Miss Chief

by Author Quinn

  “I don’t tolerate tardiness, Miss—”

  “Talia. Talia Newman,” I supply.

  “Well, Miss Talia Newman, I’m a busy man, and I still manage to make it to all my meetings on time.” He crosses an ankle over a thick thigh and my eyes are drawn back to the bugle in his crotch.

  I clear my throat, and look up. “I didn’t mean to be late. I had an incident at the tac—at lunch and well, this—” I wave my hand at the dildo-shaped taco stain. “And some guy tried to run me over.”

  “He didn’t try to run you over. You were jay-walking.”

  What the friggin’ hell? “How did you—” My hands fly to my hips, but I check my attitude and drop them down again.

  Theodore Solomon glances at the windows over his shoulder. “I saw the whole thing.”

  “You could see me from all the way up here?” It’s possible. We’re only twenty floors up. Plus, it’s not hard to spot my fuchsia skirt from afar. People on Mars could see it.

  He returns his gaze to me and rubs his angular jaw. “I see all.”

  Whatever the fuck that means. I roll my shoulders back, trying to shake off the effect of his stare. He looks like he could swallow me whole. His tongue, darting out between his lips, catches my attention. That simple action’s effect on me is instantaneous. I might as well take off my panties as they’ve become soaked and uncomfortable. His words take on a whole different meaning. Can he see me tremble under his gaze? Can he see me squirm? Can he see my heart beating hard enough to rip through my ribcage?

  I swallow to push down the lump in my throat and find my voice again. “Is there anything else, Mr. Solomon?” A lap dance? Some head? I mentally roll my eyes at myself. He’s with Ingrid. Daddy issues or not, they make a better couple than he and I ever would.

  “That’s all, Miss Newman. And call me Theo. If you'd been on time, you would know I prefer an informal greeting.” We stare each other down until I falter under the heat of his fiery gaze. Powerful. I can’t help but be drawn to it. Then my eyes drop to his hand, which blatantly adjusts his erection. Fuck…me. Turning away, I quietly release a ragged breath, and show him my second-best assets before walking toward the door.

  I add an extra sway to my hips. He may be unavailable, but my second name is Flirt, and I’m not always afforded a chance to do this to a hunky boss. Our last CEO was sweet but he resembled a crypt-keeper. Theo will have to get used to me ogling him every now and then. The chair creaks behind me, and in no time at all, he’s standing beside me, his large hand on the door’s handle, on top of mine. This close, I see the gold flecks in his light brown eyes and get a whiff of the mint on his breath. This close, the warmth of his body sharpens his irresistible manly scent.

  A surge of current sizzles up my arms, and spreads throughout my nerve endings. My nipples tighten. My pussy lips tingle. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall. His lush lips call to me. Holding my breath, I inch forward.

  At the same time, Mr. Solomon—Theo—the hot bastard that he is, slides his hand away from mine and pushes the door open, causing me to lose my balance. Instead of my lips falling on his, I fall, my hands hitting the floor as I try my hardest not to smack my face on it. My non-prescription glasses skitter across the hallway, and sharp pain travels quickly up my arms. But when I hear an audible rip of fabric, I automatically slap my hands on my hips and ass.

  I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure I hear a groan behind me, followed by, “Shit, are you all right?” Large hands reach down to help me up.

  I rarely blush, but this moment is too embarrassing not to make me redden. Pushing his hands away, I gather my bearings and struggle to make it upright. My hand returns to my behind, where there’s now a lovely tear on my skirt, and I raise the other one to stop him. “Please, you’ve done enough.” I can’t help but snap at him.

  He picks up my glasses, and I snatch them away as he explains, “My hand slipped.”

  Is he fucking kidding me?

  With my eyebrows up to my hairline, I shoot him an unimpressed look, and my hackles rise when the corners of his lips quirk. He’s fucking laughing at me. Bastard. I narrow my eyes, itching to choke him with his skinny tie. He tugs at his jacket lapels and buttons up. If he says anything else, I’ll stab him with his tiepin.

  Theo clears his throat and adjusts the knot of his tie. “Send me the bill for when you get your skirt repaired.”

