by Sienna Swan
At the same time, I find myself clenching my thighs a little, because in not too many hours, I’ll be in Mason Roarke’s office again. And he said yes.
Chapter Four
Mason
I need a secretary, that’s what I tell myself. If I can’t officially hire one while this merger is going through, then Cassandra Newark will have to be enough for the time being.
I’m not going to give Thomas back his position, and he wouldn’t expect me to. I should have told her as much and sent her on her way for being a little brat, but despite the steely exterior, I’ve always held a strong affection for the Newarks.
I still can’t reconcile the fact that sweet, blonde little Cassie stomped her way into my office looking like a rock-groupie reject and offered me her virginity on a silver platter. I’m not going to take it, of course. I’m a better man than to take advantage of a barely eighteen-year-old woman, even if she does make my dick twitch. At least, I hope I am.
It’s been a long time since I’ve even been tempted.
I’m sure she wasn’t serious. She’s way under half my age, I’m sure she has plenty of young men trailing behind her every move, eager to get a taste of that tight little pussy.
So why did she offer it to me?
It doesn’t make any sense. But what about teenage girls ever makes any sense? I’ve had plenty of interns in my office over the years and their giggling and gossiping are nothing but an alien language to me.
As well as telling myself I need a secretary, I also tell myself I’m merely on edge because I’ve been scouring paperwork for days without relief. I’m certain, as I shower for bed, that all I need to even myself out is a decent handjob and a good night’s sleep.
So why am I thinking of Cassie Newark in those tight little cut-offs as I jerk my cock in my soapy palm?
I can’t stop imagining how that untouched pussy would taste on my tongue. How tight she’d feel as I pushed my fat cock inside her for the very first time. Fuck, she’d be like a glove. Silky and soft and so beautifully pink.
I curse myself as soon as I’m done shooting my load over the tiles. I’m good at telling myself lies this evening it seems, so it’s just as well my remaining trusted friend doesn’t care about my sorely questionable morals.
My Labrador, Henry, is already snoring on my bed as I finish toweling myself dry and slip into crisp cool sheets. He’s sleeping soundly, clearly oblivious to my inner conflict and the potential self-loathing that accompanies it. The dog is the one piece of personal life I allow myself around work. He anchors me and keeps me grounded throughout the stress, and although people may say that they are an extra responsibility a man like me could do without given my workload, they’d be mistaken. Henry keeps me sane.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t help me sleep at night. I’ve already made a to-do list on my tablet before I’ve even attempted to drift off, ensuring I’m well set up for Cassie’s first shift as my new assistant. I’ll keep her busy being productive and hopefully there won’t be any more crazy sex offers to tempt me. I’m not sure how many of them I could take.
I’m hoping she’ll be dressed for the occasion as my corporate assistant when she shows up first thing, but of course she isn’t.
She’s still in the same slutty style of outfit she wore yesterday, only today it’s marginally more sensible sandals instead of flip-flops. She looks like she’s heading to a rock concert, not for a stint fielding my calls from a desk in the senior management suite of Roarke Incorporated.
I watch her approach from a distance, staring at her through the interior glass as she makes her way along the corridor to my office. She doesn’t knock, just breezes straight on in, and her insolence has me gritting my teeth even as she parks herself in the chair across from me.
“Good morning, Mr. Roarke.” Her smile gives no allusion to the fact she offered me herself last night. She really does have the bravado shit going for her.
“Miss Newark,” I say. “I’m pleased to see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”
She looks down at her outfit. “It’s a Saturday, and this is voluntary, right?”
She’s right on both counts but instead of answering I shunt some paperwork across my desk and tell her it needs filing in the cabinet outside my office.
“Sure,” she says and gets right to it, and as I watch her shapely little shimmy away from me I wonder again just what the fuck I’m doing with this.
My dick has the answer for me. The throb in my pants is relentless, the view of her bending over to file the papers in the bottom drawer certainly crossed my mind before I gave them to her. I’d be disgusted with myself if I weren’t so hard for her, and I’m sure I’ll be hammered with guilt later when I contemplate the fact that this girl is my college best friend’s daughter and she’s here because she’s trying to save his job.
I wonder how far she’d really go, and fail to force the thought aside.
This isn’t me. I’m professional and courteous - when I’m not crazily stressed beyond all recognition. I’ve managed to interact with many young female employees before this and I’ve never yet had a problem with a chronic hard-on in their presence.
Cassie gives me a wave as she finishes up with the filing, and I rummage through my drawers when she makes her way back in, pretending I haven’t been staring at her like a dirty old man while she’s been working.
“What next?” she asks, and there’s a smile on her face I haven’t seen before. Surely she can’t have actually enjoyed filing paperwork for me.
“You’d better make yourself comfortable at the workstation outside,” I tell her and gesture to where Jenna used to sit. She nods before she makes her way back out, and I curse myself under my breath for shunting that workstation just a little to the right before she arrived here this morning.
Where it’s now aligned is the very perfect spot for my hungry eyes. A gap in the interior blinds between our workspaces allows me a perfect view of her shapely ass in the seat. I can stare under the desk at her tanned legs and her tiny ankles, wondering how they’d feel wrapped around my waist.
