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Favoring the quiet night ahead, I head to my home bar—a custom-built piece in rich mahogany—and start fixing myself a drink. The clink of ice against glass is a familiar, soothing sound, a moment of calm in the relentless pace of my world.
As I pour the whiskey, its amber shade reflecting the city's glow, my thoughts drift back to Julie's outburst earlier today.
She had acted like a petulant child, and my first instinct was not to reward such behavior with my attention. I didn’t think I’d have time for such theatrical displays of emotion; I need efficiency, competence, and control—the same principles that guide my business decisions. But then she sent me that text by mistake, and all hell broke loose inside of me.
As the smooth whiskey warms me, I can't help but reflect on the situation with a touch of sardonic amusement. I showed her, didn’t I? And she sure as hell showed me. Going to her apartment was a mistake I will probably regret for the rest of my life, but I enjoyed it too much. The sound of her voice calling out my name as she comes… it’s fucking priceless. Perhaps I was too harsh, a bit of an asshole even.
Julie is more than competent. She's a damn good assistant, the kind who anticipates problems before they arise and handles them with a finesse that often goes unnoticed. And the way her body quivers, the way her pussy clenches around me…
Losing her over a moment of irritation would be a poor business decision, and I don’t make those. The thought of having to train someone new, to deal with the inevitable incompetence that comes with inexperience, is almost as distasteful as acknowledging that I might have been in the wrong.
I take a sip of my drink, letting the rich, oaky flavors linger on my tongue. The truth is, Julie's outburst, while unprofessional, was not entirely unjustified. I push my people hard, and I expect the best because I give the best. But even I can admit, albeit grudgingly, that my approach can be abrasive.
The realization doesn't sit comfortably with me. I've built my empire on being tough, on not yielding an inch unless it benefits me. Showing leniency and understanding are not qualities I'm known for.
Yet as I stand in the quiet of my home, I can't shake the feeling that maybe, just once, I should consider a different approach. The genie is out of the bottle, anyway. We did something I never do with the people I employ. That kind of intimacy cannot be wiped away with a sponge. It can’t be wiped away with anything. I want more of it. So much more. I need to be inside her, to feel her wet softness wrapped around my cock. I need to hear my name rolling off her tongue again.
If I'm to be brutally honest with myself, Julie's earlier behavior caught me off guard. In the time she's worked for me, she's always been the epitome of calmness, of stoic composure. Today, she broke. Tonight, I may have broken her further.
She reveals very little of herself, her emotions carefully guarded behind a professional facade. It's a trait I've come to respect, and yet her display of unbridled passion today was unsettling.
There's no denying that she’s an exceptionally attractive woman. From the moment I hired her, I've been acutely aware of her appealing presence.
She possesses a kind of understated beauty that doesn't scream for attention but instead whispers for it, compelling and serene. Her light blonde hair, a pale honey color, contrasts strikingly with the depth and clarity of her blue eyes, eyes that seem to hold secrets and stories I've yet to uncover.
And her body, it's as if it's been sculpted to perfection. She's petite, yet her curves are pronounced, giving her a silhouette that's both delicate and alluring. My fingers still tingle, the memory of her breasts imprinted on my skin.
She moves in a graceful, almost ballet-like manner, each gesture controlled and precise. Her preference for pastels in stylish, form-fitting attire only accentuates her figure, highlighting her femininity in a way that's both subtle and undeniable.
As her boss, I've always maintained a professional distance, keeping my personal thoughts and feelings well in check. But I'd be lying if I said I haven't caught myself lingering on her form more than once, appreciating the visual pleasure she provides. Well, I caught myself doing a lot on top of that, tonight. Damn.
It's not just her physical appearance, either. It's the whole package with the way she carries herself, her intelligence, her efficiency. She's about the sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on, and today's entire dynamic revealed a fiery passion that I find unexpectedly arousing.
My name echoes in the sound of her voice. Arousal hits me with an intensity that's as unexpected as it is powerful, and I’m instantly hard.
My stomach tightens as a familiar heat courses through me, pooling in my lower abdomen. It's a primal, uncontrollable response. I continue to remember, transfixed, the realization of what I'm doing to myself only amplifies my desire.
Ivan. The way she said it, breathy, laden with desire, it was like a punch to the gut, a direct line to every carnal instinct I possess. Hearing her say my name in such a context—so intimate and raw—nearly caused my undoing. I had no choice, standing outside her door. It was a sign. It was a revelation, a crossing of a line I didn't even realize was there to be crossed.
I'm torn between shock and a deep, burning arousal. Part of me wants to stop this, to politely pull the plug tomorrow and end everything right then and there. But another part of me—one I usually keep under strict control—urges me to keep pursuing this, to indulge in this unexpected and intensely erotic experience. To find and break her every limit.
My grip on my cock tightens, my knuckles turning white. The rational part of my mind is losing ground quickly to the irrational part. The sound of Julie experiencing such uninhibited pleasure, and the knowledge that she thinks of me during it, is intoxicating, even now, long after I’ve already tasted her.
As Julie's moans fill the space of my mind, over and over again, my imagination takes charge, painting vivid images behind my eyes. I picture her beneath me as I pump into her, one hand absentmindedly playing with a perky nipple, enhancing her pleasure.
I close my eyes, allowing the scene to unfold in my mind's eye. Julie, always so composed and efficient, is transformed in this fantasy, meant to pick up where we left off at her apartment. Here she is unguarded, sensual, and utterly captivating.
Throwing back the last of my whiskey, its warmth spreading through me like liquid fire, I find myself propelled through a tension that demands release.
It's a rare feeling, this loss of control, this overwhelming need coursing through me. But as I think of Julie, the sounds she made, her voice whispering my name in the throes of passion, a deep, primal response overtakes me with a fervor that brooks no argument.
"Fuck it," I mutter to myself, my decision made. I stroke myself tighter. The contact sends a jolt of pleasure through me, erasing any lingering doubts. With a swift, almost desperate movement, I let loose, replaying the very moment she came all over my face.
With a low groan I give in, allowing the memory of her to carry me through to a climax that's as intense as it is cathartic.
Afterward, as a semblance of my control returns, I find my thoughts drifting back to the reality of the situation. The message, the undeniable attraction, the lines that have been suddenly and irrevocably crushed, all coalesce into a decision that feels as inevitable as it is risky.
I pick up my phone, my fingers steady as I create a calendar invite for Julie. A meeting set for eight-fifteen tomorrow morning.
