I fucked up.
I've spent the last six months trying very, very hard to ignore the fact that the kind, funny, sexy as hell woman that happens to be the best damn logistics analyst I've ever worked with makes my cock rock hard every time I hear her infectious laugh or catch a glimpse of her generous ass. Every day, I consider asking her out. I consider doing a lot more than asking her out. I think about calling her into my office and bending her over my desk so that I can stick my dick into the sweet, tight pussy I'm sure is hiding under her skirts. There are so many ways that I've thought about using her body and making her scream. Of playing power games with her, of seeing if she'll let do with her and then holding her in my arms and telling her she's been such a good girl after.
I know it's about the worst thing I could do, but I can't stop thinking about her. When I wake up with a boner, it's from dreams of Ella's amazing tits and swaying hips. When I get into the office, she's the first person I look for. I stay late and leave my door open at the end of the day just so I can see the tiny smile on her face as she leaves, the one that looks like she's going home to a dirty little secret that I'm desperate to know.
When I saw Ella applied for the lead analyst position, I didn't even consider any other candidates. She's sharp and confident and works so damn hard. I can't understand how she's still just a junior analyst. It's so fucking clear that she's the one. She's already basically doing the job without the title and the salary. I'm sure the woman that I replaced knew it. The rest of the team knows it. Even the useless idiot that got promoted ahead of her knew it. Before he left, he was constantly "consulting" with her on all the work that required more than half a brain to figure out. I was seven shades of happy when his letter of resignation popped up in my inbox.
This morning when I sent the email to my manager notifying her that I was promoting Ella and requesting a salary 10% higher than that waste of space, I could hardly keep the stupid grin off my face. Being the one to recognize her for the incredible work she does lights up my insides. I almost called her in to tell her, but my jammed schedule would only give us a minute and I want more. I want to take her to dinner, to get champagne and shower her with all the praise that she deserves. I want to show her that I think she's amazing. I want so much more than I should, but I can't stop myself from wanting it.
I was thinking about it when Ella walked into my office. I'd been so lost in the fantasy of telling her that I didn't realize at first what she was saying. When my attention finally snagged on the breathy way she'd said anything, my fucking lizard brain just took over. Suddenly my cock was in control, and it decided we didn't care about what we should or shouldn't want. We were going to take it and nothing could stop us.
Which is how I find myself sitting next to Ella in an Uber heading towards my place, trying to get my brain to stop replaying the visuals of her mouth wrapped around my cock and my cum dripping from her ass, and start focusing on how I'm going to convince her to let me do it again. To convince her that I'm not just some asshole that took advantage of her desperation and lied to her to do it.
Ella's buckled in behind the passenger seat. I'm behind the driver, but it's a small car so the space between us doesn't feel uncomfortable. I reach over and cover the hand she's rested on the seat next to her with a firm grip. Her shoulders stiffen for an instant, but she doesn't pull away. She hasn't looked at me since we got into the car, but her aster eyes dart over for a second now. I know she's tempted to let them linger, and I also know why she doesn't. I hate it, but I respect it more.
The ride to my house isn't long. It's one of the few single family homes in my neighborhood, just south of downtown and tucked in between two larger early 19th century houses that have been converted into apartments over the years. I bought the place with my ex-wife just after we were married, when we were still thinking there were kids in our future. I thought about selling it after we split, but it's so close to downtown and there's a bus that runs a block over and anyway, and I can't quite bring myself to let go of the hope I had when I signed the mortgage.
The driver stops right in the middle of my narrow, car lined street. He spent the entire drive talking to someone over the phone in what I think is Somali, but can't be sure. There are a lot of east African immigrants in the metro from a lot of different places, but the Ethiopian and Eritrean refugees have mostly settled east of the river. The guy disengages the locks and waits for us to get out without acknowledging us, then speeds off, no doubt on the way to pick up another rider.
"This is where you live?" Ella asks as she looks up at the house, taking in the small, covered porch that's in dire need of a new coat of paint, dormer windows jutting out the roof and creeping ivy that I've let get more than a little out of hand.
I nod as I dig around for my keys. "Not what you expected?"
"No," she says curtly, giving me nothing.
It stings. I know I don't deserve a goddamn thing from her, but I'm craving it anyway, so I try, "What kind of place did you expect?"
"Not this," Ella murmurs softly as we walk up the steps and I turn the lock, pushing on the door just a little to keep it from sticking. I pause before pulling it open to give her an 'answer me young lady' kind of look and am pleased to hear her breath go a faster as she adds, "You seem more like a 'glass walled high rise' kind of guy than a 'starter home that could use a little love' kind of guy. Especially after..."
I grab her hand and pull her close, hoping the suddenness of the move will catch her off guard. She gives a tiny yelp, but doesn't try to get away. With my free hand I tuck back several locks of the wavy, ash blonde hair that's fallen out of the messy bun she tied it up into before we left work. In a tone that's quietly demanding, I say, "After what? After I used your mouth like I owned it and fucked you so good that you screamed my name when you came with my cock in your ass?"
Even as I'm saying it, the rational part of my brain is telling me to shut the fuck up, but the part that took control when she walked into my office and offered herself to me isn't quite ready to go back to the observation deck. Since it still has the wheel, it's decided we might as steer right into the maelstrom of carnal impulsivity, full speed ahead. I grab the back of Ella's head and pull her to me, claiming her mouth with the kind of kiss that gets memorialized in novels with unrealistically muscled men on the cover.
For the first few seconds, Ella's stiff in my arms, her mouth stubbornly unresponsive. I'm about to back off, but then a tiny, needy whimper sounds from the back of her throat and she's melting into me, opening up and softening with each press of my lips, each stroke of my tongue. Her mouth on my cock was the kind of hot that a man could jerk off to for the rest of his life, but taking her lips and tongue with mine sparks an inferno that I don't think I'm ever going to be able to put out.
I forget what I did. For a minute, I forget that she has every reason to hate me, that her lips and her body and her mind aren't mine and probably never will be. I just live in the kiss, in the fire and the need that's driving it. My fingers tangle in her hair and my hand cups her ass, that fucking incredible ass that I want to spank and lick and fuck until she's weak and shaking. Homer has nothing on the odyssey I'm going to write about Ella's ass.
The kiss ends so much sooner than I want it to. She pushes against my chest, hard enough to crack the hold my penis has on my brain and drag it back to the dire reality that it's put us in. The rage that dimmed to softly glowing coals on the ride over here flares back to life, flushing Ella's cheeks and hardening her eyes. I let her go, let her pull away even though every part of me demands that I do the exact opposite. For the first time, I whisper, "I'm sorry."
Hot, conflicted tears make her eyes glassy. "Why do you make me feel like this? Why can't I just hate you?!"
