Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest

Title: The Man in the Elevator

Rating: M

Summary: Bella lives for her morning elevator ride, and the sexy stranger she shares it with, but what will happen one night when she works late? Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Man in the Elevator

"Fuck!" I scream at the retreating back of the bus. I've arrived at the bus stop, panting and sweaty, just as it pulls out. I yelled, I ran—something I never do, especially not in these heels—but it wasn't enough. It left without me. Rationally, I know this isn't a big deal. Another will be along in twelve minutes. I won't be late for work. I always arrive early, usually being the first in our department.

But it means I will miss him. Over the past few weeks that I've been working at Cullen Whitlock Holdings I've got arriving at the same time as him down to a fine art. I soon learned he was a very punctual, predictable person. If I'm standing outside elevator three at precisely 8:07, I am almost guaranteed to share my ride up to the 21st floor with him. I say with him. He stands there sending messages or talking on his phone, and I stand there trying to watch him out the corner of my eye.

But today, I'm going to be late. By twelve minutes. Even if I run from the bus stop to the CWH building, I'll only be able to make up two to three minutes at most.

The next bus arrives, a full two minutes late. I climb on, my shoulders slumped. My morning elevator ride is the highlight of my day. My job at CWH is not what you would call action-packed and exciting. But it's a job, and a well-paying one with prospects. I know I'm currently on the lowest rung of the ladder, so data crunching for projects I know nothing about is the best I can hope for, but in the future, I fully anticipate leading some of these projects that so desperately need my numbers.

I get off the bus, and I decide there is no point in rushing. Fourteen minutes late may as well be ninety. Make that seventeen now. It seems there is slightly heavier traffic with the somewhat later start making the bus journey take that little bit longer. I've missed him. He's never late. Certainly not by seventeen minutes.

Habit still leads me to wait outside elevator three. It's currently at the basement level, collecting those workers who arrive by car and are lucky enough to have a space in the underground parking lot. Like he does. My head is down, and I'm being shoved a little. The reception area is certainly busier at this time.

I look up as the familiar ping alerts me to the arrival of the elevator and straight into the greenest eyes I've ever seen. His eyes. They lock briefly with mine before darting back to his ever present mobile phone. I'm momentarily stunned. Not only is he here, even though I am, I glance at my watch, 18 minutes late now. But he almost registered my existence. This is monumental. I don't have long to contemplate this development before I'm pushed, rather unceremoniously, forward by the multitude of eager workers behind me. I end up standing right in front of him. I can almost feel the heat of his body behind me. His now familiar scent wafts forward before being overpowered by the body odor of the overweight, nylon-wearing, balding man in front of me. I lean back slightly to get away from BO man until I feel a slight resistance. Shit, I mustn't rub up against him. That would be highly inappropriate.

The already packed elevator stops at the second floor, and there are another three people waiting to get on. And no one gets off. We are all pushed farther back to make room. Now I really am inappropriately close to him. I can feel his chest rise and fall. His breath is making my hair move at the top of my head. I can hear the click of his phone as he continues to message whomever is on the other end. I think about those fingers, so long and agile, and my own breathing picks up. I imagine his breath against my neck, his chest pushed against mine as those fingers go to work on me.

The door closes and the elevator jerks suddenly as it starts to move. The man with personal hygiene issues jostles back into me, and I start to fall sideways, but a strong hand grasps me, pulling me back upright and back against his chest. Is it my imagination or has his breathing picked up also? We are so close, and his hand is still gripping my wrist. He's making no move to let me go even though I'm now stable. He's still tapping away on his phone with his other hand. What can be so important? I shift slightly, making sure I have a firm footing, and I hear and feel him take in a sharp breath. Then I feel it. Hard against my lower back. Fuck me. The things I could do with that. My thighs rub together, and my ass moves without me giving it any conscious thought, pushing back against him and rubbing. His fingers pause briefly on his keypad. He seems to be as affected by this as I am.

The elevator stops again, letting some off, including BO man in front of me, and only one additional passenger embarks. There is now slightly more room, but I make no effort to move forward, away from the warmth of his body.

Then he gets bolder, obviously finding my actions an invitation to take things further. The hand on my waist loosens its grip, and the long fingers spread out, stretching around toward my stomach. Then I feel them start to move down, over my hip, down to my thigh. I'm wearing my shit-hot little black skirt today. The one I know hugs my ass and ends just long enough to be work appropriate. Now I realize it is just short enough for his fingers to explore my legs below the hem.

He caresses my skin, sending shivers up my body. I find myself leaning back against him more, my hips moving slightly from side to side. Then his thumb rubs up under the hem of my skirt at the back. I ache for him to move his hand higher. To explore more of what is waiting for him under my skirt, at the apex of my thighs. I'm hungry for him. I want more. I need more.

He is just reaching the prize, his thumb discovering, through the thin material of my underwear, just how wet I am for him when the elevator stops again, and I realize, almost too late, that this is my floor. As the ping sounds, his hand disappears. Does he know my floor? I hear him clear his throat, and I realize I need to move. I have to get off. I leap forward suddenly, pushing my way forward. As I exit the doors, I glance back as they close and, once again, piercing green eyes meet mine, full of lust and desire, before they are lost, and I find myself looking at my own lust-filled expression in the elevator's mirrored doors.

Shit, what was that? I shake my head to clear it. Did I really just let him grope me in the elevator while I rubbed my ass up against him? This has been a fantasy of mine since I saw him on my first morning. Well, maybe not exactly that, but I've certainly entertained many different scenarios involving his long fingers and what lies under my skirt. I also won't deny I've woken up many times from dreams that involved him and me in that elevator, but I'm not the sort of person to do that in real life. I don't even know his name. All I know about him is he works for the same company as me. On a higher floor. Most of what's above us is marketing and then the executive floors. I imagine him putting together marketing campaigns, meeting with creatives, making decisions, and managing teams.

I shake my head and turn around to make my way to my cubicle. I have a busy day ahead of me. Yesterday, while crunching some numbers for a recent merger, I came across a few discrepancies I need to bring to my boss Victoria's attention. I'm hoping it's nothing serious. I've probably just dropped a number somewhere, or failed to account for something, but I was struggling to find my error yesterday, and I need to bring her more experienced head into this.

I'd sent her the file in question yesterday, and I hope she's had a chance to look at it. We have a meeting set up for ten, and before I go in, I decide to look at a few other files for other recent projects.

All morning, I find myself frequently distracted by daydreams that take this morning's elevator ride further. The things I imagine that man's fingers, and tongue and other body parts, doing to me would make a porn star blush. Despite this, by the time of my meeting, I've pulled together and cross-referenced several projects, and something is starting to look off. The discrepancies are small and could easily be missed, but when you look across several projects, they start to add up. I'm beginning to wonder if I've stumbled across something.