  I scoff and roll my eyes. And embarrass myself more? Silver lining: at least now he can’t fire me. Ego bruised and all, I make my way to my workstation without further embarrassing myself, but only then do I feel the pain in my jaw from grinding my teeth and the ache on my hands and wrists.

  “Are you okay?” Momentarily, I don’t realize Sheila has asked me the question.

  “Yeah, all good. Not fired.” I give her a thumbs up and thank the heavens my chair has full back coverage, and I won’t have to explain what happened to my skirt to Sheila or anyone else who passes by. All that's left is to figure out how to get out of here at quitting time with what’s left of my dignity still intact.

  I must say, after three months of working for this company, this has to be one of the most exciting afternoons, yet. Reaching for my phone, I make a note to Google Theodore Solomon. I’m not entirely sure about it, but I suspect Lyra has access to all our computers and can look up any searches we make. I can’t risk letting her know I'm curious about the new boss. Dropping my phone back into my purse, I ponder at my own thoughts. Am I interested in the new CEO? If so, why? Aside from the obvious—hot, rich and hung like a horse—he’s not my type. According to my dating history, I prefer cheaters who are constantly broke and won’t stick to one woman. I’m sick of men like that, which is why I’ve had a dry spell for months.

  No, I have to get Theo out of my head. Nothing good will come of it. I look over to my right where Ingrid sits at her desk, poised like a princess on her throne. Even the way she thinks, tapping her pen on her chin, is elegant. Can’t compete with royalty. There’s no sense mulling about Theo anymore.

  With a deep inhale, I’m convinced I’m cleansed of all carnal thoughts pertaining to Theodore Solomon, CEO of ARC Industries LTD, sharp dresser, built like a line-backer and one sexy ass bastard with a big cock.

  Like a F*cking Boss is available on AMAZON and is FREE with KINDLE UNLIMITED! To download, just click here.

  Lady Boss - Excerpt

  Did you enjoy reading about Ingrid and Henrik?

  Continue the series in Lady Boss, Book Four of Run the World Series!

  Blurb:

  What do you do when you’re on top of the world?

  You indulge…

  Eliza Oshiko, Ice Queen of the Business World, thinks love and happily forever after are a waste of time for women like her. She conquers the boardroom and take no prisoners. And some nights, she enjoys the pleasures one-night stands can offer.

  Until she meets Seth…

  He’s a sexy private chef who chooses to live a simpler life while still working on reaching his goals. Will Seth show her some relationships are worth more than one night and more importantly, all the money in the world?

  Unproofed Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Eliza

  The smell of stale beer and desperation smacks me right on the face as I enter the hole-in-wall bar. Any other time, I’d gag at the scent, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s exactly what I need. Well, not stale beer. Desperate men. The floor is covered with unknown substances, sticky, crunchy, gross. Every step I make is an adventure for my thigh high boots. My fuck me boots, because that’s what my body is aching for…a good fucking.

  I make it to the bar without tripping on anything or anyone, hike up my already too-short skirt and perch my ass on a free stool.

  The bartender smiles wickedly at me and asks, “What can I get you, sugar tits?” How endearing.

  I lean forward, my cleavage spilling over the red halter top I have underneath my half-zipped leather jacket. “I’ll have a
Stella, handsome.” His smile widens and he winks at me. I watch him grab and open a bottle, place it on a cocktail napkin and push it to me.

  “This one’s on the house for a pretty lady.” He bites down on his lip as he blatantly undresses me with his eyes. And they say chivalry is dead.

  I raise the beer at him before taking a small sip. I hate the taste of beer, but I doubt this bar stocks my favourite Bordeaux. Too bad for him, I have to be in and out of this bar or I’ll explode. Every minute I spend in here is a risk. A couple of guys wave him over, and as much as he probably prefers to eye fuck me the entire night, he pushes away from my section of the bar and does his job.

  I stroke the bottle, running a finger over the label. Every move I make is calculated. Step one: find a seat, check. Now for step two: find a man. The bar isn’t full, but busy enough with men to tip the scales to my favour. Thankfully, this place uses that trick to make the place appear bigger--hanging an old mirror behind the bar--and I have a good vantage point from where I’m seated.

