by Katy Kaylee
Except the top buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing me to see a small bit of his toned chest. I wanted to do so many things to that small expanse of tanned skin. Press my lips to it, lick it, caress it. Feel it so thoroughly that it was burned into my brain like a map.
But then his lips were on my neck and everything else was sliding away. All my hang ups, even the wondering of how we got into this position. Were we at my place? His place? It didn’t matter. All that was important was that he was here with me.
“Are you gonna be my good little assistant,” he murmured into the skin of my neck, his teeth gently grazing against me. “Gonna do what you’re told?”
The arousal that flooded through me at that was absolute embarrassing, and all I could do was whine affirmatively. He chuckled darkly at that, voice full of want and desire, before his hands moved down my body to my thick thighs.
There his fingers lingered, caressing, exploring, building up a fire in me that felt like it was going to absolutely consume me. I whined again, wanting to feel him even closer, but the sound was quickly interrupted by a loud rip.
I gasped, looking down my body to see that he had torn my skirt right in two. My cheeks flooded with warmth at that and I was sure I was absolutely crimson, but when Mr. Fitzgerald looked up at me, all I saw in his gaze was pure, predatory desire.
And I loved it.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, creeping down my body, placing kisses over my clothes until he was hovering just over my panties. Was I wearing my cute ones? My practical ones? I didn’t know, and it didn’t seem to matter because then his blunt fingers were gently caressing the fabric.
“Did you wear these just for me?”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say. I was breathless, and my head was whirling even as the back of my mind told myself that this was a terrible idea.
“Such a good assistant.”
Yeah. I was. The best assistant. I deserved a reward for that, right? I worked so hard and I always did everything to the best of my ability. Certainly, it wouldn’t be a sin to sit back and reap a little benefit from it, right?
Before I could decide either way, his mouth pressed into my clothed center, my panties so soaked that it felt like he was actually touching flesh. And yet… it was so much filthier than that. Something about that thin layer of silk or satin between him and me made me burn that much higher, and my thighs tried to snap closed on instinct.
But his strong hands gripped them, holding me down as he did what no one else had ever done for me. Sure, I had watched porn occasionally or read erotica, but this was wholly different.
I writhed, bucked and sweated under him, but he seemed to pay me no mind, working me over until I was just at the crest of something blinding. Something perfect. Something I craved with such a sudden fierceness that it almost made me cry.
But he pulled away before I could tumble over that abyss and I found myself staring at him in heady confusion.
“Wha…?” I murmured almost drunkenly before his body settled over mine.
“I want you,” he breathed into my lips before kissing me senseless again. “All of you.”
“…all of me?” I didn’t understand until my mind connected the dots. There was something hard and heated pressing insistently into my thigh and his whole body was a tense as a wall.
Oh.
Oh.
Suddenly the punch-drunk feeling of happiness and arousal wavered. Was I ready? This was a big step. I didn’t even remember how I got this far, was I really about to-
The sound of a zipper sounded below me and then Mr. Fitzgerald was moving. I jerked and looked down, realizing that I was about to see exactly what he was-
I sat up so hard that I felt my back pop and then suddenly I was in my studio apartment, blankets bound up all around me.
“Holy shit,” I whispered to myself, brushing my hair back from my face only to realize that I was absolutely covered in sweat. “Aw, gross.”
My mind was reeling from everything that happened and it wasn’t until I stumbled to the bathroom to wash off my face that I realized what happened.
I had had a sex dream.
I never had sex dreams!
It was probably all the maybe-maybe not flirting that had been going on between me and Mr. Fitzgerald ever since that kiss. Sometimes it seemed like everything was normal and he was back to being a hard ass with impossible standards who never stopped working once he was on the clock. But other times it seemed like he was bantering with me, his smile a little too wicked and his gaze a little too interested.
I kept bouncing between feeling flushed that he trusted me enough as an employee now to show me his more human side every now and then, being absolutely sure that I was imagining everything, and thinking that he was still trying to trick me. It was a confusing place to be, so no wonder my mind had been full enough to leech into my dreams.
I shook my head and stumbled sleepily back to my room to check my phone. It was only about half an hour before I normally woke up anyways, so I might as well go about my day. Not that I didn’t usually need every minute of sleep I could get, but I knew that I was too wired and tense to even slip back under before my alarm went off.
So instead I indulged myself with a longer shower than usual, letting the hot water wash over the curves of my body and turn my skin a bright pink. I always liked the water to be near-scalding, and for once I had enough time to let it actually get hot.
But as I soaped myself up, it was so easy to get distracted. I felt so oversensitive, with my skin demanding contact but the brush of my fingers being not quite enough. My hand crept towards my womanhood, itching to satisfy myself as only I had been able to for my entire twenty -two years, but I forced myself to stop.
I knew me, and if I masturbated, I would be so sleepy and boneless that getting to work would be absolute torture. No, I was just going to have to wait until I got home at the end of the day.
Besides, it was one thing to have a sex dream about my boss, which I couldn’t exactly help, but it would be another entirely to get myself off with Mr. Fitzgerald and his impossibly chiseled chin on my mind.