"Come in, Bella," Victoria warmly greats me, her wavy red hair cascading over her shoulders. "How can I help you?"

I've found Victoria really friendly and helpful since starting at CWH. She has shown me the ropes, guiding me though the office politics at the same time as she guided me though the computer systems. "Did you get a chance to look at the files I sent you on the MacFergerson merger?"

She gives me a sheepish, guilty look. "Sorry, Bella. I've been snowed under. Could you take me through it now?"

I smile. I'd not really expected her to read it all and take it all in, and I'm more than happy to talk her through my findings. I open up the file on my laptop, and she moves around her desk to look over my shoulder as I bring up spreadsheets of numbers.

"That's funny," I say, "I'm sure that number was smaller yesterday. I added it to the raw profit data, and I got a number that didn't match this one on the project file." I bring up another document. However, today, the numbers seem to match perfectly. Strange.

"I'm sorry, Victoria. The numbers seem to add up today." I'm apologetic. I obviously made a mistake.

"That's not a problem, Bella. Sometimes, when you look at these numbers too long, you start to see things that aren't there. It happens to us all. I'd rather you alerted me to these things than worry about them."

She smiles at me, alleviating some of my embarrassment. I'd gone over the numbers yesterday 'til my head spun, and I can't believe I got it wrong, but I really should have rechecked the numbers in the cold light of day before bringing them to her. Then I remember the other files I've been looking at. This one may have been a mistake, but the bigger picture is still there. I know there is something wrong, even if I'm not sure what it is yet.

I start to tell Victoria about what I've been looking at. She indulges me for a while but then starts to look at her watch.

"I'm sorry, Bella, but I have a meeting with James." James is her boss, the head of our department. "Look, I'm sure this is nothing, but I promise I'll take a look at it. In the meantime, Mike Newton from Mergers has been onto me. Apparently, he needs you to have these numbers finished, like yesterday, and now that we've cleared up this issue, I really need you to get them to him as soon as possible. Then we have the Elliot project for Jessica Stanley. That woman will be tearing me a new one if we don't have her numbers to her by the close of day, and I really don't have the time to work on them, what with my meeting with James." She smiles at me, apologetically, for the work she is dumping on me. This is certainly going to keep me busy.

I go back to my desk and put the files I've been working on to one side and concentrate on crunching the numbers for Mike and Jessica. It takes me the rest of the day, but I get the files off just after five, and I sit back with a sigh. I've had my head down all afternoon, my only real break being when Victoria came to see me about the problems I'd found. She explained how she'd brought the issue up with James. At first glance, he didn't think it was anything too worrying, just some data entry issues, probably. But she assured me James would get to the bottom of it. She said he would be personally looking into it, so I didn't need to worry about it anymore.

But worry I did. For some reason my mind failed to drop the issue. At times, my job could be on the monotonous, tedious side, allowing parts of my brain time to wander. Usually, it wandered to images of green eyes, and, as you'd expect, today was certainly no exception there. But today, it also wandered to the figures I'd been looking at. I knew Victoria and James saw my concerns as trivial, but I had this nagging feeling there was more to it than the surface data suggested. There seemed to be a pattern developing, and I was keen to see how far it went. Victoria left about 10 minutes ago, so there is nothing to stop me now. No one can protest that I'm working on this in my own time. Unless they have something to hide.

"You coming?" asks my friend Angela as she passes my cubicle on the way out.

"Not yet," I reply. "There's something I need to do first."

"Do you want me to wait?" she asks.

"No, thanks," I reassure her. "I won't be long, then I'll get the bus home."

Angela waves as she heads for the elevators. As I watch her leave my mind goes back to this morning's encounter. I still struggle to believe it actually happened. I certainly don't know what to make of it. What do I do tomorrow morning? Should I come in late to avoid him? If he is there should I stand near him, or avoid contact? If I stand near him is he likely to do it again? Do I want him to do it again? The reaction of my body as I think about it lets me know it at least would like more.

I shake my head and pull my mind back to the job at hand. I know they'd asked me to drop it, but I also know it's going to bug me 'til I get to the bottom of this. So, as my co-workers start to file out the office, I start to do what I do best. Number crunch. I pull out file after file, comparing numbers within and across projects. I start to tally up the discrepancies. If these are all real, then money is disappearing off the balance sheet. Just a little here, a little there. Each time, such a small amount it looks like a minor error when viewed on its own. But this is a big company, with many projects. When taken as a whole, the loses add up. They add up to a lot. I'm talking tens of thousands of dollars, potentially hundreds of thousands.

This is big. I then start to look at the pattern of the projects affected. Who'd been involved, who signed off on the numbers, to see if I can spot a correlation. And there is. It is vague and circumstantial, but all projects have been signed off by Victoria. Yesterday, I would have found it hard to believe she was involved, but looking back at how the project I sent to her yesterday was suddenly correct today, and the sudden increase in my workload when I let her know I'd been looking into this, and I start to smell a rat.

Then, there is James. Did she really bring up the problem with him? Maybe he knows nothing about it. I find this hard to believe though. For this to be going on under his nose, he would have to be either really incompetent, signing off on number after number that is off, or complicit.

I continue to investigate, cross-referencing all projects signed off by Victoria against those from other managers. I go back to when Victoria started with the company three years before, pulling up all the data from every project she's worked on. As I work, the pattern becomes clearer to me with each project I look at. The data is not conclusive, but it is heavily implicating. The link to James is even more tenuous, but there are little signs littered here and there that lead me to think he knows this is going on and is either turning a blind eye or is involved up to his eyeballs.

I look up from my work to contemplate what to do with this new knowledge and I notice the clock. Shit, it's late, close to midnight. When I get my teeth into something, I can lose all track of time, and that appears to have happened tonight.

Fuck, I've missed the last bus. By about 2 hours. I'll just have to call for a taxi. I don't fancy walking home at this time of night.

But first, what to do with my findings. I can't confront Victoria; she'll just deny it and find ways to prevent me looking further. James is obviously out. But what about his boss? Caius Volturi, the VP in charge of finance, is also fairly new to the corporation, arriving at a similar time to Victoria. I can't believe someone in his position would be involved. But then, I wouldn't have believed it of Victoria or James either, but the evidence is in black and white before my eyes.

So who can I trust? I can't turn a blind eye to this. My dad is a local cop in the small town where I grew up. He taught me to have a strong moral character. If someone is stealing, because that is exactly what this data suggests, I will feel complicit if I don't do something about it.

