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I still need the tension rubbed out of my shoulders but the more demanding areas can’t wait for the arrival of the masseuse. More than the time factor, this time I don't want the woman sliding her hand under the sheet and over my rigid dick. When she takes its heft in her powerful little fingers with exceptional prowess, I have no doubt at all that I’d shut my eyes and see the girl from the coffee room. I’d picture her taking my big cock in her little hands and smoothly rotating the shaft as she slid up and down the prodigious nine inches.

  Alone, I take matters into my own hand, picking up both the pressure and speed on my dick. A low moan, more like a growl escapes my lips and I lean back against the black marble wall. The girl’s face, beautiful beneath the veneer of anger at the world, fills the screen behind my eyes until I’m panting with hunger to ravage every part of her. In place of my own aggressive grip, I feel her soft flesh give way beneath my demanding fingers. Instead of my own hand gripping my meat, I envision her slick tightness hugging the length of me. Out of nowhere, the craving rises again. The need to be pressing inside of her naked pussy, pushing through her resistance and making her take all of me right there in my office. I want to hear her gasp at the shock of me filling her. Of feeling the stretching of her tunnel and every nerve ending exploding into life. My head tips back on the slab as the heat of impending relaxation builds in my groin.

  Faster, harder.

  I grip myself so the thin skin stretches taut over the heat inside. Then with the wall supporting my back, my knees start to bend as I pick up the pace. Faster, harder I ram inside her. I need to destroy her pussy. I need her to cry out in pants of need and unbearable lust. The same as my own. I see myself shoving her pale thighs further apart, opening her up to me as far as she can go without splitting up the seam. I jerk harder, faster, ready to burst apart. Every muscle brick solid. My knees sink as my thighs start to shudder.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” I grit out.

  Now, her soft mouth takes me in and her tongue lashes along the underside. At the same time I’m inside her wet pussy, twitching around me, tugging me deeper. She opens her legs wider, her pink clit poking up, filled with her pleasure.

  “So fucking tight,” I groan and then release overwhelms me.

  On and on. It feels like the stream is never-ending. An insatiable letting go.

  When the last of me finally circles down the drain, I slam off the faucets and grab a towel. After roughly scrubbing at my shoulders, strangely relieved of the rock hard tension that was stubbornly sitting there, I strap the towel around my narrow hips. It comes almost to my ankles. My legs are still shaking from the power of my climax as I check myself in the mirror. The carving is still there. It takes too much fucking work to maintain the six pack but women appreciate the effort.

  I should get into the gym and workout. Instead I toss the towel to the ground and fall into the king size. I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in fuck knows how long.

  It’s dark outside when I come around. No other apartment is as high as mine so very little glow seeps in from the lights in the opposite tower.

  Fuck, I slept all day.

  When did I ever sleep more than four hours at a stretch. I only came home for a workout and a power nap, intending to head straight back to the office. I was hoping to find out who the hell the strange little thing raiding my coffee room at 7am was.

  Did I miss the masseuse? I don't really care. My muscles are still laid out on a sun lounger in the Bahamas. It’s an odd sensation. And it’s not like it’s been forever. I make sure to get laid every weekend, two or three times and not necessarily with the same chick. But I’ve never had this much relief after screwing any of them.

  If anything I often feel just as tense, even more so, when I’m finished because I know there’s going to be needs. And I’m definitely not about the needs. I don’t mind biting and sipping up every part of them, eating their delectable slick folds, making sure they go home satisfied. Just so long as they go home.

  Normally I’d go back to the office right now but no one will be there. The girl won’t be there at this hour, if she’s there at all. I pour a drink and tell the machine to order dinner.

  That girl had better not have been some waif off the street who somehow managed to get past the security concierge team in the lobby. I don’t want to have to do some Prince Charming act and go all over the city trying to find her again. Because I know that’s what I’d have to do. The yearning sits at the pit of my stomach. I’m hungry for that body again. I kick back with the scotch and marvel at how the need to cover her mouth with mine suddenly overwhelmed me.

