He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Retrieves a condom. Sets it on the desk beside me.
“Lift your skirt,” he says.
I lift my skirt.
His sharp inhale is gratifying. My underwear is nothing special. Black cotton. Practical. But the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was wearing La Perla.
“Every day,” he says roughly. “Every fucking day you sit outside my office and I imagine this. You. Here. Like this.”
“That seems very distracting for a CEO,” I quip weakly.
“You have no fucking idea.” He hooks his fingers in my underwear and tugs them down my legs. Tosses them somewhere. Probably near the ruined pizza.
My underwear is on his office floor.
My underwear is on my boss’s floor.
This is happening.
He pushes his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out, thick and flushed and already glistening at the tip. I remember how it felt inside me. How it stretched me. How he made me cum so hard I saw stars.
My pussy clenches at the memory.
He tears open the condom with his teeth. Rolls it on with practiced efficiency. Then his hands are on my thighs, spreading them wider, and he’s lining himself up at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
His eyes lock onto mine as he pushes in. Slowly. Letting me feel every inch.
Oh god—
Oh god—
Oh god—
I’m wet enough that he slides in easily, but he’s big enough that there’s still that moment of adjustment. Thatstretch. The fullness that borders on too much.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t close his eyes. Just watches my face as he seats himself fully inside me.
“Okay?” he asks.
“More than okay.” My voice is wrecked. “Why do you always ask?”
“Because I need to know.” He pulls back slightly, then thrusts in again. Deeper. “I need to know I’m not hurting you.”
God.
Why does that make me want to cry?
But then he’s pounding me and I forget how to think.
The vacuum cleaner is still going somewhere down the hall.
I let myself moan as he sets a rhythm. His hands grip my hips to keep me anchored on the desk.
“Harder,” I breathe.
