Page 48 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 2

Blake

My office intercom buzzed. It was my latest secretary, Mrs. Cho. Ms. Jennifer McCoy was here for her job interview. I glanced down at my Rolex. It was only eight thirty. She was fifteen minutes early. Hmm. A punctual one. I quickly read over her impressive resumé one more time. B.A. in English and Psychology, Magna Cum Laude from USC, and a Masters with Honors from the university’s prestigious film school. I did the math in my head: 4.0 GPA, age twenty-four.

I don’t know why I was interviewing her. My dad, Saul Bernstein, the feared and revered head of Conquest Broadcasting, had told me I had no choice; she was already a hire. Impressed by her credentials, he had promised her an entry-level job upon graduation at Peanuts, our children’s network. Unfortunately, Dad had recently decided to sell the network to a German conglomerate because it wasn’t generating enough revenue; the kids biz was just not what it used to be—a cash cow like Power Rangers was hard to come by. A man of his word, my father didn’t want to let her down—or lose a valuable asset. After scouring the company for an entry-level programming job, he decided she would be a good fit with SIN-TV. And a good fit with me.

“Send her back,” I told Mrs. Cho. Let’s see if Ms. Brainiac had a sense of direction and could find my corner office.

While waiting for her, I yawned. Kirstie and Kristie had both showed up at the club last night and caught me kissing that strange, blindfolded girl. Fucking my fault. I’d unknowingly made a date with both of them; sometimes I did that. Well, they didn’t seem to mind. They were identical twins—fashion models with the same agency—and were used to sharing things. So, they proposed a little ménage à trois in my private fuck pad at the club. Usually I enjoyed a gaggle of arms, legs, tits, and pussies, but last night I wasn’t in the mood. I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn girl who’d kissed me blindfolded. There was something about her. I don’t know if was her fearlessness or the sweet scent of her—a blend of cherries and vanilla that lingered on my collar—or those sexy little sounds that gurgled in her throat. It definitely wasn’t her looks—she was petite and brunette—not my blond supermodel type. Yet, I was instantly attracted to her, and the minute I tasted her, I wanted more. Like taking a bite of a chocolate truffle and then wanting to devour all of it because it’s so irresistibly melt-in-your-mouth good. She had no clue while I devoured her mouth, my cock was straining against my pants, yearning for more.

“What were you doing with that girl?” asked Kirstie, her voice snippy.

I explained I was just playing some kind of game with some chick I didn’t know. And would never see again. They turned to each other, did that twin telepathic thing, and then responded in tandem with one snarky word: “Right.”

I paid the price all right. Once in my fuck pad, the dynamic duo decided they wanted to play a game with me too. Kirstie blindfolded me with my tie, and Kristie pulled down my slacks and boxers. While one got down on her knees and sucked my dick, the other mouthed my balls from behind. I got hard okay. Fast and furiously. But it wasn’t the cock-sucking blond duo that was making me hard. It was that girl. That crazy blindfolded girl. In my mind’s eye, I imagined her on her knees doing all these things to me with her lush mouth and that deft velvety tongue. Me, fondling her, pulling at her ponytail, talking dirty. Her, sucking, licking, moaning. Fuck. Why didn’t I pull off her blindfold? Why didn’t I find out who she was? I groaned. Chances were I’d never see her again. Stupid fucking me. I’d let one get away. I’d been prey to a game, and I’d lost. I never lost. No, never in my almost thirty years on this planet. I sucked in a gulp of air. My cock was heavy and beginning to pulse, and my nuts were contracting. The telltale signs I was on the brink of a major orgasm. My body stiffened, and I arched my head back. “Oh, yeah!” I cried out, but before I could come, all mouth contact was gone.

“Bye, Blakey,” cooed the twins. I heard the door slam shut before I could remove my tie from my eyes. Fuck them! The brats had blue-balled me. Wrapping my fingers around my aching cock, I finished what they’d started. As I stroked up and down my rigid length, her sweet voice resounded in my head. “I have to kiss you,” and at those words, my cock exploded in my hand. For the first time in my life, the memory of a kiss had brought me to the point of no return. I had to find her, see her again. I clambered to pull up my pants and after tucking my cock inside, I dashed out the door. Back inside the club, my eyes circled the crowded, pulsing room, then darted left and right. She wasn’t at a table, at the bar, or on the dance floor. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room. I waited patiently for her return, my roaming eyes on the lookout. “Blurred Lines” was blasting, and clubbers were wildly singing and dancing along. Ten long, desperate minutes passed. Fuck. That girl was gone. Out of my life.

My mind returned to the moment. Where was this new girl? She definitely must be lost. I set my eyes on my computer screen and scanned the latest ratings report. Our prime time and late night ratings were through the roof, but as usual, our daytime ratings were lackluster. I just didn’t get why our porn lineup in the morning wasn’t getting eyeballs. Big dicks fucking preened pussies wasn’t cutting it. Something was missing.

“Mr. Burns?” A sweet voice at my doorway diverted my attention, and I looked up from the screen. In tandem, my eyes blinked, my body jerked, and my cock tensed. Subtly for her not to notice.

Though her neat auburn bun, prim tweed suit, and tortoiseshell glasses made her look like some bookworm who should be working at a corporate law office, I swear I’d recognize that face anywhere—with its dewy-skin complexion, delicate bone structure, and those expressive, turned-up lips. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming. But there she was. That girl I’d kissed last night. In fact, her lips were still swollen. Holy fucking shit!

“Hi, I’m Jennifer McCoy.”

It took several long moments for my brain to communicate with my mouth. I cleared my throat and licked my lips. “Please come in and take a seat.”

Unlike last night when she was blindfolded and took short hesitant steps, she strode into my office with a strong confident gait and lowered herself onto one of the two armchairs facing me. She placed her shoulder bag and briefcase on the floor next to her and crossed her shapely, long legs. I had the burning urge to uncross them.

“So, Ms. McCoy—”

“You can call me Jennifer.”

Okay, let’s start over. “So, Jen-ni-fer, you come highly recommended by my boss, Saul Bernstein.” God, I loved saying her name. It sucked the air out of my lungs.

She flashed a small smile. Two little dimples winked at her kissable lips. My cock twitched and I continued.

“However, I’m not sure why someone with a passion for children’s television would want to work for a porn channel.”

Without flinching, she held my gaze steady. “Adults are no different than children. They need to be entertained.”

That was a fact. And that’s why we referred to our network and programming as “adult entertainment.” I wasn’t done testing her. Or studying her—especially her eyes. Her blindfold had hidden them from me last night, and after she’d disappeared, I kept imagining what they looked like. I thought they might be brown or blue and deep-set. But they were wide-set and green—the greenest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. When she blinked, it was if they were two leaves fluttering in the wind. I caught my breath.

“Well, it’s one thing to tell a producer of a cartoon that he—”

“Or she,” she interrupted.

“Or she needs to make the shaggy dog bark louder, but it’s another to tell the producer of a porn flick that his female star who’s being shagged needs to scream louder.”

“Not a problem,” she said flatly.

“Well, then, let’s pretend I’m the producer, and I’m not quite sure what you want. Can you please demonstrate?”

“Sure.” She cleared her throat and then took off her glasses, setting them on my desk. Fuck. Her eyes were beautiful.

My gaze stayed fixed on them as she flung her head back, and a look of torturous pleasure washed over her face. It was identical to the expression on her face last night as I held her head back and fucked her mouth with my tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut.

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