Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
“Hello. Nice to meet you, Fawn Peterson.” I step around my desk. A few short steps later, my hand is out to shake hers, my eyes unable to stop from taking in the innocent beauty before me. Her soft light brown hair is hanging loosely well past her shoulders, the ends hitting her tits. The silk blouse does nothing to hide her nipples. My mouth waters thinking about how they’d taste. The thoughts in my head run away to a vision of her amber-colored eyes hooded in pleasure, hair falling down as she bounces up and down on my cock. She’s got a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose, dusting across her cheekbones. My eyes move down to her full lips that would look and feel lush as hell as they wrapped around my thick length.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling,” Fawn replies. A part of me wants to retort, ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ but I don’t. Talk about inappropriate. Her soft hand is encased by my much larger one, and I’m unable to keep the smirk off my face. Fawn’s eyes are cast downward. Fucking hell, a natural submissive. My cock grows ten times harder. Yolanda clears her throat, and Fawn drops my hand like it burns her to the touch. As for myself, I’m fucked, well and truly. My new secretary is the epitome of forbidden fruit. She’s fifteen years younger than me, a colleague’s daughter, and the entire time throughout this five-minute interaction, I’ve been imagining her bent over my desk, taking her against my office door, or watching her tremble on my cock as she rides me, tits ripe and ready for my mouth. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that keeping my hands off the young pretty Fawn Peterson is going to take an act of God.
ONE
Fawn
Present Day
“Insufferable workaholic, always wanting the absolute most,” I groan under my breath at my boss, the man I’m currently complaining about, who is no other than Sylvester “Sly” Sterling. Three times he’s called me into his office—once for coffee, the second to go over his schedule for the week—his appointment calendar is ridiculous—and this last time, I have no idea because I’m ignoring him. Then, when he all of a sudden has to cancel a meeting, it takes me days to reschedule the others. That’s not even including the part Yolanda explained while training me that it was expected of me to arrive before him, have everything managed, and have plenty of coffee for myself at the ready because he was going to make me work. Newsflash, she wasn’t lying. My final annoyance for this shit show of a Monday would be that Mister Grumpy Pants wants me to order food for the entire staff of Sterling & Associates, which wouldn’t be a problem, except he’s given me a three-hour notice while simultaneously needing me to sit in on a meeting to take notes in less than an hour.
I make the cup of coffee for my annoying yet ridiculously drop-dead gorgeous boss—black, no cream or sugar, much like his soul. Sly, which is what he goes by to those who are close to him, with his dark hair, olive complexion, ever-present five-o’clock shadow, and warm chocolate eyes. He’s tall, muscular, and the way he looks at me turns me into this meek, weak-in-the-knees woman. I’ve been around wealthy businessmen my whole life, and I’ve got a father who loves me, but even my mother and I are aware of how big an asshole he can be when necessary. Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to my boss. That whole concept of marrying your father is flashing in front of my eyes. Well, what I want Sylvester Sterling to do to me, there’s absolutely nothing fatherly about it. Even thinking about the way he commands the room along with my presence when he’s near has my thighs clenching together, knowing full well my panties are toast. So much for lasting the morning, especially since during our talk, he’d lick his full lips between jotting notes down for the day. Alas, Sylvester Sterling is not for me. I guess my fantasies will have to do.
While I’m at it, I prepare a cup for myself but add creamer, no sugar. When I first started training with Yolanda, his door was always shut. The week after she left, all of a sudden, Sylvester’s door is open, making me wonder if he thinks I’m doing my work or not. I’ve yet to make an error, though that can change today, since he’s asked me to do the impossible. “Men. They really do not have a clue,” I grumble, turning away from the coffee bar outside of Mr. Sterling’s office with two full coffee mugs in hand, not looking up, unaware of my surroundings.