by Sam Crescent
Slightly annoyed that her teasing seemed to have gone unnoticed, Anya spent most of the time looking out of the window as they travelled down the motorway. Her thoughts were running wild thinking about sex. She hoped her toys would be able to help her get through this weekend without her thoughts turning constantly to sex, about a cock fucking her pussy. She reached inside her jacket and pressed the ‘mild’ button on the remote control to her secret weapon. She sat back, allowing the silent vibrations to ease her tight, aching pussy. The vibrating panties had been her best purchase yet. No one could hear them, and only the most astute man would see her becoming increasingly aroused. If only Nathan knew how close she was to getting off, while he was obliviously making another million to add to his already wealthy name. He was all business and she was close to orgasm.
She would take the orgasm over the million pounds, every time. She squeezed her legs together, taking a deep breath as she felt the first ripples of climax ease over her. The light orgasm took the edge off her frustration, but she raised the tempo after her climax eased off. If only she could squeeze her nipples and thrust a fake cock inside her—it’d slide in so easily, all of her cream creating the perfect lube for a cock. She stifled a moan, turning off the machine as another, stronger climax overtook her. She didn’t want the batteries sucked dry before the weekend had even begun.
She lay back, relaxed and tired. They were stuck in traffic—at the rate they were moving they’d get there faster by walking. Anya closed her eyes, drifting off into a sated sleep, her last thought,
If only Nathan knew.
Nathan switched his phone off, watching Anya sleep peacefully with a smile on her lips. He wondered what she was dreaming about to put such ease on her face. A musky, beautifully feminine smell filled the car. When he’d first smelt it teasing his nostrils, he’d been sure it was her female essence, but now he thought he must be losing his mind. There was no way she could have climaxed in the back of his limousine.
Anya would never do such a thing—surely she was too prim and proper. No way he’d ever catch her with her hand down her pants. She had her hair in a bun, for crying out loud! He sat staring at her, her lips full, slightly open, teasing him. He shook his head. Get her out of your mind.
His cock swelled in his pants, forcing him to recognise his fella’s existence—no action in a while, and now he was trying to poke his head out when he least wanted it.
No sex with the PA. No sex with the PA.
He could just imagine a sexual harassment case being slammed in his lap.
That killed his mood.
He called to his driver, “How much longer, Paul?” He tapped on the arm of the chair, doing exactly what he’d told Anya not to do earlier. Fidgeting.
“Sorry, Mr Banks, an accident has completely blocked the road. A few more hours yet, I’m afraid.”
Nathan nodded, rubbing his face, hit by boredom.
He tried to keep his gaze turned away from Anya but his betraying eyes kept seeking out her sleeping form. Giving in, he gave her his full, undivided attention, without fear of her scorn or a sexual harassment case. He started with her face. Tiny strands of hair escaped her bun. He leaned in closer to see the fiery red colour, and his cock jumped in his pants. Images of her spread out on his bed sheets, her red hair spread across his lap as she sucked him off, her hair fisted in his hand, assailed him. He clenched his hands together in his lap, the temptation to grab a handful of her glorious red hair too intense. It would be deeply inappropriate. He’d never really taken in the colour of her hair before. Was she the same around her pussy, or did she shave? Wax? He wanted to rip her pants from her body so he could see, could answer his own questions. Instead, he sat on his hands, moving his eyes away from her sexually appealing hair. Nathan didn’t understand why it aroused him so much. Her complexion was smooth, her face pale and unmarked—the sunshine would be dangerous to her skin. Her nose was small, delicate, cute, her eyes a deep blue he remembered from all the times she’d looked at him with mocking laughter. Her lips were plump. How would they look stretched around his shaft and juicy with her saliva? Nathan couldn’t resist—he touched himself, the twitch of his cock against his pants protesting its tight confines. He grumbled, wanting to take himself in hand and rub himself to completion. The thought of her reaction if she woke up stopped him.
Sexual harassment.
Sexual harassment.
Though her body was covered by the warm winter jacket, he knew how full and supple she was. Her legs were smooth and curvy, with the strength to wrap tightly around his waist as he drove into her. Even her toes were probably as sexy as hell. He groaned, slumping back against his seat, folding his arms over his chest, his face set in what he knew was a childish pout. He wanted his PA. No way! He wouldn’t allow her to dominate his thoughts.
She was an overbearing tight-ass who had unattractive boobs.
Definitely. He was being ridiculous.
He shook his head, staring out of the lonely window at the slow-moving traffic.
He jumped as Anya’s head connected with his lap, her body curling against his tense leg. She moaned softly in her sleep, her hand moving until it rested snugly against the inside of his thigh, inches away from his increasing length.
This cannot be happening. Her womanly scent teased his nostrils. The desire to open a window to allow the fresh air to play on his face was almost too tempting, but a sudden concern for her health stopped him. He didn’t want her getting ill this weekend. Even if she had taunted him, she was still his PA, and a good one. He needed her. Nathan had been intrigued when he’d discovered the team-building weekend on the internet and had wanted to see if it would work and improve his working relationship with Anya. Of course he hadn’t read the small print—being on a course designed to strengthen romantic relationships might complicate things a little.
