Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
“Come for me,” she heard him whisper, but could barely process the words before she felt the tension in her muscles reaching a snapping point. Her whole body felt like a forest fire, her nerves twigs being burned up by intense heat, snapping and crackling. Then she felt all the blood in her body cool suddenly as she shuddered and cried out in ecstasy; her pussy clenched and pulsed around Mr. Callion’s cock as he slammed deep inside of her, body shivering and bucking on his dick, ripples of electricity flowing through her as she came.
Mr. Callion felt Reese’s pussy milking his cock, clenching and releasing, and lost his own control, his cum exploding out of him in gigantic spurts. Each pump of warm, wet cum hit Reese’s pussy walls like a hammer of ecstasy, driving her further and further down the rabbit hole of her orgasm.
He trembled slightly and loosened his grip on her, letting her slide not-quite-gracefully down to her feet. She swayed as she stood before him, eyes half-closed in post-coital bliss.
“That was…that was…” she said, struggling to find the words. Gently, his arms wrapped around her once more, undoing the bound around her wrists. She didn’t even realize how sore her shoulders and arms had become until they were freed, pleasure still nipping at her nerves, flooding over the slight pain. She was relieved of the need to find those words as his lips brushed against hers before he moved away, adjusting his pants and resuming his seat.
“You can take the rest of the day off if you like,” he said, all business once more. Reese found herself feeling more awkward each moment. She’d known there wouldn’t be cuddling or anything of the sort afterwards, but she’d hoped he might at least want to talk about it.
“Oh,” she said, straightening herself and forcing herself to put on a brave, I-don’t-care-either face. But as she walked past the desk towards her waiting clothes, she noticed his eyes following her gently, their usual intense gaze lost for the moment. She blushed slightly as she bent over.
“Though…I rather like seeing you out there,” he said, putting down the paper he’d been holding. She looked up at him, smiling slightly. “And I…well, I just like it.”
“Okay,” she said, unsure of what he meant. Did he just like knowing she was sitting there with his cum still dripping down her thighs?
“You know,” he said. “I have rather a nice apartment.”
She nearly burst out laughing. Now, the way he looked at her and spoke to her, made him seem almost boyish.
“I’ll bet,” she said, pulling on her pantyhose with all the grace she could manage. A soreness was starting to seep into her whole body.
“I’d love to cook you dinner there some night,” he said, eyes flitting from her back to his desk, up and down.
“Oh,” she said, surprised, now moving onto her skirt. Something inside her sighed with relief; she hadn’t known just how sad she was at the thought of this being a one-time thing. “I…I’d like that.”
“Excellent,” he said with what she could only call a relieved smile. It made her stomach tighten. “I’ll let you know what night works for me.”
“Oh…okay,” she said, finally pulling on her blazer. She had no more reason to be in his office, but she felt strange leaving, especially since her body still seemed to be recovering. Still, she knew she couldn’t just stand there all day, even though the way he kept looking at her was…
Well, it wasn’t the way he normally looked at her, like he wanted to tear her apart and make her scream from pleasure.
“And you know,” he continued. “That scholarship doesn’t kick in until next year.”
“I know,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and cocking her head to the side. Did he really want this continue? It wasn’t just a one-time fuck? That was…better than she’d hoped for.
“I just…you show great promise,” he said, and Reese couldn’t help but blush. But when she saw the light in his eye, the slightest crack in his confident demeanor, she knew that this one-way street had just become a two-lane highway. And that wasn’t just better than she’d hoped for; it was all she’d dreamed of. She imagined what sort of year this might be…
“So do you,” she finally said, breathless, unable to keep the smile from her lips. And with that, she turned, striding from the office, mind already spinning with possibilities of a year she’d never forget.
THE END
SHADES OF DOMINATION
Alpha Male Romance
CHAPTER ONE
It was well past midnight and Laura Kimball was already into her fifth glass of wine that evening. She stared at the still open pack of cigarettes lying on her dining room table and deliberated as to whether or not she needed another one. It had been six months since she started smoking again regularly, having given up the habit cold turkey for the four years she was married to Dan; even though she told herself she was quite capable of quitting again, it was always going to be tomorrow - if not tomorrow, then next week; if not next week, then next month. But for now, being after midnight, she wasn’t in any state to make a long-term decision. She let out a sigh, as she lit up a smoke.
It had been a ritual every Wednesday night for the past four months. A couple of bottles of Shiraz, a fresh pack of cigarettes and the ghosts of her self esteem. She couldn’t tell you why she chose Wednesday over any other night to honor this strange pact, both a conscious resignation and wry celebration of her solitude. Perhaps it was the recognition of having passed the middle of the workweek without strangling her immediate supervisor at Palmer and Hall. Perhaps it was the crude, sarcastic but strangely flattering comment she heard from a carload of passing teenagers one Wednesday night back in March (where she had been granted with the title of “Queen of the MILFs”) that she chose to immortalize as the instigator of her “Me Day.” But each Wednesday night, not even the sounds of the endless mix CDs she made for herself in her early 20s or the boisterous and audible gropings of her upstairs neighbors were enough to deter Laura from her obligations.
It would be six hours until she needed to get up and face the day. Like each Thursday morning, she would have to face it with the dry, dull throb of a hangover. She knew that it meant tending to the affection-and-food-starved needs of Wink, her four year old Siamese before shuffling off to brew her first three cups of coffee. She knew it meant checking her Facebook to ensure she didn’t drunkenly post or message any hysterical or self-pitying missives; she learned
that
mistake six months after the divorce. She knew it meant, at least this time, finalizing and confirming her itinerary for that weekend’s convention
—a process even more nerve wracking, since it meant sharing a room with Gloria, her immediate supervisor. In Providence,
Rhode Island
, of all places, a city she assumed could be driven straight through in less time than it took to blink an eye. The thought made her shudder, as she poured herself a sixth glass of wine and instinctually refreshed her laptop.
