Page 42 of Mr. Perfect

“Good,” he says, arranging things on the cart. “You’re starting to come to your senses.”

I roll my eyes, but save my indignation for later. It’s just no use. He’s a man who gets his way and this morning he wants me to sit in the window seat of my office topless as he serves me food.

“It’s fun, right?” Mac asks, winking at me as he unwraps the silverware, shakes out the white linen napkin, and places it on my lap.

I don’t answer. It is a little bit fun, but I don’t agree or even smile, because he doesn’t deserve to be rewarded for being a caveman.

There are two large silver-domed plates, a carafe of coffee, two smaller silver-domed plates, and a clear crystal bowl of water with pink and white roses floating on top.

Well. He certainly knows how to make things pretty. “Why?” I ask.

He lifts the silver domes on the plates and hides them on one of the shelves underneath the cart. “I hope you like pancakes. But if not, I got French toast. We can share.”

“Why are you like this?” I ask, my mouth watering as I look at the pile of fresh berries on top of my pancakes. And his French toast is an inch thick and has perfectly crispy edges.

“Like what?” he asks, opening up his silverware and flapping his napkin in his lap as he sits. “Fun? Creative? Romantic? Which of those things bothers you, Ellie?”

“It’s not that,” I say. “You know why I’m bothered.” I point to my perky tits.

“Yeah, they’re beautiful. I’m never going to forget this breakfast. And isn’t that the point? Isn’t every experience we have a memory in the making? Why not make them special?”

He pours us each a coffee, then hands me the cream and sugar. I do want what’s on this table. I want these berry-covered pancakes. And the coffee smells delicious. I’m probably going to help myself to that French toast too.

“It can be special without being naked,” I say as I cut my pancakes with my fork and shove it in my mouth.

“Oh.” Mac laughs. “The special part comes later. When I push you face-first up against this window, squishing your tits against the cold glass as I pull your trousers down and finger your pussy until you come. That’s the part you won’t forget, Ellie. You’ll never remember how this food tasted. Good, or sweet, or whatever will be the only takeaway from that. But the morning your boss finger-fucked you up against your office window? Now that is a memory you’ll be masturbating to for years.”

Oh, my God. I’m in way over my head. He’s way too much for me.

“And then I’m going to stick my fingers in your mouth while they are still slick with your pleasure, and jerk off as I stare into your face and come on your tits. That’s why I want you topless. So I can eat and imagine all that fun that’s coming our way. All those memories we’ll be making in about ten minutes.”

I think I actually cream myself. I’m not even sure where that expression comes from. I’ve never used it before in my life, but there it is in the front of my mind. And it’s happening. And it fits. Because I’m wet. I’m wet from his words.

So he wins, doesn’t he? Because while I should be worried about treating my boss to a topless breakfast, all I can think about is his fingers inside me. His hot breath on my shoulder as he plays with my clit until I come.

Mac laughs. “Ellie, come on. You’re not that uptight, are you?”

I take a deep breath and exhale.

He leans over with a forkful of French toast and puts it to my lips. I open my mouth and he slips the food inside, his smile more like a man who is in the middle of lust than one who is thinking about breakfast.

His other hand is busy beneath the table cloth. I hear the jingle of a belt, then he closes his eyes and starts pumping.

He’s jerking off.

I am stunned silent.

“Play with yourself, Ellie. While you eat.” His eyes open and he cuts himself a portion of French toast, puts it in his mouth as I stare at his lips, and chews slowly. “Please,” he whispers softly.

Please. Hmmm. That catches me off guard. And what the hell. I’m here, already topless. Already participating. Why not just… embrace it.

I swallow hard and begin massaging my nipple with my left hand, the right hand busy cutting up pancakes.

I never stop looking at him.

He smiles and nods. “See.”

I do see.