by Sienna Swan
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Roarke?” I ask, channeling every office fantasy I’ve ever had. They’ve all been about this man.
He takes a seat, kicking his chair back from the desk a little.
“Come here,” he tells me, and I step closer to the desk, his hungry eyes still on me. “No, I mean here,” Mason stresses, almost making me jump, pointing at the space between himself and the desk.
Swallowing drily, I do as I’m told, fitting in the narrow sliver of space, standing rigid.
“Lift your skirt up,” he tells me, and like the absolute fool that I am, I do it right away.
I can’t miss the groan on his lips when the fabric of my dress slips up my thighs and then reveals the pink pair of panties I wore, just a little frilly, just a little see-through. He can tell right away that I’ve shaved, as he told me to.
“Good girl,” he tells me, and I swear to god I stand up straighter, like he’s just given me a fucking gold star.
I can’t believe this is my life now. I’m practically shaking, wishing he’d touch me already. He glances up at me and those green eyes are nothing if not predatory, swallowing me up whole. I glance over my shoulder nervously. It’s early, sure, but some of his employees come in early, too. There are gaps in the blinds.
“Eyes on me,” Mason barks, and I comply just in time to see him hook two fingers behind the fabric of the panties and yank them down.
A sharp intake of breath is all I can manage as he slips the panties down my legs to pool around my heels. Then, he pushes me back to sit up on the desk, with me still holding the hem of my dress up. He spreads my legs with a rough hand, making me pant for breath as I watch his expression twist.
He wants me. Mason Roarke wants me. I can’t believe it.
He’s drinking in every pink fold of my virgin pussy, the first man to see it. His cock is so hard in his slacks that I think it might rip the fabric. I drink it in, desperate to see how big it is, if it measures up to my fantasies. I reach for it with one hand and he slaps my hand away, not too hard, but definitely not gentle.
“No.”
I nod my understanding.
He runs his palm up the inside of my right thigh and I just about lose my mind. He’s so close to my pussy, his fingers just tracing the outline of the lips. I’m so wet I must be leaving a mark on his pristine hardwood desk. When his finger flicks over my clit for the first time, I whimper, jerking forward. Another hard look from him has me sitting upright again, struggling to keep my spine erect.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he says, his voice hard. “Tell me, is this what you planned on doing all along? Is this how you think you’ll get ahead in life, using that tight cunt of yours?”
I whimper again, a desperate sound, before shaking my head sharply. How can I explain to him that this would only happen with him? That there isn’t a chance in the world that I’d do it for anyone else?
“No,” I manage finally, the word a squeak at best. “I… I’d never do this… Mason, please-“
“It’s Mr. Roarke,” he hisses, pulling back his hand.
Thinking this is it, I almost want to cry. I want so much more and I’m not ready for him to stop, even if it means getting caught by an unsuspecting observer.
My worry turns to breathless anticipation as he undoes his belt and then the button and zipper on his slacks. When he pushes the front of his boxers down and pulls out his cock, I think I’m seeing wrong. He’s fucking huge, so thick in his own palms that his long fingers seem to hardly reach around it.
I swear I fucking salivate at the sight. It measures up to everything I’ve managed to conjure up in my brain and so much more.
“Tell me, Cassie,” he starts, stroking his cock with that hand I want back on me. “Are you really a virgin?”
His expression is intense. I nod, my head bobbling up and down. My nipples are so hard in my bra that they hurt.
“Would a virgin girl really come in here, begging for cock like you did? Is that what a good virgin girl would do?”
“No, but it’s what this virgin woman would do,” I shoot back.
There’s a flash of a grin on his lips as he flicks his thumb across the head of his cock, smearing some precum around the silky head. When he reaches for me next, I practically jerk my hips toward him, so desperate for his touch.
This time, his fingers aren’t gentle. He pries me open, his palm immediately slick with my juices, and when he pushes in just a tip of his index finger, I cry out, my thighs clenching. I want more, but this is a start, and I’ll take it.
I see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows slowly, fixated on my cunt as he pulls his finger out.
“So fucking tight,” he hisses. “Maybe you are a virgin after all, Cassie.”
I nod again, knowing that I must look ridiculous. I want so badly to touch myself but I’m sure I’d get another slap on my hand if I tried. Instead, he goes back to stroking his cock, harder this time.
It’s getting late, we don’t have much time. Mason Roarke doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the fact that any moment, someone could walk by and see him jerking off to his barely legal secretary while she spreads her legs for him.
“Please, Mr. Roarke,” I beg, the words coming as a flood as I stare at his hand on his cock, wishing it was mine at the very least. “Please let me touch it! Please let me touch myself,” I whine, knowing I won’t get anything that I want but needing to ask anyway.
“You need to earn the right to be fucked by this cock, to suck it and to touch it,” he growls, and I moan like a bitch in heat as he jerks himself off harder.
His eyes are on mine now, holding me still with just his gaze. I see how much he wants me, how much he fucking loves this. However he tries to spin it later, I will know what happened here, the morning he couldn’t stop himself from wanting me.
“I’ll do anything,” I promise, meaning every syllable.
