Title: The Position
Author: Dahlia Salvatore
Genre: Erotic Romance
Publisher: Entice by Booktrope
Dylan Farrow puts on his pants every morning one leg at a time, just like everyone else at the Kerrigan Advertising Agency. He handles high-pressure projects with a fast turnaround. He's prized for his keen intellect and admirable performance. But how did he get where he is today—to the level of Junior Executive of Design Production?Well, that involves how he takes his pants off...And for whom...Hoping to break through the glass ceiling under which she's been trapped for years, Valerie Caplan picks up her life and moves to Seattle. After hearing about the position of Senior Executive of Design Production from an art director at Kerrigan, she decides to apply. When she lands the big interview, she never thinks for a minute that she'll have any serious competition. She assumes that she has the job in the bag...until she discovers that the only competition has something she doesn't have—the willingness to go outside the office to impress Danica Stewart, their uptight female boss.
My hand swept everything off her desk, sending pens, papers and files into the floor. I shoved her over the leather desk-mat and maneuvered between her legs. “Keep going,” I commanded as I slid her skirt up over her ass. She was wearing a pretty satin and lace pair of panties, something that both amused and aroused me. She knew very well that she didn't need to bother with pretty formalities. I was going to fuck her regardless of what she wore.
“Oh, God,” she muttered under her breath. “I—I can't ... Don't make me wait, Dylan. Please!” “Not yet. I want to hear it all,” I whispered in ear.
“The p-position entails ... entails ...”
I tugged the panties down until she was spread out in front of me. Her entire body was begging me to make her come, but I held back to make her beg again. I loved hearing those high-level executives beg.
“What's wrong, Jan?” I growled against her shoulder. “Forget how good this cock was yesterday? Don't you want it up to the fifteenth floor all the time? Make me believe you want it. ”
“Please!” she begged again. “Please Dylan!”
I reached down and slapped her wet pussy with the flat of my hand. She squealed and wiggled; she did that every time. I pinched, tickled and teased her, from her clit to that soft, inviting hole I was going to fill up. I knew she was close to the brink, driven crazy with lust for me. I'd brought her to this point many times, turning her into no more than a slut addicted to the dirty things I did that she never got anywhere else.
“ … position entails … overseeing—fuck—Jesus!” she cried. My fingers were dripping before I could slide two of them into her. I reached until I found her g-spot. I'd practically memorized where it was. She moaned loud and long at the contact, then gripped the edge of her desk as a third finger joined them. She bit her lip as I drew circles over the tender flesh. I thrust my fingers deep and fast, massaging until she came all over my hand.
“Yeah … That's the way Mrs. Janice Cooper likes it, isn't it?” I taunted, punctuating the sentence by giving her another good few slick finger-lengths.
“Yes!” she moaned.
“What's that? I didn't hear? Do you talk that quietly to your husband when he fucks you?” She wasn't answering me, so I brought her to the edge, then retracted my fingers suddenly. “I can't hear you, Jan. I can't.”
“That's how I like it,” she groaned.
“Oh, God,” she muttered under her breath. “I—I can't ... Don't make me wait, Dylan. Please!” “Not yet. I want to hear it all,” I whispered in ear.
“The p-position entails ... entails ...”
I tugged the panties down until she was spread out in front of me. Her entire body was begging me to make her come, but I held back to make her beg again. I loved hearing those high-level executives beg.
“What's wrong, Jan?” I growled against her shoulder. “Forget how good this cock was yesterday? Don't you want it up to the fifteenth floor all the time? Make me believe you want it. ”
“Please!” she begged again. “Please Dylan!”
I reached down and slapped her wet pussy with the flat of my hand. She squealed and wiggled; she did that every time. I pinched, tickled and teased her, from her clit to that soft, inviting hole I was going to fill up. I knew she was close to the brink, driven crazy with lust for me. I'd brought her to this point many times, turning her into no more than a slut addicted to the dirty things I did that she never got anywhere else.
“ … position entails … overseeing—fuck—Jesus!” she cried. My fingers were dripping before I could slide two of them into her. I reached until I found her g-spot. I'd practically memorized where it was. She moaned loud and long at the contact, then gripped the edge of her desk as a third finger joined them. She bit her lip as I drew circles over the tender flesh. I thrust my fingers deep and fast, massaging until she came all over my hand.
“Yeah … That's the way Mrs. Janice Cooper likes it, isn't it?” I taunted, punctuating the sentence by giving her another good few slick finger-lengths.
“Yes!” she moaned.
“What's that? I didn't hear? Do you talk that quietly to your husband when he fucks you?” She wasn't answering me, so I brought her to the edge, then retracted my fingers suddenly. “I can't hear you, Jan. I can't.”
“That's how I like it,” she groaned.
Oregon-born Dahlia Salvatore lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington. When not surrounded by stacks of books, she's furiously writing her own. She enjoys writing and reading romance and erotica. Among her Indie peers are also some of her most powerful influences, and without their encouragement, she would not be where she is today. Dahlia loves hearing from her readers and critics alike. To contact her, follow this link or send her an email at authordahliasalvatore@gmail.com. Thanks for visiting!
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon
Hosted By:
No comments:
Post a Comment