Title Page
Executive Sweetie
Carolyn Foulkes
Publisher Information
Executive Sweetie
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Carolyn Foulkes 2014
The rights of Carolyn Foulkes has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Executive Sweetie
Carolyn Foulkes
Nobody ever, ever enters an executive’s office unless he’s a invited. Yet here was this absolute stranger behind my boss’s desk, standing at the window staring out at the city.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to imitate my boss, Harriet, who could snarl the paint off a fire truck.
“Oh, hello.” He turned and smirked like I was the cleaning lady. First thing I noticed about this stranger is that he was rock star handsome. Black hair fell smoothly below his ears and over his forehead in a forty-dollar haircut. Second thing, he was about two-three inches taller than me, and I’m five-eight. His torso was slim. Mine too, except for a bubble ass and moderately assertive breasts.
“Tell me, please, what the hell you are doing in my boss’s office?”
“It is the view. That is the Statue of Liberty.” He pronounced it Lee-ber-tay, and I realized this hotshot was French. “And there, the World Trade Center, and there....”
A tourist who’s lost? A business visitor, also lost? “Look, pal, you do not belong here.”
“This is not your office? And you are defending...?”
“Listen, if you don’t have business here, you better get your butt back to where you belong or I’ll whistle for security. Our cops are mean mothers.”
Unitrack was one of those volatile financial companies. You know, the stock is rising like a rocket or else it’s sinking because of a rumor. Some days there’s a market initiative that will put us over the top or a scandal to knock us out of the ring. That’s why I love this high risk-high reward business. Of course, I haven’t seen the rewards yet, but they tell me to be patient.
“I am sorry.” There was that enchanting accent again. Sorr-ee, with his r’s gurgling out like a squashed frog. “My name is Alain Chastenet and I work here in IT - the help desk for people who call and demand ‘Why is my computer not working?’ I have never seen such a view and it was a magnet that brought me to the edge of madness.”
“Well, look, Allen...”
“Alain,” he corrected.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your sightseeing, but my boss will be pissed and make life sheer hell for your boss, who will then jump on you with both shoes.”
“May I know your name?”
“Erin.” I stumbled. “Erin Mullally.” And I stupidly blurted, “I’m the Communications Manager. I do press releases, the company newsletter, content webmaster for our intranet....”
“Then I will see you again.” Alain’s face lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. “When you work on the intranet or call the Help Desk because your computer does not boot up.”
I laughed out loud. “Alain, get your skinny butt out of here.”
***
He gave that classic Gallic shrug when we had a mid-afternoon coffee, shrugging off the office invasion event entirely. “I have no one and nothing,” he said. “My mother was a journalist for Agence France Press. She died in Libya. Sniper. My father?” and he went poof, motioned with his fingertips to show a dandelion in the wind. “Gone one day. So, I go to London to work, but the English do not know technology.”
“How did you get here? To the States?” This creature was enchanting compared with my girlfriend Julie who reached ecstasy at book club meetings and Francine who pored over Craigslist looking for men.
“I was a tourist. Perhaps I am still a tourist exploring the world.”
“But you have a job. And no green card or work permit.” This Alain was a visa jumper, maybe even a spy or terrorist. I don’t know why, but the thought sent a shiver through my stomach. Perhaps it was an assault fantasy some women - no names, Harriet, you spinster bitch - have. Alain might wait when the elevator doors closed and, with Superman speed, he would ravish me as my hormones begged for mercy until the doors opened to the lobby and he stepped out while I lay there smiling idiotically.
“Americans are wonderful,” he gushed, ignoring my kvetch about overstaying his visa. “They ask only if you will work hard and help them make money.”
I grimaced. “Men always get ahead if they’re likable and good looking. If women are good looking they’re kept as decoration. If they’re smart, executives call them pushy bitches.”
“Ah, but you are almost beautiful, Erin.”
I felt a tingle between my legs. “Almost?”
“We have a phrase, jolie laide. Meaning ‘pretty ugly.’”
“Whaaat?”
“It is the quality of a woman’s enchanting looks that make her more attractive because of a flaw. Perhaps a space between her teeth or very dark eyebrows.”
That night, I examined my teeth and eyebrows, but still couldn’t figure his meaning. Beautiful, no, but I modeled once at a mall when I was in high school. Fuck all Frenchmen.
***
Our coffee dates soon became like fast food that will kill you. The brain never knows when your tummy’s full until you die. My heart was laden with infatuation. Alain occupied my thoughts so fully that I bumped into pedestrians on the sidewalk. I stayed awake at night in my apartment thinking lewd thoughts. I mentally undressed him, flinging his tight jacket and slacks in the corner of my bedroom. I would rip off his clothes until he was naked and begging me to suck him off, to give him the love I was withholding.
Ha! Is there a withholding tax on love? How much tax did I owe as a 28-year-old single career girl whose parents were a thousand miles away?
