by Linnea May
“Money,” I blurt out. “My parents can’t afford it - and it doesn’t look like I will get the scholarship I applied for.”
Why am I telling him this? It’s none of his business, and the way I am phrasing it makes it sound as if I am asking for money from him. Which I am not.
Isn’t this supposed to be a job interview? Why am I making such a fool of myself?
It must be his dashing looks. No one with an appearance like his should be allowed to conduct job interviews with unsuspecting young college graduates. It’s not fair.
And the way he is looking at me…
“I see,” he says, without taking his eyes off me. “That’s unfortunate.”
Yeah, and something you probably never had to worry about, I think.
“I don’t know if our internship program pays well enough for you to save money for school, though,” he says. “If that’s what you’re planning to do.”
I look down at my hands and observe the nervous fiddling of my fingers. “No, that’s okay.”
“So, what do we do now?” he asks. “I don’t see why I should waste my time with someone who doesn’t want to be here.”
I look up, shaking my head apologetically. “I am sorry! I completely understand.”
Again, I can’t help but glance at the photos behind him. For a moment I wonder if he might have taken them himself. If he knew his way around Shibari. I shiver at the thought of him handling rope. I bet he knows how to tie the knots just right, not too loose, not like luggage on the roof of a car. The thought of him tying me up makes me blush.
I avert my eyes, trying to think of something else before I lose all of my dignity.
“Do you like them?” he asks, interrupting my stream of thoughts. I jump in surprise and look at him - my cheeks fiery red, my eyes widened in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“Why do you keep apologizing for yourself?” he asks. “That’s a bad habit you should get rid of.”
“Um… okay.”
“So? Tell me what you think of the pictures?” he repeats his question. “You have been staring at them more than once. I would like to hear what you think.”
I nod and have a closer look at the pictures. He is observing me while I do, which does not make it easier for me to give him an answer.
“I like them,” I simply say. “Very artistic and beautiful.”
He smirks. “Yeah? You wouldn’t say inappropriate or perverted?”
I inhale audibly, shaking my head in protest. “No! Inappropriate… maybe, considering their placement.”
I clear my throat and look up at him. This conversation is so awkward! Why did he have to ask about the pictures?
He looks at me with his head tilted to the side and a mischievous smile on his face.
“They’re gorgeous,” I whisper, my voice so weak that it is barely audible. “So tastefully done.”
He nods. “I’ve been told to put them away. Several times. Apparently they freak some people out.”
“Shibari is not for everyone,” I say.
His eyes flicker. It is as if the dark spots in them start dancing at the sound of the word.
He subtly cocks his head. “Oh, you are familiar with Shibari?”
I hastily shake my head and lift my hands, waving in defense. “Me? No, no. I’ve just… heard of it.”
Very true. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve always wanted to try. Or to have someone try it on me. Especially someone like him. God, he’s dazzling.
And the way he looks at me now only makes it worse. His eyes are narrowed to slits, fixating me with intimidating attention.
“Come,” he says and jumps up from his chair. “Have a closer look.”
He beckons me to come closer. I hesitate for a moment before I follow his gesture and get up from my chair, fixing my skirt in the process.
“This,” he says, standing closely in front of the photo in which the woman is suspended. “This is my favorite.”
I stop next to him and investigate the photograph in front of me. Looking at it from this close reveals a range of details I had not noticed before, especially in the woman’s face. One can only see her profile. Her mouth is slightly opened as she lets her head fall back, her hair falling down in a thick, black curtain. One of her legs is stretched out, while the other is tied up in a bent position.
“Did you take them yourself?” I finally dare to ask.
He hesitates for a moment and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, while clearing his throat at the same time. “Yes, I did.”
I gulp. Wow, so he actually did this himself. Well, he took the pictures at least.
“Did you,” I stutter. “I mean… did you just take the pictures or did you do the rope as well?”
He smiles. “I tied her up, too.”
“Oh,” I say. I don’t think I would like a picture of me naked to be hanging in his office - but I sure wouldn’t mind getting a little taste of his bondage skills. Even if it is just a tiny bit.
“So,” he repeats. “What do you think?”
“Of the pictures?”
He chuckles and looks at me. “Yes, of course.”
Yes, of course. It’s not like he is asking you if you want to be tied up by his strong, masculine hands. Hanging down from the ceiling while his admiring gaze lies upon you.
“Very sensual,” I comment, followed by an instant blush. Sensual? Was that a word I wanted to use in this man’s presence?
I notice him turning around to me, now observing me instead of the picture. But I don’t dare to return his look. Damn, he smells good, too. He is still looking at me. Why does he do that?
I feel as if my heart is trying to crawl out of my chest when I finally dare to look back at him.