  Over to my right, two men by the pool table check me out. I flick my straightened hair over my right shoulder, and send a surreptitious glance their way, letting them know I’ve noticed them too. As entertaining as it would be to see them fight over who gets to take me home, I don’t need that complication tonight. And I don’t do doubles. Tonight is all about simple fun. A tete a tete.

  To my left, a group of men in “uniform” of button-up pastel shirts, rolled up sleeves and designer jeans laugh. Only two of the five men are available, judging by the way the three girls with them are hanging onto their partners, staking their claims. Well, they can keep their men. The other two might be too close to my regular life. I’m indistinguishable in my get-up but if any of them read The Wall Street Journal or Forbes Magazine in this century, and get closer look at me, I’d easily get recognized. Can’t risk that. So I move on.

  The two guys by the pool table have ended their game and are making their way to me when someone takes over the free stool to my right. My nipples tighten at the sight of him.

  Plain white long-sleeve tee, dark jeans, utilitarian boots. He doesn’t fuss over his hair even when the longer part falls on his forehead. He taps his short nails on the bar. When he’s gotten the attention of the bartender, he pulls his sleeves over his arms, displaying a long script on the outside of his left arm and a stylized knife on the inside of his right arm. My pussy swells at the thought of those arms wrapped around me. I follow the tip of that knife tattoo to his palm…large, the best tool for spanking. I instantly wet my panties.

  Step three: seduce.

  I deliberately slow my actions, unzipping my jacket, letting the sleeves fall off my shoulders before pulling the sleeves off my arms. The icing on top is when I have to stick out my tits as I take off my jacket, and then I fold it over the bar beside my beer. I’m so excited at the possibilities of this night that I’m shaking. From the corner of my eye, I see my (no doubt) lover for the night look my way and I gather my long hair over to my left shoulder and smile at him. It’s not a toothy or polite smile. It’s a smile that says it’s his lucky fucking night because I will rock his world. He takes me all in. His gaze follows the line of my neck, to the tip of my shoulder (one of my best features). If the light hits me at the right angle, he’ll see the smattering of freckles on my exposed upper back. Yes, you can kiss me there, I send him a vibe, rubbing a hand over the side of my leg. The movement forces him to look down at my thighs; my skirt has hiked up enough to have him guessing if I’m wearing underwear at all.

  The bartender returns with a beer for my bar friend, who I didn’t even realize had ordered one. “Tough day, brother?” the bartender asks, and I swallow a hiss at his intrusion.

  Hot dude turns to him and accepts the beer, taking a long pull before answering. “Nah. Tomorrow’s going to be tougher.”

  I take little sips of my beer while I eavesdrop, keeping my focused on the mirror behind the bartender, but having trouble steadying my legs.

  “Right. You start that new job,” the bartender continues his conversation.

  “Yup.” Hot dude takes another pull from his beer, but his head angles a little toward me. This is a good sign. I’ve achieved interest. I can play this two ways, continue with my seduction—slow and sexy—or I lean over and tell him that we need to get out of this place. Right the fuck now.

  I decide to play a little bit longer. It may have been two months since I’ve had a cock in me, but I don’t mind a little foreplay for orgasmic enhancement. Hot dude seems capable. There’s no exact science to this and I have been far too disappointed in the past by previous one-night lovers than I care to admit, but I am fucking horny and tomorrow is a start of a new empire. The build-up has reached its highest potential. I will self-combust if I don’t get laid. Properly or not.

  The green bottle is slick under the pads of my fingers and I stroke it, up and down. I circle my thumb and an index finger around the bottleneck before grasping it hard and tipping it to my lips. This time, I don’t just take a tiny sip. I wrap my red lips around the mouth of the bottle and let the cool liquid flow into my mouth and I swallow. Once. That’s all it usually takes. A tiny drip escapes at the corner of my mouth, and I stick my tongue to it and lick. I’m pretty sure I hear a groan beside me. Oh baby, I’m not done. Using two fingers, I wipe the same spot and then bring my fingertips to outline my lips.

  Without looking around, I’m aware that I have more than one audience for this, so I pin Hot dude with a direct gaze as I leave my lips parted. A welcome invitation. He turns his body to me, stretching his hand out.

