by Nora Flite
As if she knew I was thinking of her, she appeared in the cafeteria doorway. And she took one look at me and Jim, sitting there together, and her face darkened. She looked pissed.
“Hey, Riley!” he called, waving her over, but she ignored him and stomped right up to me, instead. That’s when I saw that she was holding something in her fisted hand. It was my phone, and it was ringing off the hook.
“You left this at your desk,” Riley said. “It’s disrupting everyone’s work.”
I flushed, reaching out to grab it from Riley, and silence the ringer. A quick glance told me it was Simon, but I knew that without looking. It would explain how rattled I’d felt, and how difficult it had been to concentrate on my work. Somewhere out there, I knew, Simon was thinking of me, too.
But I silenced the phone anyway.
“Sorry, Riley,” I said, shaking my head. It didn’t make much sense that she'd been bothered by my phone—Riley’s cube was halfway across our office. And it wasn't the quietest place, anyway. People chatted and took calls and listened to bad top 40 hits on Pandora all the time.
But then I saw tears that were welling in Riley’s eyes, and realized that the phone was only half of it.
“We were supposed to have lunch together,” she blurted. I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. Were we? I hadn’t remembered promising her anything. Still, I couldn’t fault her for assuming. We had lunch together on most days, after all.
“Oh, god. Sorry,” I said, and meant it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jim gesturing hopefully to the table we shared.
“You could always join us,” he offered. Riley rolled her eyes.
“No way in hell,” she snapped.
“I can take a hint,” Jim said easily, gathered his garbage onto a tray, and rose to leave. Had to admit, I admired his ability to roll with the punches.
Before Riley could sit down, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A text. It must have been Simon. And as much as I wanted to patch things up with my work wife, I could feel my own desire tugging at me.
“I’m . . . actually done,” I said, trying to stuff down my guilt at Riley’s bruised expression. “I really need to work on finishing up this presentation today.”
It wasn’t a lie. In fact, it was absolutely true. But the phone vibrating in my pocket told a different story, and I think Riley knew it.
“This isn’t over that guy?” she whispered to me as Jim left us to head to the elevator. Part of me bristled. So what if it was?
“Just trying to win that bet,” I told her with a wink, but her expression didn’t soften any. I cleared my setting at the table, grabbed that napkin, and stuffed it into my pocket. “Come on, Riley. It’s all in good fun. I know what I’m doing.”
“I hope so,” she said, as I headed to the stairwell. Her voice rang out even as the door swung closed behind me. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Save your concern trolling for someone else,” I muttered. I told myself that it was just about the bet. She was probably a sore loser, annoyed to see that Simon was so interested in me. I stopped in the stairwell, trying to let the last vestige of my anger go. Then I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my texts and missed calls.
There were nine calls. Nine! Damn, he was really desperate to talk to me. He hadn’t left a message, which didn’t surprise me. It didn’t really seem like his way. But he had sent me a text. I opened it, my heart racing wildly.
Simon
Check your Perfect Click mail.
I frowned, squinting down at the phone. Because that’s all it said—no heart emoji, not a single dirty word. Simple. Plain. Commanding. Why did even that make my pussy thrum? I couldn’t check my mail on my phone—I didn’t have the app installed. Couldn’t, since it was forbidden by the company and they’d given me a company phone. But I supposed it couldn’t hurt to go back to my desktop to check. I raced up the steps, taking them two at a time as I went.
7
It didn’t take long to get back to my desk, but it felt like a lifetime later by the time I logged in and brought up my Perfect Click profile. There it was—a message from Peacock87. I braced myself for dirty talk, for some kind of hint that I was driving him as wild as he was driving me.
But Simon hadn’t said a word. The only thing in that email was a link. Weird. I clicked on it.
A video popped up. It took a moment for my mind to catch up with what I was seeing. Porn. It was porn. Panting, moaning porn, showing a guy stroking his huge cock. I quickly turned my speakers off, but I didn’t hit stop, even though I knew better. Fuck. I was at work. I had a presentation due soon. But still, I was transfixed.
I knew that hand, with tattoos curling around the wrist and knuckles. I knew that cock, too, long and smooth and so, so hard. It was Simon. Simon’s hand stroking Simon’s cock.
I didn’t breathe. I didn’t move. I just sat there, as though hypnotized, watching Simon’s cock twitch in his tight grip. I shifted forward in my seat, and that’s when a second message popped up.
I know you’re still watching. You’ve probably turned the sound off, but you can’t take your eyes off me. - S
I looked frantically around my office. Did he somehow know? But everyone’s heads were down, focused on their work. I should have been, too, but all I could do was tremble in my seat, barely resisting the urge to touch myself. His hand moved up and down, massaging precum over his cock. I wanted to feel it, taste it. I wanted him inside me. I was going crazy.
But I didn’t want to tell him that. It would have been too easy, and Simon seemed to like a challenge. Steeling myself, I clicked back over to my Perfect Click email and began to type.
Get a life. - T
I hit send. But oh, I was full of shit because I couldn’t stop watching him. Goose bumps tightened over my legs and arms. I was rocking back and forth in my office chair, feeling my pussy rub against the plush fabric.
