Page 43 of Masks and Mishaps

She sighs. “What do you want, big brother?”

“That is so gross, Ess.”

“Or is it inexplicably hot to you? Hotter than, say, using my body like a fleshlight whenever it strikes your fancy?”

“One time, I watched you stuff yourself with two dildos at once, so stop pretending you’re a prude,” I retort. “You’re going to love free-use.”

Another sigh. “What do you want, Dalton?”

“I told you I was having my interns over for drinks. Since Claudia Villatoro has now personally requested your presence, you’re my intern. Come over.”

“I don’t drink. Halloween was an exception.”

“Rule number one: If you’re not in the room, you’re not getting a seat at the table. Rule number two: If you don’t have a seat at the table, everyone at the table is going to talk shit about you or forget you exist. Rule number three: I will literally uproot a sequoia with my bare hands and build you a table—don’t tell Everett. Rule number four: I don’t know shit about building tables, so in the meantime, get your perfect ass to my place. I’m sending a car.”

Essie doesn’t respond at first, and I’m about to tell her about rule number five (You don’t actually need a seat at the table because if there were a table near us, I’d bend you over and fuck you on it), but she clears her throat. “Be honest,” she requests. “Is this important to my career?”

“Direly,” I reply. “Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late for me.”

***

When she arrives, her expression is indignant. It’s also so hot.

The other guys greet her drunkenly, and her wave is infinitely less enthusiastic (if not cautious) before she slides off her coat. Then she joins Cabrera, Barnett, and Weston in my kitchen without saying a damn word to me.

Then, she just watches them—and I watch her.

After another minute, she’s still standing there, hands resting on the counter next to the sink. Her eyes track between the guys on the other side of the island, who are getting increasingly louder. She’s quiet. Too quiet. But it’s not from meekness or shyness—because Essie is neither of those things. No, this is discomfort.

I bend down and whisper, “When I ask, say you want a double vodka soda with lime.” I keep my face serious so she knows this is important. She nods. “What are you drinking?”

“Double vodka soda with lime,” she replies.

“Good girl,” I murmur, and her subsequent sharp inhalation is a straight up aphrodisiac.

It doesn’t take me long to make her drink: a club soda—no vodka—with lime. I work quietly, checking on the other interns to make sure they’re not watching, and I stand next to her with one hand on the counter. “You need to talk to them,” I whisper before I pass her the drink.

“I was studying,” is her response.

“Stop being bratty. I’m trying to help you.” And before Essie can deliver whatever biting remark is dancing on her tongue, I give her an order: “Spread your legs.”

Now, her brow pleats. “Dalton—”

“You signed a contract. All of this,” I dip my chin at her body, “is mine when I want it. Spread.”

Essie glances at the guys and sucks in a breath. “Fine,” she grits before she separates her legs. She’s wearing the same tight pencil skirt with the slit in the back that she wore to work.Fuck me.The first time I saw her in this skirt, I closed the shades to my office and came in my hand.

“If it’s too much, say Halcyon,” I whisper before I place my fingertips on the back of her leg. From the other side of the counter, the other interns won’t be able to see us, but we’re still in the conversation—and my hand is under her skirt.

While Barnett talks about his favorite breakfast bagel, I move my hand up the crest of Essie’s ass. She’s wearing tights, which I’d normally love, but as it stands, they’re in my way. I don’t like things in my way.

I fake a cough and rip them, and Essie shoots me the most lethal warning glare I’ve ever seen—but it’d be a hell of a lot more threatening if she were wearing more than a microscopic thong under these tights.

“Say something to them,” I instruct while I drag my index and middle fingers against her opening. She’s so damn wet.

Instead, she takes a sip of her drink and rolls her eyes at me, which is unacceptable.

I push my fingers into her, and Essie gasps. “Say something, or I start pumping,” I warn.

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