In her mouth.
Down her throat.
Deep in her pussy.
I tossed the warm towel as the doorbell alerted me of a visitor.
7:45p
Four minutes. Flat.
That was a new record for Asia. I wasn’t complaining. My erection had yet to relieve me of the aches from the rigidness.
She was heavy on my mind.
Royce. Royce Childers.
I doubted it subsided on its own. I’d need assistance. I’d need Asia.
“Good evening, Ishmael.”
Her lips moved slowly.
“Front door open.” The alarm sounded.
I searched her big, light brown eyes for the unknown. I was only met with the desperation that pushed her forward, into my pad.
I secured the lock and turned on my heels. Asia’s feet were no longer on the floor. Her knees had replaced them. The tube dress she wore pooled beneath her. She was pantiless. Braless. Senseless.
My towel was no longer around my waist. And, my hard dick was no longer kissing the air. Asia was kissing it. Longingly. Lovingly. Gently.
“Good evening, Asia,” I groaned, placing my hand on the back of her head.
Darkness filled every pixel of my vision as my head fell backward, leaning against the door.
Good fucking evening.
FOUR
My shoulders squaredas my heels met the polished wood that covered every corner ofThe Mthat was reserved for staff, management, and vendors. I straightened my spine. My finger ran the length of my dress.
Their journey ended as swiftly as it began. The black dress stopped just beneath the cheeks of my ass. A white collared shirt with winged cuffs at the end rested under it. I hadn’t fastened a single button. My little black dress that flared so subtly was holding it together.
Stockings that matched the tone of my skin brushed against the smoothness of my legs. Prada pumps met them near my ankles. Three anklets dangled just above them. A diamondbracelet, pink diamond studded Rolex, and a diamond rope all danced in the dimness of the small hallway.
I pulled my briefcase in front of me. Thoughts of Rome curled my lips upward. Gifts from her always touched me deeper than I cared to explain. There was something about them.
Something about her.
Snap.
“Focus, baby.”
Chemistry’s fingers appeared in the back of my brain. I collected myself as I closed my eyes.
Ishmael possessed every quality I searched for in a man. However, he wasn’t mine to have. Business and pleasure never mixed well. He wanted the election. He couldn’t have both me and the election.
I wanted his business. I couldn’t be his handler and his partner. My line of work didn’t include sex on the job. It blurred lines. It broke codes. It crossed boundaries. And it complicated the work relationship with clients.
