"I have an early meeting this morning," I complained as his arms slid around my waist, "You're going to make me late." I gave his arm a light rap with the hairbrush and reached for my earrings. I don't know why I complain. I never win; he does what he pleases. Also part of me wonders why I would fight.
"Hungry," he growled in my ear, his voice that gravelly purr he gets when he's just woken up. His teeth tug lightly on my earlobe.
I set down the earrings with a sigh. "I have..." The thought trails away as his hands stroke my breasts through my blouse. No. Can't be late. "A meeting," I manage. We're standing before the full length mirror and I'm watching those hands -- God, I love his hands -- slide over the white silk.
"Hungry, babe," he repeats, stroking his tongue down my neck to make me shiver. I'm always "babe" in the morning. The name-face memory is the last thing to awaken...unlike the part of him currently rubbing my ass. His tongue is warm, wet, on my neck. His hands are hot on my breasts. But I'm not done arguing yet.
"Later," I try to pull away, to push his hands away, "I'll be home early since I have to go in now." I don't win, of course, but I'm starting to get into the game of it. One of his arms bands my waist as the other hand pulls my blouse out of my skirt. The possibility of later is never a good excuse for him. Now AND later is more his style.
"Can I please..." I start, but now my blouse is totally wrinkled and needs to be changed. And my hair's all messy. Lucky I didn't get to makeup yet. I'm going to have to start over...
"You know what it does when I see you all fancy like this," he whispers, his breath hot on my skin. He pulls the blouse up, breaking away for the two seconds it takes to tug the silk off, then wraps his arms around me again.
"Damn, baby," he growls, his teeth scraping my bare shoulder, "No bra again?" I manage a shrug, but those hands are on my breasts again, this time with no silk between, and the heat of his touch spirals down to my core. Watching in the mirror, seeing him touch me, is even more arousing than the sensations he's creating with his thumbs. Those wicked thumbs.
"How can I let you go out like that," he asks, nipping my shoulder again, "Knowing those horny guys you work with will see your nipples through your top?" His hands give my breasts a gentle squeeze. "Nope, you have to stay home."
"I'm wearing a jacket over the blouse. No nipples in sight," I manage, fighting not to moan. One hand slides lower, stroking my belly, as the other pinches and tugs one of the nipples under discussion. I feel the tug clear down to my pussy, which has started to ache. "If I put on a bra, can I go to my meeting?" Look at that hand, dark against the very pale skin of my belly, those fingers sliding under the waist of my skirt. Another shiver and this time I'm sure my panties are damp.
"What have you got under this skirt?" he growls, the hand on my belly sliding around to flip open the button at the back. "I bet you're naked," his voice is rough with desire, "Ready to be bent over the conference table and fucked."
This is why he can't visit me at work. Too many surfaces to be bent over and fucked. My skirt falls away, revealing a lacy black thong and thigh-high grey stockings. His groan is hot on my neck and I feel the vibration of it in his body as he steps close enough to rub against my backside. I can feel the hardness of him, the heat of his cock even through his sweatpants.
"I love these panties," he chuckles, giving them a little tug. I quiver and whimper as the thin band of lace rubs my pussy lips. He chuckles again. He knows damn well he's won. I'm wet, as horny as he is, and all but naked. He's going to get lucky this morning and I'm going to be late to my meeting.