“Anything,” he echoes, standing up so suddenly I scooch back a little.
He towers over me, his wide chest heaving with breaths as he leans into me, so close his scent overwhelms me. He’s pumping his cock right over my pussy, bumping into it every now and then. I sidle closer, but not too close, fearing he’ll push me away.
“Tell me what you need, Cassie.”
“I need your cock, Mr. Roarke,” I mewl, his hot breath on my neck as he practically leans on me. “I need you to be my first, Mr. Roarke! I want your cock to stretch my virgin cunt wide for you and to be covered in your cum!”
As I speak those words, I feel multiple thick, heavy gobs of hot cum splatter over my pussy. I yelp as he grunts through his release, the final string of pearly seed shooting across my belly. He heaves in a breath or two before standing upright, casually reaching for a couple of Kleenexes next to me on the desk and cleaning himself off.
He pulls up his boxers and does up his pants like nothing ever happened, only the flush of red on his neck and the clench of his jaw revealing what happened. That, and the load of cum all over my pussy.
Mason steps back to admire his handiwork, smirking as I stay so fucking still. I barely dare to breathe.
“So pretty. But I won’t fuck you,” he tells me, slowly looking up from my cum-splattered pussy, his words like a slap in the face.
Before I can catch myself, I bark back. “Yes, you will.”
His grin widens and I know immediately that I fucked up.
“Put your panties on. You don’t get to clean up today, Cassie. You’re going to wear that cum until it dries on you, and then you’ll go home and cry into your pillow as you get yourself off, thinking about how I told you I wouldn’t fuck you.”
I want to mouth off, but one glance at the clock on the wall tells me we’re two minutes removed from the first meeting of the day. My cheeks flushed pink, I scoop up my panties and slip them on, feeling some of the cum leak down my inner thigh. I don’t even dare try to reach for the Kleenex.
As soon as my panties are back on and my dress i
s smoothed down, Mason nudges me toward the door of the office. I don’t get one step when one of his associates blazes in, not bothering to knock. My heart stops at how close of a call it was as Mason falls into an easy conversation with him, strolling casually toward our next meeting.
I keep up with him, trying desperately to clench my thighs together as much as I can. I’ve never felt filthier, his cum caking my cunt.
And I’ve never been more assured that I was right about something as I am about the fact that Mason Roarke is not going to win this. This just got personal and I'm more than ready to fight this war, even if he won the battle.
Chapter Eight
Mason
Well, that sure escalated fucking fast.
There’s no excuse for my actions. I shouldn’t be going anywhere near Cassie Newark, and certainly shouldn’t be treating her like she’s shit on my shoe. I don’t know what’s possessing me, but I’m sure I’m being fuelled further by the glint in her eyes when I make her feel like a bad girl.
She’s had little discipline, that’s a clear enough fact to behold. I suspected as much when I met her all those years ago. The vivacious little bundle of blonde curls was confident, bubbly, but obviously more than a little bit spoiled.
Spoiled children turn into bratty teenagers, and this one is craving a firm hand.
It shouldn’t be me giving it to her, but the craving to touch that sweet little treasure is just too strong to ignore.
I’m not going to fuck her. I’m not going to be the one who steals Tom’s daughter’s virginity having just laid him off work. I have to have a line, and that’s most certainly it.
I’ll play with her, and teach her some manners, and hopefully set her up with a decent quality work-experience placement as I do it, but fuck her? No. That’s a step too far.
Her bratty confidence as she assured me that I would, in fact, be the one to pop her cherry both infuriates and excites me. I do love a challenge, always have, and Cassie is turning out to be quite some challenge.
Part of me thinks I should just put an end to this and be done with it, and I’m not quite sure why I don’t. I guess it must be the fact that despite her very messy and unprofessional way of showing it, she’s really here for her dad.
I wish I could just tell them both how things really are. Maybe then this craziness would fizzle away into nothing and I could get back to business without longing for some girl’s smooth, freshly shaven, virgin pussy.
I shove the top-level confidential merger paperwork in my desk drawer and make sure it’s locked. This part of the agreement is for my eyes only and I intend to keep it that way, no matter how circumstances conspire to convince me to blurt it all out.
I shouldn’t feel as if I owe Thomas anything, but I do. I may play hard ass, but the guy really was my best friend while we were growing up together. We hung out through long summer vacations, plotting and planning our future business empire when we had little else going for us, but we did it. When the time was right, before we were even done with college, we worked hard, worked together, and forced this empire from blood, sweet and tears.
We’d still be equal partners if he hadn’t met Jackie. I could see why she took him away from our business goals, the woman was both stunningly attractive and madly in love with him. It’s easy to see where Cassie gets her beauty from, although she doesn’t look as much like her mother as I may have expected.
When Tom came to me one cold winter evening, just as the company was prepared to wind down for Christmas, I knew he’d been chewing over something awhile.
We poured ourselves a glass of scotch, and he told me how the long days were killing him now that he had Jackie waiting for him at home. She wanted a family, he said, and he wanted to be there. Really be there. Not the snatched Sunday afternoons he’d been grabbing hold of since things got serious between them.
