Lizzie
There are some fantasies that you can’t stop thinking about, but there are others that you don’t even know you harbor until they come true. Walking through the corridors of Darcy’s office building, I feel the grand importance in the sky—high ceilings and polished floors. Don’t get me wrong, I do not want to be in a place like this every day, but in this moment it feels like I’m stepping up my game and stepping up in the world.
I could get used to this.
Despite the epic weight of it all, when I open the door to Darcy’s office he’s leaning back in his chair with his imported loafers up on his desk like it’s nothing. Darcy’s shiny shoes are resting right on top of piles of important looking contracts, memos, receipts…damn, why does that make me feel so hot? I notice for the first time that Darcy is reading an actual paper version of the Wall Street Journal.
“What year is it, again?”
Darcy looks up like he’s just noticing me there for the first time. He looks back down at the folded broadsheet. “The year when I can get an intern to bring me the paper every day so I don’t have to pay to read this crap online. This year.”
“You ever hear of a soft paywall? Private browsing? Free shit?”
I already feel like I’m in a time warp watching Darcy with that paper, especially when he folds it and places it down on his desk. Darcy smiles.
“You mean stealing? I’ve heard of stealing. You know, piracy.” Darcy slides his loafers off the desk, crumpling and disorganizing his papers even more. Oh, baby. Seriously.
“Arrr, I’m a pirate, I like to read my phone on the subway instead of a bunch of fucking dead trees. Arrr.” I’m scrunching up my face in an attempt at a sexy, aggressive grimace. Or, at least as sexy as an aggressive grimace can be.
“You don’t take the subway, do you?”
“I take the arrr train from 34th Street. But, seriously: car service all the way from the mansion.”
Darcy places his hands on his desk and leans straight forward. If someone else tried that, it would look ridiculous. When Darcy takes control of his high—powered desk it gives me the beginnings of little orgasmic waves – a preview of things to come.
“That’s the goddamn way to do it, Lizzie. You’re learning well.” I know Darcy’s just trying to get me going. I wouldn’t take that shit from anybody else. With Darcy, I only pretend not to take it.
“I ain’t learnin’ shit from you. That’s always how I roll into the city.”
That old magnetic force is pulling me around towards Darcy’s desk. I’m here for a reason, after all.
Which way will I walk around the desk to get to the main attraction? Around the right side? The left side? I start strutting forward to start.
I’m not working but I’m dressed for the office. I fix my eyes into Darcy’s, willing each clack of my Cole Haan pumps to make his billionaire cock a little less soft. I want to savor the moment before I savor something else.
“You’ve got the swag, Liz.”
I put my hands on my hips, old—school burlesque style. I glare at Darcy across the desk – I’m the teacher about to punish a naughty student after class. An oldie but a goodie. That would make a good photo set.
“The fuck you just call me?”
Darcy lets his hands slide back across the desk as he slowly sinks back into his chair.
“All I said was: You’ve got the swag, Lizziewhoisthesexiestgoddamnthingever.”
“That’s what I thought. And what, or rather who, is your fantasy now?”
Darcy doesn’t answer right away. But, I’m going around the left side of the desk. Sinister. I’m still walking at a snail’s pace—let all twelve of those firm, unyielding inches build in their good time. This is like an appetizer.
Darcy is watching me get closer to him. His eyes are glued—cemented, really—to my deliberate walk. He is starving, ravenous.
I can walk the walk: one foot directly in front of the other, the boundaries of my well-formed ass swinging in and out of tantalizing view. Darcy is still starving, but he’s playing it cool yet again, speaking calmly.
“You know what it’s like now. Fantasy made reality.”
“I do, thanks to you. It’s beyond indescribable. Wait, can something be beyond indescribable?”
I’m losing the act, but we’re both becoming our real selves.