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“I’m going to cross reference these with the files we have on acquisitions that didn’t go through,” she said, standing. “See if there are any other missed opportunities.”
But as she stood, her momentum caused a few of the receipts to gently lilt to the floor, like little autumn leaves covered in ink and bribery.
She let out the tiniest little huff, one I could barely hear, then bent over and snatched them up. But the sight of her doubled over, those perfect cheeks straining against the fabric of her bottom, had my body reacting viscerally.
I grabbed onto the armrest of my chair, my dick practically leaping to life as my eyes drank all of her in. So soft, so abundant. She was everything I loved about the feminine form but dialed up to eleven.
She stood, turning towards the door and I whipped my body back towards my computer. What the hell was wrong with me? She was just a peon -sure, a great peon, but a peon nonetheless. There were literally millions of women who didn’t work for me, so why was I allowing myself to practically pine over an assistant?
If she had any hint of my state, she didn’t indicate it. She simply crossed the room to grab her laptop from her bag that she had left on the coat hanger by the door. Despite her measured, practice steps, my peripheral vision didn’t miss the slight jiggle that passed along her thighs, middle and then breasts as she moved.
Suddenly it was all too much. Standing while her back was still turned, I strode to my private bathroom in a couple of easy strides.
“I’m craving Mexican for lunch,” I said safely from behind the door. “Go pick up my usual order then come back for the receipts.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back shortly.”
Of course, she didn’t object that she had no idea what my usual order was. And I had no doubt that she would somehow find out. I just listened for the sound of her leaving then let out a long breath.
She had suddenly been too much, too present for me and I wasn’t used to that sensation. I wasn’t the type of guy who had to leave a room because of someone else, but that was exactly what had happened. And even with her gone, my lower half was still reacting to her like she was Aphrodite herself.
“Dammit, down boy,” I hissed at my insistent length. It was starting to get uncomfortable with how hard it was pressing into the zipper of my pants, the friction reminding me of what I wanted but not strong or slick enough to provide any relief. I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, thinking of business and acquisitions and even traffic, but nothing was working.
Probably because no matter what my mind tried to flick to, my assistant was there in the background. What would it look like if I pulled that raven hair out of its perfect bun that she always kept it in? Kissed her so hard that her cheeks colored pink with breathlessness? Let my fingers trail along that pale, porcelain skin until I mapped out every single bit of her?
Acknowledging those thoughts made me groan and I pressed the palm of my hand against myself, searching for some sort of pressure to get some relief. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed like enough, and the next thing I knew, I was undressing and heading straight towards the shower.
There were perks to being the owner of a successful media company, and one of them was having a full, luxurious bathroom to my own adjacent to my office. While I had never been poor, my family always having been at least upper middle class, I’d always had to share a bathroom with all of my brothers. All of us going through puberty right after the other had certainly been a trial, so now I was more than a little appreciative of my own space.
I wouldn’t allow myself to grip my hard on like I wanted. I was determined to just take a cold shower and forget about my momentary loss of control. It was just because it had been so long since I’d taken time for myself to enjoy the company of someone else and I was a little hard up.
Yeah, that was it.
But instead of flipping it to the coldest setting, my traitor body turned the dial to its usual spot and warm, comforting water washed over me.
Control was everything to me. It was what let me build my empire. Let me tackle surprises and pitfalls as they came. If I didn’t have control, then it would be oh, so easy for everything to spin away from me in a mess of release dates, talent acquisition and spreadsheets.
Despite knowing all that, despite the irritation I felt running through me, my thick fingers were soon wrapped around myself, applying pressure and shuttling back and forth.
