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From this angle I could see the gentle curve of his ass. I gulped down a big slug of coffee.
“Sorry to be lewd,” he said jovially, turning around and leaning against the counter in that characteristic way of his, “But I spilled my coffee while I was working at my desk.”
“You spilled your coffee?” I said, incredulous.
“Yes, even Silicon gods can have spills,” he said with his usual cocky tone; but then he actually looked a little ashamed as he said, “That was an $8,000 suit. The really dumb thing is getting it on both the shirt and the pants.”
I hoped to God he could not see my nipples through my shirt. I wore thin bras under my work shirts so no one could see the lines, but that meant if I got cold (or hot) the little buggers would perk up and say hello most unprofessionally.
I got the intense urge to touch them. Rub them through my shirt, as I stared at the hairs leading down into his underwear. Squeeze us, my nipples begged through the shirt, squeeze us hard.
Could he hear them? His eyes seemed to wander downward but then they shot up back to my face, and his smile disappeared.
“I figured I'd wash the mug, change into gym clothes, and go home. I hadn't gotten to the second step,” he admitted, “What are you still doing here? It's nearly seven o'clock in the evening, and I thought you hated this massive, unethical, satanic capitalist corporation?”
“I don't hate the game, I hate the player,” I snarked back.
He nodded pensively. “Isn't that a little hypocritical?” he asked, “To stare at my ass, drink my coffee, and take my money?”
My face burned. I walked up next to him, standing as far away from him as possible, while still approaching the sink and poured out the coffee.
He turned toward me. He was a whole head taller and I felt enveloped by his muscular form.
“There,” he whispered, bringing his face down close to mine, so his breath would brush my face, “Now your conscience is clean, right? Now you can forgive yourself for the whole staring at my ass thing.”
We were too close. I hiccupped, and my chest brushed against his. Bumped into, more like, and it startled him. He nearly fell over backward, with the force of my hiccup-propelled breasts, which were now burning because they'd touched his naked chest, the traitors. He reached out to grab my arms to keep his balance.
Trying to steady oneself on me is a mistake. I fall over more easily than a Jenga tower. It's as if I had a growth spurt in middle school and then never really figured out how to navigate my adult limbs. I was too busy thinking about how planets bump into each other.
So, when he fell, he pulled me down with him and I landed directly on top of him.
