by Mia Madison
And then my mind explodes with more lights than a tacky Christmas neighborhood as he cups both hands around my cheeks and covers my mouth with his hard, demanding lips.
I am obliterated by his tongue probing expertly around mine, lapping and pulling with intense inquiry. Like he wants to know me through the sensation of taste alone, he licks my mouth and nips along the lower edge of my lip. A gush of liquid slides into my underwear and I realize my panties are soaked through. More soaked, because I was already wet before. My body is making its requirements very clear.
Yes, please!
It wants this man. It wants this arrogant gorgeous jerk to rip down my underwear and spread my legs apart for him. It wants to be exposed to this presumptuous bully. I'm a down to earth girl and have never been attracted to the type of patriarchal privileged male that this guy presents as.
Until now.
When he tears away from me, he seems as reluctant to do so as I am for him to separate. I almost claw my fingers into his solid shoulders to keep him pinned to my mouth. Instead I wait breathless for him to come back in for more.
“I do apologize,” he says. All humble from one moment to the next. Right when I want him entirely the opposite. “That was completely irresponsible and unprofessional. I hope you'll forgive me.”
I'm too surprised, and not a little disappointed, to utter a sound. All I can do is miserably watch his perfectly cupped by fine Italian wool round ass disappear.
Chapter Five
I'm left standing in an executive washroom I have no business being in, alone, wearing only my bra. My bottom half is covered, but molten from the hunky god's kiss. My top half is buzzing with the semi-drunken craving for more. I mean really, if he was going to come on so strong, he may as well have gone all the way. He already skimmed across my tit and basically asked to take a look at them both naked.
Not much is hidden in this wisp of violet netting that barely does the job of cover-up. My tits are a good handful but they don't require support and I'd have lapped up his appreciation had he freed my alleged finest features. Take that, gorgeous. You aren’t the only perfection in the room. Was it too much to ask that he pull them from their fragile cups?
I spin around and grab the edge of the marble counter-top. In the mirror my face looks flushed, cheeks puffed and engorged with – ravenous fucking hunger.
“Are you really pissy because some asshole stranger didn't strip you out of your underwear?”
What the fuck is wrong with me that I'm dripping for a corporate asshole devoid of human feeling? I'm dying to feel a man's hands on my body is what. And I need a cock inside me. My rabbit is doing the deed of getting me off but somehow it's not the same as a real live prick gliding inside me. The aroma of masculine neck as he burrows through my hair, lips across my ear and cheek and mouth.
I pinch one point then the other, tugging out the little bulb of agonized need.
That dude kissed me like no one ever has. Which I guess isn’t saying much when you consider the type of man I've hooked up with. College is not an easy rite of passage. I had my fill of jocks and switched to nerds. Then went back to the jerks because at least it was over faster. That tender fumbling of my parts left me more frustrated than when we started.
Why do guys that age attack a clit like it's an ice cream on a hot day at the park. Licking across it with languid ease, when it needs to be teased and cajoled and ravished into a mind-shattering, over the top, nuclear tectonic orgasm. The college boys acted like they were doing me a favor even gracing my clit with their slobbery mouths, regressing to their high school first kiss style.
Euw.
And then there was Mr Hardy, my professor. He was a delicious surprise the day he walked into class. I think we were all kind of smitten with him. The beard would have been a bonus, scraping into the pool of juices in my pussy mouth as he sucked on my clit. But the teacher made it very clear he was taken, by mentioning his girlfriend when Melissa Mandy asked him where he was spending Thanksgiving. He must have known we nubile sophomores had filthy ideas about being bent over his desk and worked his date into the equation to hold us off. But Mr Hardy is nothing compared to Mr Deli.
Maybe I have it bad for older guys. Or maybe I'm just dying for a man inside me. Taking me not with offers of ridiculously named filthy cocktails, but with masculine force. My breasts fill with the pressure of desire. Begging to be squeezed and mashed in a firm grip. The lascivious hunger is too powerful. I check behind me. The office is definitely empty and I can't resist.
