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Struggling to keep the blush from my cheeks, I avoid making eye contact with him. I don’t want him to see how unsettled I am. I capture his gaze with mine and will myself to sit up straight and pull my shoulders back.
He’s an asshole, and his opinion of me doesn’t matter,I remind myself.
I take a deep breath and begin the apology that I crafted late last night and practiced on my way to work today. “Look, I came in early today to apologize for how I behaved this weekend. My friends came from out of town, and things got rowdier than we intended. I know that the picture and message we sent you were unacceptable, and that’s putting it mildly. I would take it back if I could. Please believe me, I’ve never been more mortified and disgusted with my behavior. I’m prepared to accept any consequences you consider fit.”
Finishing, I purposefully avoid eye contact to conceal my panic. Andreas leans over and shuffles the haphazardly placed papers on the desk, remaining quiet for a minute or two.
As I look everywhere but at Andreas, I realize that Jim really should hire a professional organizer to come into this office and teach him how to get his shit together. The office is small, and it’s the ugliest shade of yellow I’ve ever seen. There are gray non-slip tiles on the floor, but I don’t think they’ve seen a mop in the better part of a year. All the shelves are full of binders and papers, and the cubby holes are overfilled with paperwork. The L-shaped desk that sits in the corner has a desktop computer surrounded by opened candy bags, two half-drank iced coffees, crumbs, and even more paperwork. I don’t have a single fucking clue how anyone works in this pigsty.
I examine the office for as long as I can, but finally, my eyes shift to Andreas. He’s wearing black dress pants, perfectly tailored to hug his leg muscles, shiny black shoes, and a charcoal gray button-up shirt.Fuck me, why do I want to lick every vein and tattoo that’s visible to the naked eye?
He looks professionally chic, yet perfectly at home in this shitty, cluttered office. He must have shaved recently because there’s no hint of his normal scruff. His smooth face makes his jawline stand out and accentuates the slight dimple in his chin. His pouty, moisturized lips are wet, and I’m transfixed when his tongue darts out and licks them. God, I wish he’d do that again.
I lose myself as I stare at him, so when he speaks, I startle. “Stand up,” he orders.
This is it; I’m fired.
I stand and square my shoulders toward Andreas. It feels like a showdown. He and I stand in silence, waiting for the other to say something. We both peruse the other’s bodies, taking our time to assess where the hell this is about to go. I can tell by the look on his face, he’s debating whatever decision he’s made regarding my fate.
Finally, he says, “Turn around and put your hands against the door.”
Excuse me? Is he going to frisk me? What the fuck? He can see the question on the tip of my tongue, so he holds a long, thick finger up and twirls it in the air. His facial expression is back to blank, and clearly, he’s no longer hesitant. I turn around anxiously, willing myself not to fidget. I place my hands against the door and stare at my unmanicured nails. Yikes, my cuticles look like shit. I shift my weight from foot to foot. Why do I feel like I’m ten years old and in the principal’s office? Is he going to make me stick my nose in the corner and call my mom and dad to ask how to move forward? Fuck.
I sense him moving closer to me, but I still jump whenever he whispers into my ear, “What do you think I should do about how fucking inappropriate you were last night, Alana?”
He places one of his hands next to mine against the door and leans in closer, our cheeks touching. I feel his broad chest against the back of my head. His proximity makes this office feel one hundred degrees hotter than it is, and sweat beads on my forehead.
“Red if you want me to stop, yellow if it’s too much, green if we’re all good,” Andreas says.
Confusion flashes in my head, and as I take a breath to reply, Andreas’ other hand whips through the air and connects with my right ass cheek.
I yelp.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I ask, each word a little louder than the one before.
He slaps his hand over my mouth and puts his lips against my ear. “Careful now. We don’t want anyone on the other side of this door to hear what a cock-hungry tease you are. Now, are you going to be quiet, or do I need to gag you?”
I gulp and try to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do. I could walk out the door and call a lawyer. This is sexual harassment.
The logical side of my brain says,yes! We got the fucker now; the other side wants to pull my pants down so he can spank my bare ass. I can feel my clit throbbing at the thought, and I can tell I’m already wetter than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
I nod my head, so he knows I’m going to stay quiet. Deliberately, he pulls his hand away and releases my mouth. Both hands shoot out, and he grabs my hips hard enough to leave ten little fingerprint-shaped bruises. He walks me backward, and once I’m about two feet away from the door, he uses his hand against the middle of my back to bend me in half. My hands lay limply at my sides until he grabs them and places them against the door again.
“Green,” I whisper.
He grunts low in his throat, clearly enjoying the view. I know that from this angle, with my legs spread, my ass looks perfectly heart-shaped. The jeans I’m wearing are tight enough that it has to be obvious I’m not wearing any panties.
Without warning, another crack rings out in the office as he slaps my other asscheek. Warmth instantly blooms where his hand makes contact, and I fight back tears as all of my blood travels to my pussy and moisture pools in the crotch of my jeans. The seam instantly bites into my clit, and fuck, that friction hurts. So. Damn. Good.
I tense as Andreas alternates, raining down firm, harsh slaps in quick succession, barely giving me time to take a breath. I count them in my head: seven, eight, nine, ten.
As quickly as it started, the spanking ends. I take three calming breaths and try to will my pussy to stop aching with the need to come, which unsurprisingly doesn’t work.
“Stand up,” he directs.
I slowly erect myself one vertebra at a time until I reach my full height. I silently wish I could see Andreas’ face so I could try to understand how he feels about what just happened, but I’m still facing the door. Suddenly, he grabs my shoulders and pulls me crudely against him. His impossibly hard body is against my back. Even though I can’t see his face, I can feel how hard his cock is because it’s nestled against me. I guess he isn’t entirely unaffected by what he’s doing to me.
His left hand slides around and presses into my stomach; the other grabs my throat and squeezes. I’m distracted as he undoes the button to my jeans and shoves his hand down the front, cupping me vulgarly. His thick, calloused fingers move down, and he uses them to slide between my inner lips. Before I can adjust to the intrusion, he scissors his fingers and stretches me. The arousal that built while he spanked me coats his fingers, and my muscles involuntarily clench and squeeze his fingers.
