by Opal Carew
He meets my gaze squarely. “That’s yet to be determined, Kirsten.”
“Right.” My lips twist. I’d forgotten about the next part of his interview process, part of me hoping the rumors were wrong, that he doesn’t truly want an office plaything. “You expect a blowjob.”
He reels back as though struck. “What?”
“You ask all of the candidates you’re seriously considering to give you a blowjob, to test their skills, make certain they can satisfy you sexually.”
“Let me guess—everyone knows this also.” Rob’s tone is dry.
“Yep.”
I wait and wait and wait for his response.
“Well?” I prompt. “Am I being seriously considered?’
Rob gazes at me. I gaze back at him. Emotion flows between us—want and need and something more, something that has always colored our interactions.
“You’re clever and resourceful.” His voice warms with admiration. “You wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want to do.”
I don’t like his implication. He thinks I want to give him this blowjob. “I’m doing this to protect Mrs. Bellows. That’s the only reason.”
“Hmmm…” This is the sound he makes when he thinks I’m full of shit.
“I am,” I insist.
Rob’s lips curl upward. “Then show me you’re the best candidate for the job.” He pushes his chair back. “Come here and suck me off.”
Holy hell. This is truly happening. I’m about to suck Robert Reyes’ cock.
“I am the best candidate.” I saunter around the desk, my hips swaying, feigning confidence I don’t feel. “No one gives head like I do.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” His black dress pants are tented around a sizable erection and one of my worries dissipates. I’m his last interview. I was concerned he’d be sexually sated, satisfied by the previous candidates.
He’s not. He’s hard for me.
I kneel before him. The carpet is lush and thick against my knees, the floor unrelenting. That’s how he’ll feel also—softness over steel.
“Have you imagined this also?” I rub my fingers over his dress pants, stroking his thighs up and down, up and down. His muscles are flexed, defined. There’s no trace of lipstick, no long blonde hairs, no scent of perfume. “Me sucking you off?”
“Fuck, yeah.” His voice deepens.
I skim my fingers over him. “You’re long and thick. I like that.”
“I’m glad you approve of my cock.” Rob spreads his legs, allowing me more access to him. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
I nudge him to the side and unzip him carefully. “I doubt you could.” I unbuckle his belt. He lifts his ass. I push his pants and boxer shorts to his ankles. My fingers didn’t lie. He’s huge, his shaft straight, brown hair curling around his base.
Again, there’s no trace of another woman, no sign that he’s already come today. The tension in my shoulders eases. I can pretend I’m his first, his only.
Rob watches me as I caress him, my face a lick away from his cock. I nuzzle his balls, inhaling the musky scent of him. I have the executive I’ve secretly lusted over in the palm of my hand. Soon I’ll take him inside my mouth, taste him.
I play with his cock, exploring this intimate part of him, following the veins on his shaft with my fingers, circling his rim, brushing over his silky soft cock head.
“You’re driving me insane.” Rob lifts into my exploration. “Wrap those ever-moving lips around me, and give me that blowjob you promised.”
I lave him from base to tip with the flat of my tongue. He shudders, his response gratifyingly intense. “I don’t know. Do you think you can handle that much bliss?” I nibble along his shaft. “It might be too much for you.”
“Suck me,” he growls, the low, deep sound thrilling me. “I can handle it.” A dab of pre-cum forms on his cock head.
I flick my tongue over it. “Hmmm…” The man is delicious. I poke into his slit, searching for more flavor, more of him.
Rob loses his patience. He threads his fingers through my hair, curving his hands over my scalp, and pulls me closer. I push my lips past his tip and sink down, down, down, maintaining the pressure I know he needs.
A rumble of primitive satisfaction rolls up his chest as his cock fills my mouth. I cradle him with my tongue, savoring the feel of him.
His tip taps the back of my throat. I meet his gaze. His eyes glitter, an unspoken challenge I can’t resist. I tilt my head back, taking the rest of him, sealing my lips around his base.
