Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“So tomorrow, what, out front at six?” she says, voice all trembly as if she still finds me intimidating.
“See you then,” I reply.
She turns and walks away. I can’t stop myself from staring at her ass imprisoned in those sweatpants. I can’t stop myself from envisioning my hands on her pants, pulling them down, and revealing her round, juicy cheeks inch by tempting inch.
Once she’s gone, I sit heavily, feeling like I’ve just run ten miles. My chest won’t stop thumping.
The future won’t stop calling to me.
CHAPTER THREE
Madison
Sleep is difficult that night as I roll over, the sheets clinging to me.
I did what Mom asked, got the memory drive, and stopped her from getting into trouble, but something else happened as I stood beneath Jacob, feeling spotlighted under his intense stare. He was looking at me, at least during the start of our brief conversation, as if he was ready to drag me into his arms, kiss me possessively, glide his hands down to my hips, and…
And what?
He doesn’t know who I am. Why did I have to give him a fake name?
Toward the end… fine, we laughed. He even offered to help me with the interview, which I’ve been worried about. He offered to help Michaela, though, not Madison.
I shouldn’t have agreed. It was a silly thing to do, yet I’m thinking of doing something even sillier. Once my shift is over at the restaurant tomorrow, I’m thinking of driving back to Jacob’s office and waiting out front like he said. I’ll have to tell him the truth about my name eventually, but in the meantime, I feel owned by this swelling feeling.
Logical thinking isn’t my friend right now. I know it will all blow up when he finds out who I really am, but I want to see him. Despite his grumpiness, I made him smile, made him laugh.
I’ll have to hope Mom doesn’t leave the building at six. She normally leaves around six thirty, so I should be okay, but then what?
We go to the interview together as I secretly watch Jacob, letting myself imagine and believe a bunch of ridiculous things. I’ll let myself wish for him to pull me into his lap, grind against me, and let me feel his desire. Or brush his hand tenderly across my cheek, tucking hair behind my ear, gifting me with another quick smile.
“We’re not just doing the interview together,” he’ll whisper, passion in his husky voice. “We’re doing everything together…”
The memory gets too loud, his muscles pressing against his T-shirt, revealing the outline of his solid pecs. I’m sure I could see his abs pushing as well, a hard mass of them. As I close my eyes and will sleep to come, I imagine my fingernails bending against his muscles as I scratch against him.
My hand slides down between my legs to my sex. I’ve touched myself thinking about Jacob before, but only from his photos. Now, I’ve got the heat of his body, his eyes fixed on me, not the camera. He was so close in his office, he could’ve leaped on me.
As my fingers stroke up and down my folds, moving to my clit, I fixate on that idea. Jacob grabbing my hips and pulling me right up against him, growling in his stern voice as his manhood pushes against my belly, both of us rocking in the lust, both of us slaves to it. My hand moves faster, more urgently.
There’s nothing specific, just a series of images—Jacob’s arms bulging against the seams of his T-shirt. His touch on my legs, my ass, and my hips.
As the orgasm gets closer, I feel his hand against my sex. These aren’t my fingers stroking, but his. He’s owning my sex, rubbing with force, staring down at me with determination tightening his savage features.
“Come for me, Maddie. You’re so sexy. You make me wild…”
I gasp, the orgasm gripping me. Trembling, I rub my clit as it sears and pulses, and I attempt to hold on to the image, to the impossible idea that Jacob wants me.
He didn’t offer to help with the interview because he’s a good person and protects his employees. He offered to help because we share a special connection. I know which is more likely, but a woman can dream, right?
I wake earlier than usual, sleep a challenge with the memory of Jacob clinging to me. Mom’s sitting at the small table near the window, munching on some toast. She’s wearing her work gear: the black pencil skirt and the stylish blazer.
I lower my gaze like a criminal as I walk across the room as if she’s called me Michaela as if she’s somehow learned about my lie. With sleep separating me from the deceit, it seems even crazier that I’d do that. It was a reflex, a panic strategy. Now I have to deal with it.