Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection

by Monica Corwin

All so she would feel what he had felt.

  She panted and writhed beneath his tongue. “Use your fingers. I want you inside me.”

  Only too happy to comply, he slipped one finger and then two in her ridged, wet sex. He glanced up to study her face, finding eyes closed. As he moved inside her, a sigh escaped her mouth, and she licked her lips.

  Two fingers were good. He dipped low and swirled her clit with his tongue, and a shudder ran through her body. Fingers and tongue were even better, a part of his brain registered. A voice at the back of his head said something about writing an analytical report. Graphs. Statistics.

  Then she fisted his hair, moaning, and all the blood in his body rushed to his cock. He was getting another erection. He didn’t think about anything but Reese’s sex under his mouth, her quivering thighs, and her hands in his hair.

  She was delicious. She was heavenly. She was his.

  His cock ached to be buried in her warm depths. He burned to take her here on the sofa, but at the same time he wanted to watch her lose control without distractions. Getting and not giving.

  “Yes, like that, Kenneth.”

  His name. Fuck. He grasped her hips, plunging his tongue deep. She shuddered and grabbed his shoulders.

  “You’re hard again,” she said in surprise. “I want you to fuck me.”

  “I want to feel you come.”

  “You will.”

  He didn’t need to be asked again. It took him only a few seconds to retrieve his shirt for the second condom stashed in the pouch, then roll it onto his erection. He had watched and learned earlier that day. She yanked him to the sofa, crawled onto his lap, and straddled him like before.

  With a breathy moan, she eased herself onto his erection. He guided her, holding her waist.. She rolled her hips, taking him in fully. Her heat, her scent, and the sensation of her body with his consumed him.

  He let her lead and moved with her. She gasped for air and whispered his name.

  Then cried out his name.

  Then simply cried out.

  He couldn’t contain himself. Straining and thrusting, he angled for a better position. She arched back, but he supported her weight as she fell apart in his arms. He watched as she shook and crumbled with her orgasm. Her chest heaved for air. Droplets of sweat glistened between her breasts.

  His orgasm rose quickly, and the release rushed through him, leaving him shuddering and spent. He brought her closer to hold her against his chest.

  Her hair tickled his nose and he stroked it. He breathed in her scent, waiting for his heart to slow.

  “Hey,” she said, tilting to look at him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m so good, you wouldn’t believe it.”

  She chuckled. “I know you’re good. I do believe it. It was just that for a minute there, I thought I saw something…in your expression.”

  “I don’t know. Trust me, I feel great.”

  She collapsed sideways on the couch, her legs across his lap. “I’m feeling pretty good myself.”

  “Why don’t I get you that drink of water now?” He pulled himself upright, biting back a groan as his leg muscles protested—this was no time to show weakness—and headed for the kitchen.

  There, out of sight, he set his hands on the counter and leaned on it. Reese had knocked his world out from under his feet and he didn’t know where he stood or what to do anymore.

  And she had seen it.

  15

  Reese

  Unable to sleep, Reese pushed off the covers from her position next to Kenneth, who was completely sacked out.

  Her bladder situation was becoming pressing (no pun intended) and she was craving sweets. She stole silently from the bed and tiptoed to the hall, searching for the bathroom.

  Afterward, she made herself a cup of tea with honey and got her bag from the front hall. Intending to surf mindlessly on her computer, she tiptoed into Kenneth’s den. He had an overstuffed two-seater along with his bookshelves, toys, and desk in there.

  A scream jumped to her throat.

  A man was there, standing silent in the shadows.

  Reese covered her mouth and stifled the scream just as it started. Darn Kenneth and his freaking life-sized figurine of Darth Vader.

  Heart racing, she closed the door and flipped on the light. She glared at the silent and judgmental Darth in the corner. They had stowed him away in there the night before when redecorating Kenneth’s apartment, and she had been treated to a demonstration of the light sword, complete with goofy noises. Seriously. Electric swords in space?

  Kenneth’s den was cluttered with the toys she made him move in there, but it was cozy, and best of all it smelled like him. She searched her bag for her phone. His files for the worksheet responses were stashed in there, too, along with the envelope of money. Pausing, she eyed the white envelope.

  Then it occurred to her. For the last two days, she had been avoiding the truth. Actively avoiding the truth, partly because she had assumed he was from the help desk, but also because maybe she didn’t want to know. His apartment was spacious and in an imposing building, and he had dropped three thousand dollars without blinking. But Reese’s boss knew him by his first name, and he himself scoffed at the idea of a promotion. She found LinkedIn on her phone.

  Kenneth Jones Orbis Tech

  Head of Key Product Development

  His profile, set to private, came up, but it was enough.

  Reese sat back on the sofa. So she really was an idiot. Kenneth had never once rung a bell. She was so wrapped up in her own affairs she had simply assumed that if he wasn’t at the help desk, then he was another techie dude working on code.

  But Kenneth was one of the most important players for their tech development, and tech was the reason Orbis Tech existed. He was vital.

  He was out of her league.