I slide my bra straps off my shoulders, imagining Deli Dude pressed into my ass. His hard bulge pulsating into my crack as he frees my tits from their cups. They are pretty good, my babes. Perkily lifted, a good man-sized fistful with large dark aureoles on pointed tips. Demanding hungry triangles that need to be pinched and pulled into submission.
I give each a hard tweak and send powerful bolts of need through me. The kind that refuses to be self-satisfied. Another quick peek behind and I hike my skirt up my thighs, wriggling the tight fabric over my hips until it clears my slit.
A large damp stain covers the pulsing hard point. Driven on by the incessant need pressing at my edges, I pull my soaked panties to one side and admire my dripping folds in the darkened mirror. The scent of my arousal fills my nostrils and inspires me to go further. My clit twitches at the exposure, pressing me into rubbing a few circles to alleviate the unbearable build up.
The idea of getting myself off in the old CEO's washroom is kind of hot. He'd never know. No one would install security cameras in a personal bathroom. And I need to climax in the worst way. Hunger presses at the lining of my skin, urging me to stroke along my pussy folds.
One touch of the sensitive point makes me shudder, my body is still tingling from the gorgeous bastard's plunging kiss. And then the feeling recedes. I want a man to touch me. I don't want to do this to myself, even if it is kinda kinky in an unknown CEO's private bathroom.
I yearn for a man's hands filled with my flesh. I'm at an office Christmas party. What better place for finding some booty?
I whirl around and come face to face with him.
No not him.
Sadly not the arrogant model gorgeous hunk that still has me inflamed. It's the good looking guy with the filthy cocktail. Preppy, clean shaven, white shirt that has evaded the fairground art, his pine green tie now knotted around his waist. His brushed back dark blonde hair, leans toward mouse without the sort of waves you're driven to wrap around your fingers to pull his mouth into you. Still, he's definitely cute. Unless it's the tequila talking.
“What are you doing in here? Mr Wellman never allows anyone up here.”
“I came in to wash this stain off in private.”
Goddamn he's taken that as a green light to peruse my near nakedness.
“So what are you doing in Mr Wellman's sacred office?” I snap and tug the shirt back on, attacking the buttons before Deke strips my bra off with his intense stare.
“Looking for you,” he says, tearing his eyes away from my chest with immense effort. “Come and get a drink with me.”
“I can't. I'm just a temp for Christmas.”
“Come be my temp for Christmas.”
Eye-roll.
I have to stop handing him that straight line.
“No one's gonna care if you're on the payroll,” he adds.
I can see he's keen and although I'm not, it's nice to be wanted.
I could do with another shot of something to calm my nerves. Then I'll get back to my stimulating task of finishing up with the papers.
“Okay, but only one.”
“Bet you say that to all the guys, Bae.”
I follow him through the splendiferous office, flipping the light off as I exit the bathroom. Halfway across the room I notice a bar cart tucked in the corner. I bet this old dude's got some kick-ass quality bourbon.
“Let's have one for the road,” I suggest.
“What road? We're going downst
airs,” the guy says, somewhat densely.
“Then let's have one for the stairs.”
“You can't do that. This is Mr Wellman's office.”
I'm already pouring two or four fingers of dark amber liquid into a cut crystal tumbler. The aroma sears the back of my nostrils before melting into complete hedonism.
“Old moneybags won't miss a couple of shots,” I snap, wondering why this guy isn't as adventurous as his colleagues. I hear them racketing down the spiral staircase again and the ensuing cheer as they crash into the bottom and spill across the beautiful carpeting.
“God that's good.”
I swallow and my eyes literally roll up into my head but Deke hangs back nervously from sharing a gulp.
“Let's go,” he mutters, looking down the hall to check it's all clear.
He disappears and I trail along in his wake. As I totter across the office, I notice the gorgeous hunk's jacket is still here, tossed neatly across the arm of the sofa.
