My jaw is aching, but all that matters is making him moan. He does. The sound a deep bass tone that rumbles through his body. I hum around his dick.
“Oh, fuck!”
He likes the vibrations. Good. I hum again, deeper than before. He grips the bench tighter. This is different from Friday. Then he fucked me, but now I'm very much in control. I want to show him how good my mouth and tongue are. I want to turn him into a puddle of ecstasy. Nothing matters to me more than pleasing Sir.
His cock twitches, jerks, and pulses. Despite the condom, the heat of his cum warms the back of my throat. I swallow, imagining his cock is bare and I’m milking him dry. Maybe one day it will be. Fuck, I’d start every day like this if he wanted me to. I’d end each day like this too. I love sucking his cock.
I hold his length in my mouth as it becomes flaccid. Then I pull my lips off him with a wet pop. I take the condom off him, tie it up, tuck him back into his pants, and do his trousers up. I wipe the back of my hand over my damp lips and then wait for his next order.
He picks up the coffee mug and drinks, stroking my hair with his other hand. He cups my cheek and tilts my face up.
“Look at me.”
I obey. His blue eyes are the softest I’ve ever seen them. He drinks his coffee, strokes my cheek, and stares into my eyes.
“I want you,” he says in a soft voice.
“I want you too, Sir.”
“Nine to five, you’re my PA. I expect you to do your job.”
"Yes, Sir." I don't want to mention it must be nine thirty by now.
"Outside of that, you're mine."
My head spins, my arms shake, and my heart flutters. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now on your feet and get to work.”
* * *
We spend the day pretending everything is normal. Hamish stares at his computer and snaps at me whenever I come near. I do my job diligently and efficiently, making him coffee and lunch before he needs to ask. We talk a little. Everything's awkward, but I'm determined to prove I can make this work. We can work together and have each other. It doesn't need to be one or the other.
When five o'clock rolls around, I expect something to happen. Hamish is tapping on his keyboard, punching one key at a time, and occasionally swearing. I hope he doesn't write whole books like that. It would take him forever if he did. He doesn't say anything. I shut my computer down and wait for one, two…ten minutes. Nothing happens.
“I’ll be off, then.” I don’t try to hide the disappointment in my voice. “See you in the morning.”
I grab his empty mug and take it to the kitchen. It’s my last duty before I leave for the day. I could put it in the dishwasher, but I take the time to wash it by hand. As I wipe the coffee stains away with a cloth, I decide he’s changed his mind and the silent treatment is his way of telling me. Ornottelling me. My eyes sting as all the hopes he ignited this morning go up in smoke. There's nothing for it but to go home and pretend none of this ever happened. I'll hand my notice in because I can't stand the humiliation of being around him now.
I turn the tap off and reach for a tea towel, drying the mug with the same vigorous energy I washed it with. I put it down on the counter, probably too hard. I’m thankful it doesn’t break. Hamish likes that mug. Then I lean against the counter and draw in a shaky breath. I’m a fool to think Hamish could really want me.
His chest collides with my back as his huge hands cover mine. He presses against me, pushing me against the counter. His lips seek out my neck, and he kisses me, trailing across the collar of my shirt until he’s reached the other side. He pauses and inhales.
“You smell so good.”
I doubt that. It's been hours since I left the house and doused myself in deodorant. I've travelled on the tube and buses and spent a whole day in his stuffy office. My armpits are damp, and my neck prickles beneath my stiff collar. Despite that, I don't contradict him. I'm too stunned to say anything.
He continues to kiss me, working his way to the other side of my neck again. His breath snuffles against my skin, hot and needy. My eyelids flutter as he rocks his hips, rubbing his hard cock against me. He puts his hand on my throat and presses against the underside of my chin, forcing me to look up. He leans around and kisses my throat, licking and teasing the tender skin with his teeth. Still kissing me, his hands drop to my trousers. He undoes the button and unzips my flies. His hand slips under the waistband of my boxers and closes around my cock. I moan as he strokes me. I can hear the blood rushing through my ears, like the sound of waves breaking on a beach.
The moment I’m hard, he lets go of my cock and tugs my trousers and boxers down to my knees. His huge hand cups my arse cheek.
“It’s red,” he whispers in my ear.
“I was naughty, Sir.”
“Yes, you were.”
He puts a condom and lube on the counter. I shiver. Is he going to fuck me? Oh please, let him be about to fuck me. I bow my head and wait for him to command me with a word or touch. He nudges my feet apart with his own. The trousers and underwear around my knees forbid me from parting my legs too far. He grabs the lube and seconds later his cold, wet finger strokes down my crack and over my hole. I brace myself. On Friday, he was both gentle and rough. I’ve got the feeling this fucking is going to be hard and frantic, without any of the tender care he showed me while I was spreadeagled on the mat. My heart is beating so violently my chest aches. Is this really happening? Moments ago, I convinced myself we were over before we’d even started, now he’s about to screw me in the kitchen.
