I lean back enough to watch my fingers meet her bare pussy for the first time. We both watch as my middle digit trails through her dark, tidy strip of hair and disappear between the soaked lips. They close around my touch with a wet sound that tightens my balls painfully, her smooth heat dampening my finger more, more, especially when I find that bud and tease it, reveling in her choked intake of breath against my mouth. “You bring me here to fill this up with cock, Stella?” I add a second finger, rubbing them both up and back over her clit gently—until her thighs start to flex, then with more pressure. Faster. “You going to need me to push it in slowly or all at once, huh? What’s going to make you come the hardest?”
“I don’t know,” she says, gasping when I push my middle finger inside of her tight channel, flexing it, feeling her stretch around me. “I don’t…r-remember anything before this. Four years, no sex. No, longer. Longer.”
“Don’t do that,” I heave into her neck, fingering her roughly now, in, out, deep, like I sense she needs. “Don’t remind me I’m breaking your dry spell. Jesus, I won’t last five seconds.”
Her laugh is breathy, almost euphoric. “That’s such a man thing.”
“Oh yeah? You’re not turned on knowing you’re my first since before lockdown? Maybe longer, because I can’t remember a damn thing before you, either, sweetheart?”
“Fine. Maybe a little, yes.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, her cunt flexing around my knuckle. “Maybe a lot.”
This girl. I want to run away with her. Elope. Go on safaris. Sink down to the bottom of the ocean holding her hand. Just everything. And now her fingers are unfastening my belt buckle, stopping every few seconds or so to stroke her palm down over my straining cock, massaging and teasing it, scraping her fingernails down my abs. “You’re about to come on my fingers again, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” bursts out of her, just as she gets my zipper down.
“Go on,” I pant against her mouth. “You’re allowed to love getting fingered when I’m the one doing it. Get that wet stuff all over the man who brings you the fuck home.”
With my zipper down, my cock pushes out into the scant space between us, still housed in my white briefs. I’m hard as iron, so help me God. So stiff I’m leaking. I’ve never needed anyone so bad in my life and I never will again. That’s an intuition written in stone. And I just need to get Stella on her back. Now. I need her nails scoring my back and her knees hugging my ribcage. That’s what I need—but when she slides her smooth palms down my chest and stomach, gripping my erection and giving me a perfectly tight hand job through my briefs…
I look down at the part of her hair. My tie on the floor.
At some point, she dropped her purse. Her employee badge has spilled out onto the floor of the entryway. Stella has a lopsided smile in the photo. A nervous one. It’s her first day of work. First major chance, major leap she’s taken since being released back into the real world. And she’s taking it in my store.
My conscience rears its head.
No. Please.
It’s too late, though. I’m her boss. I’m her boss and there’s the proof, staring up at me.
I’ve stopped kissing her. My fingers are pressed deep inside of her, but I’m no longer moving them. She looks up at me questioningly, the pace of her breath frantic, her sex pulsing around my touch. There’s no way I can leave her unsatisfied. There’s no way. I just need to get out of my head about our imbalance of power. I need to trust what’s happening here. What’s between me and Stella. It’s the real deal. I feel that in my fucking bones. And the reason I am forgoing formalities, the reason I’ve bucked the rules and brought her home tonight, is so she’ll see me as more than a nice guy. So I’ll have a chance to make this last.
Plus, Jesus, I need her. I need her so bad, I can’t unclench my molars. The weight between my legs is pounding and unbearable. I want to be the closest to her anyone has ever gotten. Want to pump deep and watch her forget about anyone and anything but me.
“Aiden?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I know,” I say hoarsely. Rallying. Focusing. I stoop down and throw her over my shoulder, striding to the back of the apartment. Entering the only room besides the bathroom. A small bedroom the size of a closet—and again, her things are neatly organized in one single corner. But I’m not going to dwell on that and make her self-conscious. Nope. Not going to think about packing her suitcase and moving her into my place and putting her things everywhere, on all the surfaces and in multiple drawers. Because we haven’t gotten there yet. This is my audition to be her boyfriend, right? As of now, I’m just her too-nice boss who she doesn’t even want to be attracted to.