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Natalie shoves my favorite mug into my hand, filled with dark, rich coffee, and demands, “More. Tell me more. Tell me all. Speak, oh sex goddess of Manhattan. I need something to imagine while fucking myself with my dildo tonight.” At my look, she shrugs. “What? You know I do it. You know you do it. It’s human nature, girlfriend.”
True dat.
So I tell her all the gory deets. I mean, all of them. No, I don’t hold back even on that part. What are best friends for, if not to brag about the absolute best night of sex known to humanity? As I’m telling her, I begin squirming with excitement, my panties growing wetter by the moment. God, I really want to replay that scene in the hallway with Apollo, except this time, I tackle him to the ground and fuck him right there.
Okay, maybe drag him into a broom closet and fuck him there. I don’t want all the girls to know how big his dick is or I’ll have to start using the brooms to beat them all off.
His dick is mine. And his tongue. And his pecs. And his glorious thighs.
But most especially his dick.
Finally, I can’t think of another amazeballs detail to add, and my coffee has grown cold and I don’t even care because I’m high on sex and fucking and Apollo’s magic 12-inch cock and so I dump it down the drain and we head back to our cubicles. Natalie’s telling me in great detail about everything that she was going to have to do with a cucumber that night when we realize that the open work area is quiet.
Way, way, way quiet.
I look up and everyone is staring, although thank god not at me.
John and Vicky are walking out of the conference—yes, the conference room—and there’s tears streaming down their faces as they go.
It hits me like a ton of bricks and all happiness is gone. My bubble has popped, again, and the soapy residue covering me is starting to get fucking old.
As they head to their desks to pack up their knickknacks and shit, Apollo walks out of the conference room, along with some other suits, and they head down the hall and he never looks over at me. He never looks at me and he’s walking away and my heart is breaking into a million little pieces.
113
Apollo
It’s Friday night and we’re at Nobu57, in the back at a private table. I’d hoped that after a week of stress and anger between us, I could wine and dine Ashley into fucking me again. My 12-inch cock hasn’t craved pussy like this in a long time, and hell, who am I to tell my cock no?
But Ashley is quiet and that just isn’t like her. I mean, this is a woman who’d talk to the toilet paper dispenser if there was no one else to talk to. She talks and laughs and fucks with abandon, and I’d say that it's one of her best qualities, but have you seen her ass?
It’s a close second though.
Tonight, I can’t get her to say shit, which is a good sign like my lawyer calling me at three in the morning is a good sign. She’s pushing her sushi around her plate, eating little and talking less, and I know it’s not the amazing food of Nobu57 that is causing the problem.
No, it’s me.
Well, me and the layoffs I’ve been implementing all week.
Doesn’t she know I have to? These were employees who’d been getting shit reviews for years, but no one at Blush seems to have a backbone and so despite the fact that they never showed up to work on time and their work was subpar, no one would fire them.
I’d looked up Ashley’s employee record on Monday morning. If I was going to have to fire her, I wanted to know right away.
And yeah, she’s not perfect. She seems to think that the start time for work is more of a suggestion, not a rule, and some of her articles are downright inane. But there’s flashes of real talent in some of them, and…well hell, her boss, Mr. Henningford, practically begs the women in his department to break the rules so he has a justification to pull them into his office and give them a tongue-lashing, all while drooling over their tits. From what I’ve been able to get out of the employees, he’s just the kind of guy who deserves to get fired. He’s gonna get his ass booted on Monday.
But Ashley doesn’t know. I mean, I can’t tell her everything; she’s not HR. I could get my ass sued if I tell her the reason behind every decision I make.
I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t deal well with being in the fucking doghouse.
“Ashley, listen—”
“Why?” she fires back defiantly and she has put down her fork to stare at me, eyes flashing. I know that this is cliché as fuck, but I can’t help thinking it anyway; she’s sexy as fuck when she’s pissed.
My cock tightens more.
“Because I might know something that you don’t.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I know that they were a mistake. Her lips round into a perfect “O” and then she just launches.
