Birthright

I’m thrilled to have employment, especially a job I think I’ll really enjoy. I’m also irate at Nate’s interference as well as confused by it. I don’t understand why he would go to the trouble.

“He doesn’t even know me.” I slam the car into drive and pull out of the parking lot.

The drive is short, and when I stomp back into my apartment, I’m definitely angry about Nate’s contacting Melissa but also elated to have employment so soon. It’s not even Nate’s calling her that has me angry but the impression his request clearly left on her.

“She thinks I’m a whore.” I slam my keys down on the kitchen table. “Nate Orso owns the east side of town, and my new boss clearly thinks I’m sleeping with him. Fucking fantastic.”

I huff out a breath and yank open the fridge, looking for comfort food, but nothing looks appetizing. Doing any actual cooking requires far more effort than I feel like expending right now, so I grab a yogurt and a spoon.

Vee sits in judgment at the kitchen table.

“I haven’t slept with him,” I mutter. “We weren’t even on a date together. We’d only just met! I have no idea why he would do something like that.”

I shovel yogurt into my mouth and then crush the little cup. I replay Saturday night in my head, specifically the conversation with Nate about my interest in botany and the point where he handed me a napkin with a job lead on it.

“Nate, what are you doing? Offering me a job?”

“Technically, you’ll have to interview, but if you want to move past the bullshit, yes.”

I already knew what he was doing—he had made it clear from the beginning. I didn’t have to go through with it. Am I angry because he intervened or because of Melissa’s assumptions? He was just trying to help me out, knew about a job I might like, and put in a good word for me. What was wrong with that?

Absolutely nothing.

It was a kind gesture. It’s not his fault Melissa thought it was something else. Melissa’s attitude is the problem here, not Nate.

“Am I making too much of this?” I lick the edge of the spoon, removing the last bit of yogurt from it. “I mean, she did say I was qualified, but she has to have had other qualified applicants as well. Would I have gotten the job if she didn’t think I was banging the king of the east side?”

Banging Nate.

I can’t stop the fantasy that begins to flow through my mind. Nate taking me into his arms, reaching down and pulling up my skirt as he presses his mouth against mine. He picks me up, my legs wrapped around his waist. I dig my fingers into his hair as he rips his jeans open with one hand and shoves me up against the wall…

My face feels hot, my hands are sweating, and my clit is absolutely throbbing.

Yep. Too many romance novels.

I clench my hands into fists, initially trying to fight off the feeling. I give up the conflict quickly and race to my bedroom, tossing the phone onto the blanket covering my bed and pulling up my skirt. I grab the small pink vibrator out of the nightstand drawer and continue the fantasy.

I gasp as I think of his hands gripping my ass, his mouth on my nipples, and his cock buried deep inside of me. I can feel his hot breath on my shoulder, and I hear him cry out my name…

“Oh, Nate!”

I freeze, unable to breathe for a moment as the orgasm begins to build inside of me. I’m so close. I run the fingers of my free hand over my nipple. Nearly there…

“BING!”

I startle, drop the vibe, and the mounting pressure is abruptly gone.

“Ugh!”

I grab the phone, nearly throw it against the wall, and then see it’s a text from Nate.

Of course it is.

Nate O: How did the interview go?

I’m panting and my hands are shaking. My mind is racing. I want to finish myself off, but I also want to reply to him. I want to rub the phone over my pussy and come to the words on the screen.

“Good lord,” I mumble. “You are a mess.”