Alain made me take up smoking again. Well, just two for the few minutes we were together during morning and afternoon breaks on the street. It was my initiative to buy a French self-taught book on a lunch hour. He taught me to love Edith Piaf and Charles Aznavour ballads. I began wearing a slinky bra from Victoria’s Secret that made my breasts jiggle even if Alain didn’t notice.
If love was not on his menu, neither was sex.
“How come you don’t have a girlfriend, Alain?” We were standing on Lexington Avenue after work when I finally asked the rude question, but I needed an answer. I had to know if he was gay or impotent or practicing for the priesthood.
“Eh, bien, women here are....” The Gallic shrug came back. “The word is Puritan, I believe.”
“Puritanical? Get out of here! Haven’t you heard of women’s liberation?”
He sighed with an exaggeration only the French can pull off, making me feel like a child. “American woman have a certain...um, reputation.”
“What do you mean?” My eyes got all squinty, but it might have been from the smoke from my cigarette.
“I will tell you a story. A French policeman was patrolling a beach - perhaps Cannes - and saw a drowned wom
an. He ran for assistance, but when he returned he saw a man fucking the woman. He cried, ‘Monsieur, that woman is dead!’ ‘Mon dieu,’ the man said, ‘I thought she was an American.’”
“That’s terrible!” I said, and then burst out laughing. “Shall I prove it?” I couldn’t believe the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. I sounded like such a whore.
He put his hand on my elbow and squeezed tenderly. “I have wanted to show you my affection, Erin, but I was afraid - do not laugh - that you would...oh, I don’t know the word. I would like to buy you some wine and then we will have dinner and then I will show you my very small apartment. May I?”
Fortunately, I was wearing a silky blouse and skirt that swirled when I turned. And the slinky bra. Okay, I admit. It was all calculated to bypass Alain’s brain and focus on his sex drive.
And it worked.
***
That evening in his apartment he was suitably admiring as he unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off my shoulders. By that time, my arms were around his neck and I was trying to nibble his ear. Did I tell you I was also making mental notes that his nose was absolutely straight and his cheeks were sculpted bronze and his hair was soft as a kitten’s? I felt him slipping my skirt to the floor and his hands were cupping that bubble ass.
“Let me sit down on your bed,” I whispered. “I’m losing control.”
I don’t know how he undressed himself so quickly. Oh, yes, Superman in the elevator. But, please, I begged for some Heavenly body to make the ravishment last and last. Then he was lying with half his body on mine, fondling one breast with his slim fingers while his mouth suckled my other breast’s nipple. Yes! It was lasting. Unthinking, I reached down and let my fingers explore his crotch, floating over the mystery of his engorged cock and marveling at the kind of plumbing I hadn’t felt for more than a year. My fingernails tickled his balls and the sweaty crevice between his legs.
Then, the most ecstatic thing happened as he took my head in both hands, kissed me lightly and stared into my eyes. “I think my research is finished, Erin, and you are the one most important person I have ever known.”
“You studied me?” I could only whisper.
“Love is too important to be treated casually. I did not simply want to go to bed, cherie. I wanted to put your heart in my pocket. I had to know there was perhaps a chance you felt that way about me.”
My mouth went to his and my tongue explored his throat as far as it would go. In an instant, he covered me with his body. I felt the fine hairs of his chest and stomach first, and then the pressure of his torso on my loins. A hand - my lover’s hand - found my pussy and unlocked my lips. Rising a bit, I eagerly invited him to move into me, to take a journey up my slippery cavity and explore every part of the darkness there. Could he reach inside through my vagina and touch my heart?
Men are so hard and muscular and I never felt more like a soft, fleshy vessel waiting to be filled. He began to fill that container with his strength the way I would slide fresh fruit into a Zip Lock bag.
We rose and fell together like the tide as he navigated his body. It was so comfortable simply nestling my face in his neck, tasting the salt of his skin and smelling his man sweat while the rhythm of the universe rocked us together.
A small part of my note-taking continued. Memo to self: my heart is racing and a strange feeling is coursing through my body like an electric current. A fire has been lit and some inner magic is taking over my brain. Sweat on our bellies is making us as slippery as hot fishes. Only his stout peg inside my puss is holding me from sliding away. My legs rise and bend at the knee to expose my bottom to his onslaught. Please, God, if I’m going to die, let it be with this man inside me.
Dimly, I was aware that Alain’s hands were cupping my butt and lifting me to meet each of his thrusts. The pushes were coming faster and I needed to close down my brain in order to catch up.
Then it happened with a deafening sound I recognized as my own moaning cry of desire. He rammed into me, raising my hips off the bed. I could feel his ejaculations coming again and again, even through the condom, in his explosion of bodily fluid. My contractions continued a while longer, making me feel blessed to be a woman fulfilled.
We finally deflated into the mattress and lay there panting, wordless, a single animal tightly clasped in on itself.
“Now there are no more secrets between us,” he said softly. “But so many more things yet to discover.”