Then it occurs to me. The only person I can think of who definitely won't be involved is the same person who will be most interested in hearing someone is embezzling money from the company. The CEO and owner, the elusive Mr. Cullen.

I've never met him personally. He sits in his ivory tower at the top of the building with us mere mortals toiling away beneath him, never deigning to show his face on the floors below. In my short time here, I've heard rumors of people being called to the executive floor for an audience with the reclusive man. Occasionally, rumor has it, the person will be getting congratulated for a job well done, but normally, the opposite is true. The summoning means you have failed in some way. These people, so I've been told, are seen later being escorted from the building by big, burly security guards, never to be seen or heard of again.

It all sounds a little dramatic to me, and nothing of the sort has happened since I've been here. But Angela swears she heard from her predecessor that it happened to a member of their department last year.

I start to put together an email to this mysterious man, wondering if I'm committing career suicide. But then, if I owned a company, I'd want to know if someone was stealing from me, I reason. I highlight my findings in the body of the email, attach my spreadsheet of the compiled data and the most incriminating files, providing links to the others. I know Mr. Cullen probably gets, like, a million emails every day, so I contemplate how to make mine stand out. I go for blunt and to the point and fill the subject line with bold caps: I HAVE EVIDENCE SOMEONE IS STEALING FROM YOU—PLEASE READ.

I press send, wondering briefly if anything will come of it, and if it doesn't, what I'll do. Can I still work for Victoria, look her in the eye and continue to treat her as a friend, knowing what I now know?

I give a big sigh and head for the elevators. As I wait for one to arrive, I send a text to my usual go-to taxi firm. A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with the confirmation text that they will be about 15 minutes. Not too long to wait in reception. When the elevator pings its arrival, I look up as the doors open expecting to see an empty car, but instead, I'm met by the same green eyes that met mine this morning. The same eyes that have been invading my thoughts all day.

Holy crap. What is he doing still here? It's after midnight by now. Who works this late? Then I realized the irony of that question.

"Coming?" he asks with a sexy smirk and a rise of his eyebrow, and I realized I've just been standing and staring.

"What? Umm … yeah," I stammer incoherently as I step forward. "Are you going down?" I ask as I reach forward to press the button for reception.

"Only if you'll let me," he says in a low seductive voice. My eyes snap up to his.

And I'm captured. I can't look away. I'm vaguely aware of the elevator starting to move. I watch him as he slides his ever-present phone into the pocket of his jacket before bringing up his hand and running his long fingers through his unruly bronze hair. I remember where those fingers were this morning and the effect they had on me. I want them on me again.

This is not me. I'm the sensible girl. I'm not the one who gets seduced by strangers in the elevator. But, boy, I've wanted this man for so long.

Then he's taking a step toward me. I feel my teeth sink into my lower lip. I suddenly feel very hot. His hand comes up to my face, cupping my chin, as his thumb pulls my lip free.

"You have no idea what that look is doing to me right now. That whole big-eyed, innocent expression. But we both know you're not that innocent, don't we? I see the look you try to keep hidden. The look that says 'fuck me now'."

Is that what my face is saying? Am I that readable? Because, shit, if he fucked me now, my life would be complete.

"I know I shouldn't be doing this," he continues, "but, fuck, I want to. I want you, and I'm a man who is used to getting what he wants. Besides, your performance this morning, and the look you're giving me now, leads me to believe you want this as much as I do."

Then he's leaning closer. I can smell his cologne, the one I try to get close enough to smell each and every morning. I can feel his breath against my cheek; the breath that sent shivers down my spine earlier today. I can feel his warmth, but it's not close enough. Not yet.

I watch, captivated as he leans past me and presses the stop button on the elevator panel, and we come to a sudden, jolting halt. I stagger a little, but before I have time to move much, I find myself pushed up hard against the cold, hard metal door, sandwiched between it and an equally hard chest. He must work out.

His lips find my neck. "I've been thinking about kissing you here all day," he murmurs against my skin before his lips start to suck and kiss the delicate flesh. I allow my head to fall to the side, giving him better access, feeling helpless to resist his touch. Then I feel his tongue flick out and lick my skin. The shivers are back. The things I've imagined him doing with that tongue.

There is a vague question in my mind about whether this is appropriate behavior, about what would happen if we were found out. But I'm pretty sure we are the only two people left in the building. The chance of exposure is low. Then his lips are on mine, and any thoughts of being found, of the consequences for my career, go flying from my head. One of his hands is cupping my chin, his long fingers weaving back into my hair as he holds me just where he wants me. The other is running up my thigh as it did this morning. But this time, I'm hoping for more than a quick touch, so much more.

His hand reaches its destination, and I take in a sharp breath. He pulls back again to look me straight in the eye, smirking.

"Fuck, you're as wet as you were this morning. Is it me that does this to you? Is it the thought of my fingers on your body that makes you so wet? Is your body crying out to you to let me fuck you, here, now, in this elevator?" As he talks, he rubs his fingers back and forth, over the material of my underwear. The feeling is intense as he uses just the right amount of pressure to tease me but leave me wanting more. Then I feel him pull the material to one side, and he slowly, oh so slowly, slides one long finger up inside me. All coherent thought is gone. I want this man, and I want him now.

"Take me, please," I manage to say. He chuckles and then his lips are on me again, but his finger disappears. I let out a moan of frustration into his mouth, which only makes him chuckle once more.

"Don't worry, sugar lips, I'll see you all right." Suddenly, I feel my skirt being pushed up so it is bunched around my waist, leaving me exposed. He moves back from me slightly, removing all touch. I remain with my back pressed up against the elevator door as he looks me up and down, his eyes devouring me. "Perfection," he mutters, then his hands reach out for my hips. They take hold of the sides of my lacy panties and he crouches down in front of me so he can slide them down my legs. I lift my feet to allow him to slip them off over my heels, and he stuffs them into his jacket pocket. The one holding his phone that is usually glued to his hand. He looks up at me from his position on the floor, his nose level with my lady parts, and he leans forward. I hear him breath in my scent before his tongue briefly stretches out and flicks across my sensitive nub. My God, that feels good, so good. I need more of that.

He looks back up at me, smirking. "I'd love to stay down here and get a real taste of you, but I don't think we have long, and I want to fuck you so badly."

He stands back up, keeping his eyes on mine as he does. I'm ready to combust. My whole body is tingling.

As soon as he is upright, he is on me. One hand is in my hair, the other on my hip. His lips crash into mine, sucking, pulling, owning. His tongue plunges into my mouth, claiming me. Then I feel the hand at my hip move between us, and I hear the sound of a zipper and realize he must be freeing himself from the confines of his pants. I have wrapped my arms around his neck, running my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, but I want to explore what he has going on downstairs. I start to move one hand round to his firm, toned, yet still disappointingly covered, chest before exploring lower. But then he stops me.

