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It’s silent without my best friend’s voice in my ear. Weirdly silent. I can’t even remember the last time there was this little chaos in my vicinity. And if I close my eyes and ignore the mess, it’s even more blissful.
For a moment, at least.
Then a face pops up on the black screen of my mind’s eye.
It’s Ruslan because, like I told Pheebs, he haunts me even when I’m off the clock. He’s smiling that smile she described. Thatcome-to-bed-and-let-me-show-you-what-I-can-do-to-yousmile. The camera of my imagination pulls back and floats down.
Imaginary Ruslan is wearing an ivory white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. Enough to see a dusting of dark chest hair and the edge of a tattoo I can’t quite make out. He flexes his forearms in front of him. Those knuckles crack, louder than I expected, and I let out a surprised little gasp.
I like when you make that noise,he croons.Shall I see if I can make you do it again?
I’m nodding before I’m even realizing what I’m doing. “Make me moan,” I plead.
I’m also touching the inside of my knee before I realize what I’m doing. But it’s not my hands that are doing it—or at least, it doesn’tfeellike it’s my hands. It’s Ruslan’s hands, huge and powerful, palming my thigh and drifting up under the edge of my pencil skirt.
You’ve been a naughty assistant,he growls, breath minty in my face where it mingles with the woodsy spice of his cologne. There’s a faint laugh on the edge of his voice, like he knows that this whole thing is crazy but he’s just going with it because it’s hotter than it is ridiculous.You’ve been so very, very bad. Step into my office and shut the door.
The rest of the world disappears like I just followed his orders. Gone is my messy apartment and the lingering smell of burrito cheese.Ruslanis all I smell now.
That cologne.
That breath.
Beneath it, that musk that sets my nerve endings on fire.
“Are you going to punish me, Ruslan?” I whisper.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love it if I bent you over my desk and unzipped that skirt until it puddled around your ankles. You’d love it if I spread my palm along your bare ass in a tender stroke before I raised it up and spanked you hard enough to make you yelp again. You’d go fucking crazy if I let my fingers wander down to knock your thighs apart and drag one slow, teasing fingertip through your wetness. You’d love all that, wouldn’t you, Ms. Carson?
I’m chewing my lower lip frantically. My own hand dances up and touches the edge of my panties, then dips below and pushes them aside. I’m throbbing wet. Aching wet. The whisper of air-conditioned breeze on my pussy is almost enough to send me over the edge.
But that’s the problem, Ms. Carson. You’d love it way, way too much. What kind of punishment would it be if you enjoyed every second of it? I have a better idea.
I’m on the literal edge of my seat, grinding and bucking against my fingers. Imaginary Ruslan has me eating out of the palm of his hand. I’d do anything for him. Say anything. Be anything.
“Yes, sir,” I rasp. “You’re right, sir. What did you have in mind?”
I’m going to start with what I just described. Bend you, tease you, spank you. Then I’m going to press you face-first flat against my desk while I drop down behind you and put my tongue where my fingers just were. I’m going to lap up every drop of you. At first, it’ll be just the tip of my tongue. Just a fluttery light kiss to your pussy lips. I’ll graze your clit and you’ll push back against me, searching for more. But I’ll pin you right back to the desk and snarl,Don’t you dare fucking move unless I tell you to.And what will you say to that?
“I won’t move, sir,” I croak desperately. “I’ll do exactly what you want me to do. I’ll stay there while you eat me.”
That’s a good answer, Ms. Carson. It’s the only way you’ll get me to keep going. But if you’re a good girl, if you listen and obey, then Iwillkeep going. My kisses between your thighs will turn into long drags of my tongue over you. Then I’ll spread the lips of your pussy apart and go deeper. I’ll push a finger between your folds, then another, and crook them to stroke against the deepest parts of you, the parts where just touching them makes you twitch like a live wire. I’ll go faster and faster, pistoning in and out of you, while I devour your wetness, until your legs are trembling and those moans are loud music in my ears. How does that sound?
“It sounds so fucking good, sir.” I’m pumping in and out of myself. “Please do that. Please, please.”
You’re going to be right there. Right on the edge. You can feel it, can’t you? The biggest orgasm of your life is right there for the fucking taking. All I have to do is lick you in a certain way while I do my fingers just like this and you’re going to come for me like my special little princess, aren’t you? I know it. You know it. We’re both just waiting for the right moment. And it’s coming, I promise you that. That moment is coming closer and closer and closer and closer and I’m licking and fingering and you’re moaning and spasming and we’re almostrightfuckingthere and then…
“And then what?” I scream. “And then what?”
And then I’m going to stop. I’m going to stand up and back away. I’m going to leave you there, a dripping, ruined fucking mess, as a reminder that, just like your heart and your mind and your body and your soul and your free time and your hopes and dreams… that just like all of that, your orgasms belong to me.
I come harder than I’ve ever come in my life, even as my lips form the most heart-wrenching “Nooo!” I’ve ever heard before.
It’s like getting hit by a bus, if the bus was aimed directly at my clit and was also a trash compactor squeezing me from the inside out while lighting me on fire and then freezing me to ice from head to toe.
Imaginary Ruslan is every bit the cruel bastard that real Ruslan is. He said he’d keep my orgasms to himself, but I feel like I stole this one from him. The euphoria of it rips through me in one endless lightning bolt after the next, until finally, what feels like an hour later, I come back to something like normal consciousness with drool on my lips and my fingers wet and sticky with my own desire.
I stand on legs that are just as shaky as he said they’d be. My throat hurts from moaning and I’m sore as all get-out. As I stand, my phone clatters to the floor.
