Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
For the first time during the interview, Angie pales a bit and swallows hard. I follow the gentle ripple of her throat with avid eyes, but she collects herself and looks me straight in the eye.
“I got married, Mr. Masters, and my late husband’s income was more than enough to support our household. Unfortunately, Ned passed last year and left me in a precarious financial situation. I’m fine for now, but if I don’t re-join the workforce I’m afraid I’ll be in dire straits. So I’m looking for a job.”
I nod, my black brows flying up. To be honest, Angie looks too young to be married, much less a widow. Then again, how old is this girl? I scan her resume quickly and read the date of her high school graduation before doing some quick mental math. Fuck, she’s only twenty-three! I’m practically double her age.
But I’ve always had a preference for young women. Don’t get me wrong because I appreciate females of varying birth dates, from all walks of life. But lately, it’s the young ones who’ve been doing it for me. I’m not sure what it is – their ripe figures, the innocence in their eyes, or hell, maybe I’ve just been getting old. More and more, I look in the mirror and see a man who’s seen too much of the world, and fucked too many other folks in the ass, both literally and metaphorically. The innocence of these young girls is the antidote to my general cynicism, and I like how I feel around them. I like how I feel around Angie, although she’s only been in my office for all of five minutes.
“So you’re a widow,” I say in a smooth tone.
“Yes,” she answers quickly, her face pale and lips pressed into a thin line. “Ned was the love of my life, but he was killed in a horrific accident on the interstate. Fortunately, we didn’t have children, but it was a difficult time nonetheless.”
Here’s where shit gets rancid because I don’t give a fuck about Ned, her family, her ex’s family, or anyone else who might have grieved over this man’s death. Instead, all I care about is the fact that Angela White is likely single. How long does it take to bed a dead man’s wife? How long is a widow’s mourning period? It’s relevant because I’m that obscene motherfucker that everyone hates. I want this woman in my bed with her legs spread, gasping as she feels my dick slide deep into her feminine space. Then, I want her on her hands and knees, big breasts swaying, as she’s fucked savagely from behind. I want her panting, writhing, and creaming all over my cock because she’s the kind of woman who could use a deep, hard fuck ... in every hole available.
That’s when I know that the interview’s done. There’s no need to ask more questions, nor to find out more about her background. I know what I want, and Angela White is it.
“Thank you for coming in,” I say in a formal tone before standing. “Your qualifications are perfect. When can you start?”
The young woman looks flummoxed as she rises gracefully to her feet, clutching her portfolio in one hand.
“I got the job?”
“Yes,” I say in a deep voice. “Welcome to the team, Miss White. You’ll be a welcome addition, and I look forward to working together. Now, if you’ll let Timothy know when you can start—”
“Oh, I can start immediately,” she murmurs as we walk to the door. Then, I hold out one hand to shake.
“Wonderful,” I rumble in a smooth tone. “Let’s make it Monday morning, shall we?”
She slips her hand into mine, and that’s when the world tilts. I had images of this woman nude in my bed, screaming my name as she creams on my dick, but the small palm inside my own gives me different images. I see Angela White plump and curvy, smiling up at me with a white veil on her golden ringlets. Her blue eyes are trusting, and as she clasps my hand in her own, I slip a ring onto her finger. Not only that, but her belly’s big and swollen ... with my child inside.
What the fuck? What the hell is happening? This time, it’s me who begins to stammer.
“Gr-great,” I stutter like an awkward schoolboy. “See you Monday.”
With one last sweet smile over her shoulder, Angie departs and the door swings shut. Then, my knees give out and I have to lean against the massive wooden slab before I lose my balance because this woman has completely undermined my equilibrium... and we just got started.
3
Angie
Six months later.
“Hold on, Carmen. I’ll get it for you.”
The young woman throws me a grateful glance because she’s pregnant and doesn’t want to overdo things. She clambers down from the small step-stool, and I get on instead, reaching up high to grab a bottle of cleaning fluid.