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Me: Oh, trust me, I’m taking breaths. I’m practically panting with nervousness. Soon, my goddamn tongue will be hanging out of my mouth like a dog.
Milo: LOL. For the love of God, kid. Take slower breaths. What time is your interview?
Me: Noon.
Milo: So, two hours. That’s plenty of time to go grab a coffee, take a walk, and try to relax your mind.
Me: That plan is shit, Milo. I’ve been up since five this morning. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. Anyway, I’m here.
Milo: Huh?
Me: Your office. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of some big billionaire meeting, I’m coming up.
Milo: Billionaire meeting. LOL. I’m in my office. Come on up.
Not even ten minutes later, I’ve ridden the elevator twenty flights and I’m stepping past his secretary and into his office.
Milo sits at the center of the room, behind a sleek desk, with large floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city behind him. He looks like some kind of sexy-fucking-dapper-business-suit-clad king. A man with glimmering blue eyes and sin-worthy lips running a billion-dollar empire.
If I weren’t so riled up about this stupid interview, I might find myself drooling. Or, thinking about the one experience I haven’t been able to get out of my head since I wrapped my lips around his cock.
Good God, his cock…
Shit. Focus, Maybe. There is no time for cock right now!
“Help me,” I whine, and I shut the door to his office behind me.
“Well, hello to you too,” he says with a grin.
But I don’t have time to waste on pleasantries. I’m in DEFCON Red—or whichever the hell DEFCON means I’m shitting myself—the apocalypse-is-coming kind of panic mode, and it takes all of three seconds for me to dive headfirst into amped-up word vomit. “I’m freaking the hell out. I want this job so bad, Milo. So flipping bad. I feel like everything is resting on this interview, and it is completely mindfucking me.”
The heels of my stilettos tip-tap across the marble floor as I pace in front of his desk.
“What am I going to do?” I nearly shout. “Am I good at interviews? Do I make good first impressions?” That question sends me into a tizzy. “Oh God. I bet I make horrible first impressions, don’t I? I’m probably one of those people that you meet and immediately think, ‘she’s either crazy, weird, or too awkward to befriend.’ Fucking hell, I’m socially inept! I don’t—”
“Hey,” he says calmly and stands up from his chair. “Just calm down. It’s going to be okay.”
“Calm down?” My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “How can I be calm in a moment like this? How can I be calm when I’m supposed to be interviewed by the editor in chief of one of the biggest publishing houses in the world! I can’t be calm at a time like this!”
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he steps away from his desk and over to the windows that look out toward the inside of the office building. In a matter of seconds, the blinds are shut, and his secretary’s back is hidden from my view.
“What are you doing?” I question. “Are you afraid I’m going to scare away your employees? Though, that’s probably valid.” I keep pacing. “For sure valid since I’m basically a ranting crazy lady in heels right now.”
“Sit on the desk.”
I stop mid-step. “Huh?”
“Sit on the desk, Maybe.” He steps toward me and leans closer so his lips are just barely brushing my ear. “Slide your panties off from beneath your skirt, and sit your sexy little ass on my desk.”
I’m frozen. Still as a fucking statue.
Did he just say what I think he said?
“Do it, Maybe,” he whispers. “Take off your panties and sit on my desk.”
Instantly, goose bumps pepper my arms, and a shiver rolls up my spine.
Holy maple-syrup-pancakes-on-a-Sunday.
The heat in his blue eyes says Milo ain’t playing.
And my now-wet panties say my body is one-hundred-percent down with playing.
“Do you want me to do it for you?” he asks, and I nod.
At least, I think I nod. Hell, I don’t know what’s happening. I mean, I like it. I’m digging it. I’m so down for this panty-less cause, I’d sign a blood oath to go commando for the rest of my life, but I have no idea what is going on right now.
His fingertips graze the skin of my thighs as he reaches down with both hands and slides my skirt up toward my hips. Slowly, inch by inch, more of my legs are uncovered until my white pencil skirt is bunched at my waist, revealing the panties he apparently wants gone.
Go figure. Apparently, I did nod.
Those devious hands of his move to my lace boyshorts, and before I know it, they’re making a deliciously slow path down my legs.
My skin tingles. My nipples harden. And all I can do is stand there, naked from the waist down, still in my heels, and watch him.