Yup, still gorgeous, still has these mesmerizing green eyes, the irresistible three-day stubble around his strong jawbone. Strong shoulders, decorated with a perfectly fitting jacket. Tiny lines around his eyes reveal his slightly advanced age - at least compared to the boys I have been with. This is certainly not a silly little college boy.
And he looks at me with this eerie intensity. As if he is waiting for a sign.
“Sensual, huh?” he whispers.
Fuck. Oh my God, I’m going to lose it. Why is he looking at me like this? I feel myself drawn to him, my body leaning forward to be closer to him. The tension is almost unbearable.
I look up to him with pleading eyes. Come on, make the first move. It’s okay if he does it, because this is his office, his company, his world. Not mine. I’m just a guest. A silly applicant who didn’t even bother to do the slightest amount of research before showing up for her interview.
It has to be him. He has to make the first move.
But he doesn’t. He just continues to look at me, still studying every tiny detail of my face.
Eventually, I nod. “Yes.”
Apparently, that was all he needed to hear.
Chapter Four
He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me against the wall in front of us. My back is pressed against the wall, perfectly placed between two of the photographs.
His lips are on mine within a moment. He pushes my arms up against the wall while his tongue invades my mouth with a force unbeknownst to me. He tastes just as good as he smells - and he’s passionate, demanding. Definitely not scared of hurting me or of being too overwhelming. He wants me just as much as I want him. And he’s not afraid to show it.
He pauses for a moment. I am still pinned between him and the wall, not able to move even if I wanted to. He is firmly pinning my arms against the wall above my head and holding me in place with his hip. I can feel his desire for me, pushing against my belly strong and hard.
“I’m sorry, Miss Storm,” he breathes.
“Stop apologizing for yourself,” I reply. “I’ve been told it’s a bad habit.”
He smirks, spawning a sexy little dimple on his right cheek. And just as I hoped, he pushes h
imself back on my lips. I eagerly welcome his demanding tongue and arch my back so he can get a taste of my boobs against his chest. I can hide them well, but they are anything but small - and I want him to know it.
Suddenly, he lets go of my hands and grabs me by the hip instead, lifting me up just enough to be able to move me around in a quick turn, placing my butt on his desk while still kissing me. He starts kneading my boobs through the blouse - I welcome it with a grateful moan.
I lift my arms to reach for his belt - but he pushes them down instantly, placing them behind my back.
“Don’t you dare move those hands,” he breathes as he starts to unbutton my blouse. I look up at him, helplessly opening my mouth as if it could compensate for my immobile hands. Sure, he has not tied me up, I could move them - but I don’t.
My white bra is exposed and he reaches inside, freeing my breasts with a quick move, accompanied by an admiring hum.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, kneading my naked breasts. I arch my back in pleasure and close my eyes as he closes his lips around my left nipple and starts sucking on it. Hard. I flinch at first, but give into the pleasure quickly. He lets go of it and moves over to the other side, sucking and biting my right nipple greedily.
I want to reach forward and touch him, free him of his clothes and get a glimpse of his body. But he forbade me to do so. The urge to touch him in combination with his demanding touch is driving me mad.
His hands wander lower, caressing my legs before he moves them back again to pull up my skirt while his lips are still wrapped around my nipple.
He is fast - and he knows what he is doing. Within a few seconds, he manages to surpass any fabric that blocks his way and I can feel his hand on my naked center. I gasp with surprise and arousal.
He straightens up, casting me a seductive smile as he forces me to lay down on his desk while his hand moves between my legs. He leans over me, covering my partly exposed body with his own.
Oh my God, this is not happening!
But it is. His hand is still between my legs, cupping my mound while the tips of his fingers are dangerously close to my entrance.
“Now tell me, Miss Storm,” he breathes, his face so close to mine that our lips almost touch. “What will I find if I move my hand a little further down?”
I stare up at him, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and my eyes wide with disbelief.
“Tell me,” he insists. “What will I find?”
“I… err…” I stutter.
I cannot say it. Whatever he wants to hear, whatever would be the truth, I cannot bring myself to say it.
“Should I just find out for myself?” he asks, his voice soaked with menace.
I nod silently, robbed of my ability to speak. I want him to touch me so badly, but this is all going so fast, so unexpected. I am overwhelmed by it all.
But I know I want it.
I groan with pleasure, arching my back when he slowly moves his hand forward, parting my folds with two fingers before he slides between them with another. His touch is eager, but not too intrusive, just the perfect mix of need and caution.
Oh God, I had no idea how desperately hungry I was. How much I needed something like this. And I certainly did not expect to find it here.
I almost cry out with excitement when he finally decides to treat my clit with the attention it needs, sending a wave of intense sensation through my body as he circles my most sensitive spot.
I am so close already. This is insane. What is happening to me? This whole situation, looking at the pictures, imagining him using his rope skills on me – it all added up to a toxic mix of sexual thrill that I’ve never experienced before.