We had a crazy few years ahead, with mergers and expansions all lined up. I told him this wasn’t the right time for him to be stepping back from everything we’d worked toward. Truth be told, I was jealous. The love I saw in his eyes when he told me about their family plans made my gut churn with longing. I was still dicking around with women with no substance - those just eager to hang off my arm for a good time every once in a while, and with my workload that’s never changed for me. But everything changed for Tom.
We agreed he could sell me his shares and step back from company management. I had to take out an insane finance package to cover it, and in the process took on so much work for myself I’m surprised I’m still standing at the end of it.
That was many years ago. The company is a much different beast today than the promising fledgling we stepped away from. Although it seemed a great deal of money at the time, the payout for his shares was barely enough to set him up in a family home and see him through the expenses of bringing up his daughter. He kept his salary, but he lost the asset that would have made him an extremely wealthy man.
Not once in all those years has he ever expressed any regret. Not once.
Truth be told, I’m still a little bit jealous of the love and the life he found away from here, but life wasn’t supposed to work out for me like that. We make choices, we live with them.
That’s why Tom would never ask me for his job back. Choices.
We made them, we live with them. Whatever the cost.
And I’m going to have to live with my impulse to have Cassie here as my secretary. If this is going to work out, and not fuck her over or cost me an unpleasant HR battle, I’m going to have to change my approach with her.
She has done everything I asked of her, after all, even if her manners leave a bit to be desired. The girl even shaved that pretty cunt for me.
I call her extension and she answers in just one bleep.
“Mr. Roarke?” I see her shoulders stiffen.
“We’ll take a working lunch today,” I tell her. “It’s about time we got to know each other a little, since we’re working so closely together.”
She pauses, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder if she’s working out a smart-assed little comeback to infuriate me and ruin the gesture.
“I’d like that,” she says. “Thanks.”
It’s only when I hang up the extension that I realize how much I’m going to like it too.
Chapter Nine
Cassie
I’m stunned into silence for most of the drive over to Mason’s home. He has a flashy Audi R8 and from how clean it is, I think it’s one of several cars. I keep stealing glances at him as we drive, clutching my purse and rummaging through my brain for any possible topic of small talk. I come up empty.
His expression keeps changing and he looks like he’s on the verge of saying something several times, but he doesn’t. When we get to the apartment complex, a big high-rise not too far from the office, he helps me out of the low sports car. Pencil skirts and high heels are not made for this type of vehicle. I’m beginning to realize why celebrities have so many panty flashes caught on camera.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he lets go of my hand, leaving it tingling with his touch.
He nods and shows me in, walking me past the doorman and to a private elevator. He exchanges pleasantries with the doorman, who lets him know that Macy just left. I wonder who the fuck is Macy, a twinge of jealousy going through me. When we get up to the penthouse, we still haven’t exchanged more than the awkward thanks at the car.
I thought this was supposed to be an icebreaker, but I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t just a ploy to get me into bed sooner rather than later. A lunch-time quickie wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but my thighs still clench slightly, even though I’m overcome with equal parts of fear at the same time.
As the door opens to let us into the apartment, I gasp at the sight of a brown flurry of legs and wagging tail. I squeal, grinning from ear to ear as I get down on my knees and receive endless slurpy kisses from a brown Labrador.
“Hello there,” I greet the do
g through giggles while trying to keep him from shoving his big tongue in my mouth. “Who are you?!”
“That’s Henry,” Mason says, his tone more affectionate than I’ve heard it so far. “He’s mine.”
I could have deduced that much, but the way he says it is kind of cute, and a little awkward. Not at all the usual composed and scary Mason Roarke.
“Come on, then,” he calls, and Henry peels off of me immediately.
I take a moment to compose myself before following the duo to the kitchen, where I find Mason fussing with Henry’s ears and exchanging one of those private dog and owner moments that’s so sweet I could die. I would have never considered Mason Roarke a dog person.
“Sorry,” he tells me, pulling himself away from Henry and opening up the fridge.
He pulls out a couple of big salads, a bottle of Perrier and a bowl of fresh fruit. I figured him for a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but I guess that’s saved for evenings. He finds some silverware while I take the seat he pointed me at, and merrily get back to scruffing Henry by the ear.
“How long have you had him?” I ask, smiling like a dolt.
“About two years now.”
That’s why I didn’t know about him. I wrangled myself free from my Mason Roarke addiction a couple of years ago, though I guess I only dealt with the symptoms, not the deliciously packaged disease himself.
“He’s adorable.”
“He keeps me sane,” Mason says, sitting down heavily and peeling the top off of the bowl of salad.
It’s a surprising admission of humanity from him and I think I stare for a moment too long before snapping out of it. I follow his lead and take a mouthful of food, one hand on Henry, who is now quietly guarding our meal.
“I try and come home every day for lunch with him,” Mason tells me, and I barely catch myself from going ‘aww’.
I gush on the inside, though.
“I work long days so I don’t see him as much as I want, so I attempt to make time. Macy, the girl who runs my errands for me, also acts as a dog walker for him and spends most days here with him.”
