Page 12 of Audacity

She’s on the slim slide, with a slender waist and fuller hips, but she’s not gym-honed at all. Her skin is pale and flawless aside from a smattering of moles on her stomach that look positively decorative. There’s little muscle definition. Her breasts are heavy, the outlined nipples full. Her stomach is a soft swell.

A man could lay his weary head between those breasts or on that stomach and feel thoroughly, happily contented.

I let my gaze run over the photo as I palm my dick through my trousers. Suddenly, the box of tissues Camille pointed out makes a lot more sense. There is absolutely nothing about this picture I don’t like. No doubt about it, Athena Davenport is a stunning woman.

The arrow at the bottom of the screen is still black. Looks like there are more images to see.

Oh holy fuck.

Dear, blessed Father in Heaven, I know not what I do… because I wasnotexpectingthis.

Athena, perched on a tall stool.

Utterly, wonderfully naked.

She’s sitting upright, eyes wide, lips still parted, that same, neutral expression on her face. This time, it strikes me as more disingenuous. Moredangerous.

Her toes are propped up on the rungs of the stool, her knees wide. That beautiful auburn hair hangs loose, trailing over what are indeed glorious breasts, their rosy nipples now tightly furled.

She’s cupping a breast with one hand while, with the other, she reaches between her legs and opens herself up for the camera with her fingers.

I zoom in.

So help me God, I zoom in like a frenzied madman, so I can enjoy the glossy pinkness of her bare cunt, exposed forme, formyviewing pleasure. I stare at it, palming my cock harder. I absolutely will not be that man who gets himself off in someone’s office to pornographic images of a beautiful woman with whom he has not yet entered into a contractual relationship.

I willnot.

But there’s something so deeply arresting about this juxtaposition of Athena’s facial inscrutability and the wantonness, the brazenness of her pose.

It feels less like an invitation than a challenge.

A challenge to try in vain to resist her.

And it’s clear, simply from the miraculous arrangement of pixels in front of me, that I will fall at that first hurdle.

CHAPTER 5

Athena

The French have two phrases they use when they want to wish someone good luck:bonne chance,for when one’s fate lies in the hands of the gods, andbon courage, for when your success will come down to your personal level of fortitude.

It’s the latter I need when I first meet a prospective employer.Not only is walking into the offices of someone who might be your new bossandyour new fuck particularly surreal, but the interview dynamic is a tough one to get right.

Women often have to fight not to be treated as a sexual object in the corporate world. Most of us would demand, or at least hope, that any interviewer for a new job would focus on our qualifications for the position and not on our looks. In this instant, however, I will sit down with a man to discuss his professional needs and my professional suitability while both of us imagine each other naked on a constant loop.

It’s a lot. Even the dress code is a tough one to get right: professional rather than provocative but not totally sexless.

The elephant in the room at first-round Seraph interviews tends to be more of a T-Rex. A T-Rex who asksdoes he want toput his dick inside me badly enough to offer me a jobandcan I tolerate being stuffed full of him enough to say yes?

I’m not sure why I’m nervous this morning. On paper, this is a no-brainer. I’ve worked for Steve long enough to know that renewables, while superbly positioned for future growth, aren’t my jam. The sector isn’t for the faint of heart. Someone else comes up with better technology, which they inevitably do, and you’re toast.

More pertinently, this guy I’m meeting today, Mr Sullivan, is clearly an upgrade—unless he’s been a cleric for so long he’s forgotten how to use his dick, that is. Everything I’ve seen of him online shows me he is hot as fuck. Steve, on the other hand, is perfectly fine but nothing to write home about looks-wise. Our sexual relationship is highly regimented: he has a strong preference for being able to dictate the circumstances in which he gets intimate.

I get it, and I’ve grown surprisingly fond of him (or as fond as I grow of anyone). He’s insanely smart and generous to a fault with his information. I’ve learned a tonne from him, and I truly relish our intellectual back-and-forths. Sexually and career-wise, though, I’m in a rut. So I should be champing at the bit to get my hands on this job… and this guy.

It’s just that going into a new role with a new boss can be fraught. Given the salary I command, I aim to hit the ground running, professionally and sexually. There isn’t ever time to get my feet under the table properly, and I find it takes a huge physical and emotional toll on me. Again, it’s a lot, and if I take this challenge on I’ll have to be even more disciplined with my sleep and nutrition regimes than I have been since I got comfortable with Steve.

This morning, I’ve taken the step of turning the Eras Tour on on my TV while I get ready. Usually, I have CNBC or Bloomberg on in the background to get me up to speed on any overnightnews out of the US and Asia, but today I require a proverbial kick up the arse.

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