Control. Charlotte SteinЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Charlotte Stein has written over thirty short stories, novellas, and novels, including entries in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance and Best New Erotica 10. Her latest work, Addicted, was recently called salaciously steamy by Dear Author. When not writing salaciously steamy books, she can be found eating jelly turtles, watching terrible sitcoms, and occasionally lusting after hunks. For more on Charlotte, visit: www.charlottestein.net.
Control
CHARLOTTE STEIN
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
Mischief
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
Originally published in 2010 in England by Xcite Books.
Copyright © 2010, 2013 by Charlotte Stein
Charlotte Stein asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780008148836
Version: 2015-08-17
Contents
The first applicant for the assistant job is very promising indeed. He puts his head between my thighs with minimal supervision and almost no prompting.
The only problem is—I don’t recall creating an oral presentation portion of the interview. Or, for that matter, a portion that requires the answer: you know you want it. To a question I don’t remember asking.
But I guess I must have asked for something, or none of it would have happened. Maybe it was all the staring I did at the curling, many-colored tattoos all over his heavy-looking arms. Or the way I bristled beneath the weight of his deep blue gaze. I must have leaned forward and asked about his previous job experience in a way that suggested an underlying code.
Job meant sex. Experience meant now.
It was sharp of him, really, to understand. He got a cross in the interview attire column—such a thin, barely-there T-shirt!—but he got a big tick in the “takes initiative” and the “understands subtle instructions” columns.
I don’t think I got any ticks in the “cool, calm, controlling boss” columns, unfortunately. But can’t I be forgiven? He looked like liquid sex and I can’t remember the last time I had anything even remotely resembling a drink. Or resembling a hard, solid body over mine. Or resembling the scent of someone besides myself all over me—the slick slide of a tongue against my skin.
It’s probable that some of these needs showed on my face. And though I’m sure that some people are of the mind that women who wear neat little pleated skirts and boxy