Working.

He’s there when I come in from lunch. Sit­ting at my ter­mi­nal, set­ting some­thing up — it’s prob­a­bly some­thing I could have done myself, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to page him. He’s the kind of man who could almost make me pre­tend to be computer-stupid. Almost.

He looks up as I unlock the door, those gor­geous eyes meet mine and my knees go almost imme­di­ately weak. He makes my heart beat a lit­tle too fast and my breath catch in my throat. I gig­gle a lit­tle too much when­ever he comes in, and I find myself stand­ing with my hands in my back pock­ets, my breasts thrust out. Some­times I twirl my hair with­out even real­iz­ing it. He has that effect on me.

He gives me back my chair, then stands over my shoul­der, bend­ing down to walk me through the new changes he’s made. I never have the heart to tell him that I already know every­thing he’s telling me. He’s so adorably cute when he’s explain­ing things, so full of exu­ber­ant enthu­si­asm — not to men­tion when he bends over my shoul­der, his cheek near mine, I can smell him — an intox­i­cat­ing scent of male cologne mixed with the musk of his body. I can’t get enough of it and have to resist the urge to gulp the air when­ever he’s near me.

He’s close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my cheek. If I turn my head, my nose would brush across the rough­ness of his jaw­line — my mouth mere inches from his. He reaches over my shoul­der to show me some­thing, his hand cov­er­ing mine on the mouse as he guides the cur­sor across the screen. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I real­ize how sud­denly yet absolutely turned on I am. His strong arm curv­ing around me, his scent envelop­ing me, and I’m sud­denly and unde­ni­able wet, my pulse beat­ing intensely in the hol­low between the weight of my breasts.

I freeze against him, my hand still beneath his, and I can feel him grow still as he reg­is­ters the change in my body. His other hand comes up, brushes an errant strand of hair away from my cheek, push­ing it over my shoul­der and bar­ing the length of my neck to him. I’m frozen in time, the space between the last breath I took and the next stretch­ing out until I can’t take another moment, and I open my mouth to say some­thing, any­thing, just to keep breath­ing. He says my name into the silence, his breath warm against the bare skin of my neck. Mouth dry, and body shak­ing, I turn my head in slow incre­ments to meet his mouth with mine. First the mer­est brush of lips, my mouth opens under his, his tongue in my mouth, our hot breath min­gling as he pulls me to my feet, pulling my body into his, and his hands are in my hair, pulling my head back, deep­en­ing the kiss until I’m gasp­ing for breath against his lips, unable to stop for even a moment to catch my breath.

My hands find their way onto his body, pulling the hem of his shirt up to feel the hard body beneath the soft mate­r­ial. I can feel him grow­ing hard against me, and my body instinc­tively opens to him, the cra­dle of my legs widen­ing to accom­mo­date him. His hands on my soft belly, mov­ing up to push the bar­rier of my bra out of his way, and the cool air on my exposed breasts makes me real­ize what I’m doing, makes me aware of the door right there, and the fact that any­one could walk in. I fum­ble behind me, try­ing to locate my keys with­out break­ing our embrace, but it’s no use, and I finally pull away from him to grab my keys and lock us in as surely as I lock the rest of the world out.

I fully intend to lead him into the back, either into one of the offices, or into the con­fer­ence room where we can take advan­tage of the large table, but the sight of his stand­ing there, eyes dazed and mouth swollen, his jeans slung low on his hips out­lin­ing the con­tours of his cock makes my mouth water, and I find myself slid­ing to my knees in front of him.  I look up at him, beg­ging with my eyes, hop­ing he won’t make me say what I’m think­ing, because I will. But he’s undo­ing his jeans, rolling them over his hips to expose his deli­cious cock and then he’s rub­bing the rim of the hard plum head over my lips.

I melt beneath his touch, beneath the taste of his pre-come on my lips. Part of me wants him to wraps his hands in the coils of  my hair and fuck my face until tears are run­ning down my face and I’m beg­ging for mercy. I’m putty in his hands as he slowly feeds me the hard length of his cock, slow­ing mak­ing me take inch by inch until I’m just gag­ging on the head of his cock nudg­ing down my throat. I wrap my hands around his hips, tak­ing as much more as I can stand until my eyes water and I’m sput­ter­ing for air. “Oh baby,” he breathes, rub­bing his cock across my face. I open my mouth for him, run­ning my tongue over the head, up the length, tast­ing his musk as I take his balls into my mouth. He groans, stroking his cock as I lick and suck him, moan­ing as I roll the del­i­cate spheres on my tongue.

It’s fuck­ing exquis­ite, watch­ing his face as I plea­sure him, my own hand snaking down the front of my dress pants, past the silky scrap of panties I wear to my syrupy wet­ness beneath. Rub­bing my clit while he pushes his cock back into my mouth, his motions grow­ing wilder and rougher as he fucks my mouth the way I want him to fuck my ass, long, deep strokes that reach deep inside me stok­ing my fire until I’m suck­ing him for all I’m worth, utterly rav­en­ous to taste that spurt of semen on my tongue. I moan around his cock, push­ing two, no three fin­gers inside my wet slit, hump­ing and grind­ing against my hand as I lose control.

“Fuu­u­u­uck,” he breathes out in a slow hiss, between grit­ted teeth. “Fuu­u­u­u­u­u­u­u­u­uck!” And he’s spilling down my throat, sweet hot come fill­ing my mouth, spilling over the bruised full­ness of my lips as he shoots his load into me, onto me, white sticky semen drip­ping down my chin onto the exposed curves of my breasts as I fin­ger myself to orgasm, lick­ing his come off my lips. Like the greedy whore I am, I use my fin­gers to scoop up every drop of rapidly cool­ing come, lick­ing it up, feed­ing it to myself with fin­gers that smell like my cunt. I lick every last drop off his cock, gen­tly clean­ing him with my tongue, caress­ing his sen­si­tive flesh, while he sits back, head thrown back, breath­ing heavy, eyes closed with me kneel­ing between his legs behind my desk.

His eye­lashes flut­ter open, his eyes focus on my face, a slow smile spread­ing across his mouth, as he strokes the length of my jaw, cup­ping my face ten­derly in his palm. He says my name, softly, rev­er­ently. A famil­iar car alarm beeps in the park­ing lot — one I know all too well. “Fuck, it’s my boss,” I explain, leav­ing him to zip up as I dash off to the bath­room to splash water on my flushed face, to fix my makeup and wake out of my sex daze before my boss walks in to find me work­ing with on his com­puter guy.