“What the fuck?” Rob stares down at me.
Judging by his expression, none of the other candidates took all of him.
I inhale. His eyelids lower and his face contorts in ecstasy. His hips lift.
I release him, withdrawing, and his ass smacks against the chair seat. No one can match my cocksucking skills. I smile around his shaft. This job and this man are mine.
“That was unbelievable.” Rob’s voice is filled with wonder.
I laugh, his appreciation of my skills making me giddy. “I’m merely getting started.”
“God help me.”
God help us both, because I want this, want him, not to protect Mrs. Bellows, but because I desire him. This fucked-up realization will never be shared with anyone. There’s no way in hell I’ll give Rob that power, that advantage, over me.
I move up and down his shaft, slowly at first, then faster and faster, intent on changing his expectations of blowjobs forever. My cheeks indent. My lips hum. My thoughts center around him.
Rob is equally focused on me, his undivided attention intoxicating. He wants me, needs me, craving the release I’ll give him.
I suck and lick and bob. He rocks into my mouth, slapping his balls against my chin. The sounds of hard shaft in moist mouth, skin against skin, ragged breathing, fill the room.
My nipples are taut and my panties damp. I yearn for his warmth. My satisfaction is tied to his.
I take him shallow, shallow, then deep, shallow, shallow, then deep. His pace increases, his eyes growing wild, his face flushed. His shaft glistens with moisture. His balls hug his body.
“Fuck. Can’t. Oh, fuck.” Rob’s powers of speech are failing.
He won’t last much longer. I stroke his taint, that sensitive stretch of skin between his nutsack and his asshole. It’s an often-neglected erogenous zone and I use it to drive him crazy.
“Kirsten.” He shakes. “I’m going to--”
I take him deep, suck hard and press down.
“Fuck,” he roars, thrusting upward. I move with him, riding his orgasm.
Hot spurts of cum shoot down my throat. I pull back and swallow again and again, milking him dry as he bucks. His essence coats my stomach, my heart, my soul, tingles spreading from my core to my fingertips.
Gradually, his movements lessen.
“Sweet Jesus.” Rob folds over me, resting his chin on the top of my head, his hands fluttering against my back. “You fried my brain.”
I flick my tongue over him, licking him clean, relishing every drop. “No one sucks cock like I do.” My voice is hoarse. “I told you that.”
“You weren’t lying.”
He strokes my spine up, down, up, down, as I nuzzle against his private curls, inhaling his scent, savoring his warmth. “Then we both agree that I gave the best head of the day?” I must have aced this part of the interview.
“You gave the only head of the day.” Rob pulls his pants and boxer shorts up, zips, buckles his belt, tucks his dress shirt in, righting his appearance. “No one else made it to this part of the interview.”
I rest my ass on my heels. “Good.” I don’t like the thought of any other woman touching him. “Are we done?”
“I was done the moment I met you.” He draws me upward and sets me sideways on his lap, his form solid under mine.
I roll my eyes. “I was talking about the interview.”
“Ahhh…” He cuddles me close to him. “Ther
e are more details to discuss.”
“Like what?”
“You won’t interview with anyone else.” Rob brushes my hair back from my face. At some time during the blowjob, I lost my hairpins.
“Only if you don’t interview anyone else.” I look up at him. “There’s no need to. You know I’m the best choice for the position.”
“So you tell me.” His eyes gleam.
“Because it’s the truth. Anything else?”
“This.” Rob covers my lips with his. The freaky bastard doesn’t care that I taste like him. He cups my face, not allowing me to pull away from him, and deepens the kiss, increasing the pressure on my flesh until I part for him, allow him inside.
He slides his tongue along mine, stroking into me. I moan, grasp his shoulders. Part of me knew kissing him would be like this—world-tilting, life-changing.
It scares the shit out of me. The position is temporary. He’s looking for a convenience fuck, a woman to use during his endless workday. Worst of all, he doesn’t care about my friend, an assistant who clearly adores him.
