by Megan Hart
There were many things I knew about my boss, some I'd
known from the start and others I'd learned only over time.
When it al came down to it, though, I liked Paul very
much. Whatever had his garters snapping, it was going to
make it impossible for him to get some work done until it
was resolved.
"Go get yourself a mug of coffee," I told him. "I'l send off these reports and see you in ten minutes."
I hadn't given him permission, and it was nothing he
couldn't have decided for himself, but the relief in his eyes
at my suggestion made me glad I'd made it. I flipped
through the reports while he poured his coffee and made
some notes about what needed to be sent where, then
ducked down the hal to visit the restroom then make
some copies so I could be back in time to meet with him.
He sat in a familiar slouch at his desk when I pushed open
He sat in a familiar slouch at his desk when I pushed open
his door, but he turned his attention immediately to me.
"Paige, hi. Would you sit down, please?"
I did, and watched his gaze flicker over my bared knees as
I crossed my legs. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong. I just…wanted to talk to you."
I waited. Paul drew in a breath and pushed back in his
chair to run a hand over the top of his head. He'd taken off
his suit jacket, but his tie was as snug to his throat as if it
had grown there. He cleared his throat, and I waited
another ten seconds for him to speak.
"It's about your performance."
I sat up a little straighter. "Yes?"
"It's past time for your first review."
I understood that. Kely Printing, like most companies,
gave annual reviews, but they also had an introductory
probation period for al new employees. They'd told me
about it when they hired me. Six months into the new job,
you could be out on your ass if you didn't live up to
expectations. It was hard to believe I'd been here that
long. It felt more like forever, actualy.
Again, I waited for him to speak. That was the thing with
Paul. He took his time with talk. I thought it was because
each word that came from him had to mean something,
like he had to weigh their worth before he said them.
Unlike writing, you can't scratch out speech. Once it's
said, there's nothing you can do to erase it.
"I just wanted you to know I'l be giving you the highest
ratings, that's al. And recommending you for advanced
training."
My pleased smile sat oddly on my face, which had been
expecting to frown. "Realy? Great. Thanks, Paul."
He seemed a little more at ease once he'd told me, though
his fingers stil toyed nervously with his pen. He roled it
onto the edge of the blotter, then off. It hit the desk with a
sharp click.
"You're welcome. I've been very pleased with your work."
"I've enjoyed working with you."
He nodded a bit and focused his attention on the pen.
"There are some opportunities available in-house. A good
recommendation could…um…lead the way to some of
them."
This was interesting news I wasn't sure how to process.
"Like what?"
"Promotion opportunities."
I read the buletin boards in the hal by the office mail every
day. I saw the internal-job postings along with the memos
on company policy and announcements about the holiday
parties and picnics. Nothing there had caught my eye or
sent me into spasms of excitement. I'd never considered
applying for any of them. I stil intended to get my MBA
when they'd chip in to pay for it.
"Such as?" I leaned forward.
"They're looking for someone to start in a new entry-level
marketing position in Vivian Darcy's department."
"And if I don't want to work for Vivian?"
For a moment, Paul looked pleased before he smoothed
For a moment, Paul looked pleased before he smoothed
his features into studied neutrality. "It's something to think
about. You can't be an assistant forever, Paige."
That was certainly true, and I was touched he cared
enough to think so. "I don't plan to be."
"This could be a good chance for you," he said.
And that was true, too. So why did we both look so sad?
I knew from Eric's schedule that he'd be home around
eight o'clock today. I gave him half an hour for dinner,
another fifteen minutes for a shower. If he was as eager as
I was to folow the instructions I'd left him, it wouldn't be
more than that.
The black trench coat I wore wasn't meant to make me
look like a pervert, though that's what I felt like as I
entered the parking garage. I'd picked it to help
camouflage me in the shadows, but I had toyed with the
idea of going naked beneath it. I ended up putting on black
jogging pants and a black T-shirt instead, not bold enough
to go bare. I might have had I had a note teling me to do
it, I thought with a smile as I climbed the second flight of
stairs.
stairs.
I came out onto a nearly empty level. At this time of night
the spots taken up by daytime commuters would be
vacant. But from this level I had a clear view across the
street and into Eric's first-floor apartment.
