Page 7 of Devil In A Suit, Vol. 1

It’s him. Jared fucking King, texting me!

I don’t even know how to begin to reply to that, but suddenly I’m starting to worry about another woman wearing these panties after me. Because this text is twisting my mind into knots of desire that may just be leaving its mark.

Still, I don’t want to say anything stupid like I said in his office, so I stick with a mostly benign response.

The salesgirl says it’s perfect.

His response is immediate.

I don’t care what the salesgirl thinks.

And then:

Tell me what you picked.

I look in the mirror, trying to imagine how I could describe this without embarrassing myself, but nothing comes to mind. He seems to sense my problem, because his next text takes it a step further.

Send me a picture.

Yes, these panties are definitely going to need to be washed.

I’m simultaneously turned on and frightened. He wants me to text him a picture? Of me? Wearing this? Suddenly we’ve gone beyond playful. Now we’re entering more dangerous territory. This isn’t just some assignment to prove that I’m worth keeping around the office.

This is something else. This is something more.

And I know this must be a mistake, because not only is it stupid and wrong to talk like this with your boss—but I am so not even in the same league as the kind of woman Jared King is interested in.

And yet…here he is, texting me.

Why? Just because he can?

I look at myself in the mirror again, at the way the lace hugs my hips, the curve of the little booty shorts hugging my butt just right. I look at the way my breasts heave, full and round in the bralette. And I look at my nipples, firm and at attention. He wants to see me like this.

Me.

He asked for it, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I want to.

It’s a want so clear and so deep that I don’t even have to question it. He may be daring me just for a fun diversion, but it’s me who won’t back down.

I listen to make sure Regina isn’t clicking her heels back here, then I point my phone at the full-length mirror, turn my right hip out and pop my knee. I focus in on my hip and the curve of my butt, the milky white of my thigh, and then I snap the picture. It’s not exactly what he asked for, but it’s a taste.

Heart pounding so hard that I can hardly hear myself think. My body is shaking with adrenaline, and I feel almost dizzy.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

I’m impressed. Wear it tonight.

I didn’t thinkit was possible for him to surprise me further, but here I am, nearly dropping my phone onto the marble floor in my shock.

Tonight? I respond.

His followup text comes just a split second later.

To Renew. 8pm. My driver will pick you up.

I sitdown on the cold bench in the dressing room and stare at my phone, trying to process what’s happening, how I went from majorly screwing up at covering for Jared King’s assistant to trying on slinky lingerie to accompanying Jared King to dinner. Because apparently tonight the woman in the expensive lingerie at the hottest restaurant in town with the most eligible billionaire?

Will be me.

And then comes the final text of the day.

Don’t be late.