Simon’s answer came almost immediately.
I want you to touch yourself.
No signature this time. It wasn’t necessary. His pumping fist had slowed, but his cock was an angry red color. He was getting close.
No, I shot back. His answer was just as swift.
I know that you want it. Think about how it would feel to have my cock against your pussy. I want to drive you crazy with it. I’ll squeeze myself inside that hot little cunt of yours, and you’ll feel me ride you until you’re screaming for more.
Fuck. Fuck, he knew just what to say, just precisely what was needed to get my pulse running. I slid my hand into my saturated panties. My clit was firm, broadcasting my need for release. I started rubbing myself in quick, quiet circles.
I hadn’t answered his email, and yet still another one came in. With one shaking hand, I opened it, just as I was dipping the other deep inside me.
I know that you’re touching yourself now. I know how wet I make you. I bet you’re close. You won’t be able to keep your mouth shut when you come, not even at work.
My fingers moved at a quicker pace. All moisture abandoned my tongue. He was right; I was close, and this was dangerous. I wanted to scream already, and I hadn’t come yet. But desire was peaking inside of me. Any moment now, I’d be filled with orgasmic waves.
“Tazzy?”
Riley. Riley’s voice, at the door of my cube.
I yanked my hand out of my pants, reaching for the power button on my monitor. But somehow in the process, my hand got tangled in the cord, and I ended up yanking the whole flat screen onto the ground. My insides tightened as I watched it fall with a definitive thud. All I could do was lift my hand and cover my face in horror.
“Oh no,” I said.
When I peeked between my fingers, I could see Riley staring. And worse, a few of my neighbors had stood up in their cubes, peeking down to see what the commotion was.
“Are you okay?” Riley asked. My heart was in my throat, but I let out a huge sigh of relief. If she'd seen me touching myself, she'd be freaking out, and s
he wasn't. I dropped my hands to my lap. The desire was fading now, replaced by embarrassment.
“I’m fine, Ri,” I told her. “Did you need something?”
“Uh,” she glanced at our co-workers who were peering quizzically at us. She didn’t look angry or tearful, not like she had before, but there was a strange hardness to her expression. Guess we definitely needed to have a chat. “We can talk about it later.”
“Cool,” I said, grateful that as she walked away, she shot everyone warning looks. Maybe things really were okay between us. I held on to a shred of hope as my coworkers all turned back to their work, and away from mine.
My hands were vibrating as I bent over to put my monitor back on the desk. It looked okay, but really, there was no telling until I plugged it in. I held my breath. At least, after a series of loud, creaking noises, it came to life again. And there was Simon’s cock, shivering toward orgasm; I quickly closed the video.
My Perfect Click inbox lit up a few more times that afternoon, but I deleted Simon’s messages without even reading them. Part of me wanted to take a peek. But I couldn’t. I was losing too much of myself in our lust and this bet had transformed into something much bigger. I was willing to put a lot on the line for that motorcycle, but not my job, or my sense of pride. I wasn’t supposed to be using our service for dating anyway. Once those rules had meant something to me.
I tried not to think about how much I’d changed over a few short days, and all because of Simon. I couldn’t. It was too terrifying.
So I put on my headphones, and settled into my work.
At 4:45, Riley stopped by my desk, like she always did.
“Burning the midnight oil?” she asked me. She looked worried. After my display that afternoon, I’d be worried, too.
“It’s not even five yet,” I told her. Then I added, “I really need to finish up this presentation for the investors.”
She bit her lip, like she was going to say something. Maybe mock me about the bet, or my lunch with Jim. But she didn’t. “Cool,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Riley,” I said, sliding off my headphones before she could escape. I was concerned, really I was. I didn’t want to lose her as a friend and I had a foreboding sense she was upset at me. “Are we okay?”
The corners of her mouth trembled. “Yeah, I just . . . ”
“What?” I pressed.
“Well, I guess I’m a little bummed that things are working out so well with Peacock. You know me. Anti-love forever.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “It’s not love. At least not on my side. Trust me, as soon as I get your money, Simon and I are done-zo.”
I saw Riley chew over that. At last, her lips twisted into a wry smile. “What makes you so sure you’re going to win?”
“Trust me on this one,” I said, grinning. She grinned back.
“I'll believe it when I see him bending over backwards for you with a rose in his mouth. Until then, I’m counting down the days until I get my new gaming laptop.”
“Yeah yeah yeah.”
“I gotta run,” she said. “But don’t get too cocky.”
“I think I’m appropriately cocky,” I laughed. I gave her a wave and then ducked back down into my cube.
It was a relief to know that everything was fine between us. With that out of the way, the only nagging thought was Simon. But work was more important than that—Perfect Click had existed long before him, and would long after. So I worked and worked until my eyes were crossed and my fingers ached from typing.
But around dinner time, thoughts of Simon drifted back to me. I wondered what he was doing, what he was wearing. I remembered the video, and a surge of desire shuddered through me. No, no, I scolded myself, getting up to stretch my legs. It wasn’t time to talk to him, not yet. But maybe time for a snack. That would get my mind out of the gutter.
