Page 8 of Taste Of You

Every muscle in my body locks down tight—the way she says my name is downright sinful. An erotic caress across my senses, it violates my rational mind and takes me back to my fantasy of her servicing my cock.

Jesus Christ, please help me. This plea is all I am left with. A hope for this need to simmer into a manageable throb and my life to return to semi-normal. For this attraction to wane.

But then again, knowing her is a gift. I need her to breathe.

Her hand on my arm brings me back to the present. “I’m sorry, Millie. Did you say something?”

She looks unsure and goes to pull her hand back, but I stop her with a shake of my head. “Can we talk? Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah.” But not in my office. Fuck, no. “Let me grab my things, and we’ll talk as we head out.”

“Okay.” Tiny fingers flex on my arm; they dig into the flesh and then let go. Without another word, she turns and walks toward the employee lockers to grab her belongings.

I don’t move an inch as she does. Just watch.

Burn into memory the sight of her hips swinging and those juicy ass cheeks bouncing with each step. If she’s aware of my stare, Millie doesn’t acknowledge me or it. Instead, she disappears into the other room, and I rush back into my office.

Fuck the amount of work I’ve put off all night. I shut everything off and store my laptop inside my desk. This can all wait, but she never will when it comes to me.

If anything, I’ll come back after she leaves and work all night to catch up if I have to.

I’m already by the front door when she comes back out. In her hands, she has a backpack, two thick textbooks, and what looks to be a food container. Before she can protest, I take everything out of her hands while making sure the front door is locked and the alarm is set.

“Come on, let’s go out through the kitchen. It’s closer to the parking lot.”

“Let me carry some of that. My backpack is heavy, and—”

“No.” Turning her around, I walk her out with my hand low on her back—low enough to still be decent, while the curve of her backside is a slight shift from my waiting fingertips.

She follows my lead beautifully without another complaint, and I love it. The fact she lets me lead, leaning a bit into my touch, makes me feel one hundred feet tall. Cocky even.

It’s natural. As if she’s been waiting on my hand to guide her all this time.

Her heat sears me, and my hand trembles. Every molecule in my DNA vibrates within my cellular structure with ardor.

Need to fuck. Need to possess. Need to fully dominate.

Gritting my teeth, I keep on walking and ignore these urges. We’re quiet all the way to my car; it’s the only one in the parking lot, and I’m taken aback. Arousal forgotten, I’m full of concern. The dots that I’m adding up don’t equate to a reasonable explanation.

How has she been getting home? Does she Uber?

Not that I am happy with that if she does. A pretty girl like her all alone? Fuck, no.

“Can we talk now?”

“Go ahead.” My eyes sweep the area and see nothing or no one outside and waiting. Where is her ride?

“...so, I’ll need next Wednesday as usual, and Thursday off, if that’s all right with you. Ana’s willing to cover my Thursday since I’m taking her shift tomorrow—”

“Why do you need the time off?” It comes out gruff, with a bite of annoyance, and her face falls. Jesus, I’m fucking everything up. Can’t talk to her without giving her the wrong impression. “I’m sorry. It’s late, and I didn’t eat. Please forgive my brusque tone.”

She gives me a small nod. “It’s okay.”

“Now explain the switch and reason behind it. Is everything okay?”

“Ana needs covering tomorrow, and I need the time to prepare for an oral presentation. It’s the first of the semester, and I want to impress my professor. There’s talk about an internship—four people mid-year are given the chance to work for a prestigious firm—and I want it. Every grade counts, and it’s very important to my family that I do.”

Pride fills my chest at her dedication and drive, but something else catches my attention:

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