Sarah's BBC Job Interview

I sat across from Marcus in his sleek downtown office, my heart hammering against my ribs. At twenty-eight, I had never felt more out of place than I did in that moment. My husband, David, had encouraged me to apply for the personal assistant job after I’d spent years as a stay-at-home wife. The salary was almost obscene, the office luxurious with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. But none of that explained the way my thighs kept pressing together under my pencil skirt.

Marcus was thirty-two, built like a linebacker poured into a tailored charcoal suit. His dark skin seemed to drink in the sunlight streaming through the glass. Every time those deep brown eyes drifted down to the way my tight white blouse stretched across my breasts, or lingered on the thin gold band on my left ring finger, a fresh pulse of heat rolled through my belly.

“So, Lauren,” he said, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey, “tell me why a married woman wants to spend her days at my beck and call.”

I swallowed. The question felt heavier than it should. “I… I need to feel useful again. David’s a good man, but our life has gotten… routine.”

Marcus leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. “Routine how?” His stare didn’t waver. “Be specific.”

My cheeks burned. I could feel my nipples tightening against the lace of my bra. “Our sex life has slowed down. He’s tired from work. I’m… frustrated.”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Frustrated. Interesting word.” His gaze dropped openly to my chest again, then lower, as if he could see straight through my clothes. “When was the last time you came so hard you couldn’t remember your own name?”

I squeezed my thighs together so tightly I was sure he noticed. My mouth had gone dry. “I… I don’t remember.”

Marcus stood up. He was even taller than I’d realized, easily six-four, and the way the fabric of his suit pulled across his broad chest made something deep in my core clench. He walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something rich and masculine.