Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
The practical voice in my head, the angel on my shoulder, reminds me that I don’t need a tour of the illegal gaming establishment where I’d be working because I can’t take the job. Spending time alone with Mickey O’Halloran isn’t going to strengthen my resolve to refuse his offer. I already have enough impure thoughts about him to fill up six or seven confessions.
Riding in a car with him, getting on the elevator just the two of us—there are too many possibilities. It’s not a half-hour tour, it’s a minefield of opportunities for me to act like a besotted jackass. It’s a hell of a reason to turn down a job I want—I’m too attracted to my boss. I can’t afford to work closely with him. One smile from him and my panties would fall right off. Not to mention the fact he needs a forensic accountant not someone who needs to go in a bathroom stall and shove my hand in my panties to take the edge off what he makes me feel.
My cheeks heat at the thought. It’s shameful. It’s humiliating. It’s something I actually need to do. I clear my throat and excuse myself.
In the tiny bar bathroom, I lock the stall door and lean my head back against it. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm my frenzied body. I shut my eyes for a second and that’s a mistake. Images flash through my mind.
Raking my nails down his bare back, urging him on.
His big hands spreading my knees wide and seeing the mess I’ve made of myself, the flushed wetness that makes every breath a terrible distraction. My damp panties are riding up between my plump lips, scraping against the tender spot where I want to touch. I could do this, just put one foot up on the toilet seat and plunge my hand into my panties and relieve the pressure. It might help me think straight and be less preoccupied with this ridiculous craving I have for him.
I stifle a moan as my fingers trace through the slippery wetness and skate along the swollen bud of my clit. I pant, hold back the noises I want to make while I stroke myself. Soon I’m rubbing hard and fast, frantic for release. It’s not enough. I shut my eyes and bite my lips, delve my fingers inside my throbbing pussy, wishing it were Mickey filling me up as I tremble and bite down on a cry.
I put myself back together, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face. The pressure relieved, I’m able to think straight again and prepare to head back out into the bar.
I make my way through the crowd of other people crammed in at other small tables and reached my seat.
“Are you okay?” Mickey asks. He has real concern on his face and I wonder what he’d do if I told him why I was gone so long.
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re done eating, we can see about that tour,” he offers before I can sit back down.
“Okay,” I agree smoothly, eager to see the place. “Should I follow you or?”
“You can ride with me. We’ll get your car later.”
He opens the door for me and I feel embarrassed walking through it ahead of him.
“Are all the guys out in LA a piece of shit or what? You act like you never had a door opened for you.”
“I’m not sure I have,” I say with a shrug.
“You been hanging out with the wrong crowd then,” he says.
We drive in relative silence and soon arrive at our destination. He parks outside a building that looks like any other old brick building in this part of town. It’s a little nicer but nothing fancy and there’s no sign. Nothing to indicate what it is.
“I’ve probably driven by this a hundred times and never knew it was here,” I remark.
“That’s the idea. It doesn’t open for another hour so we have the place mostly to ourselves.” He takes me to a door around the side and enters a code, then scans a fob on his keyring.
We walk in and I half expect it to be a bank lobby or something similar. Instead, it’s beautiful. It doesn’t look like some shiny plastic Vegas casino. It looks like it belongs in an old movie. The carpet is thick and plush burgundy, the walls are covered with cream and gold wallpaper that shows rows of faint outlines of oysters.
The man inside the door wears a nice suit but he’s the size of two refrigerators so that tells me he would be the bouncer. He only nods. A woman at a reception desk gives a lipstick smile and tells us good evening.
“I’m giving a tour. I’m not in,” he says and she nods in reply. These people respect him, and they are not about wasting his time.