I can’t think of this as anything more, anything permanent.
Rob sinks his fingers into my hair, holding me to him, not knowing I don’t want to escape. Ever. He ravishes my mouth until my lips hum and my breathing is strained. I want him desperately, my panties are soaked, my nipples taut.
The fiend spirals my need skyward and then breaks our embrace, leaving me hanging. “You’re definitely one of the top candidates.”
One of the top candidates. His words douse my desire.
“I’m the only candidate you should be considering.” I slip off his lap and run my hands over my skirt, lowering the hem, irritated with him and with myself. “When will you make your decision?”
“Soon.” Rob watches me, his gaze concerned. “Kirsten—”
“I hope it’s soon.” I stride away from him, fed up with this game. “I hear Mr. Zanetti has a system conversion project he requires help with.”
“He won’t get any help from you.”
Mr. Zanetti, the company’s CIO, is young, intelligent, wealthy. He doesn’t interest me but some of the women think he’s good-looking. They don’t seem to mind that he’s rumored to share his lovers with two of his subordinates.
“If you hire me, you can decide who I help or don’t help.” I open the door. “If you don’t, what I do will be none of your business.” I leave and don’t look back.
Chapter 2
Three days later, I haven’t heard anything about the job. According to company gossip and my buddy in Human Resources, no one has. The position remains unfilled.
Mr. Zanetti talked to me about his systems conversion project this morning, pitching the high profile managerial role to me with a flattering intensity. I feigned interest, blowing him off with a noncommittal promise to think about it.
It’s not the position I want. He’s not the executive I wish to work for.
I’m tired of not knowing Rob’s decision. It’s Friday, five o’clock. If I don’t find out the status today, I’ll have to wait until Monday.
The hell with that.
I stomp between the empty cubicles. The Finance floor is deserted. Mrs. Bellows isn’t sitting at her desk. Rob could have left the office too. It’s a beautiful summer day. He might be enjoying it, drinking craft beer on an upscale restaurant’s patio with Logan Ross or one of his other billionaire friends, not caring that he’s fucking up my weekend.
I rap my knuckles against his door, pissed off, not expecting him to answer.
“Go away.” Rob sounds exhausted.
I ignore his order and enter the room. He looks like shit. “What have you done to yourself?” His hair is mussed. There are dark circles under his eyes. Stubble shadows his chin.
“You.” His eyes are bloodshot. When was the last time he slept?
“Yes, me.” I march toward his desk. The wooden surface is covered with papers. Multiple screens display his schedule. “I realize you’re a control freak, but even control freaks need help sometimes.”
“Does everyone call me a control freak?” He slaps a piece of paper with the palm of his right hand. “Because everyone can fuck off.”
He’s in a mood. This doesn’t shock me. With others, he might be cool and collected, but, for some intriguing reason, I bring out the grouchy bear in him. “Where is Mrs. Bellows? Why isn’t she helping you?”
“I sent her home.”
“You sent everyone home. The entire floor is devoid of life.” I scan the evidence. “Why do you have two schedules open—one for this year and one for the same week next year?”
His jaw juts.
There are meetings booked in both. Very few people schedule meetings a year in advance. “You inputted meetings into the wrong year, didn’t you?” I reach over and scroll through the times. “Oh my God. You’re double booked for a week.”
“For a month,” he mutters.
Many of the meetings are marked urgent. “You’re so fucked.”
He sighs, his shoulders slumping, his anger deflating. “I was afraid of that.”
His distress makes my heart ache. It shouldn’t. Rob caused this trouble for himself by not allowing Mrs. Bellows to do her job, but I can’t leave him to repair the damage alone. I have to help him. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t have the right to ask you to do anything for me. You haven’t been hired yet. I didn’t have time to fill out the paperwork.”
“You won’t have time for another month if we don’t fix this.” I move beside him, acutely aware of his big body close to mine. “What are our next steps?”
