Cherry Popper(24)

A growl echoes through the bathroom. A growl...

The growl is deep and primitive. Oh sweet Jesus. That's erotic.

I stifle a moan as I brush my clit, lightly at first and then find my folds. Damn, my skirt is too tight to reach...I move it up my thighs, as my red pumps scrape against the tile floor.

"Shit," the man's voice resonates through the small bathroom and my eyes open wide.

"I-is someone in here?" No longer seductive, the woman's voice holds an edge of panic.

Commotion—zippers moving and fabric straightening as well as the woman's heels and man's shoes against the floor. Without another word, they're gone.

It was only one word, but I know that voice.

Another moan escapes my lips as I finish what I started. One finger and then two. A pinch of my clit and the image of the man who was just on the other side of the stall. Behind my closed eyes, I see his wide shoulders, his trim waist, the way his pleated trousers hang over his big cock and surround his round ass.

Cum covers my fingers as I imagine Duncan Willis.





The dryer in the bathroom fades the damp spot on my blouse. I don't bother with the one on my panties. At least the coffee stain is gone.

Nevertheless, with each step toward my desk, my fury builds. I'm not against a good orgasm as a great way to start the day, but fuck. Do it in bed. Have it brought on by long, thick masculine fingers or better yet, a hard, large cock.

That's the way to start the day.

Not listening to your boss get off with some office slut after dealing with a telephone conversation with your mother.

I'm HR. Sex in bathrooms is frowned upon. Shit! It's wrong. It's an offense that can result in termination. Not that I can fire one of the owners. But damn, the man needs to keep it in his pants.

I've heard the rumors. Everyone has. That doesn't mean I want to hear his moans or growls.

Fuck!

That growl was so hot.

But seriously. Who was she? That woman could sue his ass, this company—my job is on the line.

I sit at my desk and finally take a drink of my coffee.

"Miss Jones."

My breathing stops as I look up from the cup in my hand toward the entrance to my cubicle. Standing there, all sexy and perhaps slightly perturbed is Duncan Willis.

His shimmering green eyes move unashamedly down my body leaving a trail of smoldering flames. Each inch that his gaze lowers disperses the fire that his growl ignited in the bathroom. As seconds tick, I'm ready to combust.

It's not until his eyes reach my shoes that his grin broadens. "Nice shoes, Miss Jones. I thought I noticed them this morning in the coffee shop."

My shoes. He noticed them? Why did I wear red? Nude or blue...so many options. How many women have on red pumps? Undoubtedly, he not only saw them in the coffee shop, but in the bathroom.

"Mr. Willis, it's nice of you to notice my attire."

"You're very noticeable."

As he turns to walk away, I remember to take a breath. One more second and I would have passed out and probably spilled my coffee again. Why not? After the way my morning has begun, anything is possible.

I turn back to my desk and indignation builds.

He knows I know.

He wants me to know that he knows.

Well, Duncan Willis may be my boss, but he hired me for a job.

Any other employee and I would say something. I am bound to say something.

Steeling my shoulders, I begin to move my desk chair, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen of my phone light up. In the corner is a little red number—six.

Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

Six text messages.

MOTHER: What Happened?

I hung up on you!

MOTHER: I can't reach you.

No shit. That's the point.

MOTHER: Are you there?

My head moves back and forth. She's not great at taking a hint.

MOTHER: Call me back.

Not until I figure this out.

MOTHER: What size tux does Timothy wear? Kurt's friend from California is sick. I said your boyfriend would be happy to fill in. You know how excited everyone is that you're dating.

What the actual fuck?

MOTHER: Call me.

"Fuck!" The word slips out as I bang my head on the top of my desk.

Someone make this all go away!

My chest expands, my breasts pushing against my blouse as I stand. The idea I just got is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I've ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work.

It's now or never.

With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward Duncan Willis's office. The journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, it's only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles and down one hallway.

Duncan's office is separated from his assistant's by a large wall of glass. I know from experience that a switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque. In the past when we've discussed hires and fires, he's hit the magical button to keep his office private. Currently the wall is clear, and through the glass I see my boss, sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer's screen.