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“Call me, Manu. Right now, I'm not your boss, I'm your escape.”
Ronda groans again, her pussy rubbing against me harder and faster. “Take me, Manu,”
“I plan on it,” I say, ready to take a small bite of skin on her neck. My mouth is right there, teeth primed, when I'm suddenly stopped.
Knock, knock, knock.
I jerk my head up and stare at the door that's only feet away. I'm not going to answer. I'm busy. “Shh,” I say to her. “They'll go away.”
“Mr. Reeves, can I talk to you?” a muffled voice asks from behind the door.
Ronda's body tenses up, and her eyes jump to the door. She slips out from under me, buttoning her blouse in the process. She runs her thin fingers through her hair and wipes her face as if that will wash away her red stained cheeks and the fluster on her skin.
It's gone. The moment, the look, the feeling, the intensity between us. It crumbled to dust before my very eyes. Her back snaps straight, and she clears her throat with a firm cough.
“I really should get back to work,” she says as she takes swift steps to the door. “Is there anything else, Mr. Reeves?”
I'm glaring at the door, angry that someone had the nerve to interrupt me. I should fire whoever it is. Make a point with everyone else in the office that if my door is closed, you leave me the hell alone. If I don't call you in, you don't come unless it's a fucking emergency.
I flap a stiff hand in her direction, spinning away from her as I say, “For now, but I'm not done with you.”
Ronda rips open the door anxiously, and storms past the employee waiting outside. It's Thomas Franklin. Of course it's Thomas. Ass kissing, please praise me like a child who can finally tie their shoe, Thomas Franklin. The thought of firing him just got sweeter.
He moves out of her way, watching her speed walk out. “Everything all right, Mr. Reeves? Is there anything I can do?” he asks me.
I drop angrily into my chair, flipping open the folder on my desk, and barking, “What the hell do you want, Thomas?”
4
Ronda
“Ronda. . . Ronda,” Irene's voice snaps me out of my daze.
“Yeah?” I ask, lifting my eyes up to hers as I thoughtlessly poke lettuce around my plate.
“Are you okay? You've been staring into your salad for five minutes now. I feel like I'm talking to my husband, which is basically like talking to a wet paper bag.” She chuckles as she stuffs a forkful of food into her mouth. “What's gotten into you?”
I exhale hard, trying to push thoughts of Mr. Reeves out of my head. But it's so damn hard. He isn't making it easy, not after what happened in his office. I force a smile as I say, “I'm sorry, it's nothing. You were saying something about your oldest son?”
She chews slowly, staring right at me. Gently she puts down her fork and clenches her hands on the table. “I don't know what's going through your head, but obviously something is on your mind. Is it Mr. Reeves? Ever since he talked to you, you've been off. I saw you staring into space a dozen times earlier and working on the same article for over an hour. Did he threaten to fire you if you're late again or something?” She pinches a packet of sugar and gives it a shake before ripping it open and pouring it into her coffee. “You still haven't told me what he said to you, and I don't want to keep wondering. How bad was it?”
Oh, nothing much, normal office talk, you know, like the fact that he wants to fuck me.
I can't tell her what he said. What the hell would she think? What the hell would she do or say? She wouldn't believe me. She'd think I'm making it all up for shits and giggles. She wanted an exciting story this morning, and she'd think that's all this is. A wild story without a foot in reality.
Even if I could convince her that he actually said he wanted to fuck me, that we were so close to actually doing it, that his hands were on my body, Irene would absolutely tell me not to do it.
She'd put on her motherly persona and give me all the reasons why it's a bad idea. And there are plenty of those. I don't even need her to list them off.
He's our boss. You don't sleep with your boss. Even if he's hotter than fuck, and makes you wet, you never ever cross that line. The boss is off limits. That's the one rule you shouldn't ever break, mixing business with pleasure is a big no.
I cross my legs. My panties are still damp from this morning, and my stomach is sitting in my throat. Tingles keep running up and down my spine. They haven't stopped. And I'm not sure I want them to. I like this feeling.
