He smiles a wicked smile that makes me shudder with anticipation. "That's good," he says. "Because I'm going to fuck you now."
I have to close my eyes because he thrusts in and pleasure bursts behind my eyes like fireworks. "You weren't fucking me yet?"
Chance chuckles and captures my lips for a kiss. "Not even close." And then he thoroughly proves his words to be true. Plunging in and pulling back, I can feel every inch of him. I don't think I've appreciated the concept of friction in my life until now. I'm coming apart around him, not quite there but so close, almost drawing in the pleasure of it, and now my voice is back. I can't stop the moans that are coming out of my mouth, and they're only getting louder.
I can feel the studs of his piercing, brushing against that spot deep inside me that I don't think any other guy has been able to hit. Every stroke taps against that spot, a bright pop of fizzy pleasure that spreads through the rest of me, heightening, honing, and drawing me toward the edge.
Looking down, I watch him fuck me. I see that massive cock disappearing inside me, and I'm taking almost all of him. I can't look away, and watching is the thing I need that sends me over. I cry out, my pussy trying to squeeze him, trying to get more pleasure from him. And he doesn't stop thrusting through the orgasm; he's taking me straight into the next one.
Thank God the wind is stealing my voice away because I can't stop screaming, and anyone listening would have no doubt about what's happening. I'm looking at Chance and his eyes have gone dark with lust and arousal. He's grunting softly with the effort and I can see that he's close. I squeeze down on him as much as I can, and he closes his eyes, groaning.
I'm still on the tail end of the last orgasm, and I can't even remember how many times I've come. It's like my body doesn't know how to handle all of the sensation and so it keeps overflowing. Chance reaches in between us, circling my clit with his thumb, and I can't hold on anymore. I scream, the echo of it jumping back to me from other skyscrapers. It's the biggest one yet and I can't stop. Chance thrusts in deeply, with purpose, and again, and again, and I feel him jerk inside me as he finds his pleasure. His groan is low, deep. It sends goosebumps across my skin.
My body is shaking in the aftermath, little spasms on my skin and in my muscles. Neither of us move, just breathing together, with him still buried inside of me.
"You were right," I finally say after I've caught my breath and come back to myself enough to speak.
"About what?"
I smile, leaning my head back against the chair. "It was more than all right, and it was perfect."
Chance kisses me, not soft or gentle. This is deep and possessive and arousing. It raises up all the feelings I just felt and makes me want to ask for more. But before I can, he pulls away. "I'm glad."
Together, we retrieve our clothing, and Chance helps me dress with a tenderness that's unexpected after everything. We don't really talk, because there's nothing left to say. I don't even protest when he puts me in a cab home instead of letting me take the subway. I'm still fuzzy, still overwhelmed and blissed-out. He kisses me one final time before closing the door to the cab.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.
"Yeah," I say. "Tomorrow."
Seven
"There's a certain stigma when it comes to different kinds of sex. Like if we choose to do something a little different, it's inherently wrong. Let's get rid of that stigma together, because there are some things that I can tell you that you need to try. I'm talking about everything from toys to the continually made fun of edible panties. Nothing is off limits here. We're going to get down, dirty, honest, and HOT. Let's dive in, shall we?"
-How to Spice Up Your Sex Life, Heartmakers.com
I think I may have made a huge mistake. Yesterday was unquestionably amazing, and in the moment I put aside all the hesitations I had about sleeping with the boss. But in the morning, my head is clearer, as it usually is. What happens to me if that's all he wanted from me? The contract I signed didn't have a length of time attached to it. He could fire me today if he wanted to. And what if he doesn't want to? What if he wants to keep going and I'm the first employee that he's slept with? That's an entirely different ball of wax and not even necessarily better.
I didn't tell Alice what happened when I came home last night, because I knew what she would say. That it was utterly, utterly stupid. Which it was. And then she'd ask for details. I'm not ready for either of those things yet. Seeing how it goes today, I'll be more prepared.
My stomach is in knots on the way to the office. What do I say to him? How do I handle this? The hypocrisy of it all hits me. I'm writing content for people that hopefully makes their dating and sex lives better, yet I can't get my own together.
I try to keep my head down, avoiding as many people as I can. I don't know if anyone saw Chance and me go to the roof together, but if they did, I don't want to answer questions about it. I hope that everyone I met in the break room had gone home by that point, because if there were rumors about me meeting him in his office, then there would definitely be rumors about the roof. And those would be true.
There's a note on my desk when I get to my office. Chance is out for the morning, and the article that he'd like me to start on next is one about keeping sex interesting after you've been in a relationship for a while. I haven't even sat down yet and I'm already blushing. I have no idea if he chose this topic because of what happened yesterday, but it's certainly on my mind. I already have ideas for the structure of the article, and they all feature fictional Chance and fictional Me.
I grab some coffee and get to work. Unlike the first date article, this one pours out of me. I cover everything from toys to food to exploring potential kinks. There's so much here that I feel like I've barely scratched the surface by the time noon rolls around.
Frankly, I'd be happy thinking about this article for a very long time. I get to imagine what it would be like to have Chance use toys on me, and the thought of him licking whipped cream off my nipples has me so worked up that I'm squirming in my seat. The possibilities are endless.
An email pops into my inbox, and I catch my breath because it's from Chance. Just a few words.
Can I take you to lunch?
My heart leaps into my throat. I want to. Being out with Chance sounds like a dream come true. Even though the sex was amazing, it's more than just sex. But should I? I'm not sure if I should keep this going. There are so many variables and so many possible things that could go wrong.
But then I think about yesterday and what I wrote about first dates being like lottery tickets. We've already had sex, but this would be our first date. I need to practice what I preach. I need to scratch off the numbers and see if I win.
Absolutely.
He responds right away.
I'll come by in ten minutes.
I spend that ten minutes trying not to imagine all the possibilities I've covered in my article while touching up my make-up and hair. I wore a skirt that I love today, swishy and fun, perfect for a lunch out.
True to his word, Chance appears at my door ten minutes later and we walk out together. I'm going to have to accept that the rumor mill is running. At least Darcy and Emily see us on our way out, as well as a bunch of employees that I haven't even met yet.
"So where are we going?" I ask him when we reach the elevator.
"There's a little Italian place around the corner that I really love, if that's okay with you."
I smile, suddenly relaxing. "Fine by me. I love Italian."
It really is just around the corner. One of those airy little restaurants that throws open their walls in the summer and lets their tables spill out onto the sidewalk. As we enter, the host smiles at Chance and waves him through even though there's a line. "I come here all the time," Chance says to me as he pulls out my chair, "so when I call and ask for a last minute reservation, they're very willing to accommodate."
"I'm sure being an extremely good-looking and rich CEO doesn't hurt," I say, smirking.
He laughs. "No, it doesn't."
We take a few minutes to look at the menu, and I end up ordering Spaghetti con Polpette and he orders Fettucini Alfredo. The waiter takes our order immediately and our water glasses are never less than half full.
"Is this a date?" I ask. "Are we dating now?"