Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) by Kirsty Dallas Page A

thighs pressed against my arm. I pulled both buds from my ears and gave her my best ‘boss man’ stare. She smiled, her cherry red lips curving into a grin that would give the most hardened warriors goosebumps. Leaning to peer down at my computer screen, her blouse slipped forward and her spectacular lace covered tits were placed right in my face. I looked—I’m a dude, and that’s what we do. If I guy tells you he doesn’t sneak a peek at the abundant cleavage of a woman’s breasts when she leans forward, he must be gay.
    “So, Emerson,” Davina purred. “What do you have planned for your Friday night?”
    I raised a brow and just stared. I stared long enough that she began to shift nervously, and I almost smiled. “Just the usual, I’ll be heading out to the Lovely Lounge for a few drinks.”
    The Lovely Lounge was one of London’s most renowned strip clubs. They were exclusive, their women were spectacular—the best money could buy—their clientele was refined, and the drinks were expensive. The Lovely Lounge was respectable and sophisticated, yet they still sported private booths at the back of the establishment for the superb blow jobs the angelic staff graced upon us mere mortals if we so wished, and we gladly paid the hefty price tag that went with those mind blowing BJs.
    “Why don’t you take me out to dinner? I promise your night will be a thousand times better, and maybe a little bit cheaper than a night at the Lovely Lounge.”
    I leaned back in my chair. “That’s a very bold claim,” I murmured. “You place yourself on a very high shelf, Davina.”
    She smiled and picked up one long leg, sitting her heeled foot on the corner of my chair. I only had to lean to my right an inch and I’d get a great view of her juicebox. I almost snorted as I recalled the childish name Decker and I had given a woman’s vay-jay in our pre-teens. We were no longer pre-teens, though, and I could stand up and take her on my desk right now if I wished. I kinda wished—I did need to get laid—but I wouldn’t. Rules, damn, fucking, rules!
    “And I can back that claim up. Take me to dinner, Emerson.”
    She was so sure of herself she didn’t bother to ask, she simply thought to command me. There was no doubt if I took her out the night would be spectacular. She was stunning—with her long, dark hair, olive skin, and dark chocolate, almond shaped eyes, she was as lovely as the highly paid ladies at the Lovely Lounge—she was offering me everything, and it would definitely be cheaper than a night at the strip club. I found myself wishing her hair were lighter, her skin paler, her long, svelte body more petite, though.
    “Davina, the last secretary I took to dinner is still sending me emails threatening to shove my cock in a hole I use as an exit only. While I have no doubt we would have a great time, I really need a secretary.”
    I put the earbuds back in my ears and turned my chair, causing Davina’s foot to slip from the corner of it, which in turned forced her to suddenly stand from my desk. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she stood there, completely perplexed by the fact I had turned her down. Her cheeks were flushed, but I don’t think it was with embarrassment—she was pissed. The moment she stormed out of my office slamming the door in her wake, I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to get out of here, and I needed to get laid, pronto. A safe lay, with a safe woman who was exempt from the rules.
    It had been too long and images of Wiska were constantly filling my mind, causing the never-ending erection from hell. I had beaten off so many times in the last two days I was beginning to feel like the dirty fucking pervert I was behaving like. Shutting down my computer, I grabbed my phone from the desk and left the building.
    “Did you have a good day, Sir?” Floyd asked as I stepped into the elevator. I grunted noncommittally. “Your guests have been busy today. Miss Wiska was fitted with her