Unconsciously, he began to stroke his hand through her hair, teasing his fingertips with the silkiness of the strands as they glided over his fingers. She must treat it with some special hair-care products—there was no way a woman could get her hair to be this silky naturally.
Why the hell am I thinking about women’s hair-care products? Like I care? He tried to stop touching her, but he couldn’t help himself. He rested his head against the window, closing his eyes as he continued to run his hand through her hair.
Her scent began to comfort him, shocking him with the effect she was having on his body and nerves.
What would this weekend bring?
He knew they worked together wonderfully—she always knew when he needed her to make a phone call or to take notes, or when to arrange a business lunch. Though she refused to get his laundry and personal items for relationships. She wouldn’t organise dates for him. She would get his coffee, but only if she wanted one herself. She didn’t take any shit off him or anyone. If a client tried to get a grope, she would shut him down instantly, no teasing or tormenting, trying to find out what she could get out of the situation. Professional all the way, and because of that he had the deepest respect for her. Anya King was among a handful of women he respected. Most of the women he’d come across wanted to fuck their way to a promotion—in his book a promotion was earned and not on the back.
Some business associates might take what younger, ambitious women had on offer, and maybe if he’d been younger he would have too, but he’d had his fill of women willing to do anything for a price, and now he was looking for the woman who’d do anything just because she wanted to and not because of what she might gain financially.
Nathan found he prayed every day for such a woman.
He mindlessly soothed back Anya’s hair with his fingers as he continued to take in the views outside the window, musing on how trusting she was as she lay in his lap.
Chapter Two
“Anya…Anya…Anya…” On and on her name was called, her body being shaken ever so slightly. Anya swatted at the offending interruption with her hand.
“Go away,” she g
rumbled, squeezing the comfortable, but stiff, pillow.
“Anya, we’re here.” The call was soothing, trying to draw her out of her incredibly erotic dream.
“I’m asleep. Whoever you are, leave your number, I won’t call,” she growled. She kept her eyes shut, trying to fall back to sleep.
“What?”
Anya opened her eyes wide. No way, she shouldn’t be able to hear that voice in her flat. No way, that voice wouldn’t call her by her given name. Her eyes travelled up the long, lean leg she was currently squeezing, travelling up until she met the face of her boss.
Oh shit.
Anya jerked into a sitting position so fast that she fell in a heap on the limousine floor. Slightly bewildered, she looked up to see hills upon hills separated by olde worlde dry-stone walls outside the car windows. Greenery was everywhere, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Buxton?
“Where are we?” she asked, trying to distract Nathan from the question he must have been dying to ask.
“Buxton. This is where we’ll be staying.” He gestured to a quaint-looking pub that, according to the sign, served Italian food all day long.
“A pub?” she questioned.
“What is wrong with a pub?” he queried, still staring curiously at her.
“Nathan Banks, you’re a multi-millionaire—surely you prefer a few of the little creature comforts us mere mortals are used to as well.” It was the first time she’d ever spoken of his extreme wealth.
He laughed. “I love my creature comforts. I love a nice soft bed, a good bouncy pillow, a warm place to stay, hot delicious food…”
“Precisely,” Anya agreed.
“But this is not about creature comforts, Anya, this is about working together in the wilderness.”
“This isn’t the wilderness, sir, this is a pub. There’s probably less wildlife.” Anya pulled herself back onto the seat beside him and looked out at the place she’d be staying. A beautiful place—she wouldn’t tell him how much she looked forward to staying there. On all of his other business trips, he’d demanded top-rate hotel accommodation, no expense spared. Those sorts of places really unnerved Anya—she didn’t like the attitudes of the wealthy elite. They tended to think they could have anything and anyone. If anyone turned them down, they just increased the price. Some of Nathan’s friends had propositioned her in the past, and if she’d been any other woman, she was sure they’d have succeeded in scaring or bribing her into bed. But she was not any ordinary woman, she was Anya King. Anya King took shit from no one. It had been nice to see their shocked features when she’d refused their offers of sex, and other things. One married man had even offered her a place as his primary mistress, living in wealth and luxury for the rest of her life. The guy had been a pig, a little older than Nathan but not by much, a pompous ass who had thought she was for sale. She’d soon taught him a thing or two. His wife now had his balls in her hands.
She didn’t mess with married men. If married men propositioned her, she’d tell the wife. Monogamy in a relationship was important to her—a committed relationship quite a different thing to a one-time fling—and she would not go against her beliefs for anyone.
“What was that about when you woke up?” Nathan broke into her thoughts with his dreaded question.
Stalling, she said, “What are you talking about?” She put on her best bewildered face, gazing at him with what she hoped was a confused look.
“You know what I mean, Anya,” he said, not giving her a chance to escape.
Searching, searching, she ran through her mind like an internet search, trying to pull out as fast as she could the best excuse, or even the best version of the truth.
“I was dreaming.” The best excuse she could come up with. It sounded lame and clichéd even to her.
“When you’re dreaming, you don’t say full sentences,” he argued.