He grabs my wrist, moving my hand 'til he holds it level with my head. "As much as I want you to touch me, I want to be inside you more." His words echo my desire, but before I can think any further, his other hand takes hold of my thigh and pulls my leg up around his hip. I feel him shift slightly, and then, with one deep thrust, he is in me, deep and hard. The feeling is indescribable, but he doesn't give me long to get used to it. He pulls out nearly all the way before he's once again in me so deep. Then the rhythm starts. Initially, he makes long hard strokes, but the pace quickly picks up. By this stage, I have both legs wrapped around him, and my fingers dig hard into his shoulders. My back is being driven against the door of the elevator again and again, and I know I will be bruised in the morning, but I don't care. His left hand rests under my butt cheek, fondling, stroking, caressing. The other is in my hair, holding my head where he needs it to give him access to my neck. This hand is now moving down and between our bodies, up under my work shirt to fondle my breasts. His hands are like fire, sending shivers of energy through my body. He pulls down my bra cup, giving himself direct access to my nipple, he gives it a squeeze. The sensation, just on the edge of being painful, is too much, and I scream as I reach my climax. As I do, I feel his lips increase their pressure on my neck, sucking, licking, and biting.

"That's it," he moans, into my skin. "Come for me, sugar. Let me feel you."

I relax into him, but he's not done with me yet. He slides out of me and turns me around. "Look at yourself," he says as he directs my attention to the heavily polished metal door where I can see a reflection of the two of us staring back. He is holding me around my waist, his beautiful face looking over my shoulder with such a dark look in his eye. I look disheveled, lust-filled, and thoroughly fucked. But it would appear not fucked enough as he slides back into me from behind. I rest my hands against the door and watch him as he watches me in the mirrored surface.

"Every time you ride in this elevator. Every time you look in that mirror. I want you to be reminded of me and what I do to your body. What I'm doing to your body now." As he talks, he pushes hard into me. In and out, again and again. The feeling is powerful, intense. I lean my head back on his shoulder, using the surface of the door as leverage to push my hips back into him harder, meeting every thrust of his hips. I can't help the primal sounds that are emanating from my throat as he possesses me completely. His wandering hands have once again found my nipples, and it is all becoming too much. I'm rising again, and I know it's only a matter of time before I have my second orgasm. In the past, I've struggled even to come once from penetrative sex, but whether it's the man or the situation, my body is on fire tonight.

"Look at yourself," he demands again. "You're loving me being inside you. You're loving what I do to your body." His breath is in my ear as he speaks, and I'm so close. Then his hand is on my clit. He rubs with just the right amount of pressure and it's all a need. I come again with an almighty roar that I'm sure can be heard on all floors, if there was anyone else in the building.

As I shiver in his hold and my body spasms, I feel him push once more into my tired, sated body, holding me upright as he does, before he too cries out, throwing his head back, then we both collapse to the floor in a heap of limbs.

He cradles me against him in his arms as we both regain our breath and our strength.

"Fuck, that was intense," he says as he runs his hand up and down my bare thigh, occasionally going high enough to run over my ass cheek.

He looks down at me into my eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I don't know what to reply. I've dreamt of being with this man but never expected it to happen. Now that it has, I don't know what to think. I never thought I'd be the sort to have sex with a man in an elevator, especially not a man whose name I don't know. On the one hand, I feel liberated, like now that I've had him, here, I can do anything. On the other, I feel like this shouldn't have happened. I'm not that sort of girl. But I can't tell him any of that, so I just nod before extricating myself from his arms and finding my legs, albeit a little wobbly.

He rises also, pulling up and zipping his pants as he does. Then without speaking, he presses the button to release the elevator, and it resumes its descent as we both straighten our clothes. I don't ask for my underwear back, and he doesn't offer to give it to me.

Neither of us say a word as we complete our journey. At the first floor, the doors open, and I step through to the lobby. He holds the door and leans his head out. The place is deserted, except for a lone security guard sitting behind the desk looking at us curiously.

"How are you getting home?" he asks. "It's late," he clarifies, "you shouldn't walk home alone."

"I've ordered a cab; it should be here soon," I say quietly.

He looks toward the security guard.

"Stay inside 'til it gets here. Embry will look after you," he says, nodding in the direction of the security guard.

I nod my agreement, and then he's gone. The elevator doors close, giving me one last glance at those penetrating green eyes before he is whisked away to the underground parking lot.

~~TMITE~~

The next morning, I have a long, hot shower, both to ease my worn, tired muscles from the night before but also to wake me up after a night of no sleep. My night had been filled with images of two deep green eyes looking over my shoulder, possessing me, consuming me. And when I wasn't assaulted by images from the elevator, I was worrying about the report I've sent to Mr. Cullen and what the consequences might be. For all I know, today may be my last chance to see him as I may well lose my job later.

I skip breakfast, determined to get to work at my usual time today. If this is the last chance I get to see him, I'm determined to make the most of it. Fuck being embarrassed about last night.

Waiting at the elevator bank, I'm both nervous and excited. Will he acknowledge me? Will it be business as usual, with me trying to get close and catching stolen glances? If I stand near him, will he touch me again as he did yesterday morning? Unlikely with the elevator less crowded at this earlier time. Do I want him to touch me again? I realize the idea thrills me. Yes, I want to feel his hands on me again. I rub my legs together under my skirt as I feel my arousal build. Yes, that's right. I wore a skirt again. It appears I am the sort of girl who likes to get felt up in elevators. As long as the person doing the feeling has green eyes, long fingers, and an impeccable business suit.

The elevator pings its arrival, and the doors open. There he is. It's a scene I've seen countless times over the last few weeks, but this morning, it is all different. He is still looking as sexy as ever in his tailored business suit, his mobile in hand as he scrolls through whatever webpage or report he is reading today, his hair disheveled and unruly. But today, I see a slight smirk to his lips as his green eyes briefly lift to meet mine. It's a smirk I return as I enter the elevator and move to stand directly in front of him.

I look at him in the mirrored door, and he was right, as I look in that surface, memories of last night come flooding back, and I feel the color rise on my cheeks and my breathing gets a little heavier. My eyes catch his reflection, and he's watching me. It takes all the strength I have not to turn around. I contemplate stepping back so I can touch him, but the elevator is empty enough that people would notice. I fidget as my body fights with its natural desires. As we ride up, he doesn't take his eyes off me, and the smirk that tells me he knows exactly what he's doing to me doesn't leave his lips.

