He pumped into her, fast and then faster, and every part of her felt him. Her breasts were full and on high alert, swelling with sensations, her legs were wide open for him. Her pussy was drawing him in as deep as he could possibly be, and all the while she held his face in her hands, and watched him. Watched his eyes, those cool blue eyes that didn’t seem to want to look away either. He didn’t want to break the gaze. He stayed with her, fucking her forcefully and relentlessly on his desk as she reached the edge. “That’s right. Come on my desk,” he instructed. “Come so fucking hard that I’ll never think of anything but you when I’m trying to work here.”

She didn’t know if one orgasm would ruin his work ethic for life. She didn’t care. All she knew was that her body was shattering, sensations rolling through her in some sort of sinful chaos of bliss and beauty. Crashing, rising, falling, exploding. And all that noise. All that shouting. His name. Her name. God’s name. Swearing. A cacophony of sounds of sex, flesh on flesh, slaps and moans and groans as she came undone for him. And the deepness. Oh, the terribly wonderful deepness as he pushed further into her, still driving, still thrusting, hard and then even harder until he collapsed onto her, his weight on her body, his loud grunts landing on her ears like a manifesto of his pleasure.

She panted. He groaned. They didn’t move. They lay there, spent, exhausted, their breaths harsh in the silent office, sated beyond words in a heap on his desk, turning work and the business of pleasure obsolete that Friday evening.

When at last he separated from her, he brushed his fingertips along her face. “So beautiful,” he murmured, then bent his head to her neck, layering kisses all the way to her ear. She shivered from his tender touch. “I love being with you.”

She tensed at the words, but then relaxed into his embrace. Try as she might to hold back, to resist, she loved being with him too. He asked her for her body, but the more he took of it, the more it was a package deal.

Which meant she was speeding straight into heartbreak. Only she didn’t have the will to press the brakes.

She should find it. She really ought to find it. But it was nowhere nearby as he gently scooped her up from his desk, held her in his arms, and kissed her face.

12

Fit

Work was out of the question, it seemed.

After straightening up his desk, he knotted his tie, and handed Michelle her jacket.

“I’m famished. Do you want to get something to eat?” he asked as he held the coat for her.

“Yes, and I’ll just carry my jacket,” she said. She didn’t need it for the weather; she’d worn it for the costume. “I only had it on for the effect.”