The concrete wal hit me chest high, but I could lean on it
to look across the street. At 9:00 p.m., night had already
falen. The orange lights of the parking garage lit the door
to the stairs and hit every other pilar, but none was above
my head and so I had no glare to distract me. The
streetlights, too, were placed far enough apart they didn't
interfere with my voyeurism.
I hadn't brought a pair of binoculars, but realy didn't need
them. The street between the buildings was one-way and
narrow. I could have spit and hit his window. Inside his
apartment, the lights went on.
My ears rang, and I let out the breath I'd been keeping
prisoner in my lungs. He was there. This was realy going
to happen.
Everyone peeks. We do it al the time when we drive past
houses at night with the lights on, in hotel rooms we can
see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-
see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-
closed office door. I'd never set out to spy in hopes of
catching someone doing something naughty. I couldn't
decide if the tension in my gut and tingling in my fingertips
were from ilicit arousal or self-loathing.
The former, I thought as the curtains in Eric's bedroom
twitched and the light came on in there, too. I was more of
a pervert than I'd ever imagined. Voyeurism had never
melted my butter before, but knowing this would get him
off, that this was a trigger for him, got my nipples hard and
built an ache between my thighs I knew I'd have to
aleviate with my own hand before the night was through.
He stood at the window for a minute or two, looking out
for so long I wondered if he could see me. With the light
inside his room and the dark out here, I didn't think so. I
didn't dare move. Shielded by shadows, I drew in slow,
even breaths and watched him stare out into the night. He
didn't look as if he saw me, or anyone, though his eyes
moved side to side, searching.
Finaly, he turned and took a few steps toward the bed.
He wore only a towel, his hair wet and slicked back.
Water gleamed in silver droplets on the tanned skin of his
back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see
back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see
them run in rivulets down his spine and into the crack of his
ass below the towel's edge, but I could imagine it. And
did.
He hesitated, looking over his shoulder with a hand at his
waist. I wondered if he'd ever thought so hard before
about who might see him from outside. Though I kept my
sheers drawn al the time, they wouldn't entirely block a
peeper from getting an eyeful, but I'd never realy believed
anyone was trying to. I was sure I'd think of it every time,
now, and wonder who might be spying on me when I
thought I was alone.
The difference was, Eric knew he wasn't alone. I thought it
would make it more difficult to get naked, knowing, even
though he had said he liked it. That he wanted it. His
shoulders hunched for a moment and then the towel was
gone. Disappeared.
God, from the back he was magnificent. Broad shoulders,
lean waist, smooth skin. His ass was tight and looked firm.
A patch of dark hair furred the smal of his back and
drifted over his buttocks to get thicker at his thighs and
legs. His arms, too, were covered in thick, dark hair. He
half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.
half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.
Hair there, too, dark and curling around his nipples, but
not overpowering him. A woman could stil find bare skin
to kiss al over him, center her tongue on those nipples and
flick them with her tongue until he cried out for mercy.
I had to grip the concrete wal to steady myself at my
unwinding thoughts. Austin, blond-haired and fair skinned,
had little hair on his chest and had taken to trimming his
pubic hair. I didn't mind grooming, but I'd gotten used to
seen a man without so much hair. Looking at Eric opened
up something half-embarrassing I could only think of as…
primal.
Eric lay on the bed, his cock in his hand. He stared at the
ceiling as he stroked, already half-hard. In the porn I'd
seen the men had always yanked so hard on their pricks it
looked painful. Eric didn't start off with a two-fisted yank.
He ran a slow hand over his bely and thighs before
gripping his cock, which he stroked just as slowly from
base to crown and down again before repeating the
journey.
I was mesmerized.
The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his
The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his
bedroom door, which placed the bed paralel to the
window. Like the rest of his apartment, his bedding was
simple, even stark. He'd already puled down the black
quilted comforter and blankets and now lay on the plain
white sheet. He hitched himself a little higher to put his
head on the pilow.
Did it make a difference, knowing he was being watched?
I thought it had to. Why else would he take such time to
show off? The bulge and flex of his biceps had me biting
my lower lip. So did the flex of his calves when he bent his
legs to push his hips upward.
I leaned forward too far, risking being seen, when his leg
blocked the view of his gorgeous cock being stroked so
slowly in that big fist, but as if he knew exactly what he
was doing, Eric pushed that leg straight and bent the other,
instead, keeping my view clear. His back arched as his
head tipped back into the pilow. I wanted to see his face,
but though I could make out the dark shadow of eyes and
the slope of his nose, distance blurred his features a bit.