All thoughts of what today holds for me work-wise have left my mind to be filled with those dangerous eyes and that all-knowing smile.

By the time we reach the twenty-first floor, I'm a quivering wreck, and I wonder how I manage to make my legs work to exit onto my floor. I make it to my desk and collapse into my chair, grateful for being the first into the department as it allows me a few moments to compose myself. I'm still sitting there when Victoria comes in twenty minutes later.

"Nice scarf, Bella," she calls as she passes my cubical, indicating the wrap I'd had to tie around my neck this morning to hide the marks left by my elevator companion last night. "I need to see you in my office in five," she continues as she breezes along.

Shit. Is this it? Has she found out I sent the email already? Is she about to fire me? But she didn't seem pissed, and how could she have found out yet? I relax, hoping it's nothing.

I was right. Victoria loaded me up with a lot of new work. More than I could hope to achieve today, and of course, it's all urgent. She is certainly trying to keep me busy, trying to stop me from looking into other things, my suspicious mind thinks.

I've got my head down, beavering away, when I hear a throat clear at the entrance of my cubical, and I look up to find James Hunter standing there. This is a bit of a shock. Not only had I not heard him approaching, but also James doesn't normally stoop to talk to us directly, choosing instead to send directives via Victoria. To say I'm instantly worried is an understatement.

"Morning, Mr. Hunter," I say, a little nervously. "Can I help you with something?"

I try and read his face. Is he worried? Angry? But I don't get much, except maybe a little smugness.

"You've been summoned, Miss Swan," he says loudly, drawing the attention of those around us.

"Summoned?" I repeat, not too sure what he is getting at.

"Mr. Cullen has requested your presence." Once again, he speaks loudly, and I hear a couple gasps from the cubicles around me. Everyone knows the rumors.

Shit. This is it. He's read the report I sent. He's either going to sack me for sticking my nose in where it's not wanted, or he's going to ask me to explain it, maybe leading to James and Victoria losing their jobs. At least, this means he's read it and is taking it serious enough to talk to me. That can only be a good thing, can't it? Or perhaps he's not seen it at all, and James has done something to get me fired. He knows I was starting to get curious; perhaps he's preempted me and spoken to Mr. Cullen himself, and he's found a way to pin something on me. Perhaps the rumors are true, and you only get called to Mr. Cullen's office to be fired. Every possible scenario whizzes through my head at lightning speed.

"Isabella," James calls, bringing me out of my trance, "He's expecting you now. I suggest you get going if you don't want to get into even more trouble."

His smug attitude is leading me to believe he really has done something to get me fired. He certainly doesn't seem worried in any way. Now I really am scared.

I quickly lock my computer and make my way to the elevators. Fortunately, my ride up to the thirty-eighth floor is not in elevator three. I don't need those thoughts flying through my head on top of everything else. I do allow myself to briefly lament the fact I may never see him again.

As the elevator doors open, I reluctantly leave to confront Mr. Cullen. I've never been on the top floor before, and I may never be here again. I look around at the large foyer area. The walls are decorated with abstract works of art in a subdued pallet, and I wonder if they are originals. Probably, I conclude. The room itself is sparsely furnished. There are a few potted plants, adding a bit of life to otherwise austere surroundings. The predominate color is white, the only real splash of vibrancy coming from the deep red blazer of the PA sitting behind an imposing desk, eyeing me like I'm something she trod in. She is slim with blonde hair pulled back into a tight high bun. She is pristine, with not a single hair out of place, and fits into the surroundings well.

"May I help you," she asks in a voice that, while on the surface is polite, drips with condescending undertones.

"I'm here to see Mr. Cullen," I clarify timidly.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asks, obviously under the impression someone like me couldn't possibly be allowed up here.

"He asked to see me," I add.

Then the buzzer on her desk sounds and an electronically-distorted voice fills the area, "Tanya, when Miss Swan gets here, can you send her straight in, please."

I smile at her. "That's me," I say, feeling smug she's not going to get to drive me off.

She doesn't say anything else. Just rises and leads me down a wide corridor to a large, double wooden door. There are no windows into the room, ensuring the occupant privacy. Tanya, the snooty PA, briefly knocks before pushing the door open slightly and ushering me forward. As I enter, she closes the door behind me.

I'm not sure what to do. I stand just inside the door and look around. The room is vast. There is a couch and chairs around a low coffee table to one side of the room. The other side is dominated by a board table that can comfortable sit ten people. In the middle of the office, in front of the expansive windows that look out over Seattle, sits a large, elegant desk. It is extremely tidy with a couple files neatly stacked; a laptop, opened and facing the other direction from me; and a round, leather penholder, containing a letter opener as well as three or four smart-looking pens. No Bicsfor this office. Behind the desk, there is a bulky leather chair, currently turned toward the window.

"That was quick," I hear a voice say from the chair as it starts to turn. A voice that, after last night, I'd recognize anywhere. He comes into view, and seeing those eyes here nearly takes my breath away.

"You," I whisper.

He is looking equally shocked. "Miss Swan?"

I nod, trying to get my head to understand that my green-eyed stranger from the elevator is in fact the owner of the company, Mr. Cullen.

And then he smirks, and I want to jump him. "Well, well, Miss Swan," he continues. "You are a woman of surprises. I'm assuming the report I received this morning is the reason you were here so late last night."

So he's read the report. Shit, last night. I slept with the boss. The owner of the company. In his company's elevator.

Shit, the report; he's looking for a response. "You read my report?" I ask.

"I certainly did, Miss Swan, and it would appear I have a lot to thank you for. Not only has your diligent work led to me learning about a grave problem in your department, a problem I'm hoping you will be able to help me rectify, but it also gave me one of the best nights of my life."

He's looking at me like he was last night, like he wants to eat me. And you know what? Even now, knowing who he is, I'd let him.

I look down, embarrassed by my train of thought, and I feel my cheeks once again burning.

"Fuck," I hear him mutter. "Miss Swan, I'm terribly sorry. I assumed that last night… Well, I'm sorry if I overstepped the mark. Fuck, of course, I overstepped the mark. What I did last night was totally unacceptable, and if you wish to make a formal complaint against me then I will put you in touch with the right person in HR. Even though I didn't know who you were, I knew you worked for me, and I shouldn't have allowed myself to take advantage of you like that."

I look up at him, shocked. "You didn't take advantage of me," I say, quietly.

"Pardon?"

I swallow and continue, rather more confidently. "Last night, you didn't take advantage of me. I wanted that to happen; I enjoyed it." I feel my cheeks getting even redder, if that is at all possible. "I had no idea who you were, so you didn't take advantage of your position. But even if I had known, I'd still not report you. I was as much to blame as you were."