So, I soldiered through my routine, getting to take a little extra time with breakfast too. But by the time I got to work I was strung as tight as a fiddle and about as liable to pop. My whole skin felt too tight and too hot for my body while my focus kept flitting everywhere, like it was trying to find some forbidden relief.
This time, when I reached my desk, I only set my things down and then headed straight for Mr. Fitzgerald’s office. Ever since Tuesday, we’d been working on a new project in his office. Well, he was working, I was taking notes and diction and only occasionally offering my opinion.
I grabbed his coffee -I had started to pick it up on my way to work rather than dropping all my stuff off at my desk then heading right back out again- then strode into his office.
For a moment I was sure that he could read everything that happened right on my face, but his smile was only as jovial as usual.
“Ah, Ms. Viello, good. We can start again.”
“If you’re ready, sir.” I said politely. “Do you have any morning tasks that need to be done first?”
He waved the idea away with one of his large hands and I tried not to focus on what those thick fingers had done to me during my dream. But even as I tried to stop myself from thinking about it, I could still feel my cheeks slowly coloring. Maybe I needed to stay wearing make up to work, if only to cover up the embarrassing flush of guilt.
“Are you alright?” Mr. Fitzgerald asked, his hand reaching out. Before I knew what was happening, his palm was resting right on my forehead, as if he was taking my temperature.
It was such an innocent gesture, but my whole body froze. He was touching me.
He was touching me.
“You’re quite warm,” he said with no shortage of concern.
“There was just a lot of wind outside,” I said, as if a little breeze-burn could have me flushed so.
“Ah. I see. You know, you do have sick days.”
“Not yet,” I answered quickly. “I’m still in my probationary period. While I do have benefits, vacation and sick days don’t kick in until after the ninety-day period. Besides,” I squinted at him. “You’re certainly not taking a sick day.”
“Yeah, but I have an incredible mattress, my own car to get me home faster and a personal shopper so I don’t have to worry with all the day to day chores that I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
“Alright, good point. But now you’re just bragging.”
“Perhaps,” he said, that smile sliding back into place. “But is it so wrong of me to want to impress you?”
“Wasting an assistant does seem like an awful waste of time.”
“Not if it’s you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just looked to my notebook. “I believe I was taking dictation?”
There was the slightest pause where he smirked. “Yes, I believe so.”
And then we were right back to business, him prattling off different ideas and tasks he needed to even get to the planning stages of his next project. I had never known that there was a pre-planning phase before the planning phase, but I was learning all sorts of things from Mr. Fitzgerald.
When I could concentrate, that was.
“Are you getting this, Ms. Viello?”
“Bev,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself. “Please, call me Bev.”
He was quiet again for a long moment, his eyes appraising me from head to foot before he nodded slowly. “Alright then, Bev. Did you catch what I last said?”
“No,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flame even harder. “Could you repeat it again?”
“Yes,” he answered, voice low and full of that authority that I half loved, and half grated against my nerves. “Try not to let it happen again.”
“Of course, sir.”
I dipped my head back down to my notebook, inwardly cursing myself. I needed to get my head together if I was going to survive through the day and the return trip to my bed -and my beloved vibrator.
Ugh. It was going to be a long day.
I looked at the clock furtively, adrenaline pumping through me like I was in some sort of battle royale. It was only a half hour from quitting time and I was more on edge than I had ever been in my entire life.
Every bit of stimuli around me just seemed downright annoying, my teeth grinding at themselves and my patience whittling down to nothing. If Mr. Fitzgerald noticed my irritation or my shortness, he didn’t say at all, just continuing work as per usual.
“Why don’t you go get yourself some water?”
“Pardon?” I looked up from the list I was drafting, one of all the different people that he said he wanted to contact for different parts of his project.
“Your face is red again, and I’m fairly certain there haven’t been any particularly grating wind storms in my office. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
I let out a snort before immediately covering my mouth in embarrassment. Mr. Fitzgerald seemed more amused at the sound than anything, so I tried to quickly recover. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are. Get some water.”
I picked up my spill-proof cup that I always kept on me and went towards the water cooler out by the secretaries’ desks. While I didn’t often talk to the ladies, they seemed much more relieved the longer I was around. I guessed that I took some of the brunt of their workload off of them. From what Chris had told me, when there wasn’t an assistant for Mr. Fitzgerald, the two took turns running all the errands he needed outside of work.
When I returned, Mr. Fitzgerald was sitting on the edge of his desk, drinking the coffee I had brought him after lunch and rubbing one of his temples with his free hand. For the first time since I had seen him, he looked tired.
Huh.
I walked towards him, uncertain what to do with the image of my boss looking less than perfectly poised and in control.
“Are you alright?” I asked, trying not to sound worried. I hated when people fussed over me. It made me feel like they were trying to coddle or trick me.
“I’m fine,” he said, loosening his tie a touch and then rolling his neck. “Just sometimes have to remind myself that I’m human.”
