I got my coffee and sipped it, leaning against the counter in the break room and just trying to bring myself back to normal by doing some deep breathing with my eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” I knew he was going to follow me. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I knew.
“Yeah, fine. Just taking a breather.” I didn’t open my eyes, but I could hear his suit swish as he stepped closer. Sexy sound.
“You sure about that? You looked upset. Miss Clarke.” The last part was added in a low voice and accompanied by a hand on my shoulder.
My eyes opened and he was right in front of me.
“I-I’m fine. Seriously.” Yeah, the stutter made that completely believable.
He leaned closer and I could smell his cologne. Not too much, just enough to know that he was there and that he smelled incredible. This was entirely inappropriate work behavior, but right in that second, it was kind of nice.
I’d never had someone that I could vent to at work. I’d never wanted to because I didn’t want to look weak, or like I was just a whiny princess that had gotten the job because of her Daddy.
“Okay. If you’re sure,” he said, his hand slipping down my shoulder and then moving across my stomach. I froze, even though there was no way he could know about the sexy undergarment I had on.
The second I flinched, he removed his hand, mistaking my flinch for one that meant I didn’t want him to touch me. Well, I did, but he shouldn’t. Those were two different things.
“I’m sure,” I said, sliding away from him along the counter. He smiled and leaned over.
“Let me know if you’re not later on. And I hope this isn’t sexual harassment, because you do look incredible today.” Before I could answer, he backed away, turned and was gone.
I was left to slump against the counter and wonder how long both of us could hold out before we had a repeat performance like the one in his apartment. Mr. Buzzy just wasn’t doing it for me at the moment. I needed a real man. A real man with a real penis and real hands and a real mouth that could sweetly torture me all night . . .
Keep it in your pants, Rory. Get back to work.
~*~*~
My fortitude was tested again later in the afternoon as I brought Mr. Blaine with me to his first meeting. It was one of those boring ones about projections and loss leaders and economic terms I’d studied in school but hadn’t bothered to keep in my brain after the test. I was forcing him to take notes for me in case I missed anything.
My thigh was practically touching his and I was trying to keep my lust bottled up for the hour and a half that I had to sit next to him in the darkened boardroom as our CFO droned on and went through chart after chart. Why did the room have to be so dark?
I shifted in my seat and re-crossed my legs under the table. Mr. Blaine shifted next to me and his leg brushed mine. Accidentally? On purpose?
I wanted to look at him, but he was on my right and the presentation was on my left so I couldn’t without being terribly obvious about it. And then it happened again. He slowly dragged his leg against mine. I froze and waited. Then his hand brushed my thigh. It was so light I wouldn’t have felt it unless all my nerve endings were freaking out right now. I squirmed a bit and stared at the presentation packet in front of me. Everyone else turned the page, and I hurried to follow. I had no idea what we were talking about.
The hand came back, and I almost slapped it away. I wrote Stop it! on my notes and slid it so he could read it. I swore I heard him laugh before he used his finger to write NO on my thigh. I could freak out. I could have his ass for harassment, or I could screw with him.
I chose the latter.
I uncrossed my legs and tipped them toward him, sighing just a little bit as I fiddled with the hem of my skirt, inching it upwards just a tiny bit. I was satisfied by a sharp intake of breath from the seat next to me.
Dad wasn’t at this meeting because he was schmoozing a potential client, or else I never would have been this brazen. Everyone else was in “meeting mode” and totally absorbed in the charts and numbers and such.
Then I took the hand that had come back to rest on my thigh and guided it around my leg and in between, and then under my skirt. His fingers twitched and I could feel him wondering what the hell I was doing, even though I couldn’t see him. Once his hand was completely under my skirt, I thought he could figure out what I was asking him to do as I shifted myself closer to his hand and put both hands on the table and stared at the presentation as if my life depended on it.
After only a moment of hesitation, his hand worked its way upward and came in contact with my over-sensitized flesh. Good boy.
His fingers fluttered for a moment on the very inside of my thigh before brushing across my center. I had to fight the sigh that almost escaped my lips. I felt him shift so he could get a better angle and then his fingers danced across me in a staccato pattern that was making things a little wet down there.
Have you ever been fingered during a tedious meeting and had to stop yourself from sighing in pleasure? Yeah, not easy.
The moment it was the hardest was when he moved my panties aside and started stroking my clit and fingering my entrance. I didn’t know he’d take it quite that far, but it was my own fault for having this idea in the first place. As he stroked me toward orgasm, the meeting started getting hazy and I had to bite my lip to stay silent. I kept looking around, but everyone was still engrossed in the charts. Or whatever those were. My eyes couldn’t really focus on them.
It soon became a struggle to keep my hips still as they wanted to thrust toward his hand and I knew that I had to put a stop to this. Against nearly every instinct in my body, I grabbed his hand and removed it slowly from under my skirt and placed it back on his leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was staring at the presentation.
You’ll finish this later I scribbled on the notepad and slid it toward him. It felt very much like we were passing notes in middle school again. He took the pad and wrote something before moving it back to me.