Page 64 of Interpreter

At the word damaged, her eyes go big, and I almost laugh. But I know from my mother, throw pillows aren’t to be slept on, even if they do make the best TV trays for a late-night snack. Milah quickly tosses a couple pillows off the bed and pulls the duvet back. When she looks around and ponders what else, I decide her two seconds are up and lunge, grabbing her by the ankles and flipping her over onto her back. “Take your shoes off,” I tell her, turning on her bedside lamp. “I don’t need you breaking an ankle, no matter how good they look against my back.”

She frowns. “What is it with you and me breaking an ankle? I told you I—”

“I told you not to speak, Ms. Iglesias. Now would you like to take them off or would you like me to?”

I know before she even says a word that I’m going to remove them. “Don’t move,” I tell her for no good reason since, clearly, she is not obedient in any way. She props her stiletto onto my chest, and I narrow my eyes. She’s horrible at being submissive.

I unbuckle the gold clasp and slide her small foot out of the shoe and then do the same to the other. She looks forlorn as I drop them to the floor. “What is it with you and heels?” I ask her. Obviously, she loves them.

She worries her lip with her finger before remembering that I need to see her mouth clearly. “I feel prettier with them on.” She shrugs. “More confident.”

Confident. She feels more confident with high heels on. I swallow. If there ever was a time to be exposed, now is it. Milah has splayed herself open for me, to help me feel confident at school. Why haven’t I done the same for her? Why does she feel like she needs these shoes as a security blanket?

“You don’t need those fucking shoes,” I tell her, placing a kiss to the inside of her foot. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze is steady and strong, so I keep going while she’s quiet. “There’s nothing about you that needs enhancing. You’re goddamned perfect.”

I knead up her thighs, watching as her breath falters. “These thighs have been teasing me all evening. You wore this dress—this slit…” I snatch the fabric up her waist roughly. “Just so you could taunt me. Tell me, amor. Tell me that you purposely try to drive me crazy.”

Later, I will think about why the fuck I suddenly became so chatty when I was hell-bent on a silent fuck with my coworker.

Milah’s back arches underneath my fingertips as I toy with the black scrap of fabric that she’s using for underwear. I tug at the edge when she bites on her finger. “Put your hands above your head.” I don’t need my view obstructed.

She does, albeit slowly. I yank her panties for added incentive.

“Okay! Fine!” She raises her hands above her head finally. “Just know I only did it so fast because those are my good panties.” Her chest expands, pushing her tits higher.

“And?” I probe, tugging again.

Her eyes narrow to slits. “And I love driving you crazy,” she moves her hand to point to me, and I snatch the black lace down further, exposing her bare pussy. She hurries and puts her arms above her head again. “But only because you drive me crazy too.”

I do. I love fucking with her.

Happy with her admission, I release her panties and slide them down her thighs, kissing the exposed flesh of her pussy as I go. When the offending material is finally off and she lies spread, her tanned skin against the white of the fabric, I slip her panties into my pocket and just admire the beauty of the woman before me—more vulnerable than she’s ever been in my presence. Reaching back, I grasp the back collar of my shirt, pulling the material up and over my head in one swoop. I can just make out Milah’s choppy breaths as her chest rises and falls harshly.

“Can I unbutton your pants?” she says, her hands signing along when she sits up.

“Did I say you could sit up?”

She rolls her eyes, already reaching for my pants. “I’m undoing these pants. You got to do mine and, well, you’re not havingallthe fun tonight.”

I sigh and take a step closer so I’m within reach of her hands. “Are you going to be difficult the whole evening?” I’ll admit, my dick is throbbing to get out and into her hands.

She shrugs one dainty shoulder in my direction. “Probably.”

Probably.I let out a deep, exaggerated sigh for her benefit. Probably will just not do. I want Milah Iglesias sated and compliant, and the only way to do that is by growling out, “Unbutton my pants. Now.”

Her eyes light up and she scoots closer to the edge, her fingers starting at my pecks and moving down the planes of my abs. Not at all what I asked her to do. But at this point, I’m not surprised. The pads of her fingers graze the trail of hair disappearing into my jeans, and after the sweet torture, she finally slips the button through and pulls them open with a quick yank. “Can I push them all the way down?” she asks, her tongue snaking out and wetting her lips.

“No.” Her playtime is done. “It’s my turn.”

I push her back on the bed and shove my own damn jeans down my body. Leaving only my boxers on, I crawl up her body, hovering above her chest. “You don’t listen for shit,” I note, tugging my boxers down and pulling my cock out, giving it two quick pumps right in front of her face.

She licks her lips. “It’s bigger than I thought it was going to be” is what she responds with.

I cock a brow. “You thought I had a small cock?”

“Not small. Just average, white guy cock.”

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