“No, not… I—” I pant with desperation. “I’m gonna come!”
“Come!” he orders, his face hovering closely above mine.
For a moment I think he is going to kiss me again, but instead he just looks at me intently while I moan and squirm, unable to control myself as my orgasm claims me with unexpected force. I climax beneath his touch, convolving on his work desk.
And then his phone rings.
I don’t realize it at first, as the ringing joins right into the blurry vertigo of my climax, but it really is his phone. It is right behind me, loudly ringing into my ears.
He lets it ring three times, making sure not to interrupt my release, before he straightens up and reaches for it with one hand - while the other is still between my legs.
“Yes,” he hisses, still breathing heavily. He looks down at me, listening to whatever the person on the other end is saying.
I hastily put a hand above my mouth to keep myself from making a noise as he subtly teases me by bending his finger that is still inside me.
“Yes, got it, thanks,” he says, ending the phone call.
He hangs up and I look at him, running a sweat and breathing heavily.
I am still laying on his desk with my breast exposed, my skirt pulled up, legs spread and his finger inside me. Damn, what just happened?
That phone call lifted me back to reality with a harsh yank. I am confused - and utterly embarrassed.
He casts me a naughty smirk and slowly removes his finger from my center, lifting it up and – sucking it clean with relish. My eyes widen with embarrassment.
“That was the most interesting interview I ever had,” he whispers. “Very promising.”
I straighten myself up and start fixing my clothes, casting him shy looks as I do. Now that my brain is no longer clouded by desire and arousal, I’m terribly aware of the awkward – and inappropriate – situation he has put me in.
I just want to get out of here as soon as possible.
“I think we might have a little more to talk about,” Mr. Jones adds, sounding as casual as can be.
My eyes follow him as he moves across the desk to open a drawer on the other side. He fetches one of his business cards and writes something on it, while I fix my bra and start buttoning up my blouse.
“If you don’t mind,” he says, while still writing, “I’d like to see you again. Tonight. Here.”
He hands me the business card. I take it and read what he has written on it, still sitting on his desk. It’s the name and the location of a bar. A fancy cocktail bar I only know by name. I have never been, because the prices are way out of my league and I couldn’t enjoy a cocktail that costs more than what I would spend on half a week of groceries.
“Do you think you can make it?” he asks.
I hesitate for a moment, looking back and forth between him and the card in my hands.
“I… I think so,” I stutter.
He comes closer and positions himself in front me, slightly spreading my knees with his leg. He takes my face in both hands and tilts my head back so I am looking up to him.
“Don’t feel obliged to show up,” he says. “But don’t be shocked by whatever happens if you do. This was just a quick taste I needed of you – and I liked what I saw. I might eat you alive.”
I stare up at him with disbelief. If I wasn’t still sitting on his desk with my skirt not in place, I would already doubt the last few minutes ever happened.
His words are followed by another kiss. Just a quick peck on the lips that leaves me yearning for more as he withdraws. My eyes follow him, partly closed, silently begging, trying to pull him back. Damn, I have never been attracted like this to anybody before.
Then I remember what Beth has told me about him.
“Is this…” I whisper. “Is this what you do?”
He looks at me quizzically.
“I mean, your job interviews,” I clarify. “How many girls have you seduced this way?”
He shakes his head, smiling.
“None,” he claims. “Why would you think that everybody attracts me the way you do?”
“Because there is nothing special about me,” I say, lowering my eyes. “And I’ve heard… stories.”
“Stories?” he asks. “About me?”
I dare to look up and find h
im looking at me with his head tilted to the side. He doesn’t look worried or like someone who just got caught doing something wrong, but he looks curious.
“Yes,” I say. “Stories about you.”
He smiles. “Do you believe them?”
“After what just happened?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Touché,” he says. “I’ll admit, my actions don’t make me look innocent, but I can ensure you that this has not happened before.”
He pauses and winks at me.
“It’s up to you to believe what you want,” he adds. “In any case, I would love to see you again. At that bar. Tonight.”
“I don’t have anything to wear for such a fancy bar,” I randomly say, assuming that he must be used to much more fashionable ladies than me. How could he expect a college student to be able to afford clothing that matches the prices of the cocktails at that place?
He shrugs. “Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in. I can tell the clothes you are wearing right now don’t fall into that category.”
I lower my head in embarrassment. He might be right, but I don’t like that it is so easy to tell. Then again, he has been staring at me constantly since we have entered the room. It should come as no surprise that he notices my admittedly awkward walk.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ll think about it.”
He nods. “I’ll be there at eight tonight.”
He makes room for me to get down from the table. I try to slip down as elegantly as possible and fix my skirt.
“If you wish, I can send someone to pick you up,” he suggests as I go around the table to grab my purse.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
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