With a hand stil on his erection, Eric reached with the
other beneath his pilow to pul out a bottle. My lube came
with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he
with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he
sprayed his hands and cock liberaly before tucking it back
under his pilow.
I didn't laugh because this was funny, but because this
secret glimpse into his private sex life was so adorable,
and told me a lot. He jerked off a lot and didn't bring
women home to sleep over very often—people who
shared their beds frequently didn't keep their sex supplies
under the pilow. My earlier assessment had been right.
People and cars passed on the street below, but I didn't let
that distract me from the show across the way. I heard the
squeal of tires and rumble of an occasional engine as wel
as the hum of the parking-garage elevator, but nobody
arrived or left on this level. Tucked against the concrete
pilar with the wal in front of me and the night wind
occasionaly blowing the scent of the river over me, I
immersed myself in what he was doing and wished I were
with him.
I pressed my thighs together against the ache of arousal as
I watched Eric stroking himself. Slow, then faster. I
watched his prick disappear inside his curled fingers,
watched how he added an extra stroke around the head
and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give
and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give
his bals some attention, too. I watched, and I thought of
how I could get the chance to show him what I'd learned.
I couldn't hear him, but I could see his mouth open and
watch his face contort with pleasure. His fist pumped
faster, slick with lube, and his hips rose and fel to meet
every stroke. If I were on top of him now, he'd be pushing
deep inside me and my clit would be hitting his bely with
every thrust. My cunt clenched as I watched, my clit hard
and begging for more than the press of my panties against
it. But I didn't touch myself. My fingers gripped the
concrete, the pebbly surface biting into my fingertips and
keeping me centered. Reminding me I was not in any place
where I could risk shoving a hand down my pants and
jiling off. I was risking enough standing here and watching.
My body might crave the same sort of release Eric was
giving himself, but my brain wouldn't alow me to act on it.
Later, I promised myself grimly as sweat lined my hairline
and trickled down my spine, tickling like a tongue. Just a
few more minutes and he'd be done, and I'd go home and
finish this.
I licked salt from my upper lip and imagined it as the taste
of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my
of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my
thigh muscles. God, it felt so good I did it again. An
d
again.
I watched him as he came, jetting his desire al over his
flat, taut bely, and I came, too, without ever having
touched myself. I coughed on the moist river breeze and
scent of exhaust as pleasure ripped through me. My pussy
spasmed, but I held stil and quiet as the door from the
stairs opened and a laughing couple came out and headed
for their car.
I couldn't duck and couldn't hide, so I pretended to be
talking on my cel phone, leaning casualy against the hood
of a car I didn't own. Orgasm stil rippled through me as I
lifted a hand to wave in response to their casual greeting,
and I thanked the gods of kink I hadn't given in to ful-out
wanking in public.
They didn't even look toward the Manor, but I did. Eric
had falen back into his pilows, his chest rising and faling
and a hand flung over his eyes. I'd already put his number
in my phone, and now I entered a rapid text message.
Very nice.
Half a minute later his head turned toward the nightstand,
and he roled to his side to flip open his phone. He read
the message and looked at the window. He got off the bed
and stood at the window for a few seconds, his hand on
the curtain.
I thought he mouthed "thank you," but then he puled the
curtain before I could be sure.
Chapter 22
It had begun.
I'd thought I'd known what it was to crave the discipline of
an anonymous master who understood just what I needed
and how to give it to me. With one short letter, one shorter
text message, I'd become Pink Floyd. Dark side of the
moon. I'd ventured into the unknown.
But was it, realy?
In al my life, what had I craved more than anything?
Control. Of my life, of my emotions. Of whatever situation
I'd found myself in. The need for it was a weight I'd known
a long time without acknowledging. It had been a huge
part of the reason my marriage had ended, and even
admitting it hadn't done much to change me.
Giving up some smal measure of that control had been a
relief. It had lifted the weight for a little while. Made it a
little easier to bear, anyway. Because in the end, what had
I learned but that I didn't want to give it up. I only wanted
to learn how to use it, that desire.
After watching Eric make himself come, I went straight to
my apartment. I sat at my table, desire an unrelenting ache
in my bely. I opened the lid of my satin box and puled out
