Hard For My Boss

by Daryl Banner

  The flirty text comes just as certainly as the last fifty did.

  I’m unstoppable, I’m shameless, and I have no regrets.

  No regrets at all, even when Monday rolls around and Ben innocently slips into the copy room to check on one of the fax machines for no reason at all. Well, for one reason: me.

  “Excuse me,” he grunts under his breath as he reaches across me—obviously just to torment me with his mere proximity—to check a cable that runs along the copier table. “Totally don’t mean to invade your space,” he assures me casually as he gets on his hands and knees and follows the cable under the table.

  Which brings his face right around my crotch.

  I bite my lip and pretend to ignore him.

  He pops up at my other side, still following the cord. “Thanks for your patience,” he mutters into my ear as he leaves.

  “No problem, boss,” I toss over my shoulder, catching him just before he vanishes. Was it as good for you as it wasn’t for me? I think to myself with mounting sexual frustration.

  He’s making me so infuriatingly hot and bothered at work.

  I can’t go much longer without having another night at Ben’s house. I’m going to have to think of something—and soon.

  Y’know, before my nuts swell so big that they collapse into a black hole and swallow Earth intact.

  It’s Wednesday morning when half the interns are busy at the computers googling clients. Two have been sent on an errand in the city, last I heard. And remaining at the intern table, Elijah and Ashlee work with me on sorting articles by date.

  Did I mention I’m right between them in a very leave-room-for-Jesus sort of way?

  When Ben enters the office, I’m the first to notice. At least, that’s what I tell myself every day as I lift my eyes from the table and watch him strut by in his fitted blazer, black dress shirt, and hot pink tie. His cocky smirk is so up-to-no-good that he’s popping a dimple, and as he passes by, his scorching eyes flick over to our table and meet mine powerfully and knowingly.

  Then in a voice as smooth as silk, and without interrupting his sexy strut, he greets us: “Elijah. Trevor. Ashlee.”

  “Sir,” mutters Elijah, wide-eyed.

  “Morning, Mr. Gage,” returns Ashlee brightly.

  Our eyes never unlock from one another as he passes. I give him just a curt nod. “Boss,” I mutter for a greeting.

  Ben’s fierce eyes twinkle with amusement as he continues on, making his way farther into the office. Rebekah and two other supers find him, and then he’s followed by a cloud of questions and reports as he circles around the cubicles, patiently addressing each of them as he goes.

  Yes, I watch him long after our eye contact is broken.

  “He remembered my name,” whispers Ashlee at me excitedly.

  “Mine too,” boasts Elijah, having overheard the whisper, “but I wouldn’t expect anything less. Boss man knows what’s up in his house,” he adds with a sassy accent. “He knows who the cool cats are.”

  Ashlee snorts at him. “Is that so, Elijah? Is that why you haven’t been called to participate in one of his meetings yet?”

  I chuckle and put out a hand for a low-five, which Ashlee is all too quick to give, smiling cheekily and letting out a tiny bark of victorious laughter.

  Elijah smirks sourly at both of us. “Yeah, yeah, you two can laugh all you want. He’s just saving the best for last.” He puffs up his chest as he shoves an article into the June folder.

  Ashlee leans into me and pokes a thumb toward him. “Watch out for this one. Mini Brady-in-training over here.”

  “Do not compare me to that cherry Pop-Tart,” Elijah sneers.

  My pocket vibrates—a text message from my phone. Since I’m sandwiched between these two (and am fairly certain who the sender of the text is), I can’t safely look at it. Even though I just abbreviate him with a “B” in my phone, my fellow coworkers can still read its contents and might be able to deduce a few things. Just that slight, terrifying possibility makes my butthole pucker.

  Even though Brandon also begins with a “B”. And Brady.

  And Ben.

  While Elijah and Ashlee continue to tease each other, I feel the buzz from Ben once again. I know it’s a total figment of my imagination, but the vibration from each text he sends seems to get more urgent. By the time he shoots me a third text, I shut my eyes, feeling like he’s causing my pocket to vibrate on purpose.

