The CFO flung himself forward, seizing a fistful of my hair while pressing his stern mouth against my soft lips. Cologne and cognac filled my senses as he shoved his tongue in and out of my mouth, dancing and twisting and tasting my insides. A swell of uncertainty sent shivers down my spine before I slowly started to melt and gave in to my temptations.
The more we kissed the harder he grew—I could feel his masculine member pressing against my tucked-in tummy. He pulled my head back so my fragile neck was fully exposed beneath his breath. He brandished his teeth and bit my nape, latching on and sucking hard, promising a red mark in his wake. A wail of delight escaped my lips as he moved his hands all over my body, soft silk sliding against strong hands, grabbing hold of my curves and caressing my breasts as he explored my whole body over.
Tipping the scales at 100 pounds, I proved no match for the fully-grown businessman. Letting go and giving in to our desires, I wrapped my legs around his torso as he bunched my dress up and breeched my underwear. He placed one hand against my mound while lowering me onto the lacquered table, helping adjust me—every bit of me—to his high standards.
"Are you ready?" the CFO growled over clinking belt buckles and troublesome trousers.
"Oh yes yes YES!" I pleaded and wailed, wriggling my body against the slippery surfaces of both the table and his upturned hand.
"I said, are you ready?"
"Oh yes I—"
"It's time to go! You're gonna be late!"
Wait, late?
Wait...what?!
I sat up suddenly in bed, breathing heavily and unblinking at the mid-morning rays jutting between faux wood blinds. The silhouette of my mother came to be as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The faint sound of an iPhone alarm could be heard underneath my pillowcase and that erotic dream.
Oh fuck me—I slept in... again!
Considering I was just hired a few months ago, I was in no position for habitual tardiness. And this would the third time this week that I was late for work! I'm never going to get a raise if I can't even show up on time!
But it's not my fault, I told myself as I hurried into receptionist attire. It's my boss's fault for being so damn sexy, I confided as I sped down the interstate. He's the one seducing ME in my dreams, I asserted while waiting for the office elevator. I'll just sneak to my desk and avoid the CFO and pretend that I—
Ohh fuck me, it's him.
"Good morning, Miss London," the CFO greeted after the elevator doors chimed open, raising his Movado-clad wrist while I sheepishly entered. "Oh, I beg your pardon; it's nearly afternoon."
"Hiiii Mr. Steel," I whimpered through clenched teeth and a forced smile. Despite upturned lips, my eyes were locked on the elevator floor, staring deeply at tile imperfections and grout lines, the two things furthest away from the CFO's glower. The heat from his eyes caused me to quiver, penetrating me in ways well beyond my wildest dreams.
Dare I say...I like this feeling even more?
"Fourth time this week," Mr. Steel sighed, a twinge of disappointment in his voice.
"Actually, it's only the third..." I pointed out before trailing off.
"Uh-hum?"
"...and I'm really sorry..."
"Uh-hem."
"...and I won't let it happen again..."
"The button, Miss London!" he insisted, almost a demand. "The office is on the fifteenth floor."
"O'coursethat's'kay!" I stupidly sputtered, slurring together a bunch of words like a high school senior at a college kegger. I could feel my cheeks fluster while I fumbled for the correct button. I don't know what it is about Mr. Steel, but whenever I'm around him, I get all tongue-tied and twisted, like an 18-year-old misfit that I am pretending NOT to be.
I start humming Pink Floyd on our ascent while straightening out my v-slit skirt. Sure, I'm only a receptionist, and Fridays are business casual, but I always try to dress my best since I want to move up in the company. Although being late—and getting caught by the boss—probably isn't the best way to do so...
Mr. Steel takes notice of me. I stop humming, not daring to look up as he stares me down. My legs tremble and my panties moisten with the thought of Mr. Steel reprimanding me. Again. The elevator halts and the doors ding open. He takes a breath—as if wanting to say something—but instead takes the first step forward and exits the ride; I start to say something too, but by the time I dismount, Mr. Steel is no where to be seen.
It was business as usual for a Friday. Answering emails, directing phone calls, smiling at visitors, distributing name tags. Nothing too challenging or too rewarding for that matter, except for that close encounter with Mr. Steel. Ohhh I know he's married. And has a high paying job. And probably a huge house in suburbia with a white picket fence and a golden retriever named Buddy.
But I don't care—Mr. Steel is so fucking hot and I would let him do anything to me!
"Want to cum?"
Wait, what?!
I remove my headset and look up over the counter; it's Mr. Steel's bright-eyed assistant, Blake.
"I said, did you want to come? A few of us are having lunch outside, and I saved a seat for—"
"Yeah sure, sounds great," I quickly replied, freeing myself of forbidden fantasies and whatever work duties I was supposedly doing. I was hardly hungry—I just had breakfast like 2 hours ago—but I didn't dare turn down a friendly gesture from the CFO's right-hand man. Because if anyone could put in a good word for me, it would be Blake.
While adjusting my skirt before standing up, I noticed Blake eyeing my slightly exposed apex—was he staring at my panties? Were they still wet from the elevator incident? I hid a smirk behind bit lips and straightened myself out; Blake blushed and quickly looked away.
Sure, Blake was kind of cute, and I suspected he had a crush on me from day one. He visits me constantly, sends me all kinds of emojis, and is quite hands-on no matter who's around. But, our company enforces a strict no-dating policy, and it's not worth me losing a job over some stupid office romance, no matter how cute he kinda is.
The weather was perfect for having lunch outside. Blue skies and low humidity paired nicely with sandwiches and sparkling water. Blake and I talk about him and his job and all that necessary small talk bullshit. Blake says I look like a princess; I say he looks like a frog. Blake says he's only 28, but the salt and pepper stubble on sideburns begs 30s. I call him an 'old man' and he says I'm 'just a baby.' You know, cute flirty stuff like that.
I try to steer the conversation towards Mr. Steel. As a touted introvert and habitually busy, Mr. Steel keeps mostly to himself. Even Blake, who has been his assistant for nearly 3 years now, didn't know much about the CFO's personal life beyond office borders.
Blake starts trailing off, but I wrangle him back.
"Why do you care so much about Mr. Steel?"