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Chapter Six
After that, Anya left me alone to keep going through training videos (God, there were like sixteen hours of them. You would think a place this fancy would at least have VR training), I sat at my desk, trying not to look at the door between my office and Rob Michaels's.
Had I imagined things? Was any lecherous intent on his part a feverish delusion I had concocted in my rage? Was I the one hoping to use that portal for NSFW activities?
No, it was just a friendly gesture on the part of my new employer. Who wanted me to like him so I didn't completely massacre his reputation. I tried not to the look at the door.
It was five o'clock. Almost time to leave, but I couldn't enter any of the really cool labs until I had finished this training. I decided to stay a few hours late and get farther ahead. It's not as if I had anything else to do and, even though I was (almost) a PhD, I felt way behind on the science here. I knew I was in for some late nights.
At around 6:30 PM my neck started to hurt. I realized my eyes were burning from watching the screen. I wanted to watch for a little longer, but I didn't want to take the intimidating, expensive company laptop home with me. I determined I could stay until around 8 PM and still catch a ride App home.
I couldn't keep staring at the screen without some sort of stimulation to keep me awake. I looked at the door in between our offices. Beyond that door was easily-accessible coffee. It was late. Everyone else was out of the building.
Anya had said that he would never hit on an employee; especially one that already had the means and inclination to blackmail him. It was almost certainly safe to enter his office and take some coffee. Almost.
Still, I decided to risk it. I bet he had some damn good coffee, and I wanted to see what kind of snacks a billionaire ate during his lunch hour.
I walked over to the door. I listened carefully for any sound of movement on the other side, holding my breath. All was quiet.
I swung the door open and stepped in.
It was wonderfully outfitted and smelled like the perfect roasted bean. It was a small space, kind of cramped, but well-stocked, and I hummed happily to myself as I swirled my favorite brand of hazelnut creamer into my dark roast.
I turned around from happy swirling to find Rob Michaels walking up, shirtless, an empty mug in his hand.
I would have screamed but I was too shocked, so I only hiccupped. I had nothing to say but everything to see.
He had underwear on: tight, red boxer-briefs that left no doubt of where he got his confidence. His skin was a golden tan that reminded you of the beach and falling asleep in warm sand. His tight abs would have held my attention, except my eyes were fighting to take in both the gentle, curling brown hair that covered his chest, and the defined line of his hips leading down to Oh-Man-Land.
It struck me that this pelvic line was so well-defined you could easily run your tongue down it.
I hiccupped.
He laughed, damn him. He looked genuinely pleased to see me.
I hiccupped again and said, “Stop laughing and put something on! What CEO walks around naked?”
I set my hot coffee cup down, so my trembling hands wouldn't spill it all over my skirt. Why, oh why, had I worn a skirt today? I wanted to be more covered up to make up for his lack of fabric.
“I'm the president,” he clarified, “And I'm not naked. I have undies on.”
“You call that underwear? It's barely a napkin,” I scolded.
What was I doing? Leave, girl!
But, the small voice at the back of my head, screaming that command, was very quiet compared to the loud groaning that was happening between my legs.
My eyes informed the rest of my body that the bulge in Rob Michaels's underwear was undeniably thick, and getting larger as we spoke. They also discovered that his nipples were hard, pert little things that were begging to be licked.
I wanted to tell my eyes to shut up, but my pussy had started to pulse. That steady, heartbeat-like opening and closing that told me if I didn't leave soon, I'd be wetter than Niagara Falls and have as much control over the situation as if I was going over the falls in a barrel.
I bent at the waist to look into his mini-fridge. If I don't look at the body, my pussy will forget it's there, I reasoned, and I can grab a snack with dignity and return to my office with my coffee. I could not, under any circumstances, let him think I was aroused by this inappropriateness.
The problem is that people emit body heat. I didn't need to be looking at Rob Michaels to know he had moved closer to me.
Right next to me, in fact. Right by my upended ass.
I hiccupped and the force smacked my head into the fridge door. I yelped and jumped up to find him only a foot away from me, nonchalantly washing out a mug in the sink.
