Chapter 66 – Pleasing the Boss

Now I’m bringing the ghost to my office as well.

I should have taken her somewhere else. Somewhere still in the building so there’s no worry about being caught together. There are plenty of places that will be private at this time of night. The studio. Ax’s office. Elvis’s.

I leave the lights off and consider more suitable locations while she looks over the dimly lit space. There’s a lot to see, even in the dark, since so much light enters through the bare windows—a large seating area with two couches, two armchairs, and a coffee table; a table that seats six; an executive desk that is completely clear of anything on the surface; a second desk with my computer; several bookcases; a media wall; a pool table; the mini kitchen; a private bathroom with a shower and jacuzzi.

I’m prepared for one of the typical remarks I get when introducing someone to this space: This is bigger than my apartment.

A person could live here if there were a bed.

Want a roommate?

But she doesn’t say anything of the sort, heading instead for the wall of glass behind my work desk. “This view…how do you get any work done?”

“It’s distracting, I admit.” Our building is taller than many around us, and my office is on the highest floor that isn’t reserved for tourism. It’s an incredible vantage point, but I’m not talking about the same view as she is. Her standing in the exact spot that I’ve stood in many a night as I plotted and schemed and worked out strategies for the company. It’s always been a good place to think.

Now looking at her in that spot, my ch*st tightens, and I don’t know what’s going on inside me, but I’m pretty sure I’m f**ked.

So there’s no point in leaving. She’s already marked this place. Even after she’s gone, she’ll always be here.

Besides, I’m already hard again, and my dick is in command. I’ve already crossed to her by the time she turns away from the view, and I meet her l*ps with mine, k**sing her as ravenously as I did downstairs in the restaurant. How can I still be this hungry for her?

It’s the p**ssure, probably. How much I’ve been working. I haven’t made time for f**king anyone in weeks, and I usually schedule it in as regularly as my visits to the executive gym. Brystin and her show have consumed so much of my work life, it’s only natural that she’s spilled into my recreational life as well.

Tonight will do the trick. f**k her brains out. f**k her on all the furniture. f**k her so hard that she walks into her apartment limping and has to make up excuses to the dickwad she calls a husband. f**k her so good she’ll be out of my system, but she’ll never be able to forget.

I k**s her with that intention now, my t***ue wrestling with hers while I push her backward until her ass meets my executive desk. Almost frantically, I begin to strip her clothes off, removing her jacket first, then the shell underneath and her bra, pausing our k**s when I need to pull her shirt over her head and breaking it completely when her tits are exposed so I can step back and admire them properly.

Immediately, her arms cross to cover them, but she catches herself, and drops them down nervously at her side. “This would feel more fair if you were undressed too.”

I shake my head. “I own you, remember? There is no fair.”

She c**ks her head, as though annoyed, but then I palm both br***ts, and her annoyance dissolves into a soft sigh of pleasure. They’re teardrop shaped and on the smaller side but are firm and perfectly fit my hands. I experiment with my touch, brushing my thumbs lightly over her n**ples then squeezing her tits like stress balls, discovering that the rough makes her melt but the soft drives her wild. Such a honeybee with her love of both the sweet and the sting.

I bend to put one in my mouth and pull down her pants at the same time. She doesn’t have her thong anymore—I pocketed that after the last round—so she’s in nothing but her heels when they’re gone. Her n**ple is bright red and swollen when I’m done with it, and I have half a mind to make the other one match, but her cunt is bare now, and I need to taste. Need to watch her writhe on my desk while she comes all over my t***ue.

As soon as I fall to my knees, she tries to stop me. “No. I want you.”

“You’re about to get me.” My t***ue anyway. She’ll have to be more specific if she wants something else, and even then, it will be when I decide. “Lean back and spread yourself out, baby, so I can see what’s mine.”

She fakes a pout but she does as I say. Leaning back on her elbows, her torso fills the width of my desk, and when she props the heels of her shoes on the surface edge, I have to blink because f**k she looks good. “Look at you. Showing off your p**sy to the city like you expect them to worship it.”

She giggles, but it’s tight with tension and need. Suddenly, she starts to sit up, her gaze searching the windows. “No one can actually see me, can they?”

We’re way too high up, and with the lights off, it’s next to impossible. But like the theater, it feels like we’re being watched, and even cautious as she is, I don’t want to rid her of the fantasy. “Doesn’t matter who sees. It matters who makes you come.”

She’s about to argue, but I cut her off with a single swipe of my t***ue across her c**t, which seems to make her forget what she was fussing about. I linger on the next swipe, burying my face into her skin. It’s then I realize the landing strip of hair where she was previously bare. I run my fi**ger over it, and then my t***ue. This was for me. She grew this for me.

I don’t bring attention to it, afraid to attach too much meaning to a simple choice in grooming style. But before I go back in to eat my fill, I give her a warning. “This p**sy has been my torment for weeks. I’m not planning to be nice. Hold on to my hair if you need to. Scream my name when you see stars.”

Then I put my hands under her th**hs to spread her wider and eat her like the starving man I am. I could feed on her until morning. If my c**k wasn’t in charge, I actually might. She tastes so sweet. The best a p**sy has ever tasted, and I’m quite fond of the taste in general. She comes easily and is squirming on my t***ue, screaming my name in no time.

After her second orgasm, she attempts words. “Please, no. I can’t. I want you.”

I consider torturing her longer, but my c**k is angry from neglect so I make my way back to my feet.

“Want what? These?” I stick three fi**gers inside her, making sure she’s ready for me. We moved a little too fast the first time, and I’m worried she won’t last the night if I’m too rough.

“No, not your fi**gers.” But she m**ns as I stroke against a tender spot.

Her cunt is dripping and eager, and I’m already undoing my pants, but I taunt her anyway. “Want my t***ue again?”

“No, Hadrian. I want your c**k.”

My c**k falls out like an escaped prisoner, fat and straining. I’m convinced it isn’t possible to be any more hard until her eyes land bet**en my legs, heavy and lust-filled, and my c**k swells with pride.

“Say it again. Tell me what you want my c**k to do to you.” I r*b the tip across her opening, finding a strange kind of satisfaction in the excruciating effort it takes not to plow right into her.

“Fill me up,” she pants, then shakes her head, as if realizing I’ll want her to be more precise. “I want your c**k to fill my p**sy up, Hadrian. I want it to fill me up so good it hurts.”

Goddamn she’s a devil. Asking me to f**k her rough. Making me wonder—if I break it do I get to keep it?

I punish myself a little longer, pushing in bare while I look for a condom. It’s agony pulling out to wr*p up, but I’m usually a boy scout where protection is concerned, and I’ve already crossed the line of acceptable behavior.

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