...He was erect, his cock straining almost to the breaking point. As water sluiced over his body, Neil’s fingers slowly danced along his rigid shaft and I heard his moans above the shower’s hiss.

As he continued stroking himself his other hand reached down to play with his balls, which were large and tight with his arousal. He hefted them, rubbing them slowly.

I swallowed, feeling the breath come hot and fast in my throat. All the sexual feelings I’d successfully wrestled down earlier in the day came to the surface, threatening to swamp my good sense. The polite thing to do, of course, would be to turn around and leave, and come back later. That is, if I could sit across from him and made polite chit-chat after what I was witnessing.

But I couldn’t make myself go. With a sense of helplessness, I gave into the sensuality his actions were building inside me, feeling the throb between my legs matching the rhythm of his stroking hand. My nipples pressed against the fabric of my sensible cotton bra, and I resisted the urge to rip off my clothes and join him in the shower. I wanted badly to touch myself, but I resisted the temptation.

Instead I watched. I’d never seen a man pleasure himself before, but Neil’s play held me captive. Now both hands were on his cock and he massaged it languidly, slowly stroking the swollen shaft. He moved his fingers to fondle the purple tip while his other hand kept a steady beat, and a shudder ripped through me. I wanted to be the one giving him the pleasure he was clearly experiencing. I licked my lips, desperately craving the feel of his cock in my mouth. My body cramped in a sudden spasm of lust, and I stifled the moan ready to spring free.

Leaning back against the shower wall, Neil fisted his hard-on, moving his hand and wrist faster and faster. His eyes were closed, mouth open, and as he climaxed, I heard him call out my name.

I was gasping myself, almost on the verge of orgasm. I’d never been so aroused before in my life without being touched. If there’d been any question about whether my attraction to Neil Van Doren was reciprocated, here was the answer.

I knew I should leave and spare us both the inevitable embarrassment. But before I could do anything, Neil turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Even with his shrinking penis, he was a marvelous specimen. Also a cool and collected one, as he met my eyes in amusement while he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He was far from the picture of an outraged man who found an ogling woman in his room.

“How much of that did you see?” he asked, coming straight to the point. Trust him not to beat around the bush. So to speak.

“I-I saw a lot of it. Most of it.” I realized I was stammering, and I made myself stop.

He nodded for a moment, and considered me with that same look of amusement. “Have you ever watched? Before now, I mean.”

His bluntness disarmed me and I just shook my head.

“Did you like it?”

Did I like it? My nipples were on full alert, my pussy aching and slick with my juices, my skin flushed from his actions. Did I like it? I wasn’t about to lie and I simply nodded.

“I’m glad. I thought you might.”

“Do you interview all potential directors this way?” I wanted to know, and he smiled.

“Only potential directors who throw out unmistakable ‘come hither’ signals in my direction.”

And how many of those directors had there been?

“Gee, and here I thought I was being subtle.” I spoke sarcastically to cover my sudden nervousness. I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t in the habit of watching guys play with themselves, either.

Neil stepped forward and ran his finger around my ear and across my cheek. At his touch, any small resistance I might have felt at this whole thing melted.

“Red hair,” he said, musingly, twisting a strand around his finger. “Do you have the fire and passion that goes with it? The temper?”

“It’s a stereotype that redheads have tempers.”