by Ivy Carter
I feel the warmth of his hardness slip between my thighs. He’s holding his cock firmly in one hand so that he can run it along my opening.
“So fucking wet,” he says as he teases me. I move my legs slightly apart, practically beginning him to enter me, but that only makes him pull back. “You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you?”
I whimper in response, because I absolutely do. Right here, right now, bent over this desk, I want him to fuck me more than I’ve wanted anything ever. This is not awkward fumbling in a dorm room. There’s no stale beer or cold pizza, no hoodie crumpled on the floor. This is not something I want to stop, not something I can stop. I need it. I want it. Now.
Even though I’m also a little frightened, the adrenaline rush of fear and need and lust is a heady mix. I feel like everything is heightened, like every single cell in my body is alive with feeling.
He brings the head of his cock right to my entrance, stretching me ever so slightly, teasing me with what could be with just a little bit more force.
I try to force him further by arching my back and pushing my ass towards him, but he puts his hands firmly on my hips, halting my progress. He’s right there, and I can’t do anything but feel how close, yet how far. If it weren’t for the desk holding me up I’d collapse to the floor. But as quickly as he pushes against me, he pulls back. His lips come right to my ear, his tongue moving down to the spot on my neck that makes me liquefy. Then he whispers softly in my ear, “Not here.”
I worry he’s going to stop. To pull up his pants and order me out of his office. But instead he returns his cock to me, this time pressing it firmly into my clit.
“Soaking wet,” he says as the head of him slips and rubs and sends me closer and closer to the edge. With one hand he uses his cock to work me over, the other snaking up and inside my shirt. His thumb brushes gently across my nipple, and then he pinches it hard between his fingers. The sheer pleasure coming from my clit coupled with the exquisite pain in my nipples has me practically purring like a jungle cat. I can hear his smile as he whispers, “Come for me.”
And that’s all it takes. My body explodes, my breathing harsh and ragged. I press so hard into the glass topped desk that I worry it will shatter into a million pieces. I open my mouth to cry out, but he’s a step ahead of me, a palm coming up to press firmly over my lips. As the last waves of my orgasm wrack through my body, I throw my head back, leaning into him, giving his lips full access to my neck. He is more than happy to oblige, leaving a trail of kisses and tongue as I ride the last wave to shore.
He steps back from me, and I feel the absence like an amputation. He’s only a few inches away, but it might as well be miles. He gently lowers the hem of my skirt until it’s back around my knees, my inner thighs still slick.
I turn around, an addict instantly ready for more.
“Now?” I ask, my voice husky, but he shakes his head.
“When I fuck you, it won’t be a quickie in my office. I want you naked and laid out before me. I want hours. I want every inch of you for myself,” he says, and again, it’s not a request. He’s ordering me around like he’s ordering me in a restaurant where the chef is more than happy to oblige. And he’s right, because I will do whatever he asks if he’ll just make me feel like this again.
That devilish smile quirks back at his lips, his eyes looking down at his cock, still hard and at attention between us. Still wet from what he’s just done.
“My turn,” he says, and this time it takes no prompting from him. I drop to my knees and take him into my mouth yet again, hungry with desire. I work the base of him with both hands as my lips and tongue travel along the length. Flying blind, I take my cues from him. When I moan, his cock hard on my tongue, his eyes roll back, and I know that’s his favorite. So I keep going, sucking harder as his breath grows more ragged, his fingers tangle in my hair. I gaze up at him as that control he’s so famous for melts away, because here on my knees with his dick in my mouth, I own him. I know it for sure.
“I’m coming. Take it,” he rasps, and I have only a split second of nervousness before I know what to do. I take him deep in my mouth and squeeze the base of his cock hard as the first warmth of his orgasm explodes onto my tongue. I devour it and him, working him hard until he’s over the cliff and relaxing at the bottom.
He falls back into his desk chair, sweat on his brow.
He reaches down and lifts me up until I’m sitting on the edge of his desk, then adjusts his pants, the sound of his zipper and belt buckle letting me know we’re done for now. Then he takes his seat in his office chair again.
His face grows shadowed. He looks like he’s seriously considering something, parsing his words. “I can’t have any disrespect in this office,” he says finally, his voice even like he didn’t just come in my mouth. I jerk my head up to face him as if I’ve been slapped. This is seriously what he wants to talk about right now? “I know I was, as you say, coldhearted and cruel to you this week, but my life is extremely … complicated. And I try to remove as many complications as I reasonably can. You can’t take it so personally.”
I can’t hide my confusion and disgust. It’s written all over my face, but he doesn’t blink. If this is his version of an apology, then he has some work to do, and I open my mouth to tell him so when he does something truly shocking, in an afternoon of shocking events.
He reaches for my hand.
My eyes watch as he takes it between his large, strong hands, cradling it like a baby bird, his thumb stroking the back of my knuckles. When his eyes lock on mine, they are like pools of dark chocolate, warming me from the inside out.
