Under Her

by Samantha Towle

  Because my cock wants Morgan.

  I want Morgan.

  I step out of the shower in my office bathroom. I grab a towel, rub it over my hair to dry it off, and then wrap it around my waist.

  I did a workout in the office gym, and I was sweaty as fuck afterward. There are showers down there, but I prefer to use my own. And it meant that I could jerk off.

  That has become a regular occurrence for me over this past week.

  Working with Morgan on the proposal for her D-plus bras meant I was with her a lot. And, when the proposal was done, we put it forward to my parents. Of course, they gave the go-ahead, so we’re well underway on project D-plus bras, meaning I’m going to be working with Morgan even more.

  And, as awesome as that is and as much as I love being with her and working with her, getting to know her better, the need to fuck her is becoming unbearable. And the only way to keep it under control and stop myself from hitting on her is to jerk off regularly.

  I tried getting it on with someone else when I went out with the boys on Saturday night—this chick called Mandy or Brandy or something to that effect. She was a dancer and was all kinds of flexible, as she was keen to demonstrate. But I just wasn’t into it. So, after getting her off because I felt like it was the least I could do, I left without even banging her.

  The whole time, I’d felt like I was trying to talk myself into eating store-brand candy because it was all that was on offer when what I really wanted was Hershey’s.

  Morgan is my Hershey’s.

  And, apparently, I’m on a motherfucking diet.

  I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. It’s steamed up. I wipe a hand over it, clearing it, and stare at myself.

  I can see the lines of stress caused by my sexual frustration etched around my eyes.

  Ugh.

  Solely wanting Morgan is even causing me premature aging.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I drop my forehead against the mirror and let out a groan.

  I’m so fucking horny, it hurts.

  I stand back, away from the mirror, and decide to get dressed.

  But, when I open the door and step out of my bathroom and into my office, as I left my work clothes in there, I’m halted in my tracks, finding Sierra sitting on the edge of my desk, waiting for me.

  “Hi,” I say slowly, cautiously.

  “Hi.” She smiles, like it’s not odd that she’s here, in my office.

  “Where’s Chrissy?” I ask, my eyes going to the door, as if I can magic her up just by looking at it.

  She shrugs. “Lunch, if I had to guess.”

  Great. So, I’m here alone with her. And I’m dressed in nothing but a towel.

  I haven’t had a chance to have a talk with Sierra. I’ve been too busy. Mostly working with Morgan on the proposal. And, on the few occasions that I have seen Sierra, I’ve been with Morgan, and that’s definitely not a chat I’m having around her.

  “So, um…what are you doing in here, Sierra?” I curl my fingers into the waistband of my towel, getting a firm hold on it.

  “I want to talk.”

  And, from the way her eyes drag down my body, pausing on my cock area, and how she grazes her teeth over her lower lip, I know talking’s not the only thing she wants to do.

  As if my life isn’t fucked up enough as it is, I now have to deal with this.

  “Well, just let me get dressed, and we can talk.”

  I start to move across the room to grab my clothes, but she hops off my desk, blocking my path.

  “Sierra…” My tone is a warning.

  But it’s one that she doesn’t heed because she advances on me. I back up because I don’t know what the fuck else to do, and before I know it, my back is against the wall, and she’s pressed up against me.

  “I thought you’d come for me, but you haven’t, and I’m bored of waiting, Wild. So, I’m here to take what I want. And I want you.”

  Ah, shit.

  She trails a finger down my chest, and I catch hold of her wrist.

  She doesn’t look pissed off. She looks…excited. I guess she likes it rough. Not that I remember anything from that night.

  “It’s not going to happen, Sierra.”

  Her eyes flicker with dislike, but she doesn’t move away.

  “I’m your boss.”

  “Morgan’s my boss,” she counters.

  I have to hold back a sigh.

  “I’m CEO; therefore, I’m your superior. And I don’t fraternize with the staff. Ever.”

  “You’ve already fraternized with me.”

  She grins and bites the corner of her lip. I don’t find it remotely sexy. She’s no Morgan.

  “You didn’t work here then,” I tell her.

  She moves even closer to me, and now, there isn’t any space left between her body and mine.

  “No one has to know,” she whispers, inching up onto her toes. “We could fuck right now. You could go Wild on me, and no one would ever know.”

  I bite back another sigh. I’m trying to be as diplomatic as possible, but this chick just isn’t getting it.

  “I’d know. And it just doesn’t sit right with me. Sure, we had fun once. But I don’t want to go there again with you.”

  “Your cock says different.” She reaches down and squeezes my erect cock through the towel.

  Of course I’m hard. I haven’t had sex in a while, and a good-looking woman is pressed up against me. As a man, it’s almost impossible to have a hot woman press herself up against you and you not go hard. My equipment might be faulty at the moment, but it hasn’t stopped working. The rocket fuel is still burning; it’s just failing to take off after countdown.

  Well, unless you go by the name of Morgan Stickford, and then my cock will take off at warp speed. It’d fly to the fucking moon and back to get in her pussy.

  I grab hold of Sierra’s other wrist and pull her hand off my cock.

