by Bella Shade
Fool Like You
by
Bella Shade
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.
1
Alice Lively
Damn. I hate seeing this arrogant beautiful bastard first thing in the morning. But how am I supposed to avoid him. By being late to work? No way.
I quicken my pace through the enormous glass door of the building of Dyer and Co, looking at my watch. Right on time. Passing through the crowd, I see the dark haired bastard arriving at the elevator, wearing his clean cut suit that probably costs double my monthly paycheck. Every woman in the building tries to get his attention somehow, seizing him up, fiddling with their hair. You name it. Rarely does a day pass without my co-employees gushing about how they fantasize about him.
All but me. I can’t stand him. I watch him walk indifferently with his chin up as if the world revolved around him. Such an arrogant bastard who happens to be my boss, and actually owns this entire building.
If we have one single thing in common it would be our commitment to What we do. I always arriving on time. Never late. I worked my ass off to get where I am.
I pretend my high heels slow me down so I could take the next elevator. I didn’t sleep well yesterday. I spend all night calculating how I am supposed to fulfill this month's financial obligations, so I could spare having my boss giving me a hard time this morning. If it were for me, I can take care of myself. It's just that I pay my mother and sister's bills, too.
Slowly, the bastard turns his head and looks at me with those green eyes, seizing me from top to bottom. Like usual, I can't read his mind. Everyone knows you can't read Sebastian Dyer's min if he doesn't want you to. It's he his most beloved technique when doing business.
Is that a smirk on his face?
I act like I don’t see him as a small crowd hurries into the elevator after him.
Thank God. Now I could take the other one.
“Alice,” I hear his sharp voice call me from inside the elevator. “We don’t have all day.”
B.A.S.T.A.R.D.
Why doesn’t he call me Ms. Lively? No one is this building calls their secretaries by their first name but him.
I purse my lips and walk to the elevator, almost hypnotized by his demanding voice. I hate it when I feel like that.
Entering the elevator I plaster an insincere smile on my lips. Every time I look at him closely, I try not to admire his gorgeous looks.
Every time!
I turn around and face the door. I press my floor button a little harder than usual instead of puffing in anger or kicking him in the balls with the tip of my heels. It’s amazing what a girl in heels can do to her enemies even if they are standing behind her.
Wy do I feel so aggressive. I guess I am only nervous with hims standing behind me.
The crowd in the elevator stand firm like a horde of cattle, afraid to offend him in any way. A couple of them cling to their suitcases, pretending to be checking the floor. It’s not like the famous Sebastian Dyer gets angry at his employees or something; he just has that look that strips people naked in front of him.
I roll my eyes, wondering if he is unapologetically checking my ass. He is known for not taking no for an answers and being unapologetically blunt wit women. Sometimes, I wonder how many women he has slept with.
A couple of businessmen try to hop into the elevator, one of them stop the door before it closes. They must be visitors or they wouldn’t dare.
“Take the next one!” Sebastian says in one piercing note.
The look on the mam's face is full of puzzlement at first. Sebastian's demanding voice is unescapable. It's not that you just have to obey him, but you have too him fast.
The man shakes his head out of Sebastian's hypnotic order and knots his face, "Who do you think you are?" The man takes the challenge. "You think you own the building?"
Silence suffocates us all in the elevator for a moment. Most of the employees lower their heads. Most of us try not laugh.
"It's a skyscraper, not a building," Sebastian corrects him. "An yes, I own the building."
The man shrugs and let go of the door at the same time. As the door closes, I see him loosen his tie and sweat.
Here we go again, silent sheep with our wolf boss.
I really wish to get to my office as fast as I can. I don't have time to watch the women in the office drool when see him,like everyday. They are going to be whispering about him and do the best they can so he'd notice them. giggling about him. I know the bastard is drop dead gorgeous – and I did secretly fantasize about him sometimes. But he is a selfish, arrogant, and a pompous jerk who does nothing but dominate every one around him.
