The Sweet Taste of Innocence Ch. 02

Sun shone through the blinds, falling on Emma's sleeping form, and piercing the comforting darkness behind her eye-lids. Rolling over, she groaned loudly, shoving the covers back and pushing her body into an upright position. She sat there for a moment, adjusting to the light before rising and walking over to the window to raise the blinds. She stood there for a moment, in nothing but her underwear, watching the city wake up with her.

She smiled brightly, breathing out a quiet "Good morning" to her hometown. Turning away from the city-scape, she pressed a button on her coffee maker and commenced the morning's ritual. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed sharply in a dark skirt-suit, black folder under one arm, portable coffee mug in the other. Her golden mane was pulled into a tight twist, held to the back of her head by a hefty jaw clip that still strained against the thick locks. Her make-up was light, a drastic comparison to the heavy mask she'd worn the night before. Pausing in front of the hall mirror, she breathed a sigh of relief at how normal she looked, not even a hint of the monster she'd become the night before showing through her perfectly parted hair and glossy lips. Her one-inch heels clicked smartly across the floor as she rushed out, almost forgetting to lock her door behind her, before heading down and out onto the street.

The morning air brushed past carrying with it the scents of the city. Emma breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of smog, rotting garbage, and passing car fumes. She smiled shaking her head, knowing she killed brain cells every time she did that, but not caring. She hailed a cab and climbed in the first one that pulled up, giving directions to her editor's office. The cab driver glanced back in his rear-view mirror, a smirk toying the corners of his mouth as he noted how high Emma's skirt rode when she sat in his back seat. Noticing his eager look, Emma offered a slow, languid smile in return, crossing her legs a little, which hiked the skirt a little higher and almost offered the driver a glimpse of her purple thong.

"You got a big day ahead of you, Miss?" the driver asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road rather than letting them wander to the image in his rear-view.

Emma smiled and tapped her folder to straighten her papers. "Oh, yes," she said, not offering no further explanation. She knew his type would not want the long-drawn out description. A mere sample kept them interested. She peered up slowly, keeping her observations discreet as she saw the lust flare in his eyes for the busty, high-society woman in his backseat.

"Well, you keep them corporate heads spinning," he scoffed, pulling over to let her off. Emma only half heard him, as her mind was already reeling with what his back story might be and what kind of woman he'd be interested in. She'd have to play with the idea of a cab driver taking advantage of an upper-class business woman. As a result, she did not respond to his last comment, but simply threw her fare into the front seat and stepped out, rushing up the steps to the front door of the publishing building.

Emma smiled softly to herself as she walked into the lobby, right past the new, young receptionist, and onto the first elevator, selecting the twelfth floor. She flipped through the last few pages of her manuscript, hoping she had made the correct adjustments to it before handing it back to her editor. She was just reading the last paragraph, feeling her usual heat rising at the suggestive words, when the elevator doors opened and admitted a young gentleman.

Emma knew her face was flushed and she quickly buried her nose in her paperwork, peering over the edge of it to study the man. He was well-dressed in a black suit with a flashy, red tie and slicked back hair. His stature was firm and straight, suggesting he was man that was used to being in charge. She couldn't help but feel an attraction to this stranger. His aura alone left her reeling with lust in ways she never had thought imaginable.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and slipped her a smile. She smiled back, playing the shy card as the bell dinged and the doors opened onto her floor. She hesitated for a moment and he shifted a brow ever so slightly, a gesture that tickled her feminine desires and teased her need. She looked down at her folder, pretending to be re-arranging something.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said, his voice flowing over his masculine lips like melted chocolate, "Isn't this your floor?"

Emma cursed inwardly and was tempted to just let the doors close so she could stay in such close proximity to such a delicious looking stranger, but she knew she was already a little late on her deadline. Sadly, this deadline could not be pushed back any further, even for such a delectable specimen such as this. As if suddenly gaining confidence, she brushed right by him with an air of superiority, feeling his eyes on her back as she sashayed down the hall, taking a left into the office of her editor, Charles Morrison.

Looking up abruptly from his desk, Charles eyed her with a skeptical air. "Darling, you look rather exasperated," he commented, rising from behind his desk and coming around to greet her. "Have you been up all night again?"

"No, no, no," Emma said, brushing away his concerns with a wave of her hand, "Just a productive morning of character analysis. I have the manuscript here." She dropped the folder onto his desk with a dull, satisfying thud. The ball was finally out of her court. She always couldn't help breathing a silent sigh of relief while also sucking in a panicked breath as she watched her work pass from her hands into the hands of one not yet familiar with it.

Charles eagerly nabbed the folder and flicked it open, reading the bold title aloud; "Sisters in Sin". His eyes lit up. "Another taboo tale; or are we just going for suggestive imagery here? Perhaps some figurative language?" He began flipping through the pages as Emma took a seat and smiled coyly.

"You could say that," she offered, though more of an explanation she would not give. "I wouldn't want to spoil a good story before you get the chance to read it. I am not one to give away an ending, much less the bulk of a thrilling plot."

