The Job Interview
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Then she was in the bedroom with James. Young, very sexy James, who was turning to her and saying, “Would you like to try out the bed?”
She would have loved to, preferably with him in it, but this was supposed to be a job interview. Wasn't it?
“Are you sure?” she answered.
“Don't worry,” he said, looking into her eyes and reading her mind. “Mr. Browne knows.”
Mr. Browne knows what? she wondered, as she slipped off her heels and lay on top of the duvet.
The window faced out to the street, although it was below the level of the footpath. Still, anyone could see in, if they happened to look down. Anyone at all.
Tracy rubbed her legs together.
James stood at the foot of the bed.
“Is the bed to your liking?” he asked. His tone was distant and formal. His look wasn't.
“Yes,” she answered. “Very much so.” It was a good bed, soft yet supportive. And the view from where she lay was superb.
“I feel so sorry for women who wear heels,” he said.
“Do you?” she asked, as he picked up one of her feet and began to massage it with his capable hands. She wanted to melt, to sink into the lovely bed and lose herself forever. She could feel the heat of his hands through her stockings as he manipulated her toes and rubbed her instep.
The bed dipped a little as he sat on the edge of it.
Tracy's calves were getting James's attention now, and the tension dissolved from her calf muscles as he stroked them with deep, thorough strokes. His hands were so big they encased her legs.
“You wear stockings,” he said.
“Mmm…” she replied, wishing, somewhere at the back of her mind, that she could come up with something witty in response.
“Mr. Browne will like that.”
She wondered why he was talking about his boss when his magic fingers were tracing patterns on the insides of her bare thighs, and the back of his hand was brushing against her curls.
“Part your legs for me,” he said, and her legs separated of their own accord. She was aching now. She wanted those huge hands everywhere on her body. Her breasts were bursting out of her bra, and she knew her face was flushed.
Those thick fingers played with her labia, pulling and tugging, twisting and pinching. He knew just what he was doing to her: he never hurt her, just excited her more.
But he wasn't giving her what she wanted, either.
There was something she had to see.
“Come closer,” she managed to whisper.
He moved up the side of the bed. She could reach him now, and she tugged at the zipper of his trousers, freeing his erection.
James groaned a little as she ran her fingers over the smooth head, using the little bit of moisture she found there as a lubricant.
He returned the favor, sliding two fingers into her.
She'd been on the edge for so long—ever since the train trip here—that she climaxed after a few deep thrusts of his hand. Her back arched, and she cried out as her own liquids drenched the duvet beneath her.
Tracy lay back and smiled up at James.
The above is an extract from "The Job Interview" by Jane New, available from Cobblestone Press at www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/jobinterview.htm