  And my pocket is awfully close to my cock.

  Which is already starting to stiffen. Thanks, Ben.

  Just when I’m about to pull away with a “that morning coffee I totally don’t drink went through my system faster than I thought” trip to the bathroom to check these texts, the door to Ben’s office swings open.

  “Who’s responsible for this report?” he asks snippily.

  Rebekah is at his side in an instant—his right hand and eager assistant at all times—and her features harden when she eyes the report up-close. She lifts her face, her tight bun flipping up with her head as she splutters several words I can’t make out.

  Ben slaps the report against his palm, huffs once, then shoots a terse word to Rebekah before slipping right back into his office. Rebekah, after a moment of steeling herself and smoothing out her skirt, makes her way down the aisle of cubicles.

  And she comes to a stop right at the intern table. “Trevor,” she states, her voice low as a reproachful mother’s.

  I swallow. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Gage,” she explains collectedly, “wishes to see you in his office regarding a report you turned in yesterday before you left.”

  I frown, knowing precisely the report she’s indicating. It was perfect. I even remember looking over it twice. “Was something wrong with it?” I ask.

  “Please see Mr. Gage in his office. That’s all.” With that, she spins on her heel and disappears to the computers.

  Despite all the attention I’ve suddenly earned, I feel a heck of a lot more indignance than I do embarrassment or fear. I run a hand down my tie, take a breath, then dismiss myself from the table, ignoring Elijah and Ashlee’s glassy, worried stares.

  A lot of eyes follow me as I cut across the room toward Ben’s office. I feel them on me like stale air.

  His door is halfway open when I reach it at last. Benjamin is leaning against the front of his desk, his arms folded powerfully, and his glare is menacing.

  Or sexy, depending on who you are. Good thing I’m me. “You called for me … sir?”

  The blinds to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the rest of the office are open. Everyone is watching.

  “Close the door, Trevor.”

  I lift my eyebrows questioningly for three solid seconds. Then, setting my jaw, I turn and close the office door behind me.

  Ben, smooth as the silky hot pink tie he wears, reaches an arm around the back of his desk and hits a switch. The blinds slowly rotate, closing themselves and shutting off all vision of the office to us.

  Suddenly, we’re completely alone. I tilt my head, my role of intern traded away at once for the braver me. “What the hell?” I ask quietly. “Is this your idea of how to keep things discreet?”

  His eyes are dark and greedy as he stares me down. “You are in deep, deep trouble, intern.”

  30

  Trevor needs a strict disciplining.

  I stare at Ben, my furious muscle god in a fitted suit and hot pink tie, my obsession, my boss. “What … What do you mean?”

  “This report,” he states, lifting it off his desk with one hand and giving it a hearty backhanded swat with the other, “is entirely too damned perfect for my liking. I mean, this staple in the corner here? It’s goddamned immaculate.”

  “Is … Is this a joke? Are we joking right now?”

  He tosses the report I spent two hours on to the side like it means nothing, then pushes himself off the desk, approaching me. “My worse problem, however, is you.”

  I smirk defiantly. “Oh yeah?”<
br />
  He stops right in front of me. “Yeah.”

  I look up into his eyes. They fucking crush me up. I’ve wanted him so bad and for so long. He stands close enough to me that his every breath crashes over my face.

  “That tie,” he growls.

  I clutch my tie. “What about it?”

  Without warning, he hooks a finger into the neck of it, gives it one deft jerk, and then it’s pulled off with the ease of a ribbon on a birthday present. “It’s against dress code. It’s got to go.”

  My heart starts racing. “Ben …”

  “And that tight shirt?” He starts to circle me like he’s king of the jungle, sizing up his challenger. “It’s the same shirt you wore at least three times since last week. It’s the same shirt that shows your cute little pecs—and nipples when the office is cold.”

  “Ben.” I’m almost at a whisper, my heart thumping so loud I’m afraid I won’t hear someone if they were to knock or just walk right in.

