Plum

Face burning, she wondered where to even start. Should she start with what she wanted, what she got, what she thought, what her friend told her or what?

Seeing her hesitation, Shaun's arousal began writing her story for her- and for himself. He could smell her, warm and musky, pheromones oozing from her pores. Her pupils were dilated, her eyes black with the narrowest cerulean border; a pale blue vein pulsed in her neck. Her skin was flushed, spots of color rose on her cheeks. Hot. She was focused inward again, and while he wanted to hear her story, his own instantly written version was already spooled and running.

Looking past her, he saw it begin:

He watched as it unfolded, playing like a film on the wall behind her. Such a surreal effect; to see her sitting, less that innocent, in the chair in front of him, knowing she was real and watching her body say what her mouth had not. Her mouth, lips slightly parted again, teeth catching her bottom lip. At the same time, he watched himself get out of his chair, move beside her and take her arm.

She was hot, her skin pulsing under his fingertips. He caught her fragrance again, flowery and heady, underpinned with the scent of her arousal.

Gripping her arm forcefully but not painfully, he succeeded in pulling her from the chair. Without giving her a chance to object, he pressed his lips to hers. Hard teeth behind soft lips. Firm hands on soft flesh. A quiet moan punctured the silence, ragged breaths tore the heavy air. At the same time, he reached down with his other hand, touching just above the midpoint of her thigh. Fingers slightly rougher than the silky expanse of her, exciting her, demanding a response from her body.

She bucked toward him involuntarily, her pelvis thrusting forward seeking relief or closure or release. He'd narrowed her world to his fingertips on her leg, lips demanding access to her mouth, and his grip on her arm, which seemed to have encased her entire being.

Dragging his fingernails up her thigh, he felt the gooseflesh rise. Not sure if he imagined it or not, he felt her nipples harden almost painfully. Fleetingly, the thought registered that he should not feel her nipples through her blouse and jacket; no matter, this was his and he would have it as he wanted it. Two hard points, they ground against his chest, exciting him further. He pictured them, dusky and erect, begging to be caught between his teeth.

Running his fingers up under her skirt, he felt her wobble, knees weak. Her weight shifted toward him and the sudden intake of breath opened her mouth to his probing tongue. The skirt, while not tight as a pencil skirt, was still nicely fitted to her. The additional bulk of his hand pulled the material against her, adding to his sense of deliciously confining her. Continuing upward for what felt like an eternity, he reached the apex of her thighs, finding it covered with a flimsy film of cotton. His grip on her arm tightened and he kissed her harder.

He swirled his tongue in her mouth; she tasted vaguely of spearmint. The hard smoothness of her teeth was such a sharp contrast to the soft, slightly rough texture of her tongue. He gently trapped her tongue, sucking on it, imaging every part of her in his mouth the same way.

Her hips thrusting against him brought his attention back to her sex. The warmth poured off of her in waves and the junction of her thighs was damp and inviting. His fingers sawed back and forth against the soft fabric, pushing it against her flesh, contouring it to her folds. She reached against his hand with her hips, mashing his fingers tightly against her then releasing as she moved back and forth.

The divot down the middle, caused by just a bit more pressure from his middle finger, was damp and slippery against his digit. Using his other fingers, he cupped her sex. Grinding his palm lightly against the sensitive ridge where her pubic bone ended and making a tapping motion with his middle finger, reaching almost to the back of her hot slit, he felt her stiffen. Her back and forth motion stopped and she froze in place.

Uneven breaths punctuated by moans filled the small space of his office. Breaking the connection with his mouth, her head was thrown back. What was a graceful neck was corded and tight, almost too tense. Her release was close but he was not ready for that yet; he wanted to own her and letting her off too easy or too soon would not accomplish his goal.

Not ready to end his reverie, but knowing on the peripheral of his conscious that he was staring just past her brought his attention back to her.

Straightening his tie and clearing his throat, he focused on her eyes. "Ms. Cole? I don't have all day. You're not the only person who wants this job."