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“I figured as much when I tried to deliver you a cup and—”
“You asked me to start right away. I did.” Her pink cheeks turn crimson red.
“Are you hungry? You must have worked up an appetite.” I love watching her blush, and I wonder how red I can make her cheeks. “Let me take you to lunch. We can get to know each other better.”
Something tells me getting to know Janey Pickle is going to be the most fun I’ve had in years.
“You don’t have to do that. I can get myself lunch.” She twists her hair and chews her lip. It’s a sure giveaway to her discomfort.
“It will be my pleasure to satisfy your hunger.” I walk forward and wrap my arm around her shoulder in a buddy fashion. I don’t pull her into my side, nor do I let my hand hover over to grip her breast, although it is a mere inch or so out of reach. Close enough that my fingers itch to get one feel, but I need a product tester more than I need a lawsuit.
She looks around like she’s seeking an escape, but there is none. “Let me get my bag.”
“You don’t need it. My treat.” Without giving her time to consider anything, I walk her out of the building and across the street to Tupelo’s.
She shrugs me off as we enter the restaurant. It’s not the type of place a boss and his employee would normally go unless of course they’re having an affair. The room is dark with only a warm glow of overhead lighting and a single candle on each table. The booths are made for privacy with their high backs. This is a place for secrets.
Of course, they happen to have the best southern cuisine around.
“Is that chicory I smell?” She lifts her nose into the air. The position elongates her neck and I fantasize about running my tongue from her ear to her collarbone. Would she taste salty? Sweet? If I pulled her fingers into my mouth would they taste like her pussy after hours of product testing? Again my dick twitches, and I’m grateful for the cloak of darkness shrouding us.
“That’s right. You didn’t get your coffee. I’m not much of a coffee expert. My expertise lies in something else.” Even in the darkness I see a blush travel up to her hairline. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Full, pink lips. Red cheeks. Perfection.
We are seated in a booth in the middle of the restaurant and even though our location is central, there are no direct lines of sight to any other booth in the place. The designer created a space where each booth is its own oasis. Endless thoughts about Janey being dessert rush through my head but are doused the minute the waitress shows up.
We order a sampler platter that’s guaranteed to give us a taste of the south, but the only place south I want to taste is between Janey’s legs. She really did pull off that sexy librarian image from the ponytail at the nape of her neck down to her white, starched blouse, black slacks, and sensible shoes. However, I heard the buzz in her office for hours, and I know under the stuffy exterior is a wild cat full of passion.
“How was your morning?” I
sip my sweet tea and watch her squirm. Is it from nervousness or soreness? That much stimulation can set her skin on fire. I reach below the table and pinch the head of my dick with hopes that it will retreat and soften. It doesn’t.
She sits up straighter and pulls at her collar. “Productive.” Her fingers twirl around a strand of hair until it falls in a ringlet to her shoulder.
“Tell me about yourself.”
She sips her tea and smiles, and there goes my dick again.
“Not much to tell. I graduated from San Francisco State with a degree in marketing. As you might have noticed on my résumé, I struggled to find a job.”
“It’s a tough market out there. What made you want to enter the sex trade?”
She coughs and grabs for her drink. Several gulps in, she empties the glass and sets it on the table in front of her. “Would you call this the sex trade?”
This was way too much fun. I slide closer to her in the booth. “Sweetheart, you’re getting paid to have sex. I’d say the minute we exchange money for sex it’s a done deal.”
By the shocked look on her face, I’m sure she hasn’t considered that.
“Oh lord, I—”
“Hadn’t thought about it? Well, don’t worry.” I pat her hand and feel the same heat as I did when we shook hands earlier. It races through my body and settles in my cock. I mimic her earlier squirming trying to adjust the swell. “We list your position as a product analyst. Nobody has to know that you sit in your office and mas—”
“Here you go.” The waitress puts the platter on the table and leaves.
Relief washes over Janey’s face. She’s been saved by gumbo and red beans with rice.
We dish up our servings and eat in silence. My brain is anything but silent, it’s full of questions and visions and unmet desire.
After we finish lunch, I order beignets and chicory coffee, which seems to please Janey, and that, for some odd reason, pleases me. I haven’t wanted to please a woman since Gloria walked out on me a year ago. She met some guy down in the Haight-Ashbury District and they took off together to make daisy chains and tie-dye shirts. She left with nothing but the clothes on her back. Said the guy had sold all his belongings, and they were going to live off the grid.
