Seven thirty, and I was nowhere near ready to go home. No, that's not true; I was ready to go home at five, but a temperamental computer decided to eat every file that I'd created since I started that morning. And with deadlines as tight as they are at work, I couldn't afford to leave until the whole job was re-done. Luckily, I wasn't there alone. Ian was with me. And why not? It was his ass on the line, too, if we didn't finish this project quickly. And what a cute ass it was, too! Oh, I couldn't afford to think like that! For one thing, we had a lot of work to do. For another, we were co-workers, and office romances never work! Right? Sigh.
It was Ian who showed me the ropes when I first started at this job, three months earlier. He's such a pretty man! I know, most guys don't like being called "pretty". But what better way to describe Ian? He's a couple of inches shorter than my five eight, and his jet-black hair is always in need of a trim. With a slender, muscular body, dark olive skin, and eyes as black as night, he has a way of making me melt with a sideways glance. I swear, every time I look at him, I get wet! And he's so sweet. He always has nice things to say to people, and really knows how to make me feel beautiful with a casual compliment. That's something Barry, my ex-husband, never knew how to do. As soon as I hit 140 pounds, I was his "chubby little sausage". By 150, I showed him the door.
I don't bother looking at the scale anymore. Ian and my mirror both tell me that I'm lovely, and I think I'll believe them. As I said, I'm five eight, and full-figured, with large bouncy breasts, wide sexy hips, and curves from here to Sunday afternoon! My auburn hair frames a pretty face, with full pouty lips, and sweeps down to my mid-back, and I've been known to melt a few hearts with my emerald green eyes.
Ian walked into my cubicle with two cups of Cappuccino, and a box of blank CDs, "just in case," he said. Good thinking. Sipping my coffee, I proceeded to make back-ups of the files that we'd redone so far. If the computer decided it was still hungry, we wouldn't have to start from scratch.
By ten o'clock, we were putting the finishing touches on the project, and my back was aching like nobody's business. I let Ian know this with a groan.
"You need a backrub?" he asked, and I nodded vigorously (which didn't help matters at all).
Instructing me to sit in my chair backwards, he gently kneaded my sore muscles. Oh, his fingers were magic! And soon, he had every kink worked out of my back. "Mmm, that feels wonderful, Ian," I said wistfully. "If you fuck half this well, you're welcome in my bed." Oh, God, I still can't believe I said that! I must have been blushing furiously. "Um. I mean... You give a good backrub." I said lamely. "Egad, look at the time." But it was out there now, wasn't it? I'd actually invited Ian to fuck me! And while I didn't exactly intend to say it, I cannot tell you that I didn't mean it.