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I had to take my twitching cock in hand and squeeze it hard to slow down. I slipped my fingers in the sides of her panties and slid them down her legs as she twitched and made little whimpers of impatience, looking back over her shoulder at me expectantly. I was in control here and I wasn’t about to let her forget it. The I stroked her bare back, the curve of her ass, and down the backs of her thighs with the back of my fingers, teasing her, making her shiver and filling the air with the scent of her heady arousal. I watched the glistening juices coat her inner thighs as she tried to rub against my hand. I loved teasing her, and when I brushed just the pad of my thumb along her seam, she moaned and pushed back against me, drawing the tip of my thumb into her pussy where it was hot and snug and slick. I took my hand away and replaced it with my cock, unable to wait any longer.
I trailed the weeping head of my cock along her folds, letting her feel it, smearing my pre-cum all over her as she bucked and clawed at the table, a mewling sound of pleading ripped from her. I finally gave her an inch, just the head of my dick, barely breaching her, and she wailed, tried to shove back and slide down my shaft, but I held her down with one hand and slid out instead. “Please,” she moaned, her cheek against the table, her voice thick with need. So I gave in, and I pushed in about halfway. I felt her shuddering with pleasure, sweat slicking her back.
She felt too good around me. I couldn’t hold out, no matter how much I liked tormenting her and taking her right to the edge of her pleasure. I grabbed a handful of her ass and drove in deep, seated myself in her core. She was so tight, so lush around me that I felt myself rock and pump when I meant to remain still inside her for a moment. There was no holding back now. I stuffed her again and again, pounding her, going balls deep in her until I split the silence with a groan and emptied into her, shooting my seed into her body as she clenched and cried out her own climax. Was it my thrusting or was it the sensation of my cum pouring into her pussy that made her orgasm so hard I felt like I would black out? I collapsed on top of her on the table, sweaty and spent. We rolled onto our sides, and I reached around her trembling body to fondle her clit, giving her breathless body a sharp, sudden orgasm that racked her with sobs. When she came back down I did it again, reducing her to begging and clinging to my hand that worked her clit so perfectly. I think she meant to push me away, but it must have felt too good because we lay on the table together as she held my hand fast to her as I made her come again and again with no mercy. She cried out ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and my name so many times I lost count as I sucked her neck and cradled her close.
I poured out into my own hand, the shower washing away the evidence of my forbidden fantasy. At last, I could relax after that release. After my shower I felt the taint of guilt because I’d thought of her so graphically, even though it was wrong. I felt ashamed for all of five minutes before I was asleep at last.
CHAPTER15
HAILEY
My first day at REM as an official intern was exciting. I went up in the elevator and Rick met me there. He took me to the area where I’d be working and showed me around. I’d been there before working with the creative team briefly, but this time I’d have my own desk, my own cube. He made sure I was settled in and then returned to his own office. I was slightly deflated when he left me there.
I understood that he was the man in charge, and he couldn’t be personally involved in every campaign. Still, I wished he were there. I got a bottle of water and sat down with the group I’d collaborated with on the pitch. They briefed me on the protocol, the first steps to creating a full rebrand for the project. I set to work with Genevieve and Dan on some initial steps and learned a lot. When I looked up, it was past one. After a quick lunch, we went back to work, and I wasn’t even ready to leave at five when Gen said we should call it a day. I thanked them and headed not home but to the diner to see Maria.
I was convinced that she’d ground me in reality; remind me that this internship and the money that came with it were no dream. Even though my pay on the temporary internship outpaced a fifty-hour week with great tips at the diner, I had trouble believing in it. How anything this wonderful could have happened to me seemed like a miracle. Only instead of a fairy godmother I had a wickedly hot professor to thank.
When my mind started to wander, I scolded myself and went into the diner. There was Maria, delivering a basket of fried pickles to a table and taking their sodas to refill. When she returned, she saw me and grinned. “Visiting the peasants already? Could you not stay away?” she teased.
“I missed you too much. And how would I sleep if my hair didn’t stink like grease?” I said. “I have to soak up that smell.”
“I swear it comes out of my pores,” Maria grimaced. “When I had a facial last week, they got so much gunk out of my pores, I wondered if it wasn’t pure fryer grease in there. I asked the aesthetician, but she just seemed confused.”
“A facial? And you call yourself a peasant?” I said, taking a seat at the counter and ordering a soda.
“My mom took me. We got facials and massages. It was brilliant,” she said. “I can send you the name of the place. You should take your mom! Hey, I know you got paid for your concept, don’t deny it. You have mad money for once.”
“Yeah, I’m just not used to it. I need to upgrade my wardrobe, though. I mean, I have one suit and a pair of black pants. I wore those today as you can see. So unless I’m going to wear flip flops and shorts, I’d better hit the consignment shops near Whole Foods.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “I can go with you if you’ll wait till the weekend. I have to pick up an extra shift tomorrow night causesomeonequit to go be important at a big fancy marketing firm.”
“It’s not my fault I’m so brilliant,” I laughed.
“I am so damn proud of you. You know that, right?” she said, giving me a quick squeeze as she slid by to pour coffee for a customer.
“Thanks,” I said.
She sat down with me on her break, and we shared some curly fries and talked about the guy she met online in her virtual art display space.
“He talked like he really likes my work. He’s thirty-three, French Canadian—he has a great accent on the phone--has his MFA and he’s an art consultant.”
“What’s that? Does he give you opinions on trends in the art world to help you create saleable objects?”
“No, marketing lady, he doesn’t gear my brand to the market. He helps really rich people decide what to buy. Like athletes and singers who make a lot of money quickly and want to make an investment, but they don’t know enough about art. So, they hire an expert.”
“Like a personal shopper for art, sounds fun,” I said. “You could do that job. Explain to people why something was beautiful and important. Have you considered it?”
“Not really. Maybe down the road. Right now, I hope he likes my work enough to recommend it to one of his clients.”
“Is that all you’re hoping for? Since you told me his age and education and that he has an accent?”
“Maybe it would be nice to meet him in person,” she said coyly.
“Maybe you’d invite him up to see your etchings?” I laughed. “Have you seen a picture of him?”
“I stalked his LinkedIn. He’s very…”
“What?” I demanded as she paused with an inscrutable Mona Lisa smile.