“The next steps can wait.” Rob lifts me onto his desk, setting my ass on a stack of papers. “I need to rest for a minute or two.” He unfastens my blazer and spreads the fabric. “Clear my head.” He presses his face between my breasts. His warm breath permeates the silk of my camisole, wafting over my skin.
This need for comfort is a side of Rob I’ve never seen. He’s normally either righteously angry or rigidly self-possessed, no sign of weakness in him.
I can’t resist responding to this unspoken cry for help.
“Then rest.” I open my thighs and he pushes forward until he’s snug against my panty-covered pussy. “You’re no longer alone.” I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders, holding him to me. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I should be taking care of you.” He closes his eyes. “You’re mine.”
I’m his—what? Employee? Pain in the ass? Prospective sex slave? I don’t ask this because I doubt he knows. His brain isn’t functioning properly.
“I can take care of myself,” I assure him.
“Hmmm…” He doesn’t believe me.
I rest my chin on top of his head, breathe in, breathe out, inhaling his woodsy scent, relishing the feel of his form against mine. He’s physically strong, his muscles hard, his physique fit, yet he’s emotionally vulnerable, requiring my soothing touch.
It feels good to be needed this way. I pet his unruly curls, the short strands decadently soft. It feels damn good.
Moments pass. The link between us strengthens. It’s no longer a quiet pulse beneath the surface of our interactions. It’s loud, insistent, a tangible connection.
This is wrong, so very wrong. Rob wants to force my friend to quit. He’s interviewing replacement assistants, candidates he’d like to fuck. I’m merely one of them, an interchangeable pussy for him to stick his cock into.
Wishing this wasn’t the truth won’t change the reality.
“Zanetti said he talked to you,” Rob murmurs against my breasts.
“He did.”
His shoulders stiffen. “Did he touch you?”
“No.” I want to tell him that it would be none of his business if Mr. Zanetti did touch me but Rob doesn’t have the energy to deal with more drama. “Did you interview any other candidates?”
He straightens, lifting his head from my breasts. I
feel the absence of his warmth, his touch, immediately.
“I haven’t had time to do anything,” he confesses, not meeting my gaze. “The double booking of meetings started the day after your interview.”
I close my legs and smooth down my skirt. “What did you do?”
Rob taps on one of the screens, displaying the schedule for Saturday and Sunday. Every slot is filled from eight in the morning until eight at night.
“You’re working all weekend.” He won’t have the recuperation time he desperately needs in his high stress job. “Mrs. Bellows—”
“I don’t need her help.”
Lord save me from stubborn asses. “You need someone’s help.” I shake my head. “Any external people you meet with have to be let into the building, accompanied in the elevator, shown to your office.”
Rob rubs his hands over his face. “I’ll ask my top manager, Miss Whyte, to come in.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I slip off the desk, taking some of the papers with me. They drift to the floor, their descent more graceful than mine. “I’ll help you. But…” I hold up my right index finger. “I get the assistant to your assistant job.” I pause. “And Mrs. Bellows keeps her position for as long as she wants it.”
“Six months.”
“What?”
“She reaches retirement age in six months,” Rob explains. “Then she’ll have a full pension, full benefits.”
“And you weren’t willing to wait that long?” I curl my top lip. He opens his mouth. “Don’t tell me you need six months to train the new assistant. Top executives don’t transition for six months and Mrs. Bellows’ role is less key to the company.”
“Kirsten—”
“I don’t want to hear your weak-assed explanation.” I cut him off. “We don’t have time for an argument. We have a mess to fix.” One that he created. “I’m doing this for Mrs. Bellows, not for you.”
“I understand.” His face hardens. “I’ve rebooked Monday until three o’clock.”
“You rebooked Monday.” That should have been Mrs. Bellows’ job.
“We don’t have time for an argument,” Rob reminds me, using my own words. He displays the schedules and we both lean over the desk, our shoulders touching.