She stops a couple of feet in front of my desk. She doesn’t sit—instead, she stands hesitantly and sucks in a breath as if she’s preparing herself for something, gripping her notepad in both hands. She stares at the notepad while I do nothing but run my eyes over her and relive the other night.
“You asked to see me?” she prompts, eyes darting to mine and reminding me that yes, I am the one who called her to my office. I should have come up with a reason for doing so instead of staring at the clock like an infatuated idiot.
Right.
Come up with something, Gabe.
“You’re seeing Dave?” is what I come up with. Why the fuck did I just say that? That’s the last thing I want to talk to her about.
Her shoulders drop and confusion crosses her face.
“What?” she asks, starting to look less confused and more annoyed. I wonder if she likes Dave. I’m better-looking than Dave.
God, I’m an idiot.
“I thought we should talk,” I answer, deflecting the Dave bit for now. “About the other night.”
“It’s okay,” she blurts out. “I understand.”
“You understand what?”
“I won’t say anything.”
“What?” I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“I get it, Mr. Laurent. I won’t say anything,” she says with a shake of her head. “Like it never even happened,” she adds when I don’t respond.
I stand and round the desk, stopping directly in front of her, the tips of my shoes two inches from the toes of her heel-clad ones. She’s forced to tilt her head back or stare at my jaw, so she does, her eyes landing on mine. She looks startled and confused and… aroused. That’s the last thing I see before I crash my lips to hers, my hand moving to wind itself in her hair and anchor her head exactly how I want it. The other is on her hip, moving her backwards till her bottom hits the edge of my desk.
“Do you need a reminder?” I ask, breaking my lips away from hers. I slide my palms over her ass and drag her closer as I grasp the hem of her dress and inch it towards her waist. “Do you have short-term memory issues, Sandra?”
“No,” she says, with a small shake of her head. “Of course not. Of course I remember.” Her eyes trail down my chest and back up. “I remember everything.” She says it softly, her cheeks flushed.
“I haven’t shown you everything yet,” I murmur and her eyes widen.
“You haven’t?”
“Not even close.” I give her a gentle push onto my desk and she leans back, propped up on her elbows, ass on the edge. I step between her legs and lean over her, covering her mouth with mine as I work her panties over her hips and down her legs, then slip her heels off as I reach her ankles. She moans as I spread her legs and step between them, running my hands up her bare thighs. Her hips buck from the desk, desperate for something more.
“I like this,” I tell her, tracing my finger around the small triangle of hair on her pussy.
“Okay,” she whispers, meeting my eyes before quickly glancing away again while sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s about to be a whole lot more embarrassed, I think as I drop to my knees and kiss the inside of her thigh.
”Oh, my God… Mr. Laurent.” Her back is bowing again and she wiggles her bottom. “You’re not.” She breathes out the words. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“I am,” I confirm and place her feet on the edge of the desk and press her knees out so she’s butterflied open in front of me.
She tries to close her legs, shaking her head and whispering, “Don’t.”
I stop. “Are you saying no, you want me to stop? Or no, you’re embarrassed?”
“Yes!” Her head drops back, her eyes on the ceiling. “Don’t stop.”
I kiss the inside of her other thigh then pause. “So that’s a yes?”
She nods and falls back to the desk, throwing an elbow over her eyes. “Yes. I can’t believe this is happening again. Yes.”
That’s enough for me and I lean in and swipe my tongue across her from bottom to top, then spread her apart with my thumbs. I want to see every last bit of her. Taste every last inch of her. Her pussy is every bit as pretty as I expected, pink and plump and the scent of her makes me want to spend all day right here, between her legs. I cover her with my mouth and pay attention to each tilt of her hips, every sigh from her mouth and adjust accordingly. When I slip two fingers inside of her she grabs my hair and tugs, tiny whimpers falling on my ears while I enjoy each delicate fold of her pussy and the taste of her on my tongue.
“How are you,” she groans, “doing that?” Her blonde hair is spread across my desk and her fists, wrapped in my hair, alternate between pushing me closer and tugging me away.
I laugh and suck her clit between my lips, then take my fingers from her pussy and circle her anus with the tips of my soaked fingers.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she whimpers, her hips rising from the desk to escape my fingers, but the hands wrapped in my hair are still firmly pulling me to her. I press a hand on her lower stomach to keep her still, allowing no escape from the building pressure. Then I suck hard on her clit and slip my index finger into her ass. She comes, her knees snapping up and her fingertips digging into my scalp.
As much as I love feeling a woman come on my dick, there’s nothing like seeing her come with your face buried in her pussy, your tongue and fingers inside of her. Seeing her hips jerk and actually watching her orgasm in your face.
Watching Sandra come is that times a hundred. Smelling her, tasting her, swallowing her. Fuck. I continue to kiss her softly while her breathing slows and her legs loosen, her hands falling from my head to the desk. Then I kiss my way down her thighs and pick her panties off the floor, straightening her legs and sliding them over her feet and up her legs to mid-thigh.
“Oh, my God. What just happened?” She lifts her hips and smooths the underwear into place, then slides off my desk.
“A reminder just happened,” I tell her, standing. Her eyes widen when I wipe my mouth with my hand and she flushes all over again, her eyes a mix of turned on and mortified.