I can stare at her all day long if I wish, and with her back to me there’s no way of her knowing, not unless she spins around and makes it obvious she’s looking my way.
Which is absolutely fine, until she does.
Her big blue eyes meet mine and catch me well and truly staring back at her. I’m sure mine must widen as hers do, even though I try my hardest to keep my poker face intact.
And then she smiles. It’s not the brash, overconfident smile she flashed me yesterday, this one feels much more understated. As though she believes I’m really giving her a shot somehow and have any intention whatsoever of giving her father his job back at the end of his two-week redundancy period, given by the grace of the company.
I pick up my telephone extension and she has to spin her chair away again to reach her handset.
“Mr. Roarke?”
My throat is scratchy as I speak. “I need to dictate a letter,” I tell her, and I love how she scrabbles around Jenna’s old desk for a suitable pen.
It’s an old-school move I don’t usually use, but for whatever reason, it popped into my mind tonight, if for no other reason than to see if she can think on her feet. And spell, I guess.
“Shall I come through?” she asks.
“No,” I say, and watch with interest as she pins the handset between her chin and shoulder.
“Okay,” she says, “go ahead, I think I’ve got this.”
I show no mercy as I rattle off a series of engineering checks needed by the R&D team, and if she’s struggling to keep up with my flow she doesn’t show it.
Her hand is a flurry of activity as she scrawls down my words, and she soon stops peppering my monologue with affirmatives to let me know she’s keeping up. Instead there is only a breathy little grunt every time I finish a sentence. A flutter of breath as she scrabbles to do her job in just the way I want her to, even though we both know she’s do
ing this for free.
It’s more than I can take.
I realize how long it’s been since I’ve heard a woman breathless for me. Since I felt the sweet feeling of a woman’s sighs on my face as she takes everything I’m giving.
I’ve buried my needs for so long under work, that I’m taken aback by the sheer force of them now they are reawakening.
I keep speaking, uttering words that rattle off on autopilot, but my palm is under the desk pressing to the thick ridge of my dick as it juts from my pants.
“Read that back to me,” I bark at her. “All of it.”
She takes a breath and I unbutton my pants.
Her voice has a professionalism that surprises me. She reads my text back to me in her finest telephone manner and she’s got the whole thing down perfectly asides from a few little pronunciation errors.
Still, none of that really matters. This is just an internal memo and I’m barely listening to what she is saying, rather my attention is on how she’s saying it. The rasp of her vowels over the telephone line, the way she takes a gasp after particularly long sentences.
The girl’s voice is delicious, and I’ve no doubt she’s trying to please me. I hear it in every word she speaks.
It’s my turn to pepper her speech in the affirmative as she turns the page to read off the second part of my dictated document. Mine are nothing short of grunts, my breath hissing between gritted teeth as I work my dick under the desk for her.
Twice in twenty-four hours is a luxury I don’t usually indulge, but this girl is crazily under my skin and I can’t seem to fight it.
If she feels something is off she doesn’t say. Her flow is smooth and perfect, her attention to detail immaculate.
My hand is frantic as I know she’s going to be finishing up, my balls tight and aching as I fight to control my breathing down the line.
“Did I do okay?” she asks and I’m too close to the edge to let her hang up, so I ask her to read it once more all the way through.
If she’s frustrated she doesn’t show it, just takes it from the top, and this time I close my eyes to soak in the sweet rasp in her tone, the slight bounce in tempo as she goes back over familiar sentences.
I’m going to shoot my load all over myself and it’s all I can do not to interrupt her efforts and ask her if she was serious about her virginity offer.
Right now, spellbound by the depths of my own insanity for this creature, I’d promise her father’s job back in a heartbeat if it meant I’d be Cassie’s first.
There is a white heat behind my eyes as I shoot my seed over the ridges of my stomach in perfect silence. I have to hold my breath as the waves flow through me, my temples pounding as I shoot stream after stream of thick white cum up onto my shirt.
Shit.
I stare down at the mess in horror, reaching into my pocket for a handkerchief which only makes it worse.
Cassie finishes up her second run through and again asks me if she’s got it right.
I can’t have her in here, not now, and I can’t walk past her with this mess all over my shirt in my bid to replace it with a clean one, so I’m left with just one choice.
To send her home.
I tell her to be in promptly on Monday morning, and assure myself I’ll have a handle on this ridiculous situation by the time I see her next.
At this rate I’ll have to employ her father again just to put an end to this craziness. Merger be fucked at this rate.
Chapter Five
Cassie
Either Stacy is going to be my rock to get through this whole mess, or she will be the anchor that drags me down. At this point I am still uncertain, and dubious.
She’s waiting for me impatiently in front of my house when I walk down the sidewalk. I couldn’t take dad’s car today because I had to be in so early and he had a therapist appointment, so I had to take the buses. I was up at the asscrack of dawn and if this is going to be my new normal, I want a new deal.
Yet, with all that firmly at the back of my mind, the forefront of my consciousness is thoroughly taken up by Mason. I only spent a couple of hours at the office today, and then another hour to get back home with three different buses, but I’m already smitten. Not that I expect that to surprise anyone.
