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But when her cries and moans reached a crescendo, I decided to give in. The taste of chocolate vanished slowly from my mouth, replaced by something even sweeter as I ran my tongue over her pussy.
Vega moaned in sheer delight as she raked her fingers through my hair which had gotten longer recently. A good few inches more than the most recent promo photo of me. Staring at the camera in youthful defiance. Cigarette still hanging rakishly from my mouth. How I had cared about my image then.
I could feel her. Every movement, every moan, every heartbeat. Echoed and amplified, not least by proximity, as I lapped at her silken pink folds. In some ways, I preferred licking a pussy to fucking it. It felt more intimate, even if ‘intimacy’ tended to be a wimpy euphemism for sex, to leave out all other things that could be done, if given the opportunity.
A familiar shudder passed through her. Vega’s pussy getting even tighter than it usually was, even after her deflowering. I knew that orgasm was close. Slowing my lapping speed, alternating between licks and kisses, I teased her relentlessly, making the moment last.
Just when she had calmed to a gentle ebb, a soft breath escaping her chest, I dug back in. Devouring her sweet pussy until she was shuddering with orgasm, holding onto me for dear life.
Her trembling subsided in soft vibrations. When I was confident she could stand, I planted Vega back on the floor, pulling her panties and jeans back into position. Refastening the fly, then button, planting a kiss on her forehead with the last.
“To work,” I declaimed, leaving the dishes to the staff.
It wasn’t quite usual for even someone of my relative standing to be in possession of an office as well as a study and a bedroom, although the first tended to be combined with one of the latter.
Though I’d never been known for doing things the usual way. Since I was a child and an evaluator told me to use a bridge with blocks, and I put down two blocks with the box they came in across them, I’d found different ways of getting the same result. A pattern of alternate processing I’d come to think of as ‘with the box thinking.’
“Wow.
Her surprise was predictable but appreciated. Not as grandiose as the bedroom, nor elaborate as the study, the office still had its charms. By far the most ‘modern’ space in the faux-historical house, it was where I’d run the publishing house.
An easier endeavor than one might think, the main operations of Boucher Books being decentralized from its founding. Everyone worked in their own space, according to the company line. We used the best managing and collaborating software available at the time. All printing and shipping was done by a company in Vancouver. A model that lowered overhead, a fancy but ultimately useless, office space in no way needed. The office politics were also kept to a minimum, which was a nice bonus.
The lock made a soft pop, the lid lifting slightly. “Guaranteed 85 percent theft proof. Even if they think to go after the hinges. There are four pairs. Two outside, two inside.
“Explosives?” Vega suggested.
“Most of the other 15 percent, but that would ultimately defeat the purpose.”
By way of explanation, I withdrew the manuscript. It consisted largely of fire-prone paper, the metal and plastic clip in the upper left corner the primary exemption.
“Is that - ”
“It is.
“I thought ‘project’ was a euphemism. Like that’s what we said when we would actually just be fucking for a fortnight,” she admitted sheepishly.
“A common misconception. Particularly on the part of the hopefuls. There is sex if desired. Stands to reason given the circumstances, though, there is also always a project that requires a second pair of eyes. I thought you were best suited to this one.”
“Thank you, sir,” The humility showed on her face. Not quite a blush but close.
“Pull up a chair.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She accepted the manuscript like a holy relic, laid across both hands. She placed it gingerly on the desk before turning the pages. As though to hold it too long might sully it. A further proof, if any were needed, that I had made the right choice.
Chapter Nine - Vega
Cold sheets greeted me the next morning. The notion, idealistic sure, was to get in a bit of a cuddle, or maybe more, before we went down for breakfast. An ambition made difficult by the lack of Hugo. Unsticking my eyes, I checked that my sense of touch wasn’t deceiving me, but there was only terrible confirmation to be found.
Panic struck slow, making itself known in small stages. First my heart then my breath changing tempo. From reverie to crescendo. I never thought it was too good to be true. Too caught up in the moment. The fact it had been a dream eluding me until that moment of clarity.