  As I stood, clasping her to me, heat seeped through my core, making my dick completely crazed like never before. I think about her small, but oh so eager, little body. More than anything I need to know whether the real thing is as good as the imagined submissive little doll in my shower this morning.

  Chapter 5

  Grace

  I wake up with a jolt. Light daggers through the rips in the roller blind like a guard’s flashlight in my eyes. It’s not yet 6am. My ears are almost stretching for the sound of the big steel key turning in the lock, followed by the clump clump of boots on steel walkway. Four steps between each door before the key scrapes through its rotation and across my nerves.

  I’m still attuned to the regime of the detention center.

  Every nerve ending still waits for the steel door to be thrown back on its cranky hinges and the buff voice of the guard telling me to get up. We had to be out of bed and fully dressed by the time the door was unlocked, or expect to receive a warning with points. What happened when you racked up enough points I was lucky enough not to find out. How much further we could be punished kind of eluded me but I didn’t want to risk it. I’d reached the bottom of the barrel as far as I was concerned although solitary confinement may have been more pleasurable. Not having to deal with the bullying guards or the chaotic mindsets of the other women caged up with me would have made life less fraught with tension.

  I can tell there’s no way I’m going back to sleep. Seeing as I’ve got to find my way into the city and locate the office for my first day, I may a well get out of bed. The bathroom is vacant at this early hour – bonus.

  I shower quickly. Funny how my nerves are still on edge. Expecting some unwelcome attack for no reason. I might have given up on reason after everything that’s happened the last ten months. My body is attuned for bad stuff to happen every moment.

  I get dressed quickly in the bathroom and check my face in the mirror.

  Drawn and pasty looking from lack of light. And life. And I only have some cheap cosmetics that came in the bag of essentials Commander Cynthia gave me to ease my return to humanity. The business attire I was given is no better. Cheap polyester fabric for the ill-fitting skirt and the kind of blouse that gapes open at the chest. Great. It’s going to look like an open invitation if I run into that handsome and very full of himself older dude again.

  I’m doing my best to make my eyes look less like a sad raccoon’s when the door flies open. Shit, I forgot to lock it. The concept of being in control of my own lock in has become completely unfamiliar. As though I never had it before jail.

  My fists clench automatically, ready to defend myself if necessary. In the doorway is a girl even paler than me but wearing a ton of black eyeliner. Her hair is white blond with dark roots just starting to grow in.

  “What are you doing in here?” she demands in an unusual accent. I think it’s Russian. Maybe Polish, but with a harsh throaty rasp.

  “Getting ready for work,” I tell her. Keeping it neutral, not hostile not friendly because that would indicate fear.

  “Work,” she repeats, like it’s such an impossible concept I must be lying. “This is my bathroom,” she announces.

  “I was told it was communal.”

  “Cum-munal,” she cackles like she’s heard a hysterical joke but whether of her own invention or mine is beyond me.

  “You can’t be in her
e when I need to pee,”

  “I’m just about done then I’ll be out of your hair.” “You got the wowcher?” she asks, a sudden sweetness in her tone.

  “What’s a wowcher?”

  “The wowcher, wow-cher,” she enunciates in a loud voice like she’s trying to make a dumb foreigner understand.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “For the food. The supplies. Didn’t you just get out?”

  “Yeah,” I say, a wash of shame traveling up my spine.

  “What you in for?” “Drugs,” I say. Even though it’s bad practice to ask someone what they were in for and liable to get you tripped in the hallway.

  “You carrying?”

  “What? No, I’m not carrying. I was used as a mule without my knowledge by my bastard ex.”

  “Yeah. Of course you were.”

  Right, I forgot that other rule. Never claim innocence.

  The girl who hasn't yet introduced herself moves into the washroom and comes close. Too close. Everything around me contracts as I throw up an involuntary shield.