It's the truth. I've wanted him since the moment I saw him.

The smirk is back.

"So you're not going to sue me for sexual harassment?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Since it all started with me rubbing my ass against you, I think it would be rather hypocritical of me," I say, making myself look him in the eyes as I do.

His smoldering eyes burn into me as he drums his long fingers on his desk. "Since we've got that out the way, perhaps we should move on to discussing this rather interesting report you sent me last night and why I have reports coming up from Mr. Hunter, through Mr. Volturi, telling me your work is substandard, and bordering on incompetent. I have a feeling the two may be linked."

My mouth falls open in shock. "Don't worry, Miss Swan," he continues. "I've done my own research, and according to everyone else I've spoken to, you are a very diligent and capable employee. Mr. Newton, in particular, was very quick to sing your praises." He raises one eyebrow at me, and I wonder what that is about.

~~TMITE~~

It would appear Mr. Cullen is taking my findings very seriously. We go through what I found and how, and he agrees that Victoria and probably James, particularly after the suspicious way he tried to get rid of me, have been stealing large quantities of money from the firm. It is all in small amounts that are easily missed as data entry mistakes or rounding errors. But Mr. Cullen is also looking at the bigger picture. The data I have gathered so far clearly implicates Victoria, and there is an indication that it involves James, but the evidence against him isn't that strong. He could easily claim ignorance or incompetence. But Mr. Cullen also has his suspicions that the issue goes much deeper. It would appear that he suspects the VP in charge of finance, James' boss Caius Volturi, is involved. So far, my data doesn't indicate this, but he assures me he has his reasons not to trust the man.

"And that's where you come in, Miss Swan," he says as he outlines his plan.

"So you want me to gather data and lay trails in the figures that you will then be able to follow to the source?" I clarify.

"Exactly," he says. "We'll need to keep things quiet, so you will need to keep doing your normal day-to-day work and not let Victoria or James know anything is amiss. It will involve working outside office hours to set up the traps and monitor the movements. But, I assure you, you will be amply compensated for the extra work you put in."

"And how exactly did you plan on compensating me, Mr. Cullen?" I ask, trying my best to be flirtatious. I'm not too sure if I succeed or not. The meeting, up this point, has been all business. I've needed to sit close to him as we went through figures on his laptop, and while his close proximity impeded on my ability to concentrate, he seemed unaffected. Maybe last night was a one off. Now that we both know who each other is, it is probably wise to keep things professional.

But, as I look up at him, I see that look in his eyes again. The one he had last night when I first stepped into the elevator, and I know he still wants me as much as I want him.

He smiles at me. "Well, Miss Swan, before I knew exactly who you were, I had planned out a generous overtime and bonus package for you. Of course, that will still be part of your compensation for taking on this extra work."

He inches closer to me. Our legs, which had been close, suddenly touch, my knee against his pant-covered thigh, and all the same sensations as last night run through my body.

"But, if you happen to be working late one night and find you have to come up here to clear something with me, and while you were here you suddenly thought of some other way you'd like me to show my gratitude, then you'd only need to say the word. But you would need to say the word, Miss Swan. As your boss, it would be highly inappropriate for me to instigate anything of that nature." As he speaks, the fingers of his right hand run along the edge of a file on his desk. I remember how they felt running along my underwear last night.

"What if I can think of a way you could show your gratitude now, Mr. Cullen?" I ask, desperate to feel those fingers on me again. But he makes no move to touch me. He just continues to trace the edge of the file, teasing me.

"Then it would be my duty to ensure you received exactly what you wished for." He smirks at me again and leans forward 'til I can feel his breath against my cheek. "But, Miss Swan, let me warn you. I want you to be very precise in what you ask for. So as not to avoid confusion in the future, I need to be sure you are fully consenting." He pulls back as I lean forward, desperate to feel his lips against mine again. "So, tell me, Miss Swan, what exactly do you want me to do to you now? This minute?"

I swallow and look away from him, around his room. What do I want exactly? I know I want him. But I think he is expecting more than that. His desk looks very inviting, but that board table? I imagine him meeting with his VPs and business partners around that table, and I want him to be thinking of me while he's talking sales and projections and mergers and profits. That's where I want him. On that table.

I look back at his searing eyes. "I want you to lay me out on that boardroom table. I want you to use those long, talented fingers to make me scream your name, then I want you to take me and fuck me so hard I'll be able to feel you for the next week." I know I'm bright red again. Never in my life have I spoken like this. Never have a told a man to fuck me.

He looks over at the table. "All on that table where I have a very important business meeting this afternoon with a potential new client?" he asks, and I nod. "You really are a dirty girl, aren't you, Miss Swan."

Then his mouth is on me. There is nothing gentle about the kiss. It is about two people fighting for control, for dominance, but I know all along who is going to win. I'm no match for this man. And deep down, I don't want to be. I want to be possessed by him. He pulls back and starts to remove my scarf. As he does, he reveals the marks he left on my neck the previous evening.

"Fuck me," he mutters. "Seeing my mark on you does things to me, Miss Swan." He leans down and kisses along each bruise, gradually trailing his kisses lower as he undoes the buttons of my shirt, revealing my lacy bra.

Then I'm off my seat as he picks me up, my chest flush to his. He's still kissing me as he stands, and I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He walks forward until I feel him start to lower me slowly backward. I feel the cold wood of the solid oak boardroom table under my back. I imagine it's the kind that cost a fortune from some designer store.

I hope this man is going to prove just how sturdy and solid it is.

Once I'm flat on my back across the table, he stands up and takes a step back, looking at me once again, just as he did last night. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. But he is just out of reach, looking down at me. He takes me in, from my eyes and lips, down my neck, over my cleavage, past my waist, my hips, my thighs, all the way down to my toes. He just takes me in.

"Fuck, you look exquisite there with your skirt pulled up, allowing me to see the top of your thigh highs, your buttons undone, exposing your perfect breasts. I want to remember this sight. I want to remember the first time I took you in this room and made you scream my name."

"The first time?" I ask.

"Oh, yes, Miss Swan, do you really think I'd be satisfied after one brief encounter?" He looks around the room. "There are still so many places I want to have you in this room." He glances behind himself. "My desk is currently top of my list, but that can wait for another time. After all, I said today was lady's choice."

Then he's on me. He leans over and kisses me. Once again, it's not subtle; there is nothing gentle about it. Even though I've chosen this, his kiss leaves me in no doubt as to who is in charge here.

