A Night With Lord Cole

Chapter 2: The Interview

"I can do that for you like I always do..." Sarah whispered, caressing her gently. Teasing and reeling her in for a good performance.

She had always performed for her since she turned fourteen while Chloe was sixteen years old.

Chloe had walked into her room one night, spread her legs and had asked her to lick her p***y like it was the most delicious dish she have ever had in her entire life. And she did until now, at this very moment.

Chloe's breath hiked in her throat immediately, her heart pounding in her chest, Sarah's fingers tucked into her underpants, tracing lazy lines along her waist before she planted a kiss above her stomach, right beside her navel, then she shifted her pants lace to one corner of her thighs, smelling Chloe's v****a on her face, gently she pressed her finger to her c**t and it began to swell.

Sarah's tongue snuck out, pattering it wet against her p***y, as it rose and fell mirroring Chloe's breathing. Then she kissed it, too lazily enough to make Chloe's legs quiver, too lazily that it dragged ragged rasps into Chloe's system.

Chloe grabbed Sarah by her hair shoving her face into her p***y, "Suck me off..." She trembled desperately as she began to grind her p***y into Sarah's mouth.

She began to lap it, her hands holding and spreading her thighs wider while Chloe's hips moved desperately to follow Sarah's tongue anywhere she touched.

"f**k!...come up here...come..." Chloe beckoned to her and she rose to meet her sister's face, their mouth colliding into each other before they attacked each other's tongue, sucking each other mouth, saliva, swallowing, their hands over each others breast, squeezing, kneading until Chloe topped her over and sat on Sarah's stomach. Her wet c**t rubbed all over Sarah's stomach.

She lifted Sarah's leg, their c**t, swollen but coming in contact with each other. Chloe began tribbing, rubbing their swollen p***y together like bubble gum.

"God, Sarah..." Chloe groaned, her voice breaking as she ground herself against her sister's skin, leaving a slick, glistening trail of her own arousal across Sarah’s midriff.

Sarah looked up at her sister, her eyes dark and glazed with a cold, focused lust. She reached up, her palms flat against Chloe’s breasts, squeezing them with a bruising force that made Chloe gasp. "You need this, don't you?" Sarah whispered, her voice like sandpaper. "You need to feel something other than the fact that we're nothing now."

Chloe didn't answer with words. She leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around them, and bit Sarah’s shoulder hard. "I'm definitely going to miss you when you leave."

"I'm going to miss us too, this..." Sarah replied, planting more kisses on her sister's face. Imagining if Chloe is Cole. She has always imagined it each time she did this with her sister.

What if Cole is the one looming over her, his entire length swallowed hole by her tight p***y, and he was grinding, harder, and harder to reach her very peak. Then slow down to kiss her, his hands trailing into her long hair...

" AHH..." She moaned, her heart thundering. Her hands digging into Chloe's hair, moving faster than Chloe ever did on top of her until they were jerking into each other, falling into each other, panting heavily while staring into the ceiling, the mess they created and then, smelling their own heat right into every corner of the room.

Sarah came down to lie on the floor as Chloe slept off without another worry about the situation they have found themselves in, the cold hardwood biting into her skin. She didn't sleep. She watched the time on her phone from 3:12 AM, 4:45 AM until the sun began to seep through the gaps in the window panes and curtains.

Ping came the beep from her phone. An email; Sarah’s fingers flew to the screen.

FROM: Office of the Household Manager – Andrews Estate

TO: S. Martins

SUBJECT: Interview Invitation

Your credentials have been reviewed. Lord Cole Andrews requires an interview at 0900 hours today. Please arrive at the East Gate. Punctuality is not a suggestion, it's a given if you really want this job.

Her heart thrashed. She scrubbed to her feet, ignoring the ache in her limbs. She had four houses to transform from a broke daughter of Martins to a tempting Nanny of Coke Andrews. The one he won't resist to look at.

Soon, Sarah was already wetting and patting her skin in the freezing water of her princess bathtub, erasing the scent of s*x that clothed her, washing off the scent of c*m from her tongue and then she came out.

By 8:45 AM, Sarah was standing before the iron gates of the Andrews estate. She had come in a yellow Uber, something she never did in her entire life. She had always had her bodyguards, her chauffeur do everything like this for her.

She smoothed down her skirt, the modest charcoal gray A-line that she had kept specifically for its honest appeal. Something that will draw Cole Andrews eyes to her thighs.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight neat bun, exposing the vulnerable line of her neck. A small tattoo sticker pasted above her collar.

Approaching the gate, her heart skipped because there's no way this is a house. It's like a fortress of the old. The iron bars were topped with sharpened pikes, and security cameras swiveled silently tracking her every movement.

She pressed the intercom. "This is Sarah Martins. I’m here for the nanny position."

The gates whirred open with a heavy groan and she walked into the long winding driveway, her small briefcase gripped tight. Everywhere silent, quiet, organized even to bits, gardeners worked with their heads down, no one making a noise.

She was met at the front door by a woman who looked like she hadn't slept in a decade.

"Welcome to the Lord Andrews house." The woman said, "I'm Mrs. Halloway," she said, " Follow me."

Sarah followed her through the marble halls until they reached a pair of towering mahogany doors.

"The Master is waiting," Halloway said, before scurrying away.

Sarah took a breath, smoothed her modest skirt, and pushed the doors open.

The study was vast, smelling of old paper, leather, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of Cole Andrews himself. He was seated behind a desk made of midnight-black wood, his head down as he signed documents with a gold pen. The scratch of the nib on the paper was the only sound in the room.

He didn't look up for a long time. He let her stand there, while Sarah had a field day watching the man who made her wet in flesh and blood. She could almost feel her own dampness. Her chest heaving slowly.

She watched the way his white shirt strained against his broad shoulders, the way his veins corded in his forearms as he gripped the pen.

Finally, Cole lifted his head.