ELIJAH

Her response came quickly. Too quickly.

“Love, of course.” But her cheeks darken, the red flush that had bloomed when she’d caught my gaze on her full tits deepening.

She reaches for her wine glass again, something I’m beginning to realize she does when she’s nervous.

“Are you sure?” I know I’m skirting close to dangerous territory here. I’d told myself before I’d picked her up that this wasn’t a date, that I was taking her out for the express purpose of talking to her about work. And I was still trying to tell myself that.

But damn if she doesn’t look delicious in that tight little dress she’s wearing, her long curls loose around her shoulders, her cleavage deep and inviting.

“Yes.”

“So you don’t think sex is important?”

“I didn’t say that,” she mumbles, looking down at her wine glass. I study her from across the table, my senses on alert. I have a feeling there’s something she’s not telling me, something she’s keeping from me, and it makes me keen to find out what it is. And then something occurs to me.

“Are you… Ms. Bennett, you’re not a virgin are you?”

She reddens again.

My cock stirs to attention now, blood flowing through my veins.

“Jesus,” I mumble. “How old are you? Twenty-three?”

She thrusts her chin into the air defiantly. “This conversation is ridiculously inappropriate.”

“Are you waiting for marriage?”

“No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

She pauses, thinking about it, her plump lips pursed. That same vision I’d had of her when I was in the shower early, her down on her knees, my cock pushed to the back of her throat, her wrists bound behind her back, overcomes me.

Jesus Christ, Elijah.

She’s a virgin.

Good. You can teach her everything you know.

“The right person.”

“So this is where all of this is coming from,” I say. “You haven’t had sex before, so of course you can’t fathom that’s what women want.”

“Are you virgin shaming me?”

“No.” I pick up my own wine and take a sip. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“I know what women want, Mr. Armstrong. I know what women readers want.”

“And you don’t think they want someone to fuck them senseless?”

Her cheeks redden again.

“Have you ever fantasized about sex, Ms. Bennett?”

“Of course.” She pushes her chin into the air, as if she’s daring me to contradict her.

“What do you fantasize about?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“And yet you want to tell me, don’t you?”

Her breathing is heightened. The rise of her breasts is giving her away, along with the way she keeps licking her lower lip.

“Don’t you, Ms. Bennett?” I press.

“This is inappropriate, Mr. Armstrong.”

“Then leave.” I’m calling her bluff, and yet a part of me knows she’s right. She’s my subordinate, and if anyone has a responsibility to put a stop to this, it’s me.

Normally, I would have been able to stop myself, would have sent her home and reached for my phone, calling one of the hundreds of women who would have been happy to come over for a quick fuck.

But I don’t want a quick fuck.

I want her, Abigail Bennett, her innocence and her body.

She stays put.

“You like that it’s inappropriate, don’t you, Ms. Bennett?”

“Yes.” Her voice is soft and she averts her eyes, her hair falling softly over her face. God, she’s beautiful.

I stand up and walk to her, tilt her chin up so that she’s forced to look at me.

Her eyes storm, and I can almost see the torture there.

But I can’t stop myself.

Just touching her chin sends flames ricocheting through my entire body. I need her.

“Let’s see what other inappropriate things you like.”