The Interview

“Did you eat enough?” I ask as she distractedly, rather than obediently, comes to stand next to my chair. My shirt hangs a little from one shoulder, her silver bangle disappearing under the length of a folded sleeve. I’m surprised I haven’t passed out from a lack of blood flow. She looks so hot in the thing.

But one question remains. Underwear: did she forgo or no?

“No canelés,” she states with a tiny moue.

“Good.” Even if they were a pain in the arse to source, they were El’s thing.

“I nibbled on other things.”

“Nibbled,” I repeat, though not in the same vein as I press my hands to her waist and maneuver her between me and the table.

“I thought you wanted me to sit on your knee.”

“I want to look at you first.” I clasp my hands to her hips and allow my gaze to crawl up from her pink-painted toenails to where her legs disappear under the hem of my shirt. But as I sit forward, I realize something isn’t quite right. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like we should talk about what happened.”

“Oh?” Her body moves with my hands as I adjust my grip a little, my thumbs pulling the sides of my shirt apart from the last button down. “I see you went with underwear.”

“What?”

I lift my head, unperturbed by how serious she looks. “Underwear optional?”

“Ah, yeah. It seemed like the best option.”

“For whom?” I can’t stop the quirk to my lips. “Next time, I’ll just have to remember not to give you the option.”

“About next time.”

Black amusement skitters up my chest. No. That’s not what this is. “You’re having second thoughts?” Even as the words leave my mouth, my brain contradicts the possibility. I made her come so hard she lost the power of speech. She went to sleep at least once on my chest, her expression one of bliss.

“Well.” She pauses, conflicting emotions coming into existence in her expression before fading again. “You said yourself we should have parameters, that we should have—”

She’s in the middle of one such confliction when I lean in and kiss her. I feel her startle for a second before she sighs, and her mouth begins to work in tandem with mine. The pressure in my chest begins to dissipate. She still wants this.

“Guidelines.” Her arms slide around my neck, her words a warm whisper against my lips. Toothpaste, sugar, and coffee. Who’d want breakfast when such a feast is within reach. “Whit, are you listening?”

“Hmm.” With this woman in my arms, serotonin and dopamine flooding my system? Probably not.

“Whit.” Her hands slide into my hair where they tighten, the pleasure/pain dichotomy pulling a growl from my throat. “Are you paying attention?” Her hands move to my face, my lips pulling from hers in small increments.

“To you. Always.” Since she arrived, thoughts of her have dominated my waking hours. “I know you were talking.” My voice sounds rough as I press my hand over hers where it rests on my sandpapery cheek. I rub like a cat demanding attention. “That’s why I kissed you.”

“Because you didn’t want to listen?”

“Because I was watching the way your lips move.” I close the space between us, my mouth a teasing slide against hers. “I can’t seem to resist your mouth.”

“You managed pretty well up until yesterday.” She sighs as I bury my nose between her shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent of woman and skin, wanting to touch her everywhere, pull her apart and see what makes her tick. I slide my lips up her throat and press my teeth to her erratic pulse.

“Oh God.” Her whisper sounds like submission. “Oh God.” And that one not quite so much.

“What is it?” I pull back, my hands clamped once more to her hips.

“I think we need to talk.”

I inhale though my teeth. “Now, there’s a passion killer.”

“Postponer, maybe.” Her frown says otherwise. “We need to talk about last night.”

“I thought we’d covered last night last night.” At length.

“We agreed this would be temporary,” she says carefully.

“Yes,” I say, using her serious tone. Those words seem to have been said long ago now, but yes, temporary was—is—the plan.

“You said you’d give me what I want.”

A faintly wicked feeling smile creeps across my mouth. “I did, didn’t I?” As my fingers tighten, she clamps her hands over my wrists.

“The experiences I want,” she qualifies.

“And probably some you don’t realize you want.”

“But it can only be sex, though, right?”

It’s never just sex. The thought rises unbidden, but I push it away. I’ve been fucking women without the entanglement of relationships since my late twenties. It’s worked out okay so far. “That’s what we agreed. Are you having doubts about that?” And if she is, how I’d feel about that prospect feels like quietly pleased.

“Well,” she begins hesitantly, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I want more.” I don’t know about the wrong way but I don’t quite how to take that. I’m even more confused when she adds, “Please don’t look at me like I just murdered your puppy. I’m not asking you to put a ring on it.”

Cock ring? my ridiculous mind supplies now.

“…because that’s not the kind of more I’m looking for.”

“Puppy killing?” Maybe I need electrolytes. My brain is obviously struggling.

“I want different,” she adds a little desperately, “not necessarily more.”

I feel my eyebrows rise because I can do different. Fuck, yes I can.

“But I don’t want monogamy.” Her words seem to startle Mimi as much as they do me.