As we kiss, his hand runs up my thigh until it reaches the top. His fingers explore under the edge of my panties before, suddenly, plunging deep inside me. I cry out at the sudden intrusion, unexpected but so welcomed.

"Shhh," he whispers against my lips. "We don't want my PA bursting in here."

My eyes fly open, aghast at the prospect. He chuckles as he starts to kiss down my neck, then lower, toward my breasts. "Don't worry, sugar lips, she wouldn't dare come in here unannounced. Besides, the walls and door are thick. You'd have to scream very loud to get her attention."

By now, my shirt is completely undone, and he has pulled my bra down to expose my breasts. I feel his mouth on my left nipple, his tongue licking, his lips sucking, and his teeth biting. He seems to be an expert with my body, knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply, when to back off, when to be rough, and when to be soft. All the while, his fingers are working magic under my skirt. He's added a second finger, and each time he thrusts in, his thumb is hitting my clit just right. I'm not sure how long I'm going to last. This man is playing me like a violin, and my stings are about to snap.

But then his hand is gone, as is his mouth. I lie there panting, wondering why he's left me this close, desperate for my release, but then I feel my underwear being pulled down, and my skirt pushed up to bunch around my waist. I look down at him as he looks back up before his mouth is just where I want it. He licks my lower lips as if he's savoring a fine wine, then sucks and kisses my clit. I'm so close now, it's almost painful. His tongue plunges into me, and he uses it to fuck me. I shatter. It's the most intense feeling I've ever had. My body shakes and tenses. I throw my arms over my head, holding onto the far edge of the table for dear life as I ride out wave after wave of my orgasm.

He doesn't stop his tongue as I shake and convulse around him, and I don't think I'm ever going to come down, but eventually, the trembling starts to slow, and I feel it ending.

This seems to be the cue he was looking for, and he stands up. I hear his zipper undo, and I look down at him, marveling at the fact he is still fully dressed and still looks immaculate. He drops his pants and underwear quickly, and I get a brief moment to take in his impressive erection before he plunges it into me, quick and forcefully. The brief look I got was impressive, and the feel is even more so. I'm still riding out the end of my last high, and I cry out as I come instantly once again.

"Fuck, the feel of you tightening around me it phenomenal," he exclaims, keeping himself still as I ride out my current climax. As he sees me start to relax, he starts to move. My legs are wrapped around him as I lie back and watch him standing above me, entering me quickly and purposefully. His hands are on my hips holding me steady, giving him extra purchase as he takes me hard and fast. I reach up and grip his forearms, enjoying the feel of his muscles moving under my fingers. I want to know what the rest of him will feel like, but that will have to wait. He cups one of my breasts and gives my nipple a tweak, making me cry out.

"I'm going to make you come with me, Miss Swan, screaming my name as you do," and I believe he will. Everything is possible with this man at the moment.

"Bella," I murmur. "Please, my name is Bella." The idea of him saying my name as he comes takes me one step closer to his aim.

"Bella," he repeats, rolling the word around his tongue. "In that case, I'm Edward. Can you remember that when you come? The name you're to scream is Edward."

"Edward," I murmur, and then I feel his hand, that had still been playing with my breast, reach down and apply pressure to my clit. It's too much. "Edward," I scream as I start to shatter, yet again.

"That's it, sugar," he says as he gives one last thrust and stills deep inside me, yelling out "Bella" as he does.

~~TMITE~~

The next three months go by quickly. I spend the day doing the tasks assigned to me by Victoria, but a couple evenings a week, I stay late, crunching numbers for Mr. Cullen's special project and laying paper trails to give him what he needs to prove that both James and Caius Volturi are involved up to their necks. Each piece of data I gather and send to the big boss stacks up against these players. I know we are getting close to the end, and it's an end I've been working hard toward, but it's also an end I don't want to reach.

Mr. Cullen and I meet on most days when I stay late. We always start out talking about the project, but after that, we fuck. Because that's what we do. Fuck. There is no illusion on my part that we are making love. It is raw, wanton, and desperate. But it's something we both seem to crave. I remember the second meeting I had with Mr. Cullen. We met for a full hour, and the whole time, he didn't touch me once. We only talked business—how I was doing putting in the little tracers, what the initial numbers were telling us. There wasn't even any accidental touching of hands, knees, or elbows as we both looked over the data on his laptop. He kept his distance. At least with his body. His eyes were another matter. I felt them roaming over me. By the time I left his office, I was a bundle of nerves. My skin felt on fire, and I was desperate for some kind of release. The ride down in the elevator, elevator three, to the lobby was pure torture. A ride I made alone.

The minute I got home, I was in the shower and making use of the pulsating showerhead. The drive home in the taxi, a taxi I'd not called but security guard Embry had informed me was waiting for me by the curb, had been too slow, and I wanted hands on me. But once in the shower, I found the hands I wanted, needed, were not there. Mine just didn't cut it. I tried all the usual things that were guaranteed in the past to do the trick, even ramping my little bunny up to max once I hit my bed. But nothing seemed to work. My body knew what it needed, and it came with long dexterous fingers, green penetrating eyes, and a mouth that could make my body tingle. And that's before we got onto the part of his body I craved the most.

It would appear that Mr. Cullen had wreaked me for other men. Hell, he'd wreaked me for myself.

The next day, we weren't scheduled to meet up. The plan wasn't for me to see him for another week. No way was that happening. So I sent him an email. I waited as long as I could. But seeing him in the elevator that morning, looking at his phone and not me, was torture, and by the time I got to the twenty-first floor, I was on the verge of jumping him there and then. I stood as far from him as I could. Pretending I was as unaffected as he was. But, even though I tried not to, I still looked. He was wearing the gray suit that morning. My favorite. I wondered if he knew. I was wearing that little black skirt again. Of course, I did it on purpose.

I lasted 'til ten. Then I told him I had a problem, and I needed to see him straight away. His response was quick. A part of me wondered if he knew I was going to contact him. When I walked into his office, he had me against the door even before it was fully closed, causing it to bang loudly. As he kissed me fiercely, his hands roamed my body. One was up my shirt and the other up my skirt. I ached for him, for his touch, and he was giving me just what I needed.

"You are so wet, Miss Swan," he almost growled against my neck. "Do you want me? Do you want me to fuck you against this door? Do you want me to take you so hard you'll wonder how your body can take it?"

I whimpered. I've never whimpered before in my life, but at that moment, I was incapable of coherent thought let alone speech.

But then he stepped back. His hands left me; his mouth left me. He pushed back off the door, removing his body that had been pressed up so hard against mine.

He stood there for a moment looking me up and down. I looked back panting, trying to regain my composure and to understand why he'd stopped.