  That thought was a punch in the gut. A sour taste filled her mouth. Who was he really, and why would he be interested in her beyond the coaching?

  Well, there was the sex. Was that all she was to him? An opportunity that fell in his lap?

  The file with his worksheets was in her bag—she had been intending to return them unread when she refunded his fee.

  It would be wrong to read them.

  At this point, she should put the money and worksheets in his desk drawer and forget she tried to be his coach. She ran her tongue over her top teeth, fighting the war between temptation and good common sense.

  But the keys to understanding his deepest desires and dreams were in those worksheets. She couldn’t resist.

  Five worksheets later, the nausea was firmly rooted in her gut. Her tea remained on the stand next to her, cold and untouched.

  She should have known better. Worse. She did know better but hadn’t listened to herself.

  On the other hand, this way she could still save herself from a world of disappointment and heartache.

  Reese padded through the apartment, gathering her things. She let herself out the door without waking Kenneth.

  All the way home, a hundred phrases and snippets from his answers turned in her head.

  …not too picky, but my ideal woman would be blonde or fair, slim, and not too short…should definitely have a higher education degree, preferably in science…Master’s or PhD, an intellectual…politics, Cthulhu, interstellar phenomena…I want to travel extensively, she should enjoy exploring the world…ready for adventure…love sci-fi, cosplay…critical analysis of projected civilization ideals…

  Reese was deathly afraid of planes. Her measly Bachelor’s of Accounting paled compared to a PhD in biology or computer science like his. Sci-fi movies? Ugh. She just, just couldn’t. And those weren’t even the worst answers.

  I’ve developed the habit of running about an hour a day and would like to share my new-found enjoyment of engaging in physical activity. The benefits are clear. A jogging partner would be extremely appreciated.

  Jogging. She shuddered in horror. Running was for escaping chainsaw-ma
ssacre psychopaths and company. Kenneth should get a golden retriever if he enjoyed jogging.

  Too many pieces didn’t fit together. His dreams versus hers. The goals, the expectations. The careers. Nothing. It had been a fun experiment, but sex did not a healthy, lasting relationship make.

  That look on his face when they were together, really together on the couch? He had been in awe of her. That look wouldn’t last forever.

  It was better to cut things off before that look changed.

  16

  Kenneth

  Kenneth stirred. Something didn’t feel right. Lonely. No—he felt alone.

  He sat up, patting the bundled covers to his right. There was nothing under them and they were cold to the touch.

  Silenced weighed heavy in the apartment. A sixth sense already told him she was gone—that lingering perfume on the pillows was all she had left behind.

  A quick inspection of his apartment confirmed she was gone, but he was wrong about her scent in the bedroom being all she had left.

  When he saw a fat envelope on the table, a cold spike went through his heart. She had written him a message:

  This belongs to you. Thank you for trusting me for your first experiences.

  Reese

  His head reeled. And he had thought he was on shaky ground earlier. He was even more lost and confused than before trying to date. The cold pain in his heart spread through his chest.

  Each step weighed heavy as a stone to return to his bedroom, as though he was dragging his empty past with him. Alone. Again. After all these years he finally had tempted the most beautiful woman he’d ever met into his bed, and here he was on his own halfway through the night.

  He’d screwed something up. Royally. He’d done something. It had to be his fault, but fuck if he knew what it was.

  And there was strictly no one in his life he could turn to for advice. The last time he’d needed advice this badly, he’d paid three thousand dollars for it. He frowned and reached for his phone.

  Someone had advice for him.

  She blogged for It’s Not Rocket Science, It’s a Vagina.

  Morning came too soon. Bleary-eyed after reading through the night, he drove to work and fell into his routine. Sitting at his desk, he picked up his phone two dozen times an hour, wanting to write to her, hoping each incoming message was from her.

  In another life, he was supposed to be getting ready for his big date that evening. Somehow, everything had fallen apart in the space of a few short days.

  During his lunch break, the alert on his phone pinged for a new post. He glanced at it, gut tight and shoulder muscles bunched. The phone was by his mouse, an inch from his hand. He froze.

  Reese had posted a blog. Would there be a message in it?

  Over a year and half’s worth of posts filled her blog and he had searched through every single one, hoping for a hint on what to do when a guy screws up so royally that a woman has to sneak out at three a.m. Plus, he had sifted through the many answers to readers’ letters and her replies to comments. At that point, he had buckets of good advice, but still no answer as to why she left.

  Based on what he had read, it was best to do nothing. No messaging, no begging, and under no circumstances, no harassing. A woman has a right to choose. A man does not have a right to know why. It went both ways, of course, if the man chose to break things off, but that wasn’t much comfort.

  He was surprised at how calm he suddenly was, reaching for his phone now, clicking the link, scrolling down the page to the text.

  The post was titled: Take a Leap of Faith. And If That Fails, Make a Clean Break.

  So was that what she was doing to him? Making a clean break? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and read.

  This will be a short post, my friends and readers. I had half a dozen pages written before I figured out it was all empty repetition. I was pouring my heart out on the page to make myself feel better.

