Page 10 of His Summer Intern

There’s a freckle on the back of her left knee. Medium brown.

She cocks a hip when she stirs.

Breathes approximately twenty-seven times per minute.

And when she bends forward to slide the pan into the oven, her sassy bottom flashes at me and I grit my teeth, on the verge of climax.

“It will be ready in half an hour,” she says, setting the timer.

I wince, zipping myself back up. “We should take a walk. Eat outside.”

“Like a picnic?” she breathes, excited.

I nod.

She eyes my notebook curiously. “What did you write down?”

“I’ll tell you one thing I wrote if you answer another personal question.”

Her smile wavers. “Ask the question first and I’ll decide.”

“No. That’s not how it works.”

“You’re not in a position to make the rules.”

After last night, she means. I incline my head to acknowledge that.

I’m accustomed to giving orders, not taking them, but I’m starting to understand that there’s strength in conceding sometimes when it comes to this girl. For instance, if I’d followed through and tied her up last night, I seriously doubt she would be smiling now and baking us a cake.

“How old are you?”

She relaxes a little. “I turned eighteen two months ago.”

I release a breath I wasn’t aware of holding. “I wasn’t sure. You were…”

Red stains her cheeks. “Inexperienced?”

“Oh yeah.” I run my eyes down to her hem. “Tight as a fucking bolt, too.”

“Oh,” she whispers shakily. “That’s a…good thing?”

“Ah, princess. It’s a very good thing.” Need twists inside me, dark and hungry. Demanding to be satisfied. “We need to stop talking about your perfect pussy or I’ll get worked up over it again.”

Her throat works. “Tell me one thing you wrote down.”

I don’t have to consult the page. “You’re forgiving.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Only the first time.”

My nod is slow, measured. “That’s why I’m waiting for a green light, girl. No matter how painful it gets.” Acute discomfort prods my gut, biting and twisting. “The worst part is knowing you didn’t have an orgasm. It’s fucking killing me.”

We’re both breathing hard, facing off across the table.

Her nipples are hard, pushing at the bodice of her dress.

“You won’t take me again until I say? No matter how painful it gets?”

“That’s right,” I say through clenched teeth.

That dark mischief I witnessed in her last night drifts to the fore, turning her eyes a vivid green. She saunters slowly around the table, trailing her index finger along the surface, hips swaying seductively. When the girl reaches me, she leans down and whispers right against my ear. “Who says I didn’t have an orgasm?”

My spine snaps straight, my hand closing around her elbow. “Did you?”

Her sexy mouth is almost on mine. “That sounds like a personal question.”

I lunge to my feet, my hip sending the table skidding across the floor. “There’s an end to my patience, girl. You’re very close to reaching it.”

“Yes.” She’s trembling, winded, backing away. “I had one.”

Unbelievable. Relief, triumph and scorching heat surge in my veins. I was so lost in the adrenaline, in her, in the remnants of the dream, I couldn’t be sure.

I yank her up against me. “You like it rough.”

Her eyelids fall, her nod subtle. “I think so. But…”

“But you need time?”


I press my open mouth to her neck, licking her pulse, unable to stop my hands from cupping her braless tits, sliding my touch up down her ribcage and kneading her hips, before I tear myself away and step back, my cock hard as a crowbar behind my zipper. God. God, she’s everything. My obsession. MINE. That’s why I have to do this right. I swipe an agitated hand over my hair and curse. “Let’s go have a fucking picnic then.”



We let the cake—and Caleb—cool off before we leave the house.

Although I’m not sure if this man is ever calm and collected. Or if he just lets me think he is. The copious muscles of his shoulders are bunched, his jaw in a permanent flex as I pass him on my way out the back door. And I have to stop myself from rubbing up against him, purring like a kitten. My skin is fevered under his rapt attention. It feels like I’m caught in a web.

A physical one.

An emotional one, too.

There’s a connection between us and it vibrates like a tuning fork, making me aware of every twitch of his fingers. If he exhales a touch too roughly, every hair follicle on my neck stands at attention. What has Caleb woken up inside of me?

Last night, I swung wildly between outraged and cossetted.

He manhandled me and cradled me like a baby.

I should be confused or terrified of all the extremes, but I’m not. Instead they excite me. How will he be incited next? What is he thinking? What would it take to soothe the pacing beast inside of him? Surrender? Making me surrender?