I'm finally getting into the filthy cocktails vibe saying, “Let's have Sex on the Beach,” when we make it past the bobsled team to the bar. That garners an eye-roll from the bartender so I guess I'm a little out of touch.
“I'll have an Angel's Tit and she'll get a Leg Spreader,” my insta-date tells him.
The bartender nods approval and starts mixing. These cocktails are nothing but an excuse to throw a shit ton of liquor into a glass under a porno moniker. Who am I to complain? The tequila shots with a bourbon chaser are really starting to kick in. Along with my abandon. I take a huge gulp of my Leg Spreader. It's disgusting in an addictive kind of way.
Deke leans in close, his mouth up against my ear.
“Have you ever made a photocopy of your pussy,” he grunts, obviously aiming to cajole me into taking my turn.
Not happening.
“No, have you?” I snap right back. “You could hit the enlarge function and make yourself bigger.”
“Don't be a mean girl,” he says, biting my earlobe in an irritating not seductive fashion. “I know what you were doing in the CEO's personal washroom, you dirty girl. You need a helping hand from Deke and I'm here to be of service.”
“I'm good thanks.”
“Come on, don’t be uptight. Look at everyone copping off. You don’t wanna be the old maid left alone tonight.”
“You're starting to sound like my mother.”
I'm about to insist that I'm really not interested. As I try to wiggle out from his tight grasp around my bicep he digs his finders in harder. Then I notice how a distinct hush had dropped around us. The room falls silent as a tomb and everyone is staring at Deke and me with round-mouthed drama faces of dread.
Great, does the entire company know what I did in their CEO's washroom? I won't ever look any of them in the face again. Another week and a half of enduring pure humiliation on top of gut-wrench boredom.
“Take your hand off her,” a thick gravel burr sounds behind me.
Chapter Six
Deke's hand flies away from my arm as though I caught fire. I swivel my head, with a little too much possessed by the devil glare and see the most perfect man of my existence standing at my shoulder. Towering above me, his features set rock hard in calm rage. The power exuding from his muscular taut body almost knocks me back with its force.
It's him again.
Arrogant deli guy.
Mr 'Show me your tits'.
My clit pulls tight with the scent of his fury mixed with an exceptionally arousing and no doubt extortionately priced cologne. My head spins a little, not just from the shitty mixology.
What's he doing here?
He's as sober as a supreme court justice and maybe intends to mete some out on my behalf because he asks, “Did he hurt you.”
“I didn't touch her, Sir,” Deke interrupts. “We were playing around.”
Sir? That 's a bit of extreme groveling for middle management.
Or any manager. I'd never be that brown-nosing to a boss.
The gorgeous hunk fires Deke a savage glare that silences him like he's been hit with a thunderbolt.
“Answer me,” he orders, turning back to me with his eyes softening slightly.
“No,” I say meekly.
Meekly? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I don't need protecting, least of all from this arrogant asshole. Although it's kind of hot to be championed by the god that noticed the temp.
“I'm fine.”
Shit, was that a giggle? Not cool.
I swallow hard before I hiccup and demonstrate I'm not exactly in possession of my reason.
“Apologize to the lady,” Arrogant orders poor Deke whose face has turned a kind of puce in the awed silence surrounding us.
“I'm sorry for the way I spoke,” he says in a pathetic tone. “I must have gotten too enthusiastic with the celebrations. Sorry, Mr Wellman, Sir. I didn't know you were joining us. It won't happen again.”
Mr Wellman? The Mr Wellman of Wellman Finance?
The boss's son? Oh crap.
No wonder he comes on with the elite act. Not surprising he's such an entitled brat, taking whatever he wants.
“That's good,” the boss's son tells Deke, who I'm starting to feel sorry for despite his earlier douchiness. “You touch her again you'll be out on your ass from my personal boot.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Carry on, guys,” the boss's son tells the gaping audience. “Enjoy yourselves.”