  You know when you are up against the odds and have to take a leap of faith? Yeah. You’ve been there, and if not, you will.

  Do it.

  If you feel like you have to jump, because you desperately want the person or the dream in front of you, then do it.

  Take the leap of faith.

  And if you fall on flat on your face, then get up. Get up and dust yourself off. If it was a mistake, then you will have to make a clean break.

  Take a deep breath.

  This will hurt. All of it hurts. It hurts like nothing else can hurt. But if staying around is more heartbreak and pain in the long run, then cut loose the ties and go.

  Make a clean break.

  Say it with me, readers: Goodbye.

  Kenneth slumped back in his chair, stunned.

  His cool, inner quiet fled. He wanted to rage. He was going to be sick. He was the one she cut out of her life. Carved him up and tossed him aside.

  No.

  He was going to reread her message. Analyze. Study. Create a chart and cross-reference with other texts, if necessary. He would break it down phrase by phrase, word by word, until he understood.

  That last goodbye was for him. She thought they were wrong for each other. That he was a mistake. That falling for him had been falling on her face. So she was gone.

  Damn.

  It hurt, she was right about that.

  Now the question remained of what to do. Respect the advice on her blog and stay the hell out of her life, like a mature, reasonable adult. Or go on a rampage.

  He went to throw his lunch trash away and get some water. His grimace cramped the muscles in his jaw. She had taken her messages to the invisible public on the web—his domain. His universe.

  Kenneth could play this game with the best of them.

  Interlocking his fingers, he stretched his arms and wrists. He selected a document he had already started.

  17

  Reese

  Reese wanted to hide in the bathroom the entire Friday morning. No matter how she tried to distract herself and concentrate on work, her stomach was in knots.

  She had to explain to him. Kenneth deserved it. In fact, he deserved for her to talk to him face to face. But every time she thought about his reflections on life and love, what he wanted in a girlfriend, the sort of partner he could fall in love with, she chickened out.

  Reese, life coach, and total wimp. She was a fake. All that grit and determination she encouraged her readers to find for their problems?

  Her grit wasn’t worth the smear of lipstick wiped onto her cheek that she discovered when she went to the bathroom. Her determination wussed out in in her cubicle, afraid to go to any of the other floors to get a file. In other words, she didn’t have any grit or determination. What she had was smoke and mirrors.

  She had taken the high road and made the honorable decision. Despite not handling it well—because refusing to leave her cubicle except for bathroom breaks was a great example of not handling things well—her decision was sound. Once the sparkle and glow of sex had diminished, Kenneth would never be satisfied with her.

  They were too different. They lived for different goals, had opposite hobbies and dreams, had no intersections besides physical attraction.

  She had dropped her head on her keyboard more than once. Yeah. The sex had been fun. And she had needed it. After the dry spell of nearly two years since her last break-up, Kenneth was a shining star in her dark night. Or a shooting star that burned and disappeared on entry. She had made a wish. It hadn’t come true.

  At every available moment, she jotted notes on a pad of paper. It was a blog entry for Kenneth, if he was still subscribed to her site. Right before eating her pasta salad lunch from her Tupperware, she broke her sacrosanct rule of not mixing her dream career with her current job.

  She logged on and posted her letter to him.

  It was for him, although hidden in a blog post for her readers. She wasn’t going to cry. There was nothing to cry about.

  They had had fun. It wasn’t mean
t to be.

  She wouldn’t cry.

  Salty tears plopped in her salad. She wiped her face with a tissue and kept eating.

  The afternoon wasn’t any better, but the weekend was finally within reach.

  Reese double-checked her slides and notes for the presentation. Who the hell scheduled meetings at four-thirty in the afternoon on a Friday? She had been ready to go home and drink wine since lunch.

  “Hey, sweets,” Clem said, leaning an elbow on the top of the cubicle divider. “You said you were supposed to go to Kenneth’s last night, right?”

  Her heart fisted at the mention his name. “I think I said that yesterday, yes.”

  “So I’ve been waiting very patiently for an update all day, but there’s been a big fat nothing from you. Don’t tell me you were strictly professional. I know you better than that.”

  Reese glanced up at Clem, wondering if she was pouring lemon juice all over her open wounds on purpose. Even if pressing her for dating details was her usual modus operandi, she had to see life sucked swamp water at the moment. Swamp water full of swamp rats and smelly mud. “There’s not much to say.”

  Clem smacked the divider, making the wall shake. “Tell me what he said. What did he do? You know you deserve someone who worships you, takes out the trash without being reminded, and can cook using the stove top and not just the grill, right?”

  Reese shushed her. “There is no story. Things got weird and I left. I’ve quit being his coach and there is nothing between us.”

  “What about hanky-panky? That is not the whole story. Did he break your heart? Because if he did, I swear I will find him and do something…like, really terrible and make him suffer…and shit, are you crying?”

  “No,” Reese lied, wiping her cheek furtively with her sleeve.

  “I really will do something terrible to him, just wait. Big-time suffering. I’m dried up for inspiration at the moment, but if you keep crying my ideas will flow, too.”