The elevator stops, and a string of people walk out. I can’t believe my ears when I hear a woman whisper to her friend about wanting to lick Dyer’s smooth skin on their way out. It’s always like this; women whispering dirty thoughts two steps away from him, wishing he would hear them. But even if he does, you can’t read much into Mr Dyer because he rarely talks. The best he can do is bestow a humiliating glance down upon you for not doing your job right, and you’d feel like you want to disappear. I know I said this before. I guess it's all about me being nervous again.
Silent. Gorgeous. Asshole.
If I haven't worked hard all of my life to earn my place in society, I’d turn around and slap him on the face. Well, maybe kiss those lips and then slap him. Paycheck is certainly a bitch.
Sometimes in the office, Mr. Dyer asks me to do pick up a folder he has just dropped intentionally on the floor, only to check me out. Sometimes he asks me to poor him coffee while he is leaning back in his comfortable chair. Bending over, I know is staring at my cleavage. Then when I am done, he asks me to pour in more coffee for his own amusement. Although I don’t like it, I learned to look away since I can’t lose it and show my anger and lose what I worked so hard for.
Ten more floors and I will get this billionaire bastard off my back, I tell myself.
And I’ll get him out of my head.
But I still feel his eyes on my back. His silence is killing me, and I am so mad at myself for secretly liking it. Actually, if he manages to stay silent forever, I would surrender to the daydreams I have about him. We could fuck in the meeting room, on his desk, in the ladies room, in the gym on lunch break, and in the… ahem… the elevator. I’d be in my satin sheets, and I’d let him inside while calling him a pig, and the bastard wouldn’t be able to say a word because I’ll make him lose his cool. I’ll make him surrender to my charm, and maybe teach him that not all woman would lay down and kiss his feet like they always do.
A girl can still have dirty, irrational fantasies, right? Even if she had a rough life and worked hard to fit in.
Another string of crowd walks out. It’s only me and him now. As the elevator chugs up, my nipples harden. It puzzles me that we have never been alone in the elevator before. Where is Tina, the girl who works on the same floor with us? And where Marco, the male secretary?
I swallow hard, touching my necklace. I wish I had eyes in my back. Why doesn’t he speak to me? All men, strangers, wouldn’t miss an opportunity to start a meaningless conversation with me once we get alone.
Say something. God. Damn. It.
Should I turn around and face him? Why isn’t he talking today, saying stupid things like ‘You did that wrong, Alice!’ or ‘I told this a thousand times!’?
What’s going to happen? I have a strange feeling about today. I know that I am vulnerable to his touch somehow. My traitor nipples hardens once we get alone for God’s sake.
“I want the files on the Rockford case ready in an hour,” He finally says.
Thank God. I let out a sigh and don’t mind him noticing.
“But it’s i
mpossible to get that done in an hour,” I comment, turning around and facing him. He hasn’t moved an inch. “It’s at least—“
“This isn’t a request, Alice.” His voice is colorless.
I turn around, trying not to admire his face or suit. I have contradicting feelings wanting to axe him and desiring to push him against the wall and kiss that sultry mouth of his in the same time.
Pig. Bastard. Billionaire.
I grit on my teeth, waiting to get out. He never even complimented me on my professional work outfits. He never thanked me for doing something right.
“Aren’t you going to tell me, ‘As you wish, Mr Dyer?’” He says.
I swear I could see him smirk with the imaginary eyes in the back of my head. I always forget this jerk loves this phrase. He wasn’t shy about reminding me, or any of the staff, to say it.
It would have been a lot easier if he wasn’t beautiful. I could have turned around and slapped him on the face, kicked him in the crotch, and lost my job happily ever after.
“As you wish Mr Dyer.” I give in, fidgeting like a little shy girl as I turn around again. Better let him stare at my ass than me being haplessly enchanted by his looks. One floor left and I am out of here. I leave on the tenth floor and he usually dials a secret code on the panel and gets to his private last floor above the office. God knows what that last floor overlooking New York city’s skyline looks like. I heard it’s a heaven of its own up there and he likes to spend the first hour of day in it. Sometimes, he spends the night in his high castle.