Laura tried to avoid looking at the photos on her Facebook page for the umpteenth time, but like the past two hours, simply couldn’t help herself. They were of Dan and his new fiancé Sonia, basking on the beach in Bonaire. Smiling effervescently, drunkenly, romping around the sands like a couple of poorly paid bit models for a tourism commercial. Since taking up with Sonia, Dan had not only learned the finer points of body grooming and cross-fit training, but also appeared more relaxed, carefree and reckless. ‘
Why wouldn’t he?’
thought Laura. ‘
After all, with Sonia’s daddy’s money, he doesn’t have to worry about paying the rent. Both of them can get cosmetic surgery at the slightest sign of a wrinkle. Where does that leave me?
’
Laura got up and examined herself from all angles in the dining room mirror. True, she had put on a few pounds since the divorce—twenty, to be exact—but they seemed to compliment her, giving her a more rounded, sensual physique. Her strawberry blonde hair still retained its hue, even though the ends had been frazzled and arid from stress. If lines showed on her face, they did nothing to detract from the buoyancy of her skin. And her slate grey eyes—if now thick and reddened by smoke and wine—still arched upwards at the corners, giving Laura a sly, feline look.
True, her job as a Senior HR representative for a national law firm wasn’t as glamorous as the lifestyle of a groomed 26-year old heiress; but she was articulate, cunningly intelligent and possessed of a rapier-sharp wit. At 34, she may not be as young and bubbly as she once was when she first started dating Dan; but she was hardly an old maid, either. Laura was pretty enough, compassionate enough and adventurous enough (in heart, at least) to have her pick of any number of eligible men.
So why have I been drinking wine alone for the past two years
, she thought.
For one, she had resigned herself to the luxury of remaining single. After overcoming her initial skepticism, she ventured into online dating a year after the divorce. It was a move she wound up regretting, since she found herself having to contend with a teeming horde of the perpetually cheating, aggressively creepy and just plain dull. She had needs like everyone else, perhaps even more so. But the few late-night and drunken trysts she spent after meeting relative strangers at a bar left her unfulfilled. The sex was, at best, mediocre—detached of any physical intimacy or connection, merely a rote standard default to friction -passionless, artless, dull friction. It was sweat-stained and humid, perhaps but still—both insensate and ungratifying.
The sole exception—the only possible concession she would have made in those two years—would have been Rick, a patent attorney she worked with side by side. Rick was hardly Laura’s standard physical type; gaunt, pale and almost painfully thin, with a healthy shock of salt-and-pepper hair that was permanently unkempt, he resembled an artist rather than an attorney. Which he in fact was, taking up litigation only in the past ten years solely to help pay for his MS-stricken wife’s treatment. There was a fierce intelligence in Rick, erudition owing to his encyclopedic knowledge of classical Greek literature and philosophy, which he could quote and expound upon from memory alone. Laura admired and respected this eccentric figure, whose brown eyes seemed to burn with an inner torment. But what attracted her to Rick was something unspeakable—a primal magnetism he exuded from each pore, a feral passion she could sense burgeoning under his countless reference books and perpetually furrowed brows. She felt it reverberating in the pit of her stomach, and suspected it was mutual. They had taken to working late hours together, more often than not adjourning to Kelly’s, a nearby Irish bar directly across from their office. Over her proverbial gin and tonic and his proverbial Irish whisky—”
Neat
please, Jim-meh”—they’d shoot the breeze well into the evening, discussing anything from the Philadelphia Museum of Art to their own respectively rocky relationships. He took his marriage vows seriously, all the while admitting that as a man, he also had his own needs; and that where he could once release his frustrations through art, he now no longer even had
that
option.
Laura sympathized with Rick, and felt an even stronger admiration for this man almost twenty years her senior. At the same time, it didn’t do anything to quell her draw towards him. On the contrary, it only fed the flames and she suspected that each time he caught a glance of her pouty lips trembling and her wide-open eyes that the feeling was likely mutual. One night, as they were walking past Love Park at around 10 p.m., she could take it no further. She stopped the taller (by nearly a foot) Rick dead in his tracks and seized him, forcing him to crane his neck down as she kissed him violently, hoping that the force and torpor of her lips would unlock his steely reserve. Her estimate proved correct, for they were soon groping one another furiously, obscured by the trees and serenaded by the rush of the fountain. They leaned back against a tree, their bodies pressed with an urgency that overpowered the both of them. She wrapped a leg around Rick, and pressed him against the tree, knowing full well that they could be caught at any time but not giving a damn either way. Their tongues lolled against one another, and she could feel the entirety of her body—from her shoulders to her calves—grow engulfed in a thin veil of mist.
And then, as suddenly as it occurred, Rick pushed her away.
“I’m sorry, Laura but… I just can’t. Not with Claudia suffering at home. You’re wonderful and if things were different, I… I…”
There was no need for him to finish the sentence. Laura knew. She knew how foolish it would have been, not only emotionally, to act as a proverbial “other” woman, but professionally as well. They both knew that were this to ever make the office rounds, they’d be lucky to even collect severance. Besides, what were the chances of a man as eccentric, brilliant and charismatic as Rick sticking around for the likes of a frumpy HR rep anyhow?
She left that night feeling dejected, but assured. That was nine months ago, and she had only seen Rick briefly in passing four or five times.
She thought of him briefly as she lit another cigarette. She let it smolder, periodically taking a puff. She finished the last of her wine and closed down her laptop. It was 1:19 in the morning and she had to be up a little over five hours. She fell asleep, as she often did most Wednesday nights, in little more than a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.