Anita made sure that she had everything for the job ahead. Right on time, at five-thirty, she would always arrive at the canal side offices of her boss Steven Meijers, and she would clean and vacuum all the rooms and make sure that she did not disturb any of the papers that might be left lying upon the desks. She had no interest in the detail, but she knew that the business made its money from importing a variety of goods and the pictures on the walls showed the exotic places that they came from.
As a young woman of Surinam origin, she had migrated to Holland and with her sister, Janice's, kids to also look after when she was at work, she had her hands full. But, working in the evenings suited her just fine.
She had worked steadily from room to room, the silence comforting and the drone of cars and mopeds in the street below hardly to be heard. She had thought she was alone, her reprogrammable security fob letting her into the building and then up to the floor where she now found herself.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were still here," she gasped as she heard Steven end a call and turn in his high-backed leather office chair and look her way. She was overcome by a sudden cramp of longing on seeing that smile of his. It transformed his tanned, bearded, face and also formed little creases at the sides of his appraising eyes.
He ran the business with passion and determination, the staff she had once overheard saying that they were working for a good employer, trustworthy and friendly to all who worked there. His raging good looks, those of a rich man but whose bearded face and bright ties, his silken greying hair, also lent him a rebellious streak that she found so captivating. She had kept from cursing at this interruption of her routine because she knew it would be difficult not to talk to him and pay no attention to how quickly the time went by.
She stepped further into his office and without a word began to dust and polish. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I thought everyone had gone home by now."
He was taken once more by her softly modulated voice and accent. Over the time she had been working for him, in cleaning the offices, he had gradually become infatuated with her, Anita's vivacity and grace of movement impossible to ignore.
"Don't worry, Anita, it doesn't matter. Just do what you have to in here and don't pay me any attention. I've still got far too many emails to get through, so I'll be here for a while yet."
"Oh, okay, if you're sure?"
"Yes I'm sure and, besides, we may get to talking. I don't get the chance as I do with others who work for me." He had sat back in his chair and looked from her to his laptop as he spoke.
Her nylon jacket, with its pouch pockets stuffed with polishing cloths, rustled as she went to dust the shelves of the display case, with some shelves lined with books. It faced the tall windows that looked out on the canal and roadway below, where she had fixed her bike to one of the railings. It was something everyone did, and her bike was an unremarkable, but functional, mode of getting about cheaply.
Steven was distracted by the sound of her uniform rustling, by the sight of the young woman with her ebony skin and her wild mane of frizzy, black, hair that framed a captivating slender face. Her smile, the gleam of her white teeth, was something he could never tire of seeing. It seemed to belong to a woman who was happy in what she did and who she did it for.
He shifted in his seat and felt the sudden gnaw of longing for the young woman and how her hips were shaped by that tunic. The fabric also shaped her breasts, and the short sleeves revealed slender arms on which gleamed bracelets of little, or no, worth. But they all lent her a captivating appearance. He wanted to take her on sight and suddenly felt his prick swell in his trousers. Behave and get back to work, he told himself, and on a last glance her way.
Only a few moments had passed when Steven heard a soft curse. Anita had been working in silence. "Is something wrong, Anita?"
He drew in his stomach muscles