I got up from my chair, crossing the quiet office. No one was around, not Jim, not even Travis. I was thrillingly alone as I went to the vending machine and started counting out my pocket change.
“I’d recommend Hot Fries,” a familiar voice intoned. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Jesus Christ!” I cried. When I spun around, there was Simon. He was wearing his motorcycle jacket, helmet in hand. I could smell the breeze on him, and the sweet scent of motor oil. He smelled so good that I had to fight the urge to jump his bones immediately. I pictured him bending me over the copier, taking me from behind. It was delicious, naughty. Forbidden. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d stop by and say hello. See how you liked my video.”
I turned back to the vending machine, my cheeks burning. “You are such a stalker.” I hadn’t even remembered telling him where I worked, but I must have, at some point. Sometime between the back alley fucking and the bathroom fucking, I guess. But I had no time to think about that. I had work I needed to get done tonight.
“Please,” he said, but it was in a teasing voice, not a cruel one. “You love it.”
Gritting my teeth, I pushed my change into the slot and watched the machine slowly drop a baggie of potato chips. It got stuck halfway. Simon watched all of this, one eyebrow arched in amusement. When the machine froze, he jostled it with a single finger, his massive muscles not even straining from the force. Two bags of chips fell out. He handed me one, then pocketed the other.
“You’re welcome,” he said. I rolled my eyes, then hustled off to my desk.
Simon, of course, followed me.
“I have work to do. You know you almost made me break my monitor today?” I told him as I made my way across the cube farm. I couldn’t see his expression, but there was a long stretch of silence at that. “I don’t have time for you to ruin all of my possessions.”
Simon laughed a little too hard for my liking at that comment. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said.
I sat down in my office chair. He hovered beside me, folding his arms. “If you have a ton to do, I’ll help you.”
“You don’t know anything about my work,” I told him, bringing up the documents. I clicked through them, frowning at the design. “You’re just some kind of gearhead mechanic or something, right?”
Simon chuckled. “No, I’m a director of marketing at a consulting firm. And your font choice is all off on there.”
I don’t know why, but that surprised me. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Marketing made sense; after all, he’d begun to sell me on him, hadn’t he?
I pushed that thought away and leaned forward. Part of me bristled at the idea of taking design advice from Simon, but another part of me knew that I needed his help. And my work was important to me, the most important thing in my life. “Do you have any other feedback?” I asked. He stood back, gazing at my design.
“Print out a proof,” he said to me. “We’ll sit down and talk about it.”
I hesitated only a moment before I did as I was told. And to my shock, that was how we spent the next two hours—talking about my design, tweaking it, making sure that everything was perfect. Simon had an impressively good eye. He wasn’t a new version of himself as we worked together, simply a better one.
He spoke to me simply, with a firm and commanding presence that made me sit up straighter and pay attention. But it wasn’t completely professional. A sharp awareness of his body was at the forefront of my mind. Every time he inhaled before speaking, or put his hand on the small of my back, or brushed the top of my hand with his fingertips, my heart stuttered in my chest.
It was nearly ten when the project was finished. I shutdown my monitor and stood, uncertain of what to do or say next. I had the thrilling sensation that I hadn’t been with this Simon before. The pushy, hypersexual one, sure. But not the decent guy who was willing to give up an evening to help someone with her work.
Abruptly he stood and stepped close to me, cupping my face in his hands. “I have a secret for you,” he whispered.
Butterflies rampaged in my gut. “What?”
> “I like smart women.” His grip tightened possessively. “I like hard working women. And I liked you before I knew you were blessed with both those gifts.” He kissed me deeply, fiercely. Before I knew it, he’d swept me off my feet, pressing my ass on to the top of my desk. I was probably mashing a dozen keys beneath me, but I didn’t care. As he kissed me, his cock grinded against my body, straining the fabric of his jeans. His strong hands swept down the tender flesh of my throat and caressed my breasts, my belly, then slipped right up my skirt.
“Simon,” I said in a rush. “What are you doing?”
It was kind of a rhetorical question. His hands were caressing the damp fabric, as my body opened beneath it.
“I wanted to see if you listened to me,” he said. “I wanted to see if you were still wearing those panties.”
I opened my legs. I wanted his hands inside me, and he obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, slipping his fingers between my warm, waiting lips. I moaned, my hips bucking.
“Good girl,” he purred. “You listened.” His breath was hot and heavy against my collarbone. It grew more ragged as he rocked against me, his fingers working my clit. I felt his lips curl into a smile.
“Bad girl,” he corrected himself. I didn’t know which was right. His fingers were rubbing me, and my pleasure was a furious storm ready to rain down on us. If this was bad, I didn’t want to be good. I could feel myself opening, could feel another finger slip inside. His cock was hard as a rock against my hip.
“You’re so wet,” he panted. “You must have been thinking about me all day.”
“It was the only thing I thought about,” I managed to whisper. He had three fingers inside me now, and they were moving slowly in and out. But his thumb remained firm on my clit, rubbing with such steady pressure that it felt like I might explode.
