The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

The gray skirt with the split, the white silk shirt. How does he know that I wear a white lace bra with this shirt? How does he even know about this outfit?

He watches me.

A sick thrill runs through me. Fuck, this guy is playing with my head.

I’m walking around, a raging mass of hormones, and he hardly touches me.

Imagine if he did.

I think back to this afternoon and the way his finger traced my body and then how he put it in my mouth and I sucked on it.

His words come back to me. I want you to fuck yourself. Long . . . deep and slow.

I close my eyes as arousal begins to heat my blood. He wants me to think of him while I come.

I go to my bedside and take out my vibrator, and I hold it in my hand and look at it.

“It’s a very cold substitute, Mr. Miles,” I whisper into the silence. I have a good mind to call him and tell him to come over and get the job done in person.

But of course I won’t. I turn off the light and crawl under the covers, and my hand brushes across my naked breast.

I close my eyes and open my legs and imagine Jameson Miles is here with me.

“Do you guys want to get some dinner after work?” I ask Molly and Aaron.

“Yeah, all right. Something healthy, though,” Molly replies as she types. “I’m never going to get laid if I don’t start working on this fat ass.” She types some more. “I have to be done by eight, though. I have to pick up the kids.”

“Yeah, okay.” Aaron sighs. “Sounds good.”

“I have training this afternoon,” I reply as I try to sound casual.

They both look up from their work. “Where?”

“In the management offices.”

“Oh my God.” Molly smirks. “Did he say anything?”

I drop my head. I glance up at the cameras. “I’ll tell you tonight.”

“God, I live for these stories,” Aaron whispers. “Please tell me you fucked him on his desk?”

I giggle as I finalize what I’m doing. “No, don’t be stupid.” I grab my manila folder with my fake news story. “I’ll see you guys later.”

They both look up at me and smirk. “Good luck.”

In five minutes, I find myself on the top floor with a ferociously beating heart. I decided not to wear what he told me to wear; that’s just way too eager.

What makes him think he can tell me what to wear, anyway?

Sammia smiles when she sees me. “Mr. Miles, you have Emily Foster here to see you.”

“Send her in,” his velvety voice replies.

I walk through the marble hall on my tiptoes as I make another mental note to buy rubber-soled shoes. How do I keep forgetting to do this? I knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls.

I open the door and find him sitting at his desk on the phone; his eyes find mine.