“So,” Stacy asks, running up to me and looping her arm through mine as we walk to the house. “Tell me everything. Did you do unspeakable things? Are you unfit for function now? Should I be worried? Did it hurt?!”
She’s like a battering ram, no finesse. I laugh, and it feels good. I haven’t been able to see any humor in this so far but Stacy is lighting the way.
“We did not do unspeakable things,” I start, finding Stacy’s face dropping at that. “I went to the office, I did some filing, he dictated a letter to me and I read it back to him. And then he sent me home. If working for him is going to be that easy, I think I have a career as a corporate assistant.”
We both cringe when I say that. I was supposed to be an engineer, dammit. But bygones be bygones.
“So he didn’t, like, ask you for anything? No inappropriate touches? No unexpected but thoroughly welcome hard-ons?”
I bite my tongue and that pause is all Stacy needs.
“I knew it! Spill it!”
“I didn’t actually see anything,” I say as we slow down and hush our voices. “I mean, maybe there was a hard-on? He was sitting down but I don’t think male anatomy is supposed to work that way… I don’t know. He sounded weird when I read back the letter. Other than that, it was normal.”
I shrug, pretending that it’s all totally cool and I haven’t been overthinking what I may or may not have seen over and over again. A very large part of me hopes I did spot Mason Roarke sporting a raging hard-on for me, I won’t lie. I definitely wasn’t comfortable in my panties after he gave me the first command of the day, and it only got worse from there.
I was practically ready to shove a hand between my legs and get myself off when he dictated to me, but I needed that damn hand to write the letter.
“Nothing about this is normal,” Stacy deadpans, and she is right, of course.
I hush her with a finger to my lips as we slip in the door, only to find my dad in the living room. It’s the middle of July and he’s wrapped up in two heavy fleece blankets, drinking tea. My stomach drops.
“You okay, dad?” I ask.
“Hi, Tom,” Stacy chirps before scooting up to my bedroom.
“Hey, Stace,” he calls after her, though his voice doesn’t really carry. “I’m fine, bug. Just a little side-effect from the drugs.”
I don’t buy the ‘fine’, but nod anyway.
“At least you’ll be getting plenty of rest now,” I say, trying to find the positive where there really isn’t one.
He doesn’t have to go back into work on Monday. But I do. I don’t think my father has sat idle for a day, other than when mom died.
“I guess so,” he agrees blandly. “How was work?”
I freeze for a moment, deer in the headlights. It takes a couple of seconds too long to remember that we talked earlier in the week about the job I was supposed to get as an assistant sales clerk at Neiman’s downtown. The job I already turned down last night because of Mason.
“Oh, it was fine,” I say, and I don’t think he buys my ‘fine’ either. “It was just orientation day, I’ll go back in again Monday for a full day. I think I’ll enjoy it.”
He nods. “You can take the car, then. I won’t need it.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing around for a moment longer.
I want to confess what I did, all of it, but I don’t know how. I’d only disappoint him, or hurt him, and neither of those two are something I want to do to him. I love my dad. I just wish he’d fight as hard as I intend to for him.
“Stacy must be waiting,” he tells me, and I rush over to him to kiss him on the cheek before I bound upstairs.
He chuckles and I feel like that much more of a brat for not coming clean.
“You’re being overly harsh on my fashion senses,” I huff back, but I keep my mouth shut after she holds up four different pairs of cut-up shorts, all in the color black.
It’s not even my favorite color.
“You can’t keep showing up to the office looking like that,” she says, waving at my current ensemble. “Not if you want him to take you seriously. Or on his desk.”
“Stacy!” I gasp, chucking the closest thing I can reach at her, which happens to be my hairbrush.
“And that’s another thing, you know. We need to do something with that mane of yours.”
Stacy gives me her most judgmental once-over and I find myself looking down at what we have to work with as well. Begrudgingly, I agree with her. I need to look more professional. Mason told me as much.
Though considering Stacy is here in yoga pants, a halter top and one of those Instagram buns, I can’t exactly say that she’s the best fashion consultant I could have hoped for.
“So what do you suggest we do, oh wise stylist?” I ask, plopping down on my bed and grabbing my teddy bear for good measure.
I shuck off my sandals and curl my legs up under me as Stacy tosses through my wardrobe some more, emerging with a couple boring white shirts and skirts that I probably haven’t worn since… well, since mom bought them. They were all a little big for me then – she insisted I’d grow into them, and I guess I will have by now.
“We can start with those,” Stacy says, coming to pick at my messy blonde hair like she’s undoing a rat’s nest. “And then continue with this.”
“Bedroom chic is in, I’ll have you know,” I tell her, batting her away from my hair once, but then giving up.
There’s no point. She’s right. And I want to look good. I want to look good for Mason. I want him to look at me and not see the silly girl who walked into his office, demanding something she had no right to ask for, and offering something she never should have, but a woman who knows what she’s doing. I might not know exactly what my endgame here is, other than to woo Mason into admitting that I’m the greatest assistant ever and my dad should get his job back, but I’m damn well going to try my best at it.