Still, I can’t let him use me and push me away. I can’t overlook the way he’s treated me this week. I have some power here. I saw it when I was on me knees. I can’t let that go.
“I just want to be treated like a real person,” I tell him, gesturing to the coffee cup now cooling on the desk.
He gives my hand a firm squeeze. “I know that you’re real, Quinn,” he says, the tenor of his voice suddenly slightly husky. “All too real.”
The sound of his phone ringing shatters the silence. He glances at it and grimaces. I try to catch a glimpse of the screen, but he sweeps it off the desk and into his hand too quickly.
“I have to take this,” he says, releasing my hand. He stands and quickly rearranges his pants, tucking in his shirt and brushing back his hair. In less than a minute, with military precision, he’s back in boss mode. No one walking in would have any idea how close he’d just come to being inside me, unless they happen to see the pile of torn lace on his desk, still wet from my desire. I glance at it, then sweep it into his lap as I turn to go.
I nod. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. King,” I say softly, my eyes locking on his one last time before I go.
There’s a river of things left unsaid between us, but as he reaches to pick up the phone I know now will not be the time. Still, I cling to what he said earlier. Not here.
And all I can do is hope that there’s a place out there, somewhere soon, where I can finally give myself over to him completely. And where he might just give himself to me in return.
Chapter 4
I stay at work until well past six, though I couldn’t even begin to detail how I spent those hours. There are spreadsheets on the desk in front of me, but if I did anything with them, it would be news to me. Mostly I spend my time half my time conjuring memories of what just happened in Jared’s office and the other half willing them away in case someone reads what happened all over my face.
On my knees.
Bent over his desk.
Coming on his cock.
Him coming on my tongue.
When I finally force myself out of the office and onto the train home, the seductive fog that had rested over me like a cool morning begins to lift. And all I can see are questions.
Jared King has now given me two orgasms. The two best orgasms of my life. Hell, the two only orgasms of my life that weren’t self-i
nduced. And yet I still have no idea what’s happening between us. He’s my boss. And a serial dater.
Surely there’s no other way this can end but badly.
And yet every time I get myself to that conclusion, I flash back to the image of my hand cradled in his, to the sound of his voice as he told me that I was “all too real.” And I can’t help but think that there’s something more than just sex here. Hell, there hasn’t even been full-on sex. Not yet, anyway.
Not yet.
And then my mind falls back down the rabbit hole of memory, and I try not to squirm in my seat on the train as I remember the feeling of his tongue on me, of his cock in my mouth, of his orgasm on my tongue.
I’m so distracted I nearly miss my stop and wind up at Alewife. But just before the doors slide closed at Davis Square I leap through them and skid to a stop on the crowded platform.
“Get yourself together, Quinn,” I say to myself, and luckily the rush hours crowds are too thick for anyone to notice a flushed girl breathing heavily and talking to herself.
On my way from the train to my apartment, I swing by my favorite cheap Chinese takeout place and spring for some lo mein and egg rolls. While I’m waiting for my order to come up, my phone rings.
“Hi Janet,” I say as I answer it.
“Please tell me you have some updates about the sex god,” she says. “I spent my entire day loading in, hanging, and staring at oil paintings of rotting animal carcasses while the world’s biggest asshole of an artist mansplained postmodernism to me. I need to hear about some sexy times please!”
I laugh at Janet’s plea while also reveling in the fact that she’s turning to me for sex details. I can’t count the number of Saturday or Sunday mornings we spent over bagels at our favorite Beacon Hill coffee shop while Janet recounted the highlights of her dates the previous evening.
She had a way of adding flair and comedy that made it fun, and even though I never had anything to share with her other than the disappointing fizzles of my own dates, I never minded being her sounding board. But I won’t lie, having something to share with her for once feels pretty damn good.
Of course, sitting in the middle of a crowded takeout place during dinner rush is not really the place to be sharing the details of what Jared did to me today. Of what I did to him. Someone would probably call the cops.
“I’m not really in a good place to talk right now,” I say, but she hears the giddy grin in my voice.
“Oh my god, don’t do this to me! Tell me, did you finally do the deed?”
“Not exactly,” I reply. My voice creeps up an octave. Blush floods my cheeks. The elderly woman sitting next to me waiting on her order gives me a sideways glance like she knows what I’m up to and she doesn’t like it one bit, Missy.
“Not exactly? Ok, but there were sexy times, right?”
“Yes.”
“Yessssss,” she breathes out. “Oh, this could be fun. Let me guess! Did this happen in the office?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, are we talking oral?”
“Yes.”
“You or him?”
“Him.”
“Wait, him on you.”
“No, other way around.”
“Damn girl, so you can give me the dirty deets on his dick, right?”
“Still in the Chinese place, Janet,” I tell her with a giggle.
“Ugh, fine. Ok, so you went down on him. Did you get a little something something too?”
“Yes,” I say, the word sounding as definitive as my orgasm felt.
“Well that sounds like something. So no oral for you. Tell me it wasn’t just fingers.”
