I dolike the fried chicken wraps, but biting into the crispy wrap with the spicy mayo sauce and the greasy fried chicken just doesn’t give me that same flood of pleasure.
Not like…
My face goes hot as I remember Graham and his fingers between my legs.
I shift in my seat, my panties suddenly tight and uncomfortable as I think about how I bent over for him.
The way his hand, strong and sure, stroked me.
How I wanted him lower.
How my pussy ached for something thick and hard inside of me.
I’m a good girl. The good daughter.
I pride myself on being boring and safe.
My parents would always complain about my brother—that he was always off at parties, that he always had a girlfriend, that he was looking at porn on his phone and getting viruses on the family PC.
Not me.
The worst I did was read Regency romance novels.
Mom didn’t even let me read Gran’s bodice rippers.
I wish he had just fucked me right there in the closet. Just spread my pussy and fucked his cock right into me, over and over, while I was bent over, helpless to stop it.
My clit and my pussy are swollen.
My panties are so soaked I’m worried they’re going to stain the light-gray skirt Piper brought me to change into.
I should just take them off.
But part of me is excited by my own desire, stoked by the phantom stroke of his hands.
I want to get impaled on a cock.
Want that pleasure that’s better than anything.
Want to be wanted.
Really, I need it.
I’m not going to get anything done today, that’s for sure.
There’s a conference room on the upper floor that’s usually not in use, and since all the Boston people and the Manhattan execs have just left for some big meeting in the city, the office is emptier.
I’m lucky.
The room’s empty.
The wall is all glass.
It’s off of a corridor, though.
No one’s going to go down there unless they’re going to the restrooms.
I sit down in one of the chairs. My skirt hikes up because of course it’s too small for me, what with all the wedding-planning stress eating.
