by Amara Kent
They say that no matter how much you organize something, you can never prepare yourself for the multitude of variables. And when you mix people with alcohol, you are sure to come across a buffoon. And that buffoon has just fallen right in front of the velvet rope that leads to the VIP section. Quickly making my way through the crowd, I reach him before he can lay a hand on Victoria’s Secret model Katya Meknikov’s ass.
“Hey, buddy, how are you doing? Having a fun night?” I ask, turning him around and away from a stunned Katya. She mouths a thank you at me and I grin in return.
“Is that Katya Meknikov?” the guy slurs.
“No”
“It totally was, man! It was Katya Meknikov!” He twists out of my hold and heads straight back to said model, when I run after him and grab him firmly by the hand. Discretely applying pressure on his wrist, I guide him away from the area and down toward the street.
“Okay buddy, you’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think it’s time that you went home,” I state calmly.
“Ow, bitch, you’re hurting me,” he whines.
“Am I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” I pass him onto one of the bouncers. “Here you go, boys. Find him a cab home?”
“Sure thing. Leave him with us,” one of the guys says and I smile, waving the drunk guy off and heading back into the venue.
“Excuse me.” I turn around to face Katya.
“Hello.”
“Thank you so much for stopping that situation back there. I really appreciate it,” she says with gratitude. Her strong Russian accent coming through, making it a little hard to understand what she is saying.
“You’re welcome. I just feel lucky that I was out here when it happened.”
“You did a wonderful job, spasibo.”
“Pozhaluysta,” I return with the same level of gratitude
“You know how to speak Russian?” she asks, shocked.
“Niet. Just a few words,” I explain.
“Oh, well, very good. Again, thank you.”
I smile and nod, heading back inside to check to see how it is going in there.
It’s three in the morning and my feet are screaming at me. It wasn’t the best idea to be wearing the shoes that I wore today. Beauty is pain they say. Our team is done for the night, and I was lucky enough to not have to help in packing everything up. That was the job of the bar staff. I open the door to one of the little offices Brett was kind enough to allow me to put my things in for the evening. I can’t wait to get home and take my shoes and clothes off, have a nice hot bath and go to bed. It’s late and I feel as if I’ve run a marathon in these heels. The door opens and I lift my head up to see Dean standing in the doorway. I thought he had gone home hours ago, since I hadn’t seen him at all in the last hour.
“You did well,” he says.
“I know. You’ve already said that.”
“The way you handled that situation before was noticed by Brett, and he is really impressed.”
“It was nothing. I was just in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”
“How are your feet?” Dean asks, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him.
“Sore.”
“You shouldn’t have worn those things.” He frowns at me.
“And what would you have had me wear?”
A smirk appears on his face. “If it was up to me, you would be naked, sitting on my face, moaning my name as I eat your pussy.”
My mouth goes agape at his honesty. The filthy words leaving his mouth instantly has my pussy clenching with need. What the hell has gotten into him? We may have flirted in the past, but they have been innocent and practically PG. This… this is R-rated shit.
He walks over and kneels down, taking my foot in his hand and slowly slipping my heels off one by one.
Stop him! the smart part of my brain yells at me.
No! This is exactly what you want. For him to fall to his knees. He’s literally doing it right now, the other girl inside of me screams out.
His hand travels up my thigh, slipping under my dress. He lifts my crossed leg and allows his hand to continue its journey in between my legs. My head falls back, and I close my eyes as a lone finger skims my now wet panties.
“You’re wet for me,” he comments. “Stand up.”
I look at him, and like any woman would in this situation, I obey and stand. I’m hoisted in the air and placed gently on the desk behind me. Our eyes are locked on each other, as if in a staring competition. His hand roves my legs once more, hooking into the band of my panties when he reaches them.
“Lift yourself up,” he commands. And again, I obey.
Taking them off, he scrunches them up and places them beside me. A finger dips into my pussy and I release a sharp breath, as the sensation heightens when a second finger enters. He hooks them and moves in, increasing in speed as he does so.
“Ahh!” I cry out.
“Shhh, baby. We wouldn’t want anybody to hear us, now would we?” He smirks, landing a kiss on my lips.
“Mm-hmm,” I moan out.
It doesn’t take long for his fingers to bring me to the brink and have me cascading over the edge. He catches my cry of his name in his mouth with a stolen kiss.
I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t ready for this. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Dean Lukas is a job and a job only, and yet, I’m wanting so much more from him than I should be wanting.
He quickly removes his fingers and the clink of his belt hitting the floor is the only indication I get that he’s removed his pants. I look down and see the most… fuck me dead, I’m going to die from this. It’s perfect and big and veiny. Pre-cum pearls at the head of his dick. I run my finger along it and it twitches at my touch. Holding his gaze, I put my finger in my mouth and suck. A growl falls from his lips and his expression has turned carnal. Grabbing me by the hips, he pulls me forward before plunging deep into me. He’s sheathed fully to the hilt and I crumble at the feel of him in me.