My eyes went to that little gap of tanned flesh and my heart kicked into overdrive. I was reminded of my dream from that morning, images flashing through my mind like the most pornographic daydream.
I told myself not to stare, that I was being absolutely ridiculous, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away. I could see the swell of each of his pectorals, just the slightest bit of curly hair between them. I wondered what they would feel like against my fingertips, if I brushed my hand over that expanse. Would it-
“See something you like?”
Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice knocked me out of my fantasy and I looked up at him absolutely horrified. “I, uh-”
“It’s fine,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Boost to my ego, actually.”
“Like your ego needs any more boosting,” I managed to recover, rolling my eyes slightly.
“Why, Ms. Viello, your tone makes it sound like you think I might be cocky.”
Of course, he would use that word. “Not cocky,” I objected. “Just confident. Confident enough, actually. Any more and then we might have to be worried.”
He leaned towards me again, his shirt gaping ever so slightly to where I could see a little farther down his shirt. If he just moved a little further, I might be able to see past his pecs and just how many abs he had…
“Are you saying that you’re worried about me, Ms. Viello?”
“Bev,” I repeated, my mind getting swamped by the rushing feeling in my middle. Goodness, he was close. So warm. So handsome. Why didn’t I believe that he wanted me again? “I asked you to call me Bev.”
“Ah, you’re right.” Finally, he leaned forward enough to rest a hand on the arm of my chair. I could feel my notebook sliding from my lap, but I didn’t care. My eyes were locked onto his face, oh so close to mine. “Are you saying that you’re worried about me, Bev?”
I didn’t know what happened.
One moment we were both just sitting there, him leaning over me and me gazing at his face like someone enchanted, the next I was pushing myself upwards so that my lips were crashing against his.
I was crazy! I knew I was crazy. But before I could pull away, his strong arms wrapped around me and hauled me upwards, pulling me forward so I practically collapsed against him, my hands clinging to his front to keep me upright.
Our mouths moved against each other, heated and seeking and desperate. I had never been more glad that Mr. Fitzgerald like to keep his blinds drawn to minimize distractions, and let myself fall into the kiss.
It wasn’t long before he took the lead, adjusting me so that I was leaning on my tip toes, bent slightly backwards by one of his strong arms. If I wasn’t posted between his legs, with his strong thighs squeezing me ever so slightly, I might have toppled over. But he held me fast, lips almost bruising in their demand.
If I had my mouth to myself, I might have let out a giddy laugh. But as it were, all I could do was whimper slightly as he pulled away, catching my bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently. God, I felt like I was on fire, every cell in my body alit with excitement and pleasure.
His free hand, the one that wasn’t holding me steady, slid up my body. It didn’t manage to get a hold, the thick fabric of my outfit denying him skin, but it still left a trail of burning want as it glided over my form.
“God, I want you,” Mr. Fitzgerald whispered, his voice ragged as he looked at me with an expression that practically made my underwear flood. I didn’t think that anybody had ever looked at me like that, all heat and want. It made me shiver, but also burn at the same time.
“I do too,” I whispered back, nearly dizzy with everything that was happening.
And I knew it was stupid. I knew that this was e
verything that I had told myself not to do. Yet I had absolutely zero desire to stop it. I was going down in flames and I wanted nothing more than to be burned to ash.
Mr. Fitzgerald let out a sound akin to a growl and suddenly both of his hands were under my butt cheeks, hauling me up and off my feet. I let out a yelp in surprise, but then he turned and set me right down on the desk, wrapping my legs around his waist.
Oh.
If I was panting before, I was absolutely breathless now, my heart thundering a whole percussion session inside of my chest. He was so warm, so strong between my thighs. I didn’t think I’d ever have something so solid there, and it was making a strange sort of pressure pool in my abdomen.
Then he was kissing me again, mouth fire, teeth demanding. I melted into it, letting him teach me, mold me, take me higher than I had ever been. But as his lips moved from my lips, along my face, across my jaw then down my neck, I realized just what I was doing.
I was pretty sure that, if I didn’t stop this, that he was going to keep going. He had said he wanted me, and I’d said I wanted him too. I was pretty sure in normal adult speak that usually meant sex.
Sex.
Was I ready for that?
The question felt like cold water over my head and I stiffened. I didn’t think that I reacted that much to the uncertainty, but Mr. Fitzgerald seemed to notice immediately and pulled back.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” I assured him. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment, so I tried to kiss him, hoping that would distract him from seeing, but he just pulled away.
“No,” he said firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said hurriedly, cursing myself. Why had I had to go and ruin a good thing. I wanted him to be kissing me again, not looking down at me with a mix of concern and confusion.
“Bev, remember what I said to you before? I have no desire to pressure anyone into anything. If you aren’t feeling this, we need to end it now.”
“Of course, I’m feeling it,” I snapped. “I’m the one that kissed you!”
He smirked at that, his lips bordering on red from our fervid making out. “You did. And while I appreciate that, I can tell you’re hesitant about something.” He cupped my face in his large hands, so warm and strong. “Tell me what’s bothering you. Is it the office setting? Am I kissing you too hard?”