"You would not believe how alluring you look there, against my door, your whole body calling out for me, but we have work to do. You said there was a problem with the project."

What? No. That was a ruse. He knew that was a ruse, didn't he? Then I saw the smirk, that slight turning up of his lip, and his eyes. They told the whole picture. He was fucking with me. He knew exactly why I was there.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You better finish what you just started, or I swear to God I'm going to go straight out of here and find someone who will." It was an empty threat, but he didn't need to know that.

A dark look crossed his face, and he moved closer, close but still not touching. "You let any other fucker touch what's mine and I swear to that same God that I'll break his legs." I believed him. That was no empty threat.

"Yours, am I? Well, if that's true, you better hurry up and takes what's yours."

"Oh, I'll take what's mine, but in my own sweet time." His eyes were still dark with thunder, and the tension in his jaw had not eased up in the slightest.

He stared me down, then turned away, marched to his chair behind his desk, and sat down.

Was he really going to leave me like this? Was I going to have to go another night without his touch, without my release? I stood there, looking at him, with my back pushed hard against his door. I needed him. I needed what he gave me when I first got to this room.

"Please," I pleaded.

Our eyes were locked, and at my word, I saw his features soften slightly.

"Come here," he said, and his words were softer. I walked to him, slowly making my way across his vast floor and around his desk 'til I was standing right in front of him. It was taking every ounce of strength I had not to throw myself on him, but I had to maintain some pride. He placed his hands on my hips then pulled me down, straddling him. He looked me in the eye as he undid my shirt and let it fall to the floor, and then my bra was unclasped and removed also. He undid his own pants and wiggled them down just enough to release his very hard and very large cock. He lifted me slightly, one hand pushed my underwear to one side, and he lined himself up and lowering me onto him. The feeling was intense, and we both breathed out a single word as we felt the connection, "Fuck." Then we smiled slightly at each other. I knew, in that moment, that despite his games, we both wanted this. We both needed this.

Then I started to move. In this position, I felt in charge, in control. I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on the black leather of his chair behind his head. It allowed him to take my breast into his mouth, and he took full advantage.

But it would appear I wasn't going to be allowed to be in control for long. I was nearly reaching my peak when he stood up, taking me with him, before laying me back over his desk, and now, he was the one fucking me. And fuck me he did. I swear I nearly passed out with my second orgasm, my body tingling and shacking as he made me his once again. I looked up at him as he too found his release, a tension running though his body as he cried out. It was a sight to behold. His face, one moment concentrated, controlling, tight, and the next relaxed, calm, at peace.

It didn't last for long, that look, before he was once again staring me in the eye, the smirk back. "So, did that see to the problem, Miss Swan?"

It certainly did. I went back to work with a smile on my face, totally satisfied. But it didn't take long for the desire to build up again.

That was only one of two times we met during normal work hours. In order to avoid suspicion, we usually only ever met up in the evenings, after his PA had gone home and the office was quiet and empty.

We'd meet every day I worked late, if he was in the office. Normally, it was quick and dirty, but sometimes, we'd take our time, explore each other's bodies. It was during these sessions I learned he had no problem with recovery, as well as stamina. It would seem that almost as soon as he'd finished with me, he was ready to go again. Not that I'm complaining.

Then we had the week where he had to go away on business. God, that nearly killed me. I still worked late that Thursday, and I emailed him saying I had the biggest problem on the project to date, and it was a real shame he wasn't there to help me solve it. My phone rang almost instantly, and without even checking I was alone in the office, he was telling me to undo my blouse and take of my knickers. I, of course, followed his instructions to the letter. He proceeded to tell me exactly how to touch myself. I found relief with my own fingers for the first time since we'd started this thing with him whispering in my ear exactly what he'd do to me if he were there in person.

I showed him my appreciation when he got back in our only other get together during office hours. I rode straight up to his office with him that Monday morning, neither of us saying a word the whole way. His PA wasn't in yet, and I followed him into his office, and after he'd kissed me stupid, I sank down onto my knees in front of him as he sat behind his desk in his big leather chair. He proceeded to fire up his laptop as I set about showing him exactly what he'd been missing. I was just taking him into my mouth fully for the first time, having teased him with licks and kisses up to that point, when there was a knock on his door.

To my surprise he called out for the person to enter. I went to pull away, but his hand came to rest on the back of my head, holding me firmly in place. It was his PA, bringing him his morning coffee and his post. He spoke to her politely before requesting she go down to the sixth floor to get some report from some department. I don't remember too many details as all the while they were talking, he was gently encouraging me, with his hand on the back of my head, to continue what I was doing under the table. I was embarrassed and surprised to find that the elicit nature of doing this to a man, this man, in secret while he talked to someone else was making me feel extremely turned on. I sucked him harder, swirling my tongue over his head and bringing my hand up to fondle his balls. I was determined to make him loose control while she was there. But he didn't. I knew he was close though because, as soon as the door shut behind her, he shot his load right down my throat with muttered curses about me being the death of him.

I got out of there before his PA came back from her errand to the sixth floor. An errand that he admitted was totally made up. But not before he returned the favor and made me see stars bent over his desk.

But now the data had been gathered, and the evidence correlated and checked. Tomorrow, he was going to hand over the three offenders to the police, after firing their asses. He was looking forward to it.

Personally, I wasn't looking forward to it. It meant the end of the project and, therefore, the end of us. We had no further need to meet up. It had been clear all along that what we were doing had to end. It was only sex after all. Great, mind-blowing sex, the best sex I'd ever had, but still only sex. There was no relationship.

I'd also received a job offer from a rival firm. It was a step up the ladder and promised great things. As fantastic as fucking Mr. Cullen was, my integrity was starting to raise its annoying head. How could I have a career in a firm where I was screwing the boss? How would I ever know I'd achieved things on my own? It was going to kill me to walk away from him, but I knew things couldn't continue. In fact, I knew things weren't going to continue even if I stayed. I also knew, in the long run, I needed more than just great, mind-blowing sex. I dreamed of a man that I could spend my holidays with, of marriage and babies, and growing old in each other's embrace. All the things that were not offered by Mr. Cullen.

So, as he had his meeting and handed our evidence over to the authorities, along with the three guilty parties, I made my call to McCarty Construction to let them know I'd be taking up their offer and could start the next week. I was sure with the department in disarray following the loss of three key players, no one would question me leaving so suddenly. Technically, I should give two-weeks' notice, but I knew I could get that waived. See, I was fucking the boss.

Later that afternoon, I sent him an email explaining all. I said my goodbyes to Angela, who promised she'd keep in touch, packed up my personal items from my desk, and took elevator three down to the lobby before leaving CWH for the last time.

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