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I plaster on as good a smile as I can, "You know I'm always willing to hear new ideas."
"It's one of the things I really love about you." She pauses for way too long. "...and your company."
Nice recovery, I think.
Jennifer steps closer to me; her breasts are practically brushing my arm now. "Is there a time when I can come by your office with the proposal?"
"You can make an appointment with my new secretary. I think her name was--"
"Alyssa. We met." Her voice goes flat.
I knock back the rest of the scotch, and take a step away. "Yes, Alyssa. I'm sure she'll be up to speed with my calendar in a few days."
"Whatever works for you," she says, the purr back in her tone. The innuendo is practically dripping off her words.
"If you'll excuse me, it's been a long day."
I don't wait for her to answer before I walk away. Some things never change, and I've had to make this escape one too many times to be polite about it anymore.
But Alyssa...that could be interesting. I think about the flushed look on her face when she said she wanted nothing but professionalism. A bold statement like that is as much for her as it is for me. I'm willing to bet she was thinking some decidedly unprofessional thoughts about me.
I catch myself following that fantasy through one more time, and pull myself back. Professionalism. I can do that. If it's professionalism she wants, that's exactly what she'll get.
3
Alyssa
One Week Later
"Alyssa,” Charles calls from his office.
I get up and push open the door. "Yes?"
"I need you to set up a teleconference with Robert Jenkins from the Seattle hotel some time next week. Can you tell him I need to speak with him about some of the expense reports?"
"Sure thing." I make a note at my desk to make the appointment first thing in the morning. It's almost the end of the day and I already know that the Seattle staff is most responsive in the morning. You get to know the problem customers quickly.
I check my e-mail. Nothing new except for a call for help from Jennifer asking for volunteers to organize and decorate the next office party. (It's going to have a theme!) I plan on ignoring that email as long as possible. I've only been here a week so I think it's a little early for me to be sucked into planning the office parties.
Especially since I have a feeling Jennifer will want to know all about my first week working for Charles after my little display at the party, and that's a conversation I don't want to have. Not only am I not sure that she would keep anything I said to herself, but I also don't want to tell her that I feel like a complete and utter idiot. He's done nothing to indicate he even notices that I'm a woman, let alone that he wants to sleep with me. Utterly smooth and polished, not even a moment where I could question his propriety.
So naturally I feel like a prick for calling him out on behavior he clearly doesn't have. He's been nice enough not to mention it though.
All that doesn't change the fact that he's hot. I rarely swear, and the man is fucking hot. If his face wasn't enough (It is.), you can tell under his suits that his body is fantastic. If his body weren't enough (It definitely, definitely is.), his voice is enough to make your mouth water.
In fact, his voice is why I'm so embarrassed and don't want to see Jennifer. He may not act inappropriate at all, but the sound of his voice makes me want him too. His voice plays a regular role in my fantasies now, telling me exactly what he wants to do to me, followed by exactly what he wants me to do.
This has been a fun week for my imagination.
I can hear Charles from the office now, making a call, and I let myself imagine that he's speaking to me. Telling me to come into his office and lock the door. I pull up my web browser and log into the Tantalize website. This collection of people's deepest sexual fantasies is the only thing that's been keeping me sane this week.
I've been reading for years and occasionally I wrote something, but never like this week. Now I have one for every day I've been here. Some days two...writing down the fantasies gets them out of my head. They'd be all I can think about otherwise.
"Lock the door,” he says.
I do.
"Come here."
My body is moving almost before he says it, like it already knows what he's going to command.
He leans back in his chair and observes me. I don't move. I wait for him to tell me what to do, and I'm shaking with anticipation. "Go face the window."
The city unfolds before me, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. It's vertigo inducing--like I'm going to fall even though I'm safe. I see his ghostly reflection moving closer behind me, and I can feel the heat from his body because he's so close, but he doesn't touch me. Not yet.
"Did you do what I told you to do?"
"Sir?"
I hear the smile in his voice. "I told you that the next time you came into my office, you weren't to be wearing any underwear. Do you remember?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you wearing any now?" His breath tickles my ear, and I brace myself against the glass.
"No, Sir."
His hand snakes around my waist and I feel the entirety of him pressed against me from his chest to his erection. "Do not move unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir." I feel dizzy from the sensation of almost falling, and from his closeness. "I understand, Sir."
His hand slides up my body to the buttons on my shirt, undoing them so can access my breasts. His fingers are teasing through the thin material of my bra, circling and caressing before moving to pinch the nipple to the edge of pain before smoothing it away.
His other hand pulls up my skirt, bunching it around my hips, and I gasp as his fingers start to explore. The sound he makes when he confirms that I am most certainly not wearing underwear is not a gasp. Somewhere between a moan and something more primal that pulls at my gut, and my hands come off the window.
His grip tightens and his fingers freeze. "Don't. Move."
"I'm sorry, Sir." I place my hands back on the windows.
He st
rokes through my folds, and it takes everything not to move. I'm already soaking wet and sensitive. He slips a finger inside me, and its my turn to moan. He moves in and out slowly, drawing out the sensations till I'm quivering. "Tell me how it feels."
It's hard to find my breath. "It feels very good, Sir." He brushes his thumb over my clit, and I close my eyes, struggling not to move. "So good."
I feel his laugh rumble against my chest. "But you're not going to come yet, are you?" Nothing escapes me but a moan, and his fingers go still. "Tell me."
"Not until you tell me to, Sir."
He slides another finger inside me, and I feel his lips against my neck. I force my eyes open and take in the feeling of pleasure and vertigo. His hand starts to move faster, and his other arm locks around me pinning me in place. His thumb is circling my clit in time with his fingers, and sparks flare in my body with every touch.
My breath comes in gasps, and I feel that ball of pleasure building deep inside. "Sir,” I say.
"No,” he responds. He knows what I'm asking. Instead he moves faster, fucking me with his fingers until I'm breathless. My whole body is shaking, and I think I'm making some kind of noise, I'm not sure. Nothing exists outside of his fingers touching me, and my body waiting for his command.
His lips press against my ear, and he says it so softly. "Come."
He presses down on my clit and the pleasure bursts outward. I'm gasping and blind, riding his hand, staying still entirely forgotten. Every part of me is consumed with pleasure, a super nova.
His hand slows down, softly caressing, making me jump with every sensitive touch. "Turn around,” he says, and he kisses me when I do, pressing me back against the window. "You are so beautiful when you come. Especially when you come for me. Luckily, our lunch hour is far from over."