  So, now, I have both her arms in my hands. And she’s clearly not fucking getting it because she smiles in a way that I’m sure she thinks is sexy, but it’s doing nothing for me. Then, she presses her hips firmly against my cock and grinds against me.

  And wouldn’t you just fucking know it?

  My towel drops to the floor.

  And it’s at that exact fucking moment when there’s a tap on my door, followed by the sound of Morgan’s voice as she opens it up and walks in. “Hey, sorry to—” Her words instantly cut off at the sight of me and Sierra.

  I’m up against the wall, naked as the day I was born, with Sierra pressed up against me, my hands wrapped around her wrists, holding her.

  For fucking fuck’s sake.

  In the long seconds that pass, a multitude of emotions flash through Morgan’s eyes. Anger, disgust, disappointment…but the one emotion I get stuck on is hurt.

  She’s hurt by the sight of me with Sierra.

  Is that because she wants me like I want her?

  Everything is telling me yes.

  And I don’t know whether to feel elated or fucking terrified by that thought.

  “Morg—” I don’t even get a chance to finish saying her name.

  She turns and walks out of my office, slamming the door behind her.

  “Oops.” Sierra giggles.

  My eyes narrow, lit with anger. I firmly move her back and bend down to get my towel off the floor, wrapping it back around my waist.

  I stare her down. “Get the fuck out of my office. Now. And, if I ever catch you in here like that again, you’re fired.”

  “You can’t just fire me.” Her hands go to her hips, eyes wide.

  “I can. And I will.” I take a menacing step toward her. “If you ever cross the line like that again, I’ll have your ass out on the street before you can say pink slip.” I walk over and pick up my shirt from where I left it on the sofa along with the rest of my clothes. “Oh, and sexual harassment charges aren’t just against men, you know.”

  Worry sparks in her eyes. “You wouldn�
��t…”

  “I would. And good luck explaining to Morgan what just happened.”

  Defiance narrows her eyes along with something else, something I’m not quite sure of…until she says, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to tell Morgan the truth—that we’ve fucked already. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about that. And maybe I’ll tell her that we’ve been screwing all along.” She smirks, trailing her finger over her cleavage.

  The bitch. She knows I have a thing for Morgan. Shit.

  I shrug like I don’t give a fuck. But the truth is, my heart is hammering in my chest.

  I yank my shirt on and do up the buttons. “Go home,” I tell her, my voice hard. “I’ll talk to Morgan.”

  She smiles like she’s won something. Because she has. She’s won this round.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Wild.” Then, she sashays out of my office, the door closing firmly behind her.

  Morgan

  Twelve and a Half Years Ago

  You can try to ignore something…someone…your own feelings. But you’re not really ignoring them; you’re just pretending you are.

  And I’ve gotten really good at pretending.

  Pretending that I can’t stand Wilder Cross. Pretending that my heart doesn’t beat a little faster every time I see him. Pretending that my heart doesn’t sink when I see him with a girl.

  Pretending that my crush hasn’t turned into real feelings for him. Because how can I have feelings for a jackass like him? It doesn’t make sense. So, therefore, the feelings can’t be real. Right?

  See, I’m damn good at pretending. And I figure, if I keep on like this, one day, my pretense will just stick. It’ll become reality.

  Avoidance is a great tool. If I don’t see him much, then I don’t have to fake it at all.

  So, wouldn’t you just know that Wilder and I have been paired together to do an assignment for our Economics class?

  We only need to do one study session together, so we can figure out which part each of us will do. But the thought of one session—just me and him, one-on-one—feels like the best and worst kind of torture.

  I’m great at pretending to myself and everyone else, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to pretend if it’s just Wilder and me. And he can’t ever know that I have feelings for him.

  God, could you imagine the fun he and his buddies would have with that?

  Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford has a thing for Wilder Cross.

  Yeah, that’s the nickname that Wilder has for me. Not the most original. He doesn’t say it to my face, but I have ears. And I can’t say that it doesn’t bother me because it does.

  Not that Wilder cares about my feelings.

  The only thing he cares about is sleeping with as many girls as possible.

  He screws just about anything with a vagina. And, of course, they’re all slim, gorgeous girls because Wilder Cross doesn’t do anything over a size four.

  At the remembrance of what he said that night, I breathe through the ache in my chest that I still get, even now.

  So, I guess you could say that I’m not looking forward to this study session with him.

  And, when my boss asked me if I could stay a few more hours, as one of the girls had called in sick, I said yes. Not only would the extra cash come in handy, but it also delayed the inevitable a little longer.

  And, now, straight from work, I’m on my way to Wilder’s frat house, which is where we’re meeting. I did try to book a room at the library, but they were all full, and I definitely didn’t want Wilder in my dorm room. The dorm room that I no longer share with Tori.

  She left a month ago. She got knocked up. Not by Wilder. By one of the guys on the football team. She went back home, wherever that is.

  So, I have the room to myself. But the last time Wilder was in my room, it didn’t end so well for me, so, yeah, not happening.

  The only option left was his frat house. We can work in the kitchen or whatever.