***
“I may be schizo,” I confessed. “At work, I’m a buttoned-up career girl. When I leave the building, I’m a bird flying high over the land. Is that crazy?”
“If you are a little songbird, then I am a bird of prey ready to chase you and eat you for my dinner.”
“I’m serious. Everyone wears a mask in the office, protecting their inner secrets. It’s inhuman.”
“Well, you could let it all hang out as the leader of a nudist colony,” he laughed.
It was eight p.m. when even the whoosh of street traffic had ended. I had a deadline to meet and Alain had nicely waited for me to finish. The cleaning ladies had left when he took me by the hand up the stairwell to Mahogany Row where the senior officers worked.
“Here,” he said opening the door at the end of the hall.
“Holy shit, Alain! This is the CEO’s office. I know what you’re thinking, but....”
“He has a very fine sofa and the artwork is quite good. Hudson River school of painting, I think. I was here fixing his computer.”
“But we could be terminated!”
“We could be fired for making love in your cubicle.”
I was in over my head and let him lead me to the contemporary sofa. Nervously, I pulled off my panties as Alain dropped his slacks. Then he entered me with a blind desire that didn’t require foreplay from either of us. I was hungry to have this man between my legs vacuuming up all my anxiety, apprehension and misgivings about being alone for the rest of my life. My lust had gotten in the way of sensibility. I lived for these moments when I could wrap my arms around his back and feel him clasp my soul.
Our passion had grown with practice so we could now climax simultaneously and with great speed. Still, there was my moaning - not loudly, but uncontrollably. The world always stopped when he entered me. I was suspended as he carried me up higher and higher, reaching for an impossible height of ecstasy. Then we exploded and I was fulfilled again.
“My panties,” I said, hoping I hadn’t left a stain on the sofa.
“No, I’m keeping them as my souvenir. To the victor belong the spoils.”
“Alain! I’m wearing a skirt. I can’t take the bus home to Jersey bare-assed without panties.”
He put my satin thong to his nose and sniffed. “I want you to remember me when the breeze whistles past your sweet little cunt. Besides, you have more panties, I am sure.”
***
The next day was a horribly hot and humid scorcher. Harriet’s secretary summoned me upstairs. Even today, I relive that horrifying command appearance every time there’s a heat wave.
“Sit,” Harriet ordered while continuing to sign papers. “Erin.” With that word I knew trouble was coming.
She took off her reading glasses to stare at me, this fiftyish woman in black suit and severe masculine blouse. “You’ve been seeing a fellow in IT, a techie named Alain Chastenet?”
“Ah, the Help Desk. Yes, we’ve had coffee a couple of times. He’s French, I think.”
“He’s an illegal immigrant. Did you know that? An agent from Immigration and Customs Enforcement came here today.”
“Why, no. I thought only Latin Americans....”
She held up one finger to make me shut my mouth. “You and this illegal were seen in Mr. Black’s office the other night. There was a very small security camera recording your...can I call it a soi
rée?” A smile that held no humor moved her lips slightly. “A very impressive show of you copulating on Mr. Black’s sofa, I understand.” She templed her fingers, drawing out the silence. “I understand also that a condom was found behind a chair. I would surmise a DNA test could be done on its...contents to determine the careless person’s identity, but I don’t know if that’s necessary.”
“And, your question...?”
“No questions. No excuses. Consider yourself terminated. Immediately. Security will be in your office now to watch you clean out your desk. Payroll will send you a check for whatever you’re owed.”
“And Alain?”
“Not my affair. That’s all.”
As I got to the door, she called. “Erin, you were a good employee. I’m sorry you couldn’t keep your legs together during working hours.”
My personal goods fit into my handbag, my briefcase and a Macy’s shopping bag. As I stepped out onto Lexington Avenue, Alain called my name.
“You too?” he asked. “That was fast.” He crossed his arms and laughed.
“I don’t think it’s a bit funny. I’m out of work. I’m embarrassed. I think I’m ready to cry.”
“Ah, cherie.” He put his arms around me, making me drop the shopping bag. “This is life. It’s the adventure and pain we endure for love.”
“Adventure?”
He picked up my shopping bag and guided me up the avenue. “You see, the rumors have already begun. Several people came to congratulate me. They believe I danced around Black’s office while you stood naked on his desk crowing like a chicken and flapping your arms. Priceless!”
“Oh, no!”
“My darling, you and I know the facts, but this is a legend of magnificent proportion. And you a writer! Don’t you know that when facts collide with the legend, you screw the facts and print the legend? They will forever remember Erin Mullally and her French terrorist.”
“Alain, Immigration arrested you....”
“No, I have a summons to see them in their tired little offices.” He sighed dramatically. “Before that, I will return to France and see about a job opening at France Telecom. And you, my little bird, you are coming with me and we will marry - if you will please have me - and we will gobble up life together.”
Executive Sweetie Page 1