If this is what it’s like to be fucked by Dean Lukas, then I don’t ever want it to end. I would die happily if this was the last thing I ever got to experience. He rams into me in quick succession. My orgasm building up once again, until I’m spilling over. He removes his dick and I hop off the desk and with a greedy need, I wrap my mouth around his erection, tasting myself on him. I look up at him; his head has fallen back and his mouth is open just slightly. Soft noises escape him, and it only takes a few more sucks for him to cum into my mouth. He’s sweet and salty and nothing like others I have tasted.
“Fuck, that was amazing Tiffany,” he pants afterward.
I stand up and brush myself off before grabbing my things, putting my shoes on and walking out of the office, smoothing down my hair so it doesn’t look as if I was being fucked in the office.
It doesn’t seem to work, as I walk past Brett and Donald who both have a smirk and a wink for me as I pass them.
“Good night,” I manage to say.
“Good night, Tiffany,” they reply in unison.
I alternate the weight on my feet, bouncing from one foot to the other. I’ve been running on my feet—literally—all day. The entire company is in a flurry over the event. According to Dean, it’s their biggest and busiest event of the year, and we are the ones who hold it. It’s crunch time and I’m required to ensure that all the pre-preparation is sorted with the help of the event coordinator. I obtain updates from the various departments and then report back to Karl, who is the event coordinator. One of the things that will be shown on the night is a video and slideshow which will celebrate the various achievements of the company along with the achievements within the company as well. Looking over the tome of information there is for the event, I see there will be live music as well as a surprise guest. It’s also something we have organized. It’s a group called GenesisX. I have never heard of them before. They’re a pop boy band. I didn’t even realize boy bands still existed in this world. I thought they
were gone along with spandex and perms.
I step out of the elevator and onto the floor where the studios are located. Each step is agony. This is where the magic happens. Website design, videos, photography. Also, anything that needs to be created like advertisements and posters will be done here.
I head straight to Jim’s office, waving at people as I pass them. Jim is the head of this department and a true guru of his craft. A man who doesn’t know the concept of personal space, I’ve surprisingly learned to like him, regardless of his little quirk.
“Tiffany! Good to see you again. How’s my favorite person on the sixth floor doing?” he exclaims.
“I’m doing good, Jim, thank you. How are you?”
“Busy. Our asses are being put to good use by the marketing team upstairs. You’d think this was our first rodeo by the way they’re carrying on.”
I give a light laugh. “They’re just nervous. This ball is usually the biggest one the company holds, plus, we still need to continue on with our daily activities. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
“Ah, they should be used to it. We manage it down here! Anyway, what can I do you for?”
“Just checking to see how things are going. I need to report back to Karl and Dean with the progress of things.”
“You just wanted to see me, didn’t you?” He gives me a cheeky wink.
“Always! Dean is driving me a little insane upstairs. He’s been barking orders at me all day. I needed a little respite from him.”
“Ah, yes. He does get very stressed this time of year. That man needs to have a good romp in the sack so he isn’t so stressed out. It’s not good for him. He’s too young to have a heart attack now.”
I chuckle. If only he knew. “Anyway, how are things going?”
“Nearly done. This beauty will be finished by the end of the week, and ready to be sent to the venue on Monday.”
“Perfect! Dean will be happy to hear that. Thank you so much for the update. Now, I better get going before he realizes I’m not at my desk,” I whisper, waving goodbye, leaving him laughing.
Before I even reach Dean’s office, he’s calling my name. You’re lucky I was on my way to see you, dickhead. I walk into his office, closing the door behind me.
“You hollered?” I ask.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
I look at him in shock. “Sorry?”
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks again.
“Um… nothing. Why?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me.”
“Are you okay?” I ask. He’s been grumpy all day, especially toward me, and now he’s acting all nice and normal again. On the inside, I’m jumping up and down. On the outside, I’m giving him a concerned “are you crazy?” look.
“No, what makes you think I’d be sick?” he asks with furrowed brows.
“It was more a question on your sanity, than your physical well-being. You’ve been an ass to me all day, so your sudden invitation out for dinner is a little unexpected.
“Do you want to have dinner with me or not?” he snaps.
“Ah, there he is. The asshole I fell for.” I sigh, holding my hands to my heart.
“Yes, asshole is what will be had if I have a say in the matter.” He smirks.
“Charming. You’re a true prince, has anybody ever told you that?” I ask.
“Everybody, actually. So will you? I don’t give this invitation out to just anybody.”
“Is that a threat?” I tease, sitting next to him on his desk.
“No, it’s a persuasion tactic.” He runs his hand up my stockings. I uncross my legs for him and he pulls me sideways so I’m sitting in front of him. His hand moves to the wet patch between my legs.
This is how responsive I am to him. I hate and love that he can get me so wet without even touching me. All he has to do is suggest things.
He slides his fingers up and down my pussy, drawing a moan from my lips. “You know there are two people outside that could hear us?” I whisper breathlessly.