  “Seth.” What a sinful name and I don’t doubt that it’s his real name. He looks like a Seth, a dirty, sexy Seth. Seth with dirty blond hair, tattoos, and even under the dimmed lighting, blue-green eyes that shine.

  I turn my head, looking over a rolled shoulder, through thick lashes, before I raise my right hand, palm down so he knows to kiss my knuckles instead of shaking my hand. He takes the hint--smart boy--and places a soft kiss on my hand, all the while keeping his gaze pinned on me. My flesh singes at the contact, at the simple touch of his lips.

  “Elle,” I say, choosing a simpler name for the night. If I deviate too far from my real name, I might make a mistake at some point and forget it. Seth seems like the type of man who can make me forget many things.

  He lifts his hea, his eyes hooded. Yes, he felt it too. The tingle that shoots from that quick connection straight to my clit. Seth doesn’t let go of my hand right away and I fight the urge to bristle under that direct, heated gaze. The bar is full of multifarious people, talking loudly over the even louder music pumping through the speakers, which gives me the chance to offer Seth a glance of my boobs as I lean over to him when he asks, “What brings a beautiful woman like you in this dive?”

  How sweet, he thinks I’m beautiful. By the end of the night, he’ll think I’m a goddess. I maneuver my right leg to the side, showing off more skin, just in case he missed it, but I don’t reply. Instead, I stroke the length of his denim-clad thighs, stopping short of cupping his crotch, and squeeze, digging my talons on his jeans. Then I straighten, withdrawing my hands and as I reach for my beer, I smile at him—wickedly, leaving no doubt in his mind. I tip it up, chugging the rest of it, quenching a physical thirst. Seth stands, pulls a bill out of his wallet and throws it on the bar.

  When I slam the bottle on the bar, Seth holds my jacket out for me. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His searing look is enough to soak my thong. My heart is thundering and my legs are a little shaky as I get off the stool and slip my arms through my jacket sleeves. Seth doesn’t wait for me to zip it up before grabbing my hand and leading me out of the bar. There are times when I love a man who takes charge.

  Chapter Two

  Seth

  I’m one fucking lucky guy. I head out to the nearest, not my favorite, watering hole to celebrate my most recent accomplishment, not realizing that I’ll get even luckier. I meet El
le, a name that’s easy enough to remember. I doubt it’s her real name—it doesn’t fir her exotic looks, those sultry light brown eyes, her silken hair, and the radiance of her skin--but I could give a fuck right now. All I want to know is if her pussy tastes as sweet as pure honey and how many times I can make her scream my name.

  As soon as we hit the sidewalk, I flag down a cab. The trained gentleman in me lets her in first, but the devil licks his lips at the sight of her ass, tightly encased in a skirt that should be illegal, as she steps into the cab. She’s wearing boots that go up and over her knees, the heels thin and dangerous enough to stab someone with. But fuck, it’s a sexy look. I think I’ll tell her to keep them on as I fuck her against a wall, or while her legs wrap around my neck as I lick her pussy clean.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asks.

  Fuck. I can’t exactly invite her to my place while my younger sister is currently crashing on my couch. I run names of hotels nearby…

  “Concord hotel,” Elle tells the driver before I come with something. I stare at her and she meets my gaze, sticking her tongue out to lick her full bottom lip.

  I didn’t think she’s a tourist. Not with what she’s wearing. Her choice of hotel tells me that she’s here for business. And pleasure, judging by how her hand slinks up my thigh again, like how she did in the bar. This time, she doesn’t stop, she palms my groin, and I thrust my hip forward, letting her feel my growing hard-on.

  I lean forward and Elle tilts her head to one side, inviting me to kiss, lick or bite her neck. I do all. Her scent, a mix of vanilla and flowers, is intoxicating. I pepper the smooth skin of her neck with staccato kisses, and follow it with a long lick of my tongue. And a nibble here and there. She continues to grapple with my erection over my jeans. I snake a hand around her waist and bring her closer to me, while my left hand slides up her leg and finds the soaked fabric covering her pussy. Elle moans in my ear as I tease her folds with my fingers, pressing my thumb over her clit.