  “I turn down the temperature sometimes, just for your sexy nips.” Ben continues to circle me. “That shirt has got to go. It is too fucking tight. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Ben …”

  “I’m your boss. I’m not Ben. Take off your shirt.”

  I swallow so hard, it feels like I’m literally trying to swallow my heart back down into my chest. I glance nervously at the blinds, which are perfectly shut and show nothing through them.

  He stops right in front of me, his eyes pressing down upon me. “Take. Off. Your. Shirt.”

  When I meet Ben’s eyes, suddenly I find my courage. It’s just us. It’s the moment in his apartment that I was looking for. It’s the dream I’ve had every night for over a week.

  Benjamin is the first, last, and only thing in my spank bank.

  I start tugging on the buttons of my shirt, freeing them one at a time. Soon, my sleeves loosen, and then I let the shirt slip down my shoulders. It drops to the floor so softly, I don’t hear it.

  I lift a defiant eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

  “Oh, I’m not done with you,” he growls. “I’m far, far, far from being done with you.” He begins slowly circling around me once again, his eyes running down my body like a set of invasive hands. “Mmm-mmm-mmm,” he groans, surveying every inch of me. “You got a lot of nerve, intern.”

  “Nerve?”

  “To wear pants like that in my presence.” He comes to a stop behind me and slaps my ass so hard, I suppress a shout. I swear, he spanks me so hard that my ass spanks him back. “So tight. So cruel and inviting. You deserved that spank.”

  I don’t care at all what’s happening outside this office. I don’t care what anyone can hear through the glass or the door. Let them hear Ben swat my tight ass. “I deserved that spank.”

  “How dare you wear those pants to work all week,” he growls, coming back around to my front. I don’t move a muscle. “You did it on purpose, knowing how much it tortures me to see your firm, cute ass in them. I can count your ass cheeks.”

  “Spoiler alert: everyone has two.”

  For that lip, he hooks a finger into the front of my pants and pulls me as he moves backwards, bringing me right up to the front of his desk. Then he steps aside and bends me over the edge of his desk with such quick, unexpected force that I grunt and fling out my hands to support myself.

  He comes up behind me, his crotch pressing against my ass. I feel his hardness through the material. It feels like we’re not even wearing anything, for as defined as his cock is and, apparently, as much “separation” as my pants are giving my ass cheeks.

  It’s not lost on me that he’s moving his hips, too. It’s driving me crazy, the way he’s slowly grinding himself against my butt.

  “You’re being a bad boy,” he whispers, and just the sound of his breathy words fills the whole room. “These pants are very, very bad. And they’ve got to go.”

  I have no idea when or how he unbuckled my belt or undid the buttons to my pants, but when he grips them, he pulls so hard that they fall straight down my thighs and pool at my feet.

  And my underwear goes right with them.

  His fingers grabbed it all.

  The nervousness has returned, filling my chest with fear, and my ears with my ringing pulse. “B-Ben …”

  “Someone could come in?” he asks, positing my fears. “You’re basically naked, totally exposed and bent over my desk, and you think someone is going to have the audacity to stroll right into my office?” He humps my butt again, except this time I really feel him now. Ben slaps his hands on the desk, one on either side of me, then leans in to bring his lips to my ear. “Does it turn you on?”

  My answer surprises me to the core. “Y-Yes.”

  “You like the excitement, don’t you? You’re a thrill junkie, just like me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “This makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before?” He gives my earlobe a tiny, teasing nip. “Being bent over for me is fulfilling hot fantasies you didn’t even know you had? Smelling the oaky wood of my desk? Enjoying my big bulge against your sweet ass? Feeling my every word crash over your ear right now and making you shiver with need?”

  “G-God, yes,” I breathe, my voice quivering.

  “I have some good news … and some bad news for you.” He kisses my ear, sending chills down my neck. Then he starts to kiss a line down my back as he speaks. “The good news is, what I’m about to do to you is going to feel very, very good.”

  I moan, gripping the desk tightly. He is totally undoing me bit by bit, kiss by kiss, as he makes his way slowly down my back.

