Jerking off at the office isn't something I normally do, but today I need to make an exception.
Sitting on the long bench in the middle of the marble bathroom, I pull my track pants down and kick them and my sneakers off. Running my hand down my stomach, I wrap my fingers around my dick and think of how good it would feel to be inside her.
Soon enough, I find myself lying back. As I stare at the ceiling, I pump slowly from my balls to the tip of my cock, once, twice, three times. And suddenly I'm thinking of the noises she might make when I touch her clit and then rub it over and over, or whether or not she'll scream my name when I fuck her hard and fast.
My breathing comes in short bursts as adrenaline pumps through my veins. Out of nowhere, I start to wonder how her wetness might taste-on her tongue, in her mouth, and around her sweet pussy. I press my heels into the ground and push my hips up. My grip grows tighter as I pump my fist harder, faster.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Again and again.
After a few minutes, I'm on the edge, almost there, but I slow my hand to prolong the pleasure. But then thoughts of her straddling me so she can thrust her hips into mine, rush my need for release. All too soon I'm coming. I arch my back and tip my head, letting the feeling absorb me.
Overtake me.
Own me.
Minutes later I rise from the bench to hop in the shower. Once under the warm spray, I refuse to put a face to the woman's body I just imagined in my mind and used to make myself come.
Because if I think too hard about it, I'm afraid I know whose face it was.
And more than likely . . . she'd slap me if she found out about the very dirty thoughts I was having starring her.
Not fuck me.
Tess
THE WORLD IS made up of many different kinds of business people. Suits. Khakis. Take charge. Cower down. Go with the flow.
But the bullying type is simply unacceptable.
In fact, there should be laws against this kind of behavior. I give him a sideways glance and see his smirk. There definitely should be laws against it. What this big shot is trying to do is completely unethical and downright underhanded.
I really wish I had done my research before coming to the agreed upon appointment to sign my new restaurant lease, because if I had, I would have canceled. But with everything happening so fast, I neglected to notice whom exactly I would be meeting.
He's a man with a reputation around Chicago.
And not a good one.
Word on the street is that he is a slumlord.
A down and dirty businessman.
Ruthless.
With a narrowed stare, I look my potential new landlord right in the eyes. "I am not signing this lease until you change the monthly lease payment back to the one advertised, and I might add, the previously agreed upon amount."
Pokerfaced, Mathias Bigelow shifts his gaze from the clipboard in his hands over to me, and then stares at me deadpan. "Ms. Winters, the advertised monthly rate was for retail space, not a restaurant."
"But I told Derrick what the space would be used for."
"Derrick," he grits, "is a realtor, and has no decision-making authority in my business."
I have to tread lightly. This man owns a rather large percentage of the properties in River North and is rumored to be involved with organized crime. Figures I'd get stuck with him. "I don't understand why it matters what I plan to use the space for."
Pardon my language, but this dick in a suit doesn't impress me with his business savvy when he indicates to the space we are standing in and says, "Would you like me to explain why it matters, doll?"
Trying hard not to roll my eyes, I answer with what I believe to be an intelligent response. "Yes, Mr. Bigelow, I would because the lease is triple net, and therefore there are no additional expenses out of your pocket."
His face turns red and I think he is getting angry. "Turning this old accountant's office into a restaurant is going to require renovations, extensive renovations, and although the money is not coming out of my pocket, you will be limiting the future revenue streams of this location when you vacate the property."
Now irritation starts to flare beneath my skin. "That makes absolutely no sense. If anything, I'm providing the potential to improve it, not reduce it."
Taking two giant steps toward me, he closes in on me-intentionally moving into my personal space. "Look doll, you either sign the contract or you don't. It's no skin off my back either way, but stop wasting my time."
Whereas Nick in a suit is all smooth and polished, this guy looks rough around the edges even in expensive pinstripes.
Odd thought, I know.