Page 1 of A Taste of His Angel
Chapter 1
Sherman
I pull at my tight collar, rolling my office chair further forward to hide my lap below my desk as the sweetest woman I’ve ever seen is led into my office by my assistant, Barbara. “Good God Almighty, help me.”
“Yes, Mr. Fischer?” Barbara asks, motioning for the light brown-haired beauty to take a seat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of my desk.
I drag my gaze from the young angel’s shy, slightly nervous smile as she sets a plate of cookies and a stack of napkins in the middle of my desk. “Hmm?” My cheeks burn when I face Barbara, who knows me better than my mother after all the years she’s worked for me at the small financial planning firm I co-founded with two close colleagues.
“You said you needed some help?” Barbara puckers her lips to keep from smiling, subtly looking sideways at the woman starting the first day of her paid internship, then back to me.
“Did I?” I clear my throat, unnecessarily fiddling with my already pin-straight tie.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, no, I—” I sigh, hanging my head and pinching the bridge of my nose. “That’ll be all, Barbara.”
There’s a low chuckle before the snick of the door closing, and I count to ten to gather my wits before raising my head.
“Hi.” The gray-eyed cutie gives me a small wave, her voice light and melodic. “I’m Miranda. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fischer. I hope you don’t mind that I made chocolate chip cookies as a sort of ‘thank you for hiring me’ gift.” She rises and plucks a cookie from the top of the pile, setting it on a napkin in front of me before sitting back down.
When I do nothing but stare, her smile slowly melts. She starts to fidget, picking at the material of her long, flowy white skirt to cross her legs, her foot bouncing faster and faster with anxious energy, almost knocking loose the thin sandal she’s wearing. I wish it would fall, simply so I could kneel before her to pick it up and slide it back on her foot. Maybe slide my hand up her leg beneath her skirt to find out if her skin is as silky and soft as I imagine her gorgeous hair to be.
At a loss for what to say as the silence stretches between us, I finally land on, “I don’t like cookies.” It’s a lie. I love cookies, and I bet I’d loveher cookieeven more, but recently having to switch to using the last hole on my belt when buckling it is a loud reminder of why I need to stay away from them.Bothkinds. Each year it’s getting harder to keep my weight from creeping up, and my mouth waters for a taste of the ooey, gooey chocolate chip cookie when I pick it up and drop it back on the plate.
Miranda’s foot freezes. “Oh. Ok.”
I’ve upset her, which wasn’t my intention, but at least it has her sliding the plate off my desk to hold it on her lap—just as I want to slide her off her chair and hold her onmylap.
She hikes a thumb toward the door. “If this is a bad time, I can go…”
I nod, tugging on my tie again, ashamed at my reaction to my newest employee—a fresh out of college twenty-two-year-old, thirteen years my junior. What a dirty cliché I’ve turned out to be.
Miranda stands, her skirt falling to swish around her ankles. “Ok. I’ll be going now,” she says, still standing before me, giving me a better view of her hourglass shape with her white blouse tucked into the waistband of her skirt, my cock thickening. When I don’t say anything, she seems to deflate and shuffles toward the door, which is even worse than before since I now have the perfect view of her plump bottom swishing along with her skirt, begging me to take a bite out of it and savor the taste.
I groan low and push my hard dick down, struggling to cut my eyes away from her backside. The angel doesn’t deserve to have a dirty boss drooling and licking his chops like a starving beast over her.
Just before she opens the door, Miranda turns to look over her shoulder. “What about pie? Is that something you’d like, sir?”
An instant vision of me tastingher piehas me making a garbled noise in the back of my throat that seems to please her since her face lights up with a smile before she slips out of my office.
I stare at the closed door for what seems like hours with my hands on the desk, refusing to give into my basest desire to rip down my zipper, palm my cock, and cum in my hand with Miranda’s name on my lips. I don’t stop staring until Barbara raps her knuckles against the door and pokes her head in to ask me for my lunch order. Barbara is a beautiful woman, slim and tall, with wild red hair. And yet, she’s an instant boner killer—thank god.
Maybe now I’ll be able to get back to work instead of daydreaming of my sweet angel sitting on my desk, her heels propped on my shoulders, while I eat her pussy between bites of her chocolate chip cookies.
Chapter 2
Miranda
I suppress the urge to stamp my foot with frustration until I make it into the ladies’ room after taking the plate of cookies to the breakroom for my new coworkers to enjoy. From the moment I caught a glimpse of Mr. Fischer on the day I interviewed for this position, he’s all I’ve been able to think about. His long, confident, booming stride. His surprisingly thick, neat blond hair. His over six-foot tall towering figure makes my heart skip a beat after years of wondering if something was wrong with me since none of my peers at school ever ignited even the dullest spark of interest.
Schooling my features to rid the pout tugging at the corners of my lips, I find Grant, the accountant I’m supposed to shadow for the summer. He’s closer to my age, with wavy dark hair and warm brown eyes, and I can recognize that most people would probably find him attractive. But where others may be flattered by his charming, flirty smile, it does absolutely nothing for me, and I move away from the hand he places on the small of my back as he steers me toward his desk.
While I competed for and was lucky enough to win this paid internship, getting real-world experience using my finance degree—the one my parents pushed me into—it’s not exactly my dream job, even if I do have a knack for numbers. And so my eyes glaze over while Grant discusses my duties as he clicks around his computer screen, my thoughts flitting back to Mr. Fischer and my disappointment over his reaction to my cookies. I made them specifically for him, hoping the old adage was true thatthe way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
But then I remember how Mr. Fischer’s lips parted when I mentioned pie, and now I have a game plan, creating a mental list of the ingredients I will need to pick up from the grocery store on my way home.
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