suppress the sound.
He can’t see my face as my mouth moves down to one shoulder then across to the other, shoulders that seem as strong as the shoulders of Atlas. No, he can’t see my face but he can feel me react as the orgasm begins. My whole body shakes with its impact.
I’m pulling off his belt now, unbuttoning his pants, reaching for what’s waiting for me. As his pants fall to the ground my fingers slide to the base and then trace a line right up that vein to the ridge that marks the beginning of the tip.
And now it’s his stifled moan that teases the room. It’s his breathing that is out of control as he undoes my shirt, unhooks my bra, runs his hands up my breasts, gently pinching my nipples as he kisses my hair.
I take off my skirt all by myself. I want to give him this and I want to give myself everything he has to offer. The experience needs to be not just tactile but visceral. I’m breathing him in, feeling his touch. . . .
I want to taste him.
I lower myself to my knees and let my tongue dance over his erection, loving the way it hardens even more, yearning for me, waiting for me, begging for me.
When I take him in my mouth, he makes a sound that reminds me of a growl.
The effect I have on him increases my eagerness, my sense of urgency, my need. As my mouth continues to work, my hands move up and down his stomach, his hips, his legs.
And then, he pulls me away. Lifts me back up onto the desk, pushes my thighs apart, stares into my eyes for just a moment before pressing forcefully inside of me.
I cry out as I instantly come again. I’m filled with him, his taste still on my lips, my hands grasping his shoulders as he moves, pushing in again and again. His eyes return to mine, and this time he holds my gaze. I can’t look away. My hips have found his rhythm and greedily rise to meet each thrust as if daring him to go further. He pushes my knee to my chest, giving himself a new advantage.
And as my third orgasm explodes through me, I feel him shudder, feel him coming, feel the intensity of us.
As we stay there, pressed against each other, the room smelling of coffee and sex I hear him mutter . . . perhaps to himself, perhaps to me, “Last time, my ass.”
* * *
F IFTEEN MINUTES LATER I step back out into Mr. Dade’s waiting room, alone, fully dressed but still smoothing the newly made creases out of my blouse. I don’t look up to see Mr. Dade’s executive assistant until I sit down on the sofa.
She has dark, auburn hair and big green eyes that remind me of king-sized marbles. And she’s watching me. I suck in an audible breath of surprise and she replies with an inquisitive smile.
How long has she been there? Did she hear us?
But does it matter what she heard? The point is she knows ! Those green marbles weren’t reflecting the image I had so carefully crafted for the people around me. Instead she sees a woman driven by the basest of impulses, a woman who snuck into an office building at eight in the morning so she could fuck her new client.
A woman who takes what she wants.
The words are coming from a little voice inside my own head. It’s not a voice that I’m very familiar with. The angel on my right shoulder defeated the devil on my left eons ago. But now the devil speaks. It’s the angel who struggles to find her voice.
“Would you like a glass of water?” the woman asks. She tilts her head to the side, causing her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.
I nod silently and her smile widens as she leaves the room and then returns with a clean glass and a bottle of SmartWater.
“I’m Sonya,” she says as I reach for the items. She doesn’t let go right away. When I look up at her, she’s staring at the buttons on my shirt. I’ve missed one. I quickly take the water and glass and put them on the side table before scrambling to fix the problem.
I can discern the essence of the questions she’s working so hard to repress. Her now empty hands
He can’t see my face as my mouth moves down to one shoulder then across to the other, shoulders that seem as strong as the shoulders of Atlas. No, he can’t see my face but he can feel me react as the orgasm begins. My whole body shakes with its impact.
I’m pulling off his belt now, unbuttoning his pants, reaching for what’s waiting for me. As his pants fall to the ground my fingers slide to the base and then trace a line right up that vein to the ridge that marks the beginning of the tip.
And now it’s his stifled moan that teases the room. It’s his breathing that is out of control as he undoes my shirt, unhooks my bra, runs his hands up my breasts, gently pinching my nipples as he kisses my hair.
I take off my skirt all by myself. I want to give him this and I want to give myself everything he has to offer. The experience needs to be not just tactile but visceral. I’m breathing him in, feeling his touch. . . .
I want to taste him.
I lower myself to my knees and let my tongue dance over his erection, loving the way it hardens even more, yearning for me, waiting for me, begging for me.
When I take him in my mouth, he makes a sound that reminds me of a growl.
The effect I have on him increases my eagerness, my sense of urgency, my need. As my mouth continues to work, my hands move up and down his stomach, his hips, his legs.
And then, he pulls me away. Lifts me back up onto the desk, pushes my thighs apart, stares into my eyes for just a moment before pressing forcefully inside of me.
I cry out as I instantly come again. I’m filled with him, his taste still on my lips, my hands grasping his shoulders as he moves, pushing in again and again. His eyes return to mine, and this time he holds my gaze. I can’t look away. My hips have found his rhythm and greedily rise to meet each thrust as if daring him to go further. He pushes my knee to my chest, giving himself a new advantage.
And as my third orgasm explodes through me, I feel him shudder, feel him coming, feel the intensity of us.
As we stay there, pressed against each other, the room smelling of coffee and sex I hear him mutter . . . perhaps to himself, perhaps to me, “Last time, my ass.”
* * *
F IFTEEN MINUTES LATER I step back out into Mr. Dade’s waiting room, alone, fully dressed but still smoothing the newly made creases out of my blouse. I don’t look up to see Mr. Dade’s executive assistant until I sit down on the sofa.
She has dark, auburn hair and big green eyes that remind me of king-sized marbles. And she’s watching me. I suck in an audible breath of surprise and she replies with an inquisitive smile.
How long has she been there? Did she hear us?
But does it matter what she heard? The point is she knows ! Those green marbles weren’t reflecting the image I had so carefully crafted for the people around me. Instead she sees a woman driven by the basest of impulses, a woman who snuck into an office building at eight in the morning so she could fuck her new client.
A woman who takes what she wants.
The words are coming from a little voice inside my own head. It’s not a voice that I’m very familiar with. The angel on my right shoulder defeated the devil on my left eons ago. But now the devil speaks. It’s the angel who struggles to find her voice.
“Would you like a glass of water?” the woman asks. She tilts her head to the side, causing her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.
I nod silently and her smile widens as she leaves the room and then returns with a clean glass and a bottle of SmartWater.
“I’m Sonya,” she says as I reach for the items. She doesn’t let go right away. When I look up at her, she’s staring at the buttons on my shirt. I’ve missed one. I quickly take the water and glass and put them on the side table before scrambling to fix the problem.
I can discern the essence of the questions she’s working so hard to repress. Her now empty hands
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