  “Gimme the wow-cher,” she says menacingly. “I need to get me some things.” “I don't have a wow – cher. Oww.”

  My head snaps back as she yanks my hair hard. Then her free hand clamps around my neck, cutting off my air supply. I react immediately. My elbow jabs behind into her spongy stomach. The shock makes her release my throat in shock and I spin around, grabbing her by her hair now and slamming one fist across her jaw.

  Then I lean her back over the basin so her back arches uncomfortably.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” I snarl. “I don’t want to be here either but as long as I am, let’s keep it civil.”

  I’m not really a fighter. I don’t want to have to get physical but I’ve learned how now for whenever it’s necessary.

  Without waiting for an answer, I slam out of bathroom, grab the nasty cheap purse from my room and head out of the house for the subway.

  Rain has started pouring down during my sub-terrain ride and no one thought to include an umbrella in my supplies. I don’t even have enough to buy one from the skinny African selling them from a box on the corner. It’s six blocks to the Hopper office tower off Wall Street. Confused by all the tall buildings, I head in the wrong direction and have to double back, making it nine.

  By the time I get there, my clothes are drenched and sticking to me. What a way to start a new job. Plus if the hottie sees me he’ll disappear even faster than yesterday. My god that kiss has occupied all my thoughts. Even during the subway ride, with everyone around me engrossed in their phones, I drifted off into the hard body lining my skin. How his tongue tangled around mine making me slowly melt into a pool of whiskey flavored dark chocolate. Rich and luscious and aching to be licked.

  No, stop.

  I need to stop thinking about disappearing man’s firm lips trailing across my skin. It sends a shiver down my back, straight to my clit every time I recall the forceful way he took hold of me. Men are nothing but trouble. No matter how much they promise to be good, they can’t seem to help betraying your trust.

  Amazed that they let me past the front desk looking as bedraggled as I do, I arrive at Janice Markle’s desk. She’s not in yet. In fact none of the other team members have arrived in he office. Perhaps because it’s not even eight am.

  I have no idea what to do with myself or where to even sit. Right across from Janice’s desk is a set of imposing dark wood doors. The brass hardware is heavy and well-made, rich with power. Clearly the boss’s office.

  I shouldn’t, but I do. Maybe it’s a permanently unbridled impulse in me to do what will get me into trouble. Testing authority is the only way to stamp some of my own.

  I stealthily, like a burglar, turn the smooth handle. I don’t know what I’ll say if the old guy that runs this place is in there. But I know he’s not. I can just feel it.

  As expected, the office is empty but unbelievably huge with a double aspect window looking out on the sunrise over the East River and to the Statue of Liberty on the other.

  “Liberty. What a joke,” I snort. “No wonder she’s blindfold.”

  There’s a long sofa, faced by two banker chairs around a coffee table. The desk is as large as I’d anticipated, larger. The thing would fill all the space of my bedroom at my ‘home’.

  I trail my fingers along it’s solid length and then slip into the leather chair. It cocoons around me like a palm. A firm masculine palm. With the aroma of rich well-tanned leather.

  The man from yesterday swarms into my head again. I doubt I’ll ever forget him, especially in my current state of desperate hunger to be touched. Don’t people literally die if they aren’t touched by another human?

  What would he do if he discovered me hanging out in the Boss’s office? This chair is big enough for both of us. I could easily straddle his thighs and allow his hands to travel all over my body, stripping away the crackly material and allowing his mouth to follow where his fingertips led.

  Pleasure lifts like a phoenix in my core. I arch my back and lift my hips off the supportive seat. My fingers slide up my leg under the nasty flared skirt and I slide across the erect little point of my aching clit. It seems so naughty to be sitting in the CEO’s chair, in his luxurious huge office and touching myself that I give the cleft a pinch. My pussy instantly responds, the pressure pushing at the edges of my body. I know I could come in mere seconds, I’m so tingling with desire to let go.

