I'd never been to an accountant before, never needed to. But in the past six months my vintage dress agency had really taken off and a couple of friends advised me to sort out my finances before the IRS picked up on my juicy new income. Mike Greene was recommended all over town, so I thought I'd give him a try.
"Take a seat Miss Hathaway, and I'll get you some coffee," the young receptionist smiled as she led me into a plush, purple carpeted office, then closed the door on her way out. The room was fresh and bright with Matisse prints on the walls, not the stuffy old fashioned décor I'd expected of an accountancy firm. A large oak conference table dominated the room -- eclectic rather than out of place.
The door opened behind me. "Hi Maura... can I call you Maura?" I turned to face a very tall, intelligent looking man in his mid to late forties. Dark hair washed through with silver and a tan that made him look like he'd stepped off a Caribbean beach.
"Yes, yes of course." I was almost dumbstruck -- it had never occurred to me that someone as boring as an accountant could look so hot.
"I hope my secretary Samantha looked after you?"
Mike seated himself opposite me and we spent the next twenty minutes talking through the intricacies of my business; he showed such an interest and seemed intent on making me feel relaxed. He poured me a glass of water and, as he passed me the glass, our fingers touched in an electric way I'd only ever read about.
"Let's work through some of these spreadsheets," he suggested. "I'll come round there so we can look at the computer screen together and makes notes as we go along." He moved to the chair beside me and, as his leg grazed mine, I wasn't sure how accidental it was.
I know Mike was speaking, explaining things to do with tax and income, but I suddenly realised I hadn't heard a word he'd been saying. But I definitely heard the next line: "That's why I like to give a hands-on service."
His right hand slowly dropped from the table and tentatively brushed my thigh and I felt a shiver cross my skin. Feeling daring, I asked, "How hands-on?"
Taking that as his signal he swivelled round to face me and his left hand was suddenly in my hair, holding my head as he kissed me more passionately than I could remember being kissed in a very long time. It seemed never-ending, but he eventually whispered: "I like to give a really personal service."
I moaned as his lips moved down to my throat, and his fingers started teasing their way down my leg to the hem of my dress, then slowly, slowly, back up, gently tickling the inside of my thigh beneath the thin fabric. I parted my legs slightly and his fingertips brushed against my lace underwear. Electricity pulsed through my body as my vaginal walls contracted, so sharp and sudden that I gasped loudly. I knew I was wet -- how did that happen -- one minute we were discussing IRS policies and the next I was desperate for his fingers to fuck me.
And they did. Pushing aside the fine lace I felt his index finger run up and down my slit, teasing my clit as it quickly brushed over and around. Then his tongue was deep in my mouth, probing and swirling around, and his fingers -- two or three, I wasn't sure -- jammed deep inside me. His mouth stifled my groan, but as I pulled his head to me and wrapped my arms around his neck I couldn't keep quiet. My hips had taken on a life of their own as they pushed upwards to meet his hand, working in and out, tantalising me and soaking my underwear.
I pulled apart the knot in his tie and ran my hands over his strong, broad shoulders. His arms were so muscular. I didn't expect accountants would work out, but this one must. My shaking fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons so he took over. Needing both hands, he pulled his fingers from deep within me, making me gasp again, this time in disappointment. But he removed his shirt quickly and I bent my head to kiss his brawny chest as he reached for me again.
Pulling me up from the chair, he raised my arms above my head as he lifted my dress and tossed it carelessly to the floor. Taking me in his arms he kissed me again, harder, and as my hands ran up and down his smooth back he turned me around until I felt his hardness against my ass. He swept the hair off my neck and as his kisses burned hot against my skin his hands cupped my breasts, pushing my bra up so he could pinch my nipples and twist them between his fingers and thumbs.
My legs were jelly. Talk about a woman being rendered breathless by a man's touch; I closed my eyes and literally felt swept away on a tide of desire. As I reached above me to weave my fingers through his hair his right hand moved back south and his fingers tugged gently at my pubic hair as they made their way back inside my lace, back inside me.
