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“I don’t want anyone to talk about us,” Charlotte murmured. “And you’re the one who said it would never happen again.”
“That’s right. And I meant what I said,” Quentin said. His dark, brooding eyes seemed to pound into her skull. She blinked several times, unable to handle their intensity. “Why don’t you sit down?”
In the silence that followed, Charlotte sat primly in the chair across from his, watching him with cat-like interest as he poised himself in his normal chair. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, wanting to choose words that would ignite nerves within her. He wanted to control her, completely.
“Did you choose that dress because you knew I would like it?” he asked her, gesturing to her breasts, almost spilling from the black fabric.
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. She swept her hands to her tits and cupped them, seeming like a rabbit, wanting to hide. “No—no. It’s just a dress. Nothing to attract, nor detract attention.”
“I would beg to differ. I would beg to differ on many accounts.” He lifted his notebook from his desk drawer, writing her name at the top. “Charlotte isn’t a name you hear so often, now, is it? An old-fashioned name. Something a grandmother would have.”
“Do you think of grandmothers when you think of me?” Charlotte asked him.
Quentin sniffed, smiling grandly to himself. “You’re a clever little one, aren’t you? I didn’t expect it. You don’t present yourself as such, initially.”
“Maybe you’re just too attracted to my tits to notice my intelligence,” Charlotte said, although not unkindly. “Of course, that’s your reputation, isn’t it? An over-sexed rock star. I read about you in my MMM when I was a teenage girl. I daydreamed about fucking you, albeit in vague terms. I didn’t know much about fucking then. Not like I know now.” Her eyes danced with meaning.
Quentin tilted his head sideways, his heart jolting against his chest. He could feel his manhood pressing firmly, with more insistence, at his pant crotch. He knew she was bluffing and could sense her inexperience the night before. He cleared his throat, wanting to guide them away from this dangerous topic. He knew he couldn’t resist her much longer.
“Tell me about your career, then,” he said. “Your aspirations. Why you’re here.”
Charlotte’s mouth hung open for a moment, shocked at the non-intimate, boss-like question. She stuttered into the words. “Well—um. I didn’t expect—“
“You didn’t expect me to take an interest in your career?” he asked her, smiling. “I can already sense that you have a way with words. That copy you spit out for the street wear guys back there. That was good shit. Really was.”
“Maggie was none too pleased.”
“She’s never pleased about anything.” He sensed he was making her happy, complimenting her on her work. It was well-deserved, sure. But why did it make him so content to please her? Never, in any of his past relationships, had he bent over backward for a female. They’d always bent for him.
“Well, I have to please her. She’s technically my boss. And I don’t think she’ll take kindly to many more one-on-one meetings between us.”
“Charlotte, it’s my magazine. I make the rules, here.”
“And the no-fraternization policy? You made that up, too?” Her eyes were like those of a deer, peering at him as he barreled his car toward it on a dark road at night.
Quentin clenched his jaw tightly, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. “I did. But I did it for a very good reason.”
Silence hung between them for a moment. Quentin cleared his throat. “Anyway. You majored in writing, correct?”
“Creative writing. But as I told you and your daughter, music has been a part of my life for a long time. I’ve been studying MMM for years and then found it grew in leaps and bounds when you took over as editor two years ago. I was amazed at your writing capabilities.”
“Especially since you knew about my past,” Quentin finished, gruffly.
“Especially that, yes,” Charlotte murmured.
“How can I help you become a good writer here? How can I guide your—shall we say—professional development?” Quentin slid his fingers through his black hair. His cock became more insistent, pushing up against his boxers.
Charlotte stood, then. Her breasts were taut against the low-cut fabric, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes danced with lust. She took a single step to the side of the desk, leaning heavily against the wood, taking a similar stance as Maggie had, just a bit before. Quentin’s reaction couldn’t have been more different.
“I don’t want to sleep with you for favors,” Charlotte answered quietly, her voice sultry. “I don’t play like that. I work for what I get. I know I can fight to be a writer at this office, without your guiding hand.”
Suddenly, she sat on his lap, straddling his waist, with her crotch pressed tightly against the mound of him. Quentin’s eyes closed immediately as she began to rub her clothed pussy against his aching cock, her nose a mere two inches from his.