Creasing his brow in mock frustration, Charles paused, lowering the pages. "You do know how to tease, Emma Perry," he scolded. "No wonder you don't have a boyfriend. They can't stand being mocked and pushed around."

Emma flashed a bright smile and lounged back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other so her skirt rose again. "No, Charles. The reason I do not have a boyfriend is because all the men that are supposedly within my reach hold no interest for me. They are boring and focused on only one thing. I want a man willing to fight for something more than sex. I want someone who knows how to step up into the role he was born into as the dominant species. I may be hard-headed, but you know as well as I that there is nothing more seductive than a man who will not back down."

Charles couldn't meet her gaze as he blushed a little, thinking about his newest boyfriend who he'd left sleeping in his apartment that morning. He nodded slowly, remembering how firm the new man had been. Emma smirked, knowing she had hit a nerve and driven her point home. She rose slowly.

"Take care, Charles. You and your new friend enjoy the latest from my office." She winked and blew him a kiss as she walked out.

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Michael couldn't help the fact that he had watched the young woman leave the elevator. He must have seemed like a creep, eyeing her like that, but God, she was so tempting. That tight ass enveloped in such a form-fitting skirt, accented by the little tailored jacket; the way she swayed when she walked; perfect form and rhythm. She was a woman who had a lot of fight in her. The idea of wrestling that fight out of her, and making her submit to his will had Michael very much aroused by the time he stepped out of the elevator. He tried to adjust himself before stepping out, but it was a lost cause and he paraded into the ante-room of his office where his secretary waited for him.

"Good morning, Mr. Sanchez," she greeted him brightly. Per his request, she had begun dressing in tight, short skirts and revealing blouses. However, that morning, there was something about her that, in his moment of lust after the stranger, left him disgusted. He blew right past her without even noticing her large breasts pressing the black bra against flimsy, white material. He entered his office and slammed the door shut, beginning a raging pacing across the room and back again.

Obviously this woman was in affiliation with one of the small businesses that rented space in the building. He thought hard about the floor plans, noting she had gotten off on the twelfth floor. 'Let's see,' he thought, cursing softly, 'what's on that floor?' Punching a button on his desk, he tried to keep his tone flat as he said, "Stacy, get me the floor plans for the twelfth floor of this building." He was not a man to be kept in the dark. He would find out all he could about this mystery woman or else be driven to lustful madness.

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Emma got home relatively early, and dropped a few grocery bags on the counter, along with her coffee mug before taking the time to kick her shoes off and peel the pantyhose from her legs. She smiled, wondering if Charles was cuddled up to the new boy, reading her story yet. She knew he shared her work with whoever happened to be staying with him at the time and while it was against the rules, she really didn't care at all. Any amount of exposure meant that later, that someone might buy the book, and tell others about how great it was, thus expanding her rather small fan base.

She sighed flopping down on the couch. No sooner had she closed her eyes for a quick catnap, than her cell phone rang. She peered at the screen, noting Charles' number flashing in bright, rainbow figures. She smiled and answered it brightly, "Already done?"

"Oh my GOD," the man's bubbly voice came gushing over the speaker. There was no denying this man's orientation, Emma thought, rolling her eyes as she smiled. "Emma, this has got to be your best work yet. My friend read it after I had finished, and while he said there were minor adjustments to be done, he agrees you are going places, girl. He said he has a brother who owns a major publishing company and would be interested in taking a look at this. He said it may be just a short story, but it has potential beyond the magazine stage. I told him you had longer versions in progress of all your stories, which was more of an assumption, but I am hoping it was closer to the truth rather than farther."

Finally noting the pause for breath, Emma cut in, her voice shaky as she slowly let everything sink in before asking, "You mean, I could be a published author, as in novels on pages between hard covers?" Her voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to contain a scream. "As in, scheduled book signings, and my picture on the back cover, and interviews in the magazines rather than a little section to cram a quick orgasm into?"

Charles laughed loudly and Emma fell back, still stunned. "That's exactly what I mean girl. All you have to do is let me send the man a sample of your work, finish up your FULL manuscript, and presto, you could get published. My friend, Andrew, has already set up a double date for us next week so you can meet the guy."

"Wait," Emma stopped him, finally snapping out of her almost-comatose state, "Did you say 'date'?" The muffled stuttering on the other end was all she needed by way of answer. "Charles, you know I hate dates period, let alone blind dates. What the hell? Do we have to call it a date?"

"It's dinner with a lonely rich guy who could make you famous," he countered. "Don't you think you can suffer through one dinner? It's not like he's going to want to take you home or anything."

Emma rubbed her temples in frustration. She had a strict policy against mixing business and pleasure, but if it meant getting out there and getting recognized for her talent... She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright fine. When and where are we meeting?"

"Oh you really are such a dear," Charles exclaimed, then he proceeded to give her the address of a rather high-end restaurant on the other end of town with instructions that she get gussied up and be there at exactly eight p.m. on the dot, lest she lose the biggest chance of her life. After a mushy good night, she hung up and flung herself back into the couch. What was she getting herself into?