  As I walk toward the address he gave me, I hear thumping music coming from inside. As I get closer, I see people out front, on the porch, drinks in their hands.

  He’s having a party?

  He knew I was coming. Granted, I’m two hours later than I originally said I would be, but I emailed him to let him know I had to change the time. And it’s only eight thirty now, and this party looks like it’s been going on for a while.

  I hesitate, not sure what to do. Do I go in and find him? For what reason? We can’t exactly work while there’s a party happening.

  But, now, I’m pissed. Because, if he was having a party, then he should’ve let me know, and we could’ve rearranged. But he definitely didn’t let me know because I quickly checked my email at work before I left, and there was nothing from him. I haven’t received a text or phone call from him either.

  God, does he not ever take anything seriously?

  My annoyance quickly turns to anger.

  And that’s what has me marching up the front lawn and up the steps to the porch and through the open front door.

  The house is full of people, drinking, dancing, and making out. Girls are wearing skimpy dresses, and I’m standing here in my work uniform.

  I feel a stab of envy. I don’t party often…well, ever. I’m too busy with school and work to have a social life. And I’m not exactly rolling with the popular crowd, so my party invites are pretty rare…well, nonexistent.

  I glance around, looking for Wilder. I see a few people I know from classes but no Wilder.

  I walk through the living room and to the kitchen. Still no sign of him.

  By this point, I’m pissed off and ready to go home, but I want to find him, so I can yell at him.

  I grab a random guy and ask if he knows where Wilder is.

  “Out back,” he tells me.

  I make my way through the kitchen and let myself out back. There are some people out here, but I can’t see Wilder.

  Then, I hear a female giggle to my left. I turn my head to find a pretty brunette pressed up against the house with Wilder leaning into her.

  A flash of jealousy lances across my chest.

  Almost as if he hears my pain, his head turns, and his eyes focus on me.

  A smile creeps onto his lips. But it’s not a nice smile.

  “A little late, aren’t you?”

  “Late?” My brows furrow.

  He steps away from the girl and turns to me. “Yeah, about two hours too late for our study session.”

  “I emailed you to let you know I couldn’t make it and that I’d be coming now.”

  His head tips to the side. “I didn’t get an email, Stickford. And, FYI, people generally text each other now. You know, cell phones.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and waves it at me.

  The brunette giggles, which just pisses me off even more.

  “I know, asshole. But I didn’t have access to my phone at the time, so I emailed.”

  My phone is in my bag, but I’m not going to tell him that I couldn’t text or call him because I’m out of credits on my prepay phone, and I don’t have any spare cash to put some credits on it until I get paid in a few days.

  It was minutes for my phone or food. Crazy gal that I am, I opted for food.

  Wilder takes a step closer to me and away from the brunette he was just pressed up against. “So, what was so important that you had to miss our meeting then? Wait, let me guess.” He clicks his fingers and then points at me. “I know. You were with Professor Weller, getting your nose surgically removed from her ass because it’d been stuck up there so long that hemorrhoids started to grow out your nostrils.”

  The girl bursts out laughing. And I can feel my face heating with embarrassment.

  “Surely, you couldn’t have been doing something fun, like getting laid, because you don’t know how to have fun, Stickford.”

  “You’re an ass. And I’m done here.”

  I push past him, ignoring the laughing brunette, and I all but run down the steps off the back porch
. I’m speed walking down the side of the house when a hand catches my arm.

  I whirl around to see Wilder.

  His eyes are lit in a way I’ve never seen before. It makes both my legs tremble and my heart beat faster.

  “You could have called to let me know you’d be late, Morgan.”

  He rarely calls me Morgan. It throws me off balance for a moment.

  I pull my arm from his hand, needing him to stop touching me because I can feel my mask starting to fade.

  I hate that he has this effect on me.

  How can I want such a mean, jumped-up asshole, whose sole aim in life is to screw as many girls as possible? It makes no sense to me. He makes no sense to me.

  “I couldn’t call you,” I tell him through thin lips. “I was at work. My boss offered me extra hours, as one of the other girls had called in sick, and I couldn’t not take them because I need the money. We’re not all born with a rich mommy and daddy who can pay our bills for us.”

  His eyes narrow on me, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

  Then, he just turns and starts to head back to the party.

  “We need to rearrange our study session,” I call to his back. “I’m not failing this class because of you.”

  He stops and turns back to me. His eyes look dark. “I did the work. Well, my half of it. Because you didn’t turn up, I made the decision of who should do what. I’ll email my part to you tomorrow, so there’s no need for us to meet again.”

  I should be relieved. But I’m not.

  “What if I don’t want to do the part that you’re giving me?”

  He laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “Then, complain to Professor Weller. I know you have no problem doing that because she pulled me aside the other day to ask me what the issue was between you and me. Said that you’d been to see her and asked to be reassigned to a different partner. And you know what I told her?” He takes long strides back toward me until he’s so close that I have to tip my head back to look into his face, which looks clouded with anger. “I told her that I don’t have a fucking clue what I ever did to make you dislike me.” His voice is a harsh sound in my ear.