Come on, elevator. Let me get out.
“One more time,” He says. “Say it one more time.”
“As you wish, Mr Dyer,” I say to the fucker, wondering what’s on his sick mind today. I can’t deny his voice is rough, yet sweet. The kind of voice I would want to wake up to in the morning. Everything about him is so good, all except his jackass personality.
Suddenly, I hear a faint rustle behind me, and a hand is pressed gently on my lower back before sliding down and resting on my ass. My eyes widen and my heart is caught in my throat. I freeze in my place, wondering about what’s happening. I’ve worked here for over six months and he never touched me.
2
I feel the heat from his strong hand pass through my skirt and onto my skin. My nipples betray me again and harden on their own volition. His touch is sudden and unexpected I need time to breathe and think if this is one of my daydreaming days about him. I don't k wow why I am not doing something about it. An overwhelming feeling surges through me.
His other thick arm appears beside me and dials the secret code on the panel. The elevator doesn’t stop and continues to his private chamber upstairs. Before I could say anything, his twin arms appear on either side of my head and a low voice next to my ear murmurs, “I like it when you say that,” I feel his breath on my neck. He smells so good and the heat he passes to my neck is tightening my breath. “Say it again.” He commanded.
“As you wish, Mr Dyer.” My lips betray me into saying this. I am already imagining his hand cupping my breasts. I blink in wide-eyed confusion. Should I pinch myself? Is this really happening? Why the heck am I enjoying this?
I think I am waiting for the door to open as we trek upwards, but the elevator doesn’t stop at his private floor. It goes higher. What is going on? Where are we going?
My breath almost stops with the elevator at the last floor in the building. It’s not really a floor. When the elevator grounds to a halt and its door opens I am looking at a glass window that overlooks the city skyline. I am on top of the world, a little too close to the clouds. That’s much higher than being swept off your feet.
He pushes me gently against the glass, my hips betraying me again and arching for him. Am I going to accuse each part of my body of betrayal or is it me who wants this?
The cool glass against my sensitive nipples evokes a breathless moan, not only out of my mouth but from the pores of my skin, accompanied by a light shiver. He pulls my hands up, palms against the window. Every part of my body obeys him. Something he’s always been used to, but I am not.
Then I feel his hard length against my body.
“You smell so good,” he grows like an caveman in a suit. His voice is low, steady, confident, demanding, and so sexy my whole body wriggles to it. I long to hear it again but can’t tell him. “Naughty girl,” He grants my secret wish.
His hand moves up and we lace fingers against the window glass as he dips his head over my neck. Intentionally, he doesn’t touch my neck. He breathes warm air over it and the veins in my neck harden with pleasure and pain. I want him to sink his mouth in my neck, lick my skin, but he keeps slow, teasing me.
I think I am going to blackout. His voice and his breath are a diabolic combination that I am too week to resist. I close my eyes, allowing the heat of the morning sun to kiss my closed eyelids, and I let out a long sigh as the orange behind my eyelids fills my imagination.
I’m about to moan and tell him that I want his touch badly, but I’d never let that Billionaire Bastard know that. My body has deceived me already.
“Alice,” He pronounces with that low lilt in his voice. He brushes his nose against my earlobe, letting me feel his need. His touch sends a short circuit through my brain. I think my eyes roll back under the lids. He lets out a warmer and longer breath like a dying fish longing for air, which is now his lust for me.
I could still hear the resonating echoes of him calling my name seconds ago. “Do you taste as good as you smell?” He says. This time his voice is more demanding than before. His words sounds like asking, but there isn’t one hint for that in his tone. This is an implacable order. I find myself adjusting my head for him so he sinks his mouth into my neck like his life depended on it. His lips slide over the skin in my neck, then behind my tongue, slowly, so slowly biting my earlobes, then his tongue flicks out to my neck again.