“Yes, you do,” she contradicted.
“No, you don’t. You’re sleeping, Anya.” As if that was a good explanation.
“I talk in my sleep all the time.”
“Anya.”
“What? Are you suddenly the expert on sleep-talking? Proper protocol—I’ve not given you permission to use my given name, Mr Banks.”
Stalling, still.
“I did not know you had a boyfriend, Miss King.” He looked down at his hands, fisted on his leg. She frowned at his trousers then up at him.
“I don’t,” she answered with the truth.
“Then who were you talking about?”
She thought for a second. She had no idea who she’d been talking about—she’d never taken a man back to her flat. Her flat was her space. She didn’t want any upset relating to the one place of peace in her life.
“I’ve had boyfriends before, obviously.” Although she preferred to keep her flat private, she had stayed over, some time ago, at an old boyfriend’s place. Usually she tried to stay well clear of sharing space with her lovers.
“Oh, when?”
“Years ago.” She gave her answer instantly, without thinking. Why was that?
“Oh.”
“Oh,” she agreed.
Anya had learnt early on that relationships could get really messy. Her first ever sexual relationship had been with an Italian man. A man older than her and completely gorgeous. He’d taught her everything she knew, and how sticky and heartbreaking it could be discovering your lover was married, not just for her but also for his wife. Antonio had been ten years older, wealthy and leaking sexuality and charm. He’d charmed her from the very beginning, winning her heart in a matter of hours with his wit and charisma, making her laugh and cry, making her intrigued, curious to know more. Every time she’d been in his company, she’d made sure she dressed to impress him, adoring his compliments and attention. He had taken her to fancy restaurants, buying her champagne and jewels. She had fallen so hard, thinking about him, constantly wondering what he was doing. What he was thinking, whether he missed. She’d yearned for him to be near her, loving her body the way only he could. At night he’d possessed her body, taking her to dimensions of pleasure she’d never even known existed.
After three months, Anya had broached the subject of moving in together, commitment. She could not imagine spending time with anyone else, being with anyone else.
Reality check. A cruel betrayal by Antonio, the man she loved. His scorn at the idea of making it a permanent relationship, including marriage. Her hopes had disintegrated in front of her very eyes. They were fucking, pure and simple, he’d told her. She should not have believed that because a man has given her jewels, food and wine, that they were anything long-term. She could be a lover—he had loads of them, all over the world, plenty of females to warm his bed—but she’d never be his wife. He’d had one of those as well, one from an upstanding family, with morals and money.
Harsh words crumbling her ideals, she’d picked herself up from the gutter, concentrating on working hard and playing hard, never again allowing a man to get too close.
“Are you dating anyone now?” The question jolted her out of her glum memories of the past.
“What?”
“Have you got a boyfriend?”
“I don’t date.” She stopped the conversation abruptly, reaching for the door handle then rushing out into the bitterly cold fresh air.
Taking huge gulps of air, she tried to breathe out the pain of the past.
After five minutes, having got her bearings, she was ready to face the weekend ahead.
“Feel better?” he asked as she approached the car again, his arms folded, leaning against the door.
“Ten times better.”
“Let’s go then.”
As she followed him into the spacious pub, the smell of basil, garlic and pasta assailed her senses, making her mouth water.
Nathan walked to the reception desk. “I have reservations for Nathan Banks and Anya King.”
The young lady at the reception desk, dazzled by his good looks
, smiled and blushed, batting fake eyelashes at him. Anya rolled her eyes and waited, arms folded. This weekend could end with her resignation.
“Ah, yes. Linda and Andrew told me to show you to your rooms and let you rest. They’ll be with you shortly.”
She took a key and escorted them up some cramped back stairs. Anya laughed at the faces Paul was pulling while bringing up their suitcases. “His case is heavier than yours,” he muttered, making her laugh out loud.
Nathan turned, giving them a funny look. His Boss look.
“Here is your bedroom, Mr Banks—spacious, the best in the house. Follow me, Miss King—your room is down the hall.” Her frosty glare made Anya want to stick her tongue out, but she resisted, sending her the best smile she could muster.
“I’m sorry, but I ordered rooms side-by-side with an adjoining door.” He sent the other woman a dazzling smile.
“Are you a couple?” she enquired—very unprofessional.
Anya, wanting to have a little laugh, went to his side and took hold of his large hand, her other running across his chest. “Sweetheart, we can’t hide it any more. We would love the two rooms for more privacy. He did negotiate weeks ago.” She smiled possessively. If I’m not getting any, neither is he. She chuckled as the woman walked into his room and pointed out the door to the adjoining rooms, which apparently was free after all. She left the key and stormed out.
She pulled her hand away from his and took her case from Paul.
“Pick us up at nine on Sunday night,” Nathan instructed, before the driver left, shutting the door behind him and leaving them in total privacy. “What,” he said, “was all that about?”
“The girl had a crush on you. I thought it best to protect you from a possible night invasion.” Anya shrugged, opening her connecting door to be confronted with a nightmare of peach and frills. “Yuck. I’m so getting a raise when we get back home.”