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So what’s so special about Elisa? For one, the woman is gorgeous. She’s exactly my type. Perfect curves, large breasts, and wide hips. A body to die for, with a pretty pink cunt that hugs my dick just right.
But it’s not just the physical because frankly, I can get any woman any day. It’s about Elisa’s mind and her writing. I’m falling for the book she wrote as much as I’m falling for the woman.
Falling for a woman. That’s a new idea.
My office still smells like her vanilla perfume mixed with the heady musk of our tryst. I cleaned up the desk while Elisa was in the bathroom, but no cleaning supplies could cover up Elisa’s sweet cunt smell on my desk. My cock hardens again.
“I need to get out of here,” I groan to myself.
I call Trevor on our internal phone line. “What does my schedule look like for the rest of the day?” is my harsh demand.
Trevor answers in a snap.
“You have a meeting with the editors on the celebrity biography project. Marketing needs your okay on a campaign they’re starting next week for our new release. And one other editorial meeting on book two in the Prairie series.”
“Anything that needs to be done today?”
He pauses for a second. “No, sir. Nothing on your schedule is on a strict deadline except the marketing campaign, but they can wait until tomorrow for your answer.”
“Good. Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day.”
There’s a pause. I’m a famed workaholic, in the office until nine p.m. most nights.
“Um sir? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I just need some fresh air.”
Keys clack through the phone line.
“Okay. Everything is canceled for you. Do you need me to call your car service?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Cameron. See you tomorrow, then.”
Trevor knows better than to ask my reasons. We hang up, and I grab my coat. It’s a bit cold to be walking home, but I need the cold air to calm down my cock and clear my head.
Our receptionist Nathan gives me a wave when I pass his desk. The rest of the employees in my office are engrossed in their individual tasks, so they don’t pay me much attention as I leave. I take afternoon walks regularly to meet with agents or editors from other publishers, so my leaving isn’t that abnormal. It’s a good thing because I’m sure my erection would be obvious to everyone who looks at me. It’s right at eye level for anyone sitting at a desk.
Once outside, I pause and take a deep, bracing breath.
What the hell happened in the last two hours?
When I pictured the meeting with Elisa, I pictured a frumpy housewife with a wide middle, a giant stomach, and gray hairs popping out from her chin. Instead, I got the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She was so sweet with her questions about the publishing process. I meet with most of my authors, though rarely in my office. The conversation always goes pretty much the way it did with Elisa … well, up until the desk sex. They ask questions about the process and what comes next. But it’s weird – the woman didn’t ask anything about money or payments, which is a natural line of questioning. I get the feeling she depends on her agent for that stuff, which is good. Authors should always have someone to make sense of contracts, so they don’t get taken advantage of. We try to make our contracts as simple as possible because we’re not in the business of tricking authors. We’re here to publish quality books. Still, it’s good to have someone well versed in contracts to go over things.
I start walking faster, joining the rush of people walking down the sidewalks. The cold air feels great against my face, and my cock has deflated.
Taking a stroll in the city isn’t relaxing for most people what with the honking taxis and throngs of people, but it is for me. Growing up here got me used to being in the thick of things. I’m calmer when there are hundreds of people around than when I’m in a small group. I could never live in a small town, like the one in Elisa’s book, which is modeled on the one she grew up in. My mind would never relax with so much space, and so few people.
With my mind wandering, I’m not paying attention to what’s going on around me. I turn a corner on my way back to my penthouse apartment and bump into a man talking on his phone.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” he spits, giving me the stereotypical New York dirty look.
“Sorry,” I say, but he’s already moved on. The rudeness is something I wouldn’t miss if I ever left the city. I bet everyone is really nice in a small town. Bumping into someone on the sidewalk would probably end in an hour-long conversation, not a rude look and swearing.
