I've had a thing for Grant ever since I laid eyes on him. I was shocked; I've never really looked at older men before. He's easily approaching fifty, making me young enough to be his daughter...his hair is still dark, but over the couple of years I've known him, it's become streaked with silver. The light dances brilliantly on those highlights, just like the mischief plays in his brilliantly bright eyes. His suits hug his lean body well: he definitely looks after himself. Once or twice, I've overheard him mentioning jogging to work, but he's in the office before I am, so I've never gotten to witness his muscular legs in tight shorts.
But beyond any of that, it's the fact that Grant never showed any interest in me. At least, not as obviously as the other men in the department. When I first started, there was an endless stream of young guys at my desk, each with some asinine reason for being there. Not that I think I'm a catch or anything: I was "the new girl" and had to be sounded out. I turned them all down, having eyes only for Grant. The gold band on his finger mattered less and less the longer I worked there.
It's not that Grant didn't talk to me at all. We chatted as co-workers do. The usual stuff: what are you doing at the weekend; any holidays planned...general small talk. His low voice rumbled at all the right levels and more than once I had to excuse myself, retreating to the nearest bathroom to relieve some tension.
It was frustrating to find we had a lot in common. We were into the same music scene (he'd experienced most of it first-hand and I, born too late, was playing catch-up). After a few of these conversations, Grant started leaving CDs on his desk, making sure I saw them. Looking back, this was probably the first sign he thought about me in any way beyond just a colleague.
For weeks and months, I suffered through my crush. Every night, I closed my eyes and let my hands wander my body, thinking of Grant filling me. I imagined running my fingers over his hard body, my nails biting his toned backside as I pulled him deeper. As I brought myself closer to the edge, I fantasised about him quickening his pace, his breath coming in hot, fast gasps. And, when my fingers drove me shuddering through my lust, I could almost feel Grant release inside me.
For weeks. For months. My frustration was incredible. Again, with hindsight, maybe that was his plan.
It was a dreary Monday morning when he made his move. The whole department was gathered in the boardroom, getting a pep talk from one of the higher-ups about some new product we were launching. My desk was one of the closest to the room, so in the throng of colleagues, I was front and centre.
The executive focussed on me, delivering his entire speech to me. Every smile, every gesture was aimed at me. I shifted nervously from foot to foot. A hand tapped me lightly on the shoulder. I glanced round. Grant had positioned himself directly behind me, giving me some much needed reassurance.
Whilst the presentation continued, Grant drew himself even nearer to me. Much nearer than he needed to be. My heart beat faster, and not from the executive's attention. Grant's hand cupped my waist gently. His touch, even through my dress, was electric. I pushed back slightly, aware of the press of our co-workers and the executive's constant gaze.
Grant shuffled into me, nestling right against my back. I felt the press of his bulge against my ass. A familiar throb came from between my legs. Suddenly the room was too hot; colour flared in my cheeks. I had nowhere to go, stuck between my boss's gaze, the press of the department and Grant's body.
I wanted to reach behind me and grab him. I needed to guide his straining member into me. I bit my lip and forced myself to listen to what the executive was saying. It was a struggle, especially because every time Grant moved, his erection rubbed the small of my back. I tried not to think about it nor about my quickening pulse.
After an agonising eternity, the executive finished. He gave me a beaming smile, completely oblivious to Grant's manhood pressing against me. I cleared my throat and joined in the round of half-hearted applause. Even that movement had the effect of drawing the fabric of my dress across my bra, stiffening my nipples. That must have been obvious from the way my boss's grin widened.
As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed to the bathroom, dived into one of the stalls and pulled my thong down. With one hand I steadied myself against the cubicle wall whilst my fingers worked their furious magic. It was everything I wanted: Grant was clearly interested in me. But he was married and office flings never ended well. It didn't matter...all that mattered was I needed to feel him pressing against me as he slid inside...my knees almost gave out as my orgasm rocked through me.
Somehow, I was able to muddle through the rest of the day without tripping over my words. Every time I saw Grant, his eyes held a silent promise of things to come. Gradually, the office emptied. When I looked up, it was only the two of us left.
My mouth was suddenly dry. The air tingled. Grant glanced up from his work, frowned as if he hadn't expected to be alone and looked over. He beckoned to me: "You mind having a look at this for me?"
I stood, running my hands down my dress and crossed to him. My heels were loud in the silent office. I reached his desk, letting one arm drape over the back of his chair as I bent down to peer at his monitor. My dress' v-neck gave him a clear view of my cleavage, but I pretended not to notice.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to some meaningless icon on his screen.
"Beautiful," he whispered. I turned to face him. With obvious effort, he tore his eyes from the swell of my breasts. I wracked my brain for a witty retort - anything to diffuse the unbearable tension - but nothing presented itself.
Grant reached up and trailed his fingers through my hair. His touch sent ripples of excited gooseflesh down my spine and brought a moan to my lips. Cupping the back of my head, he drew my face to his, until there was the smallest of gaps between our mouths. My breath was jagged, matching the beat of my heart.
He rose very slightly from his seat. After so much time dreaming about kissing him, I feared the real thing would never live up to my hype. But with one of his strong hands holding the back of my head and the other now coming up to caress my cheek, the kiss was everything I wanted and more.
When we paused for breath, Grant stood and gently guided me to sit on his desk. He kissed me again and then, with soft, feather-light pecks, moved his way from my mouth, down my neck and along the ridge of my collarbone. I leant back, stretching my neck as far as I could and closed my eyes. I relished the way he trailed his way along my skin, leaving a wonderful tingling in his wake.
With his hands, he massaged my breasts. My nipples, already stiff from his kisses, came alive under his fingers. At the same time, he used his knees to spread my legs. Even had I wanted to fight him, I don't think I could have.
I moaned as he buried his face in my cleavage. He pulled the neck of my dress down and nuzzled my breasts in turn. I put a hand on his head, running my fingers through his silver-streaked hair and pushed his head lower.
