, that was part of the reason.”
“And what was the other part?”
“Because I needed to.”
Milo
One glance at the time and I see it’s already nearing four o’clock, but this meeting with the marketing team is still going strong.
They’re talking about the logistics of doing a full-fledged international campaign—all good things—but my mind might as well be on the other side of the world.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
It’s only been a few hours since Maybe left my office to go to her interview, and I can still taste her on my tongue. I can still hear the way she sounded when she came against my mouth. I can still picture her sitting on my desk, legs spread, pussy wet and bared for me.
Son of a bitch.
I don’t know what came over me.
One minute, she was pacing my office floor, and the next, I had my mouth on her, eating and sucking at her sweet-as-fuck pussy like a man starved.
And now, it’s all I can think about.
Hell, I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that, lately, she is all I can think about. Morning, noon, and fucking night.
Before I know it, while Laura goes through her PowerPoint and discusses marketing goals for this quarter, I’m pulling my cell out of my pants pocket and discreetly typing out a text.
Me: How did the interview go?
It doesn’t take long for her to respond.
Maybe: Honestly, I think it went really well. I wasn’t a disaster like I feared I would be, I was able to speak in actual sentences and not ramble, and I left feeling like I actually gave a good first impression.
A sigh of relief leaves my lungs, and I grin.
Me: So, no My Little Pony references?
Maybe: HA. No. Thank Everything.
Me: I knew you’d kill it.
Maybe: Pretty sure you were the only one who knew that. LOL.
Me: Nah, you knew it too. You just needed a little help to calm down.
Maybe: If what you did to me on your desk is your go-to way of calming people down, then I hereby hire you as my Director of Calming Down.
Visuals of Maybe’s spread thighs fill my head, and my cock starts to respond beneath my zipper. Shit, this girl, she might be the death of me.
Any response I have to her message is one thousand shades of dirty, and it takes me a good thirty seconds before I can come up with a response that doesn’t revolve around taking her panties off with my teeth.
My cock, though? Well, he thinks that’s the best idea we’ve ever had. But that horny bastard has been one-hundred-percent Team Maybe ever since she wrapped her pretty little lips around him.
He can’t be trusted.
And the rational side of my brain? Well, it’s urging me to hit the brakes.
This is Maybe Willis we’re talking about here.
My best friend’s little sister.
If anything, she should be off-limits, just like my best friend—her fucking brother—said to Cap.
Not the one and only star of my far-too-dirty fantasies.
Pretty sure it’s way, way, way too late for that, dude. You’ve officially fallen, and you can’t fucking get up.
I push my scattered thoughts to the back of my mind and attempt to change the subject.
Me: So, I take it plans of celebration are in order tonight?
Maybe: Slow your roll, Ives. I haven’t gotten the job yet.
Me: But you will.
Maybe: Jesus. We don’t know that yet! They still had three more candidates to interview after me.
Me: Trust me, Maybe. Come Monday, you’ll get the “We’d like to offer you a position at Beacon House” call.
Maybe: Stop trying to get my hopes up, you nutcase.
I know Maybe will get the job.
She is brilliant, passionate, and deserves to be at a publishing house like Beacon.
A few weeks ago, when I first contacted their editor in chief, Taylor McHough, he was more than on board with bringing her in for an interview. Not to mention, he already told me, with her credentials, and the fact that their competitor wanted her badly, she was basically a shoo-in. The interview was just logistics.
Me: Just trust me, kid. You got the job.
Maybe: Well, I guess it’s safe to say that, now that you’ve officially gotten my hopes up, you have to come out with me tonight.
Me: Come out with you?
Maybe: Yeah. Me, you, and Lena are going to go to a dance club in Tribeca.
Me: Pretty sure I haven’t agreed to this…
Maybe: But you will. Trust me, kid. You will agree.
Me: Kid. That’s cute.
Maybe: C’mon, Milo. Come out with me tonight.
Me: What club are you going to?
Maybe: Paul’s Cocktail Lounge.
That’s a rowdy fucking club. Fun, loud, and a place I frequented quite a bit in my twenties. But it’s been years since I’ve done the nightclub scene in NYC. Working seventy-plus hours a week tends to put a damper on going out.
Maybe: Pretty please… Lord knows, Lena will leave me on my own by ten because she pretty much knows everyone in the entire city. I need a dance partner…
That last text hits me straight in the chest.
Visuals of horny pricks looking for their next one-night stand grinding on Maybe fill my head, and I’m instantly on edge.
More like jealous…
Me: Fine.
Maybe: YOU’LL GO???
Me: Yeah. I’ll go.
Maybe: FANTASTIC.
Her enthusiastic response makes me grin.
But once our conversation is done and I’m left to my own thoughts, the unsettling discomfort and the stark reality that I’m more than playing with fire—aka just fucking pouring gasoline onto the flames at this point—starts to sink in.
I’m into this girl.
More like, you’re so far into her, it’s too late to go back now.
Maybe
“Stop fidgeting with your hair.” Lena grins at me in the reflection in my bathroom mirror. “You look gorgeous.”
I can’t help it. I’m on emotional overload. All hyped up like Jessie Spano that time she took caffeine pills. Nervous. Excited. Freaking out. I am all the things.
Between the interview with Beacon House today, and Evan and Sadie coming into town tomorrow for their wedding, so much is happening at once.
Yeah, but you can’t forget the most important thing—knowing Milo is going to come celebrate with you tonight…
Holy Mother of Baloney, the more I think about seeing him tonight, the more nervous I get.
Fidgeting with my hair is simply a side effect.
Between my cute little dress and
heels and the subtle but sexy makeup Lena applied to my eyes and lips and cheeks, I know I spruced up nicely.
I feel good. Confident, even.
It’s just the whole Milo thing that’s screwing with my head.
We’ve come a long way from the time he didn’t recognize me at the floral shop.
He’s helped me with my career.
We’ve spent an insane amount of time together.
We’ve hooked up…more than once. And a day doesn’t go by without us talking in some form or way. Texts, phone calls, you name it, and we’re connected.
Truthfully, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it all.
What used to be a crush has blossomed into something more.
Something that feels a lot like falling.
Pretty sure you’ve already fallen, girlfriend. Right off the cliff and plummeted straight to the rocky bottom o’ love.
I sigh. Out loud. And Lena doesn’t miss a beat.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“Nothing.” I run the brush through my locks one last time.
“You’re freaking out.” She eyes me knowingly in the mirror as she applies a fresh coat of lip gloss. “It’s written all over your face.”
She’s right. I am freaking out.
I turn and rest my hip against the bathroom counter, and everything that’s filling my head just kind of pours from my lips. “I’m falling for him, Lena. Like, hard kind of falling for him, and I’m starting to get really flipping scared about how this is all going to play out.” I blow a heavy breath out of my lungs. “I mean, where do I go from here? What’s the next step in the plan?”