  “The bad news is,” he murmurs, kissing the small of my back, “you will have a very, very difficult time keeping quiet.”

  My body clenches and my eyes go wide. My mind races with all the possibilities. This can’t be how he takes my virginity, can it? He wouldn’t dare take it from me like this—bent over his desk, deprived of dignity, stripped of all my clothes, and exposed to the cold office air.

  Why does that possibility turn me on so much?

  Then his kisses lead to the top of my ass. My lips part with a breathless gasp when I realize where he’s heading.

  “Ben …” I breathe. “Y-You can’t …”

  “I can,” he hisses, cutting me off. “And if you ever plan to lose your virginity, I think you’re going to need a little warming up.”

  He runs the flat of his tongue up one of my cheeks.

  I flinch, surprised by the smooth sensation. Oh, God …

  “You taste so fucking sweet,” I hear him whisper from between my legs before he goes for my other ass cheek, licking it from the very bottom to the very top.

  I bite my lip and cling to the desk, my cock throbbing as it points between my legs, hard and in perfect view, inches from his face. With my legs spread as they are, my ass, cock, and balls are totally exposed to Benjamin and at his total mercy.

  I’ve never felt more objectified than I do right now.

  And I love it.

  Then his tongue runs along the underside of my balls. I suck in a breath of air, my legs and thighs pulling taut at the cool, slick, almost-tickling sensation of his tongue as it slowly runs up, up, up until it reaches my hole. The sensitivity is so strong and makes me so crazy, I can barely stand it. Just this one long, slow lick might be enough to make me fall apart, cry, and orgasm all at once.

  Then he does it all over again.

  I’m clawing at the desk. He’s gripping my thighs, so my legs have no chance of closing. Bent over his desk, I can’t escape the overwhelming sensations happening between the underside of my balls and my sensitive, exposed hole.

  And then Ben does it again. Licking slow, long, and firmly.

  “Oh my God, Ben,” I groan, my voice jagged.

  He never stops. He is relentless, knowing how maddening this is for me, doing what he’s doing, making me desperate for more, making me long for his tongue to reach its destination, making me so turned on that
I feel wetness at the tip of my throbbing, flexed, achingly hard cock.

  Then he brings his lick higher, running along my hole.

  I tighten right up, gasping.

  “Mmm,” he moans, his breaths casting cool waves of delight over my now-wet balls. “You’re so fucking tight. And you taste so sweet … and clean … and perfect.”

  There is something so invasive about how he describes how I taste. Maybe it’s how he holds my legs apart, trapping me in this totally exposed position. Maybe it’s how his door is unlocked and anyone might come in. Maybe it’s the way he speaks with his lips less than an inch from my butthole, like I’m just a piece of ass to him. What a piece of heaven this is right now, to be Benjamin Gage’s toy.

  He doesn’t use his hands to separate my ass cheeks. He just pushes his face right in, meeting my hole with his wet lips and his wetter tongue. My mouth is frozen open, my jaw grinding against the desk as I let out a silent scream of wild delight.

  His tongue laps at my hole in slow, measured licks. One long, flat-tongued lap at a time, he drives me insane and makes all of my muscles clench tighter with joy, anticipation, and desperate need.

  The licking never stops. I can’t find any new ways to squirm; I’ve tried moving and flexing and pushing and pulling every single muscle I have on my body, but I can’t get away from the relentless, agonizingly perfect pleasure he’s forcing me to endure. It’s a kind of pleasure that is barely not enough, and yet overwhelmingly too much. And while I teeter on the brink of insanity, I’m at his total whim, suffering every beautiful, squirming second of it.

  I’m dripping. I feel my cock letting loose drop after drop of pre-cum, unaware and uncaring of where it’s all landing. In his lap? On the floor? Down the front of his desk?

  He’s turned my cock into a pre-cum factory, slowly churning drip after desperate drip, stream after stream of frustrated, sticky anticipation.

  If he touches my cock—and I mean literally touches it—I just might nut all over him.

  Then, just when I think I can get used to the asshole torment he’s putting me through, his tongue pushes at the hole.