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Wetness drips over my fingers as I burrow back further into the couch, spreading my legs and squirming out of my panties. I am sooo aroused at the notion that it could be Damon between my lips right now; that it could be his hand making its way down between my thighs; that it could be his lips tasting my hard nipples. My hips begin to dance and there’s a flutter in my belly. I let out a sensual moan, which quickly grows into a bellow of pleasure.
“Damon,” I gasp, as my fingers thrust into my soft folds. My digits tunnel up and I pretend that the penetration is from him. “Damon!” I cry again, every nerve attuned to this man.
My head drops back, my body overflowing with ecstasy at the thought of being with my best friend’s father. He would claim me as his, marking me with his semen even as I cry out his name in lust. He would take me over and over again until my body was sore, my pussy molded to the shape of his massive length.
But who am I kidding? As I come down from my high, my vision clears even while I pant. Damon Pratt can get any woman, and he wouldn’t want me, a professional escort more than two decades his junior. Wiping tears from my eyes, I shut the world out and try to fall asleep, still fantasizing of the handsome alpha male.
3
Damon
I spend most of my time these days in the executive office. The days of running from building to building drumming up business are long behind me because my firm has found its footing and business is booming. I still oversee the exceptionally important deals: the ones in partnership with top ten companies or particular projects that involve prestigious buildings or structures, but otherwise, life is sweet. I have a great team of folks who do good work, and that leaves me with a lot of free time on my hands.
I lounge back in my desk chair, looking out the window. I sip my hot mug of coffee as I gaze down at the people going about their daily business below. The crowds of pedestrians make a maze of the street, and I can even see a small dog barking at what appears to be a boy selling newspapers. I didn’t even know newsboys still existed. Isn’t everything electronic these days?
I imagine one of the people downstairs is me, twenty or so years back. Someone risking their ass running like a crazy person just to get the boss his coffee on time. I used to get him two coffees, depending on whether he felt like milk that day or not. I sure have come a long way.
After all, I climbed the corporate ladder for the better half of a decade after graduating from Cornell University. They teach you that the only way to get to the top is to hoist yourself up, kissing the ass of the man ahead of you non-stop. Though my buddies and I mocked this system, I fell in line and did it for some time. It didn’t taste good, but what choice did I have? Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be another way. But the longer I spent working my ass off for someone else, the more I realized the corporate grind wasn’t for me.
I didn’t want to degrade myself for success. I didn’t want to answer to someone else. And I sure as hell didn’t want to let someone else reap the big bucks I was bringing in with my hard work. I stuck around long enough to learn the ins and outs of the business, and then opened my own firm called Prime Architects.
Having my own shop was amazing from day one. I no longer felt I had to dazzle the boss, or volunteer to take the late shift with a crappy client. I only did things that had my best interests in mind, even when Prime was in its infancy. And surprisingly enough, it set me apart.
Clients noticed my drive. I began to exhibit a different kind of ambition that drove me to offer a better product, and my reputation in the city flourished.
Prime is now booming, and the projects come to us. I no longer have to go about schlepping my portfolio for anyone and everyone to see. Instead, developers knock on my door, hoping to capitalize on our skill, know-how and brand name. Even better, I answer to no one, and I make the big bucks. But I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a bottom feeder fresh out of school trying to find an edge in the industry. As a result, I treat my employees better than any firm in NYC, and I take pride in that.
I sigh, stretching. This is the good life. Then, my phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me. I pull it out to see a text from Cherise. God damn, this woman just won’t quit. Cherise goes to my gym. I started noticing that she was always watching me lift weights in the morning. At first, she was subtle about it, pretending to run on the treadmill while I worked out. But soon, she came over to talk, and it started from there.
