I Like Being Watched

Except, of course, we couldn't do that.

"You seem... tense," Wynn said, drawing my attention back upward where I found her with her arms resting behind her, making her back arch.

"N...no," I said, clearing my throat after hearing the roughness in my voice.

"Oh, hm. I must be mistaken," she said, doing a little shrug before slowly—so painfully fucking slowly—uncrossed her long legs in a movement designed to make her skirt hike up. Enough. Just enough to see she hadn't worn any panties to work. The realization made the desire like a vice grip on my balls. "Is something wrong?" she asked, feigning innocence even as she planted her damn foot on the arm of my chair, spreading herself wide for me.

"Wynn," I growled, forcing my gaze back upward. Where I found her balancing back on one hand as she dipped her damn pen in and out of her pouty lips.

"Yes?" she asked, all sweet, even if the light in her eyes told me she knew exactly what she had me thinking about.

"Stop," I demanded.

"Stop what, Mr. Buchanan?" she asked, damn near purring out my name. And I was forced to watch as that tongue of hers darted out, toyed around the curved top of the pen cap.

"You know what," I said, my voice a rumble as I forced my hands into fists on my thighs, trying to resist the urge to slip my fingers up her skirt, to slide them inside her pussy.

"I don't. You should tell me," she suggested as she started to glide the pen in and out of her mouth, filling my head with thoughts of those lips circling around my cock, working it up and down like she was doing to the damned pen. "Are you sure you're not tense?" she asked, a wicked smirk toying at her lips. "You seem a little... hard," she said as her foot accidentally slipped off the arm of my chair, her foot teasing over the head of my cock, making me see white for a second. "I mean... tense," she corrected even as she planted her foot on my upper thigh.

"I told you it can't happen again," I said even as she teased her toes over, circling around my straining cock.

"This?" she asked, curling her toes around the base of my cock and doing a small stroke. "I'm pretty sure we've never done this before," she told me, bringing in her other foot to wrap around the other side of my cock, then starting to jerk me off through my pants.

"Technicality," I hissed, leaning back in my chair, trying not to enjoy the sensations as much as I was right then, but finding it impossible to think past the growing sensations.

"Maybe," she agreed, feet moving away to plant on the floor beside my chair. "I think this might be a technicality too," she mused as she slid off the desk and onto her knees at my feet, her hands planted at my thighs and moving upward. "Right?" she asked as her fingers went for my button and zipper.

"Wynn..." I growled even as her hands reached inside to grab my throbbing cock, pulling it out of my pants, and grabbing it with both hands.

"Hmm?" she asked as her head ducked, as she ran her lips down and up my shaft on one side before doing the same to the other side, avoiding the head. Only when she was done with that did her gaze slip upward, holding mine. "What do you think, Mr. Buchanan, should I stop because of a technicality?" she asked as her tongue moved outward fully, openly inviting me into her mouth.

"No," I hissed, grabbed the back of her neck, and shoving her face down, feeling my cock slide into her welcoming mouth, pressing hard against the back of her throat as she let out a little gagging sound that only managed to make me harder still.

My hand eased on the back of the neck, wanting her to take over, so I could get lost in the sensations as she started to move, slow and torturous at first, then going faster and faster as my breathing started to hitch, as she dragged ragged groans out of me.

"Shit," I hissed, jolting upright, mind half-foggy from the need for release. But that was a car door I'd heard. "Wynn, door," I told her, reaching down to pull her back off me by her hair.

She released me.

But only to shoot me a wicked smirk with her eye makeup running down her face as she scooted backward, going under my desk, and grabbing my chair, pulling it forward.

"What? No," I insisted, even as a surprising thrill of desire coursed through me.

That was not the kind of man I was, the kind who got sucked off under his desk.

Or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say that never used to be the kind of man I was. Because, clearly, it was who I was now as I scooted a little closer to the desk, and grabbed the remote to turn the speakers on low just as the front door opened.