“No,” I say, and then I hear her squeal on the other end of the line so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. The elderly woman next to me definitely hears it, and she scoots two seats down to get away from me.
“Please tell me he teased you with that big cock of his,” she pleads.
“How did you know it was big?” I reply.
“Because a man doesn’t whip it out at the office unless he’s packing heat. And oh my god I need some serious details. Can we get together tonight? Oh wait, I have to go back to work and set up for the stupid opening of the world’s grossest art show. Maybe later this week?”
“Definitely,” I tell her. “I’ll give you details then.” Except for the fact that this is my billionaire boss and CEO of the company. I feel a twinge of guilt for lying to her. I’m pretty sure Janet’s never held anything back from me. But I know what she’ll say, and I’m not ready to let go of this incredible fantasy yet. If I think too hard about it, it’ll all dissolve around me, and I’d much rather live right in the middle of it. I want the possibility of his bed.
Chapter 5
Later that night I’m in bed, once again trying to fall asleep while pouring over dirty images of my time with Jared, when my phone buzzes. I pull it out from beneath my pillow, where it hangs out while I sleep, and see a text.
From Jared.
I can’t stop thinking about you bent over my desk.
I gulp, the memory indelible in my brain as well. I stare at my phone, trying in vain to come up with something to say back. Something confident and sexy that isn’t OHMYGODYES ME TOO MORE PLEASE.
The little flashing dots appear indicating that he’s typing. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for what he’s going to say next.
I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on contracts tomorrow with that image in my head.
The thought of me distracting him while he’s alone in that office, the memory of my palms on the glass top of his desk, makes me shiver. I love having this effect on him. I stare at the screen waiting to see if he’s going to say more, when I realize that he’s probably waiting for me. So I quickly tap out a text in return.
Tomorrow? I’m having trouble sleeping TONIGHT.
I hold my breath. I’m nervous about scaring him off, since he seems so concerned with boundaries, but I also want him to know that I’m into this, too. And that I want more.
Ah, so you’re up.
I grin and type a response.
Possibly all night
His response is almost instantaneous.
I want to hear your voice
My breath catches in my throat. My voice? He wants to talk on the phone? I can’t remember the last time I talked to a guy on the phone. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I texted a guy. Probably that Tinder date I went on back before I graduated, when I met the guy at the cheapest pizza place on the planet and he still “forgot his wallet.”
I cradle my phone in my hands, trying to come up with a response, but he’s impatient, because my phone rings in my hands with an incoming call. My hands are shaking, but I swipe my finger across the screen to answer it.
“Hello?” I say, already feeling the butterflies he gives me every time we interact for even one second.
“I’ve always thought it was strange that people answer cell phones like that,” he says. His voice comes through the line deep and clear, and it sends a rumble of want through me.
“Like what?”
“‘Like they don’t know who might be on the other end of the phone.”
I search his voice for cruelty, but there’s none. He’s teasing me a little, but angry Jared is nowhere to be found. “So how should I answer the phone?” I ask.
“How about ‘This is Quinn Carson, Queen of Sex’?”
I smile, glad he can’t see how badly I’m blushing through the phone. “But you called me. You know this is Quinn Carson, Queen of Sex.”
His laughter bursting through the phone is almost better than the idea of seeing him naked. It’s warm and familiar, and it makes me feel safe. It feels like a victory, like something hard-earned that only I know the secret to find, and I know in that moment that I want to hear it again and again and again.
I take the moment of his laughter to collect myself, because while he may think I’m the Queen of Sex, I know I’m any
thing but. Everything we’ve done so far has been new territory for me, and there’s only further to explore. I can’t wait to go there together. And I want to tell him, but I’m also afraid that it will mean something it shouldn’t. I don’t want to scare him away, especially not now that I’ve made him laugh.
“I meant it, you know,” his voice getting low and smooth as melted chocolate.
My insides liquefy as I start to imagine the roads down which this conversation could go, and I’m thrilled by the notion of what we could be doing. I want to encourage it. I want him to go there. So I ask, “meant what?”
“That I want to finish what we started,” he replies. There’s passion in his voice, but also something else. It almost sounds like beneath the gravel and the demanding tone, that he’s hopeful.
“You mean what we started that first night, when you promised to take me home and then sent me away with no explanation?” I challenge him.
There’s a beat of silence during which I know I’ve surprised him. If he thought I was going to be some kind of easy participant in dirty phone sex, he was wrong. I’m going to make him earn it, and now he knows it.
That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “You forget that before that I gave you a screaming orgasm.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and I know he’s trying to slip past it on charm alone.
“True, but then that man showed up, and you disappeared.”
He sighs a heavy sigh. I worry for a moment that I’ve gone to far, that he’s going to find an excuse to end the call and hang up.
But I’m not going to back down so easily now. I won’t keep feeling like an afterthought, like a plaything.
But he surprises me, with a light intake of breath.
“That was my father,” he says. “I didn’t expect him to show up at my house. Seeing him was quite the surprise. I hadn’t seen him in, well…probably almost two years.”