Still, with my eyes closed, I am enjoying this. Oh. God. I am enjoying this billionaire bastard.
When he starts nipping on my neck and cheek, my body presses back against his manhood, rubbing it slightly. I don’t want him to know how much I like this. He is a jerk. A beautiful jerk.
But he catches my move and responds, rotating his hips to suit my slight movement. I think he is smirking behind me but I can’t see. I am still not opening my eyes. It feels better that way, enjoying this with my eyes closed.
“Fuck,” He says.
His hands trail down across my hips as he still enjoys by back rubbing his front. It’s like a dance. A slow burning dance without much room for taking your breath. His hands rub my sides and then sneak back to rub my behind, slightly squeezing the flesh back there. I can see he likes it and it’s tearing me apart.
His hand finally glides down my thighs. I open my eyes. Like a voyager his hands inspect the area, curious, longing, and knowing where he wants to go. Slowly, he lifts up the hem of my skirt, moving his rough fingers across the smooth skin of my inner thigh before he pulls my skirt up toward my hips.
I find myself pressing my legs together, trapping one of his hands in between. I don’t know if it’s out of need or if I have second thoughts about this.
But he doesn’t know of hesitation, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. “Spread your legs,” He says. Demeaning this time, but also a little softer.
I obey immediately and my legs part to give his fingers access, sliding along the outside of my soaked panties.
I gasp loudly as his fingers press against my aching core. Oh. My. God.
I open my eyes.
The pain, the pleasure, is sensational I think I am seeing things that don’t make sense. Maybe it’s the sun heating up my skin.
How is this happening to me? I am trapped between the glass window overlooking the city of New York and his live hot body behind me. I am up there in the clouds, not thinking if there is anyone who could see me like that and this high. But there are no higher buildings than ours. His building. His erection, is what
he likes to call it sometimes. Sebastian is number one architects in the city.
Every fantasy I’d secretly had with the billionaire bastard is just happening, really happening, and I am not doing anything to stop it. This is so not like me.
His pulsing, strong fingers slide across my clit with increasing frequency. Something inside me is screaming euphorically. My hips, my legs, and my whole body moves on its own as if it’s not mine, as if it’s his, belonging to his demand and pleasure. I am going to fight with myself later for this, I know. Kickboxing with my shadow, crashing my reflection in the mirror. But right now it’s too enjoyable to think of its consequences. I love this, and I am doing my best not to show how much I love it. If I do, even this bastard will freak out. Who are you fooling, Alice? He fucking knows you love it!
The more his fingers work their charm, the more I crave his touch. I can feel his intensity and pleasure rising. He likes this as much as I do, even more. His head rises up for a second and sink back with his teeth into my shoulder. If he bites me, I won’t scream, because I don’t mind. I like feeling of his teeth on the back of my shoulder, and it isn’t painful. It feels like a release of a beautiful tension, a butterfly oozing out of its cocoon.
He slides his fingers again beneath the thin cotton and lace and strokes my wet skin, pulling at my tender opening in a way that has me moaning so loud my voice echoes in the elevator – what ever that Land of Oz machine we’re in is. Are you hearing this, world? Moaning this high near the clouds?
“That’s right,” he says behind me. I am sure he has a smug on his face. “Let me touch take you even higher above the clouds.”
Bastard! Did he read my thoughts?
“I need you to come for me,” he whispers, sounding full of himself. When he doesn’t talk, his lips and teeth run back immediately to my now-boneless neck. His fingers push deeper inside me. His thumb is flicking my hard nub in a way I know he wouldn’t stop whatever what. I can’t stop myself from coming, my legs are shaking, my eyelids are throbbing, the sunlight is flashing in my eyes as I am about to reach the zenith of my orgasm. I see rainbows with my trembling eyes. In fact, I don’t see anything. It’s a moment of intolerable and intense feelings that you’d think you’d die if this keeps escalating.