  My fingertips slide under the fabric of my underwear, which is soaked and not from the rain.

  I close my eyes and let out a sigh that turns into a moan.

  “Yes sir,” I whisper, seeing the coffee room guy in my mind as my fingers circle around my protruding hard point.

  I have no choice but to do whatever he wants of me. I’ve been told to keep this job no matter what and the guy is so dominating, so overwhelming in the power in his arms, I have no choice.

  Chapter 6

  Hopper

  I shouldn’t do it, but I do.

  Through the open crack in the door I see her.

  The girl from yesterday in the break room. She’s sitting at my desk. Getting a feel for what it feels like to be the big shot. The power that comes from manning the helm. I enjoy seeing how she relishes her moment. It’s almost visceral watching her soak me up in my seat. And what happens next sets my cock firing solid in my pants.

  I’m transfixed by the sight of her.

  She’s sprawls back in my chair. Her legs are parted and her hand is deep inside her skirt. With her head tossed back and her lips moist, it doesn’t take a private dick to work out what she’s doing. It takes everything I have not to storm through the door and claim her for myself. She clearly needs the release just as much as I do and we’re halfway there from yesterday and with unfinished business hanging over us. The way my cock is pummeling at the wool of my pants, is proof of how much my body craves to help her out with her hungry desires. Her body undulating gently in my chair as she grinds down on her own fingers is almost more temptation than I can bear. She should be astride me there. Wrapped around my shaft and fucking herself on me while I watch her perfect tits bob.

  When I hear her whispering my name – because after all, Boss is me. There isn't another. I almost lose it. Is she thinking of me? Is she remembering how I covered her mouth with mine and claimed her with my forceful tongue? A flush of heat rushes through my core heading straight to my balls. Lust almost overwhelms me again. So much stronger than yesterday now that I’ve had one taste of her. Now that I see she wants more just as much as I do.

  “Yes, yes,” she whimpers, drawing my eyes to her face and her cheeks filling with burning heat. “Yes boss, harder. Like that, Boss.”

  Then with an arch of her back, she clenches every muscle and I watch her erupt. As she shudders and clenches – longer clenches than I’ve ever seen – I sense the thrust of pleasure jettison from her pussy up through her torso to seep out through every pore
. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, watching a woman get herself off. Especially when she’s sitting in the chair I use every day and I’m almost certain it’s me she’s picturing shoving inside her over and over, ravishing her tight pussy.

  The fervor in me stretches and curls through my limbs as I watch her buck her hips through her climax. She moans a little more as the pleasure drains through her, leaving her spent and wobbly I have no doubt. Her head comes up with a sigh and I see her cheeks are an adorable shade of pink. The color of pleasure. I wish it was me that had wrung that hue from her skin. And I’m determined to make it happen. Sooner or later, but knowing me, sooner. Because once I set my mind on having something, I don’t rest until I get it. It’s how I made my first million and continue to make more.

  I take a swift step back as the girl, shit, I don’t even know her name, looks around with a guilty air. I don’t want her to discover me and know I witnessed her almost perfect O. At least until I give her a barrelful of them.

  I take a few further steps back away from the office door, toward my private elevator, and pull out my phone. Then shouting out some orders to an imaginary dealer, I walk down the hall as though I’ve just arrived. Far enough away that she’ll hear me approaching but not far enough that she can slip out of my clutches.

  She’s mine now.

  When I stride into my office, finishing up with my fake phone call, she’s making a dash around the desk. I act surprised to see her in here. She affects the falsely innocent gaze of the guilty and then startles as she recognizes me. A deeper shade of hot pink flushes her already blushing cheeks.

  I pretend to disconnect the phone while throwing her my sternest frown.

  “What are you doing in my office?” I demand, my voice croaking with repressed lust, so I have to clear it.

  “I, um, I’m looking for Janice,” she says, drawing herself up to her full height.