“You realize I don’t give a fuck if the whole of New York hears you scream out in orgasm because of me?”
“You like your privacy. You would.” I pull his hand away and hop off his desk. “I’ll come to dinner with you, and I’ll even make sure to give you dessert.” I take his hand and slip it underneath my stockings and panties. He groans with need and I can see the outline of his erect cock. Sitting on his lap, I grind against him. Strained noises spill from his lips as I work him. I stand up and push him away, getting down on my knees and unzipping his trousers, freeing his beautiful cock. It begs to be taken by my mouth, and I lean down and feel the hardness of it. I moan my satisfaction and feel a pulsing sensation between my legs as I work him with my mouth and hands. With my other hand I cup his balls and fondle them before slipping a finger onto the spot between his dick and his ass.
“Shit, Tiffany,” he breathes out.
I grin against his dick and lick up the underside before taking him deep. I make short movements before I move back up and suck just the tip until I feel little jerked movements. With a pop, I remove his dick from my mouth. I pull his briefs up and buckle his pants.
“What the fuck?” he growls out.
“If you want the rest, you’ll just have to wait for tonight. Now, I have a lot of work to do, so I better go get it done before my boss fires me,” I state, swinging around and sashaying out of his office.
“So this is where you live, huh,” I muse as I step inside his luxury apartment. As I had suspected, it’s minimally furnished. There’s no art on the walls or real indication that somebody lives here. It feels like a place, not a home. “You planning on leaving?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I’m a simple man,” he comments.
“You are anything but simple, but I get it. You aren’t materialistic. I like that.”
“I’ve never been one for it. Don’t get me wrong, I love cars and have a collection of them, but anything else, I don’t really care about. Other than books.”
“You read?” I turn around. Shocked.
This is unexpected. I expected him to be a lover of cars. It’s pretty obvious just looking at the Rolls Royce that he has. You’d be rather stupid if you couldn’t figure out he loved cars. But books. He is not the kind of man I thought would like books. But then again, he’s the kind of man I’m discovering is not the average suit. Just when I think he is, he throws something else at me.
“Reading leads to intelligence. Of course, I do. You don’t?” he asks with pre-judgment.
“I read more than most people in my world. Books are an art. They deserve to be read.”
“Let me guess. You read romance books?”
I walk up to the glass doors of his balcony. “Horror, thriller, crime, and mystery.” I turn around to find a look of surprise on Dean’s face.
Romance books are not for me. They used to be, but ever since Cameron, I’ve given up on reading about other people’s happiness. All romance books do is give you false hope that there is somebody out there for you. It pulls you into a fairy tale world that will never become a reality.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admits.
“There’s a lot about me you wouldn’t expect, Mr. Lukas. Let me guess, you read romance?” I ask sarcastically.
“I’m starting to realize that. I’ve never had somebody tease me before by sucking my cock in my office, and not even allowing me to come.”
I chuckle. “So what are you cooking for me, Mr. Lukas? Does your cooking taste as good as your dick does?” I run my tongue along my lips.
“You will be the end of me, Tiffany.”
“Oh, I intend to be.” I smile with a wink.
“I’m going to cook a stir-fry. In fact, it’s my famous stir-fry,” he states walking to the kitchen. I follow him and station myself on the other side of the barstool leaning against it and watching him get to work. He collects beef and pork from the f
ridge, along with Chinese greens, water chestnuts, baby corn, and a few other stir-fry vegetables. Taking a wok out from within the island, he places it on the stove cooktop. I watch in amazement as he prepares the dish and then throws it a bit at a time into the wok and cooks. The aromas wafting up and filling the apartment are enticing.
When he’s done, he grabs a bottle of wine—of course it’s an expensive French wine—two glasses, and a corkscrew, taking it all to the dining table and then serving our meals.
He goes to grab the bottle but I take it from him instead. “Here, let me. I insist. You cooked dinner, it’s the least I can do.”
I take the corkscrew and open the bottle of red and pour some for both of us. We clink our glasses before I pick up my chopsticks ready to dig in. There is no spoon or fork to be found. It’s a good thing I know how to use them, otherwise I would be relatively screwed and be leaving here quite hungry. Collecting a generous amount of rice and stir-fry, I put it in my mouth, and holy shit the flavors dancing around my palette is orgasmic. The smell of it cooking was one thing, the taste of it nearly has me erupting from an orgasm. This is what it truly feels like to experience a foodgasm.
I hear his deep chuckle next to me. “I take it you like it?” he asks with a raised brow.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask.
“My mom. She’s an excellent cook. We grew up poor, but when my business had become successful and established, I was able to give her things she should have had, and it had nothing to do with money. I was able to give her the experiences she was dying to have.” I watch on as he speaks reverently about his mom. A sharp pain pierces my heart at how I will never be able to have these kinds of experiences with my own mom. My own parents.
“Are you all right?” he asks me, his eyes full of concern. Stop looking at me like that, Dean. It’s not good for either of us.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie. “I like knowing more about you.”