The actual walls of the building seem to drop their shoulders with relief and the room goes back to pouring alcohol down its throat. Although I can't help but notice how the slitted eyes of the women are fixed to the boss, drooling like a pack of hungry wolves circling for the kill. Mr Wellman looks down at me, his eyes briefly flitting across my tits in a way that says he isn't checking up on the stain.
“You come with me.”
It's not a request.
He wraps his hard fingers around my arm and strides through the crowd, parting them like they're the Red Sea then pulling me up the spiral staircase. When we reach the top, the party's revving back to its original smut level and Mr Wellman again grasps the top of my arm to lead me down the open corridor. My walk of shame is observed by the staff unable to stop themselves staring up at the scene of me being led away like a criminal. And still, half the women, make that every woman under retirement age, is slathering at the boss as he hauls me off. Their faces read pure envy. Like they'd give up their Christmas bonus to be in my frumpy shoes.
Shit, what's he going to punish me for? The theft of pricey booze from his personal bar cart? Or the far more embarrassing porno show I gave myself in his father's mirror?
Ohmigod, I hope he didn't see that.
There's no way he saw that. There can't be some wide angle zoom camera that reached its nosy lens into the bathroom.
Shame doesn’t sit well on this Jury daughter, my dad taught me better than that and a flare of annoyance passes through me. I don't deserve to be treated like a naughty child. I yank my arm away from his hold but he doesn’t release me. When I tug harder, the boss's son just grips me with more strength. A power I cant resist as he pulls me into his father's office and kicks the door shut with the back of his foot.
I'm a little afraid but a gush of juice soaks my panties. Mr Wellman is definitely one hundred and one percent alpha. What I wouldn’t give to have his large power broker hands all over my body. He stands for everything I detest in the business world but hey, it's Christmas and everyone is getting laid tonight, why not me?
My body starts up its clamor again. It's what Mr Wellman does to me when he gets close. Is he going to fire me for crashing the party when my agency is charging overtime? Yet another job out the window. I'm not meant for this office life anyway. The leg spreader cocktail kicks in, throwing a switch on my rarely accessed, thrill-seeking adventuress cable.
“Are you going to bend me over the desk and spank me?” I purr, trying not to giggle childishly this time.
/> My intention is to come off sophisticated seductress.
His eyes fly to my face with a penetrating stare. Holy fuck, how they invade me, saturating my lips and panties. I notice him swallow hard, like he's trying to gain control of something that's threatening to overtake him. My need to unpack that restraint drives me on. It's really bad, but I need him to lose his will to resist and come get me.
I hold his brutal stare. His eyes still glisten but with something more feral now.
Dare I hope it's lust?
His rough jawline is flexing as he bores into my deepest hidden parts, sending shivery little thrills through my body straight to my throbbing clit.
“Of course not,” he finally responds, only after a fierce decision was fought across his face. “You're drunk.”
“I'm nowhere near drunk.” I say, starting to feel defiant. Like I want to press the challenge.
It's fun making him flounder with how inappropriate and downright wrong this is. I'm sure he wants me and I need him. I need his strong fingers squeezing my flesh and his lips sucking me in.
“I don't have to be drunk to want you to fuck me.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” he barks. “How old are you anyway, eighteen?”
“Twenty two,” I say. “Soon.”
Next year.
“I'm seventeen years older than you.”
“Who cares?”
“I could be your father.”
“No. You're nothing like Daddy,” I whisper as I sashay across the room to his daddy's desk and daintily place the tips of my fingers on the glistening black wood.
He watches me mesmerized, his eyes lowered with unalloyed lust as I arch my back a little to stick my butt out. I open my legs as far as my tight above-the-knee skirt allows. As my folds come apart, another gush of juices escapes my pussy, soaking my panties.
This is the most exciting game I've ever played. The way he's looking at me is like no man I've ever been with. His longing is intense as though there's way more at stake than a fast jizz ejaculation the college boys want.
“You have no idea what you're asking for,” he rasps.
