Her Intern / Double Dare You. Anne Marsh

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      “You are an intern.” She glares at me, trying to set my hair on fire with her eyes. “You are supposed to be learning.”

      “And I am.” In the past two weeks, I’ve learned that fetching coffee sucks, that I dislike taking orders even more than I thought I would (which is a lot) and that working two jobs is exhausting (so my hat’s off to all of you who are doing it). Oh, and that I can program circles around anyone here at Calla.

      She leans forward. “Name one thing that you’ve learned.”

      I wink at her. “That I’m the best programmer you have. You should promote me now.”

      Her eyebrows practically marry her hairline. “Are you serious?”

      I smile innocently. “One thousand percent.”

      “One thousand percent is impossible,” she scoffs. “Plus, you’ve only been here two weeks!”

      “I move fast and I’m great.” This is like the fortune cookie game, where everyone breaks open his or her cookies and reads the fortune out loud before adding in bed to the end of it.

      She just shakes her head. “You have to learn to work in a team.”

      “Why?”

      “Because it’s important. Because life is not an individual event.” And then she pulls out the big guns. “Because I said so.”

      “You are the boss from hell.”

      “How?” She actually throws her hands up in the air. “There is not one thing wrong with your internship except for you.”

      “Because you don’t let anyone help you.”

      And then it happens. Lola launches herself off the desk, her knees slamming into mine. “I’m in charge here. I’m the boss.”

      “Really?” I drop onto her stupid, asinine yoga ball seat, tugging her down until she straddles my knees, her legs hugging mine. “We should definitely discuss that.”

      “Yes.” The word explodes out of her mouth, a harsh, sharp burst of sound that I feel on my own.

      My hands dig into her hair as my mouth slams into hers. Or meets hers halfway because she’s reaching for me, too, as if she could devour me with her lips and her teeth. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, taking the space it needs, and I bite back a groan and lean into her. She tastes so good. We kiss harder, deeper, a noisy, wet, perfectly messy kiss that makes me forget all the ways we hate each other and wonder only how she could surprise me next.

      At first we kiss with our eyes open, both of us refusing to break eye contact. This is a game I’ve played before and I press myself against her, moving in a hard rhythm against her thighs and ass. I watch her lashes flutter down, as if she doesn’t want to watch what happens next and is raising the white flag.

      “Please,” she whispers, eyes still closed.

      “No,” I growl. “You have to use your words, Lola.”

      I could touch her clit. I could rub until I find the perfect rhythm for her body, the pressure, the beat, the tease that makes her scream for me. Or I could come over her now, strip her down and ride her until we’re both shaking from our orgasms. I could bare her, kiss her, teach her to ride my fingers and my tongue, but I don’t. I don’t feel like playing nicely, so I slide my tie free and use it to tie her hands behind her back.

      Her eyes fly open. “Do I need a safe word?” She’s laughing at me, her expression a little unsure, a whole lot amused.

      “It’s the magic word no. Tell me stop and I stop.” I rock against her, teasing her.

      Our second kiss is longer, slower, less mean. It’s as if the first kiss was two people bumping into each other, both angry but trying to hide it. This second one, however, we’ve discovered that maybe we’re not strangers after all, even if we don’t quite know each other. Yet.

      “Is that it?” she demands when we finally break apart.

      “So impatient, Ms. Jones.”

      She growls, lunging for my mouth. Yoga balls make poor office furniture. Lola bounces off my lap, I roll to catch her and we both end up headed for the floor while the yoga ball streaks in the opposite direction. I twist so she lands on top of me. Lola holds her breath, as if she’s afraid someone else might have heard us. As if she can’t believe she’s reacting this way.

      “Tell me,” I say quietly. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. How you want me to touch you. What makes you come the hardest. If you’re going to order me around in the office, you have to use your words here, too.”

      The blush staining her cheeks is the hottest, brightest pink, but her eyes stare into mine.

      “Slow,” she orders. “Today I want it slow.”

      “Like this?” I cup the side of her face, running my fingers down her cheek. I skim the line of her throat, learning what she feels like.

      She’s so warm and soft, the best weight pressing me down. Is she wearing panties? I plan on finding out. Why does this girl make me so crazy?

      “Do you want to be naked?”

      She thinks about it. “Not in the office.”

      Part of me is disappointed. No, not that part. I’ve seen the outside parts and Lola’s gorgeous, but I’m a greedy bastard with a great imagination. I’ve been imagining what her tits look like underneath those cotton tank tops, how her ass curves like the perfect pear, if she waxes or shaves or just does whatever she likes.

      I have to kiss her, so I reach up and shove my hand into her hair. She comes willingly, her face finding mine, her mouth open and seeking. We kiss, tasting, exploring, testing each other. I can’t stop thinking about other places I could put my mouth and what she’d taste like there. Her breasts press into my chest, her legs hug my hips and she grinds against me in a slow, hot roll.

      “This is sweet.” She leans into me, catching my bottom lip sharply between her teeth, and nips. The sweet sting blossoms through me. Like she just rang the doorbell on my dick or something. I’ve never been into biting, but this I love.

      “But I’m not in the mood anymore,” she continues. She must see my disappointment because she laughs. Somehow, smiling up at her beautiful, happy, take-charge face, I have the strangest thought. I like her. Don’t tell anyone. I’m not headed to Harry Winston to buy the biggest, most ethically sourced diamond available. It’s just that she’s more person than boss or business rival now. She’s Lola and that means she’s funny, sometimes vague, always game and quirky.

      “I can make you be in the mood.” I slide against her where we’re pressed together.

      She’s flushed, nibbling on her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes sparkle with humor. “But did I ask you to do that?”

      Point to Lola. “Tell me what you want.”

      She manages to get СКАЧАТЬ