Control
When Madison Morris decides to hire an assistant to help run her naughty bookshop, she gets a lot more than she bargained for.Assertive Andy doesn't quite make the grade, but continues to push her buttons in other areas, while uptight and utterly repressed Gabriel can't quite take Madison's training techniques.One makes her grasp control, while the other makes her lose it. But the lines are blurring and she's no longer sure who's leading and who's following. In the midst of kinky threesomes and power plays, can Madison work out what she really wants?
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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.
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 corduroy jackets—the uniform of bookstore owners and librarians everywhere—are bookish and quiet and quite dull, there’s probably an equal amount who view said women as repressed cauldrons of lust.
I’m pretty sure he sensed my boiling cauldron.
I think he felt I was a certain type—the type who won’t admit they want it, not even to themselves. But when he pressed me up against the door to the back and then shoved me through, I didn’t deny anything. My insides shimmied to think of this big handsome man having me up against something. Just doing it, without columns or questions or things neatly arranged.
Even better than that, it had come to me in a sudden flash that he might be fucking me to get the job. Of course, such an idea could have put a damper on things—what a terrible person I am! How awful, how seedy! Such a shame that thinking the word seedy only made the whole thing sweeter—perhaps because the job is so nothing, so pathetic. It’s a sales assistant job. It requires all the skill and ability of a tomato.
But I’m a sucker for a tomato that lies on the casting couch for me, apparently.
When he had bent me over my kitchen table, I don’t mind admitting that I moaned aloud. I moaned and pushed my hand into my knickers before he even got there, skirt shoved rudely up, finger firm on my clit.
I was as swollen as anything, just swimming in cream and buzzing to the touch, while in my head I had imagined the casting couch version of him asking what it would take. Would I give him the job for a nice hard fuck? What about if he let me fuck him? His rough stubbled face would twist into a grin on that one.
