Free Taming the Wolf by Maureen Smith Page A

pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Did you write an article that was published in the Georgetown Law Journal?”
Marcus nodded. “During my second year there.”
“Get out of here! I came across that article during college while doing some research for a sociology paper. Excellent resource, by the way. Very thought-provoking and well researched.”
Marcus inclined his head with unaffected modesty. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. What was your paper about?”
They continued talking as they finished their meals. Plates were discreetly cleared from the table, rich desserts enjoyed, coffee poured and refilled—and still they lingered, completely engrossed in each other. They were oblivious to the emptying restaurant and the surreptitious looks they received from the wait staff. Samara couldn’t take her eyes off Marcus, and apparently the feeling was mutual. His dark, focused gaze heated the blood in her veins and set off a sweet, pulsing throb between her legs. She wanted his mouth down there, wanted to feel his tongue stroking the slick folds of her sex before plunging deep inside. The thought of it turned her on so hard and so fast, she got wet.
As if he’d read her dirty mind, Marcus smiled, a wickedly sexy smile that made her stomach clench. As she stared at him, his tongue snaked out and slowly glided over the juicy, sensuous curve of his bottom lip. Samara watched as if in a trance, her nipples hardening, her clitoris throbbing.
With a supreme effort, she dragged her gaze away and glanced down at her watch. “Goodness,” she choked out. “I didn’t realize how late it was. And I haven’t even given you my presentation!”
“No time like the present,” Marcus drawled, looking relaxed and content as he leaned back in his chair. Samara wanted to crawl under the table, kneel between his legs, unzip his pants and give him the blowjob of his life. She could almost taste the salty-sweet flavor of his cum when he exploded in her mouth.
Shaking off the vividly erotic image, Samara reached into the leather attaché case she’d brought and withdrew several glossy brochures. Spreading them across the table, she briefly explained the various programs offered by the Institute.
“We’ve collaborated with many organizations on different projects. For instance, we work with area hospitals and the healthcare industry to encourage safe-sex practices among teens, and we sponsor wellness programs geared for mothers and newborns as well as the entire family. We’ve also partnered with several employment agencies that provide us with current job vacancies for our onsite employment counseling center.
“The program I’m currently interested in spearheading is called Youth for the Arts and Literacy. We already know of several students from local schools and universities who are interested in participating. One of my ideas is to have the students involved in a dance troupe that performs throughout the community, and I’d also like to make visiting artists available to conduct workshops and other programs for anyone interested in attending. The Institute would collaborate with neighborhood associations and build ties with local community development corporations, which would also result in needed revenue going back into the Institute—something our financial advisors would greatly appreciate,” she added dryly. Throughout her presentation and as he sifted through the brochures, Marcus’ expression had remained impassive. Samara wondered nervously if opposing counsel ever found themselves unnerved by his demeanor as they delivered their closing arguments. But when she’d finished speaking, Marcus gave a slow, approving nod. “I can see why Richard Yorkin entrusted you with the position of executive director when he retired. You really have a vision for the organization, Samara. And there’s no doubt in my mind that closure of the Institute would be a huge loss to the community.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,”