Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Grace’s hands fluttered to her lap, as if she could somehow hide her reaction from me. “Mr. Yellen… Scott… I don’t think…”
“Stand up,” I commanded, using the tone I’d perfected over years of managing exactly this type of woman—the ones who needed authority, but fought against it every step of the way.
She stood immediately, her body obeying even as her face showed her dismay at her own compliance. Interesting. Jacob had trained her well in some ways, but there were clearly gaps. Gaps I would very much enjoy filling—even as I filled Grace’s sweet, pleasurable holes.
“Sharon told me she had you change into appropriate interview attire,” I said, moving to stand directly in front of her. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “I need to verify that you followed her instructions fully and correctly.”
Grace
My breath caught in my throat as Scott’s words hung in the air. The screening room suddenly felt impossibly small, the leather chair beneath me a trap I couldn’t escape from. On the monitor, Annabelle still knelt in the corner while her foster parents demonstrated what a husband expected from his wife, but I couldn’t focus on anything except Scott’s presence looming over me.
“I…” My voice came out as barely a whisper. “Ms. Fagan already checked.”
“Sharon checks for compliance with basic standards,” Scott said, his tone patient but firm. “I need to ensure you meet my specific requirements for this position.”
My hands trembled as I smoothed my navy dress against my thighs, knowing the gesture was pointless. He would see what he wanted to see. That was how it worked at Selecta. That was how it had always worked, even with Jacob, though somehow this felt different. More exposing. More terrifying.
“Lift your dress,” he commanded softly.
The words should have shocked me, but instead I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach—the one I hated, the one that meant my body was betraying me again. My fingers found the hem of my dress, and I slowly raised it, revealing the pink stockings inch by inch. The whisper of fabric against my skin seemed deafening in the quiet room.
“Higher,” Scott instructed when I paused at mid-thigh.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch his face as I lifted the dress to my waist, exposing the delicate pink panties and the garter belt Sharon had made me don. The cool air of the office against my barely covered skin made me shiver.
“Open your eyes, Grace.”
I obeyed, meeting his gaze with difficulty. His expression remained professionally neutral, but there was something in his eyes—a heat, an appreciation—that made my knees feel weak.
“Good,” he said simply. “The panties are correctly positioned over the garter straps. Sharon instructed you properly.” His fingers brushed against my hip, adjusting the small pink bow on the side of the panties, and I gasped at the contact. “These are from our executive line. Much more appropriate than what you came in wearing.”
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“You can lower your dress now.”
I dropped the fabric immediately, my face burning with humiliation even as that terrible warmth continued to build between my legs. Behind Scott, the scene on the monitor had progressed—Lara moaned into the mattress as Kevin gripped her hips and firmly pounded her shapely bottom with his strong hips. From her corner Annabelle watched intently, her brow furrowed and her cheeks bright pink.
“Sit here, with me,” Scott said, settling back into his chair and patting his thigh.
The command brought new butterflies to my tummy. I stared at him, frozen, as he waited with that same patient confidence that seemed to radiate from every gesture. My legs moved before my mind could form a protest, and suddenly I was perched awkwardly on his lap, my dress riding up despite my attempts to keep it in place.
His arm came around my waist, steadying me, and I could feel the solid warmth of his chest against my side. The position was impossibly intimate—far more so than anything Sharon had demanded. I could smell his cologne, feel his breath against my neck, and worst of all, I could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against my bottom through his expensive suit pants.
“Much better,” he murmured, his free hand coming to rest on my knee. “Now we can watch together and discuss your observations properly.”
On the screen, Kevin had finished with Lara, and the camera focused on Annabelle’s face—flushed, confused, unmistakably aroused despite her obvious embarrassment. The foster mother was explaining something about a wife’s duties while smoothing down her skirt, but I couldn’t focus on the words. All I could think about was Scott’s hand on my knee, the way his thumb had started making small circles against my stocking.
“Tell me,” he said conversationally, as if I weren’t sitting in his lap like some kind of secretary from an old movie, “what you think Annabelle is feeling right now.”