“You want to fuck other people?” My demand is low and rough. “Was last night…” Too much? Too intense? Not enough? Fuck that, last night was amazing. At one point, she came like that chick from The Exorcist, thrashing and cursing. Thankfully, no green goo.

“Last night was amazing. It was…” She licks her lips, and I just about manage not to kiss her again because she’s so fucking gorgeous, but also I don’t think I want to hear what she has to say. “I guess I just don’t have the vocabulary to describe everything it was.”

“What about perfect.”

She smiles. It’s fleeting but sincere, a flash of white teeth and gap and everything.

“Yes, perfect. That about sums it up. But this morning I’ve realized you have so much more going on in your life. You’re married to VirTu, and you have your family. You’re not going to have time to take me dancing, or for coffee, or for a trip to the London Eye.”

“That tourist trap is literally ten minutes’ walk from the office.” A lock of her hair falls forward. She swipes it before I can do it for her.

“You gonna walk me there? Go up with me for a ride.”

I resist the low-hanging fruit in that question. “What are you trying to say, Amelia?” Spit it out. Get to the point.

“I’m not here for long and want to cram about five years of experiences into what little time I have. I want to see the sights, experience all that London has to offer.” I’m about to suggest she books some tours or maybe take a look at TripAdvisor when her next words flay me. “I think I want to date.”

“Fucking Sorrel,” I grate out, my hands falling away.

“No!” she snaps. “What do you take me for?”

“At this minute, I’m not sure I know.”

“I want to go for coffee, mooch around museums. Go to clubs and sit in pubs with a glass of beer with a name I can’t pronounce. I want to hang out. See things. Do… stuff.”

“So go with a friend.”

“I don’t have any.” Her hands rise and fall, slapping her thighs with futility.

“Then make some.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll get right on it now.”

“Define monogamy for me, Amelia. I’m beginning to think our understanding might not be the same.”

She swallows, her eyes filling with tears. Is this some trick of hers I don’t know about? Tears on command must be useful. “I just want to live and breathe London, Whit. I don’t want to do it alone and I don’t have any friends here.” That might be true, but it’s not the whole truth because she can barely look at me.

“What if I make time for you. To take you out.” Fuck, what am I saying? This could get messy.

She gives her head another shake. “No, I won’t ask you to.”

“And if I offered?”

“If you want to take me out, then sure.” Her shoulder flicks in a way that’s meant to convey inconsequence. But she still hasn’t raised her eyes.

“You mean I can take you out if you’re not already otherwise engaged. With a date.” The hard t seems to echo between us.

“Don’t make a hole in your life for me. I’m not going to be here long enough to fill it.”

“Do you intend fucking these dates?” I verbally hold the word up by the scruff of its distasteful neck. That’s not happening. If I have to tie her to her desk. If I have to cuff her to my bed.

“Will you be sleeping with other women?” she demands just as sharply.

“I think that depends on how you answer.” I didn’t think it was a good idea to fuck her and now it’s all I can think about.

“I’ve never slept around.” Her hair swishes as she shakes her head. “If you want the truth, I’ve never had another man make me feel the way you do.” She inhales deeply, as though fortifying herself, her gaze lifting to mine. “I’ve never had another man make me come.”

The lizard part of my brain gobbles up that insight up like an ouroboros eating its own tail. But I can’t ignore the rest of what she means, or even fathom it. I try not to feel pacified, but it’s hard when she’s looking at me with those big gray eyes.

“And if you change your mind?”

She’s already shaking her head. “I won’t. Not when I have the best. If you still want me on these terms…”

I hook my finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to mine. “What is this about, Amelia? Tell me where this has come from.”

“I have to keep things casual, Whit. Can’t you see that?”

“You’re frightened.” Beneath my fingers and my gaze, she freezes. “But frightened of what?” Last night was a lot, especially for the inexperienced. It was more than the collision of flesh, but I feel like there’s something she’s not saying. “Did I frighten you?” Did the strength of her own reactions catch her off guard?

“No, of course not. Please don’t try to complicate this.” Her breath hitches as her eyes take on the appearance of smoked glass. No, not tears summoned at will. This is genuine regret. I won’t get to the bottom of those fears right now, so what can I do but play along?

“I don’t like it,” I growl, taking her face in my hands.

“I don’t think you have to.” And I don’t think you’ll be going on any dates, I fail to add. Mainly because I’m not an idiot. “Please let’s not make things complicated.”

“Do I have to remind you that you pursued me? Doggedly.” At least she has the decency to lower her eyes at this. “I don’t like playing games, Amelia.”

“I’m not playing.” Her eyes are wet when they rise once again. “I’m just trying not to get hurt.”

If not you, someone else. The memory of her words are brought to life like the strike of a match, Connor’s voice echoing them. She’s too innocent for her own good. Make sure she doesn’t end up with some dick.

Innocent? Try a contradiction.

“Only I get to touch you,” I add with meaning, pushing the recollections away because it’s not about what her brother wanted. Not anymore. It’s about her. It’s about how much I want her. “Only I get to fuck you.”

I expect her to recoil or make some protest. Instead, she answers, “If you still want me.”

Another dark chuckle escapes my chest as a quote I’d read drifts through my head. Women are fickle. And men are idiots. I’m missing something. I just don’t know what.

“And kissing?” I take her hips in my hands, brushing my lips over hers, forcing her to give. To bend. “Who gets to kiss you?”

“Only you,” she whispers, her lips chasing mine until I sever the connection between us when I pull back. Her eyes seem suddenly so solemn, but maybe I only see what she wants me to see. “It takes courage to be vulnerable.” My hand seems to lift of its own accord, the backs of my fingers stroking down her neck.

“Are you talking about you or me?” A smile catches at the corner of her mouth. A second later, it’s gone.

“The strengths of reactions, of feelings can be frightening.”

“I know. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.” She shakes her head almost ruefully.

“That’s something, at least.”

“But I think you might be too much for me.” She angles her glance away.

“Amelia.” I say her name the way she likes to hear it. Part chastisement, part wonder. “You took me so, so well.” My hand ghosts down her front, snagging on the first of the fastened buttons before my finger and thumb make quick work of it.

“What are you doing?” she asks nervously.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious.” Another button, and again. “But in case it’s not, I’m about to remind you why you’ll only come for me.” Parting the sides of the shirt a little wider, I press my lips to the warm skin of her breastbone. “You can tell me to stop, and I will.”

My gaze lifts, her eyes turning languid, her hands trembling as they fold under the edge of the tabletop.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

With each button, a little more skin is exposed, my lips moving incrementally, tasting her dips and valleys, worshipping her body. The morning sun turns her hair golden, washing her skin in its rays as I drag the sides of my shirt over her hardening nipples.

“You look like you’re made of sunshine.” Her skin dappled by gold, her fine hairs on her arms shimmering.

“I feel kind of exposed.” Her eyes slide to the wall of windows behind me.

“No one can see you from up here,” I whisper, tightening my hands on the cotton to slide it across and back, letting her soak in my attentions. Revel in the sensations. Such secrets I could show her, layers of sensuality she could barely guess.

“No one but you.”

“As it should be. Your body is mine when it’s before me.”

The sound she makes is almost plaintive as I slide my hands under the shirt, curling them once more around her hips. My thumbs caress the protrusion of bones there. I want to bend her until she feels hollow. Until she’s weeping with need to be filled. I reach behind her, and drag a container of fruit closer. Selecting a wedge of mango, I lift it to my mouth. Bright orange and pulpy, the juice drips down my fingers.

“This reminds me of something,” I murmur, sliding it between my lips.

“Of what?” She swallows thickly, prompting me to run my fingers over her bottom lip. Her tongue darts out, licking the sticky juice. I take the opportunity to slide my fingers inside her hot, wet mouth.

“You tell me.” She doesn’t need the instruction, already swirling her tongue.

Selecting another piece, I slide the sticky flesh between her breasts, following it with my tongue.

“Are you going to eat it or torment me?” It doesn’t sound at all like a complaint.

“Eat it or eat you, should be the question.”

She releases a delicate moan as I glide the fruit around one of her nipples. “It’s so chilly,” she whimpers, her body an elegant arc at the contact.

“Not for long.” Bending my head, I suck her wet nipple into my mouth. I make a rough sound of appreciation as I draw on the tight bud, feeling it stiffen against my tongue. Soft swipes and wicked flicks, my actions are oh-so controlled until she’s panting, wordless beneath me.

“Tasty.” The word slides into a groan as I move to her other breast, repeating the process until her hands are in my hair and she’s convulsing under me, dry fucking my thigh.

“You eat it.” I bring what’s left of the wedge to her mouth, painting the juice across her lips, teasing her with it. “Do you want it?” She makes to bite as I move it back.

“Yes.” One hand lifts to capture my wrist. “I want it.”

“How much do you want it?” The mango falls, my voice husky as I take her mouth. She tastes like mango and looks like an invitation to ruin. But for which of us?

“I want it however you want to give it to me.”

“Good answer.” I bite back a grin. “Open wide, sweetheart.” I slide my fingers into her mouth, my cock aching as she sucks on them. Licks them clean.

A dark, captivating ache washes through me as I wrap my hand behind her, pushing the plates and containers away. Some slide the length of the table, some hit the floor. I don’t really pay attention as I don’t care; all I can think about is the woman in front of me. How I crave her. How I’ll take her right here and right now.

I can make her fears disappear.

Or make them worse, something dark whispers.