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When a barista starts stacking chairs onto tables, I realize we’ve closed down the joint. We’re two hours past the time we allotted for the interview. He’s still talking so I’m still writing, not willing to break the spell.

Eventually, they kick us out.

On our way to the door he sets his hand on the small of my back to steer me around a two-top. It probably means nothing. A polite reflex of a chivalrous man who has good manners.

Beau’s hand stays one second past necessary, then two. Tingles in my spine reverberate everywhere down to my core.

Neither of us moves.

Suddenly, he pulls the door and tells me he’ll see me tomorrow when it’s my turn in the hot seat. I answer with something normal. I have no memory of the words I use.

Something tells me I’m in way over my head with this man.

In ways I can’t begin to comprehend.

four

The Next Afternoon

She’s early again, dammit.

I swing the door open to find Elodie already folded into the same high-back chair by the fire, one foot tucked under her, thumbing through something on her phone.

My chest does the same stupid lifting thing it did yesterday when I saw her and I want to turn around and drive home. Spare myself—and her—some embarrassment.

Yesterday, I swear there were vibes between us. Flirtatious. Inappropriate.

Then again, I’m out of practice. Elodie probably thinks she’s humoring a harmless old cunt.

She’d be wrong.

This sweet girl has no idea how voracious my sexual appetite is. It’s been dormant for well over two years now and somehow, our banter woke up my inner beast. She’s on my mind 24/7.

It’s wrong. I’m a terrible man.

Today, it’s hard for me to face her. Mainly, because last night I had the most vivid dream of Elodie pleasuring me.

God, it was incredible. She was naked on her knees with my cock buried down her throat. My fist was wound tight in her hair so I kept a good view of her lips stretched around my girth. Her perky tits bounced as she bobbed, hazel eyes locked on mine. Moaned around me like she might come from nothing more than giving me head.

I swear to God, it was incredible.

My own grunts of pleasure jolted me awake. I lay in the dark a while, horrified. Tried to be a decent man about it and will away the urge to wank. Failed. Took a cold shower. Still didn’t work.

Fucked my fist like a madman and had, possibly, the best self-induced orgasm of my life.

Shame blanketed me immediately. What kind of respectable fifty-six-year-old man jerks off in the shower to a visual of a college senior I’m supposed to be partnering with to pass a class?

This guy.

I’m in real trouble. Because if she’s open to it…

No. Fuck no.

I. Am. Not Going. There.

With a sigh, I drop into the chair beside her and leave eighteen inches of air between us on purpose. “Morning.”

“Got you coffee. Heavy cream. You consider oat milk a personal failing.” She holds up my drink and hands it to me.