Page 4 of Taste Of You

Two

Two weeks later...

“Hey, boss man,” Camille calls as she struts past me on her way toward the employee lounge. She’s wearing those jeans I like, the grey skinny ones with a rip over each knee. They make her ass look phenomenal, and the tank above stretches tightly across her chest, accentuating that perky set of tits I want to suckle on.

Bite and lick.

But then again, my reaction is always the same no matter what she has on.

My nails dig into the palm of my hand, and the slight sting of pain is the only thing that keeps me in place. I want to touch her. Kiss her. Feel her heat surrounding me.

Each day she’s on my schedule—those four days a week—are fucking torture. Literal agony. For eight hours, my cock presses against the teeth of my zipper—wears its imprint until I release myself after she walks out the door.

Twice, I’ve barely made it inside my office before my come shoots from the tip and coats the edge of my desk. It’s almost embarrassing how just a few strokes, while I imagine her on her knees with her tongue out, causes my knees to weaken.

Camille controls my cock and has no idea.

“Jesus, Jet.” Ana takes a seat in front of me at the bar, a cup of coffee in her hand. “Ask her out already. Put us all out of this misery.”

“Amen,” Ben calls out from the other end where he’s restocking a few liquor bottles. “She likes you, bruh.”

“I know! The way she looks at him is so cute.”

Discreetly, I shift my hardness, using the counter to block my action. “Ben, shut it and go check the kegs in the back. I think two need changing.”

“On it...” fucker even gave me a salute “…but it doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t, someone else will.”

The fuck they will. “Get back to work.”

“Ben, get out. That vein on his forehead is throbbing again, and boss man could explode.”

“And that’s my cue. I need this job.”

Ben takes off, while Ana sips her drink with a raised brow. “You know we’re right.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Evasion, thy name is Jet.

“Don’t lie. It’s a nasty habit,” she says, and then looks past me with a smile. A large one. Kind of scary, to be honest. “Hey, girl. How was class?”

At once, my dick swells to the point of pain and gives a harsh jerk inside my pants. “Hey, Millie.” It’s my name for her. No one else is allowed to use it, especially any of the male dumbfucks who come in here and hit on her. “You eat already?”

“Hey.” She shifts from foot to foot, trying to hide her blush. The girl is the cutest thing alive when she gets all pink and soft like this. “And no, I haven’t had anything to eat all day. I’ve been running around all morning trying to figure out this new schedule, got through two classes, and then rushed to buy the things I’ll need to take care of...” she trails off suddenly with a snap of her lips, as if she said too much.

Concern bubbles up inside me, but I don’t know what to focus on first:

The not eating.

The running around to take care of shit that stresses her enough that she’s not looking after herself.

Or the high-waisted black shorts she’s now wearing with a tight company shirt atop. She even has on suspenders, and I’m salivating at this point. On her feet are a pair of black pumps that at the least raise her four inches off the floor.

They make her legs look as if they go on for miles. Sexy as all get out.

All of this is fucking unacceptable, and yet I stay quiet. Especially since she’s added a tiny bit of makeup to her eyes, and gloss to those pouty lips. My head’s wondering who the hell she’s dressing this way for, but my heart screams that it’s all for me.

That I’ll never let anyone else close enough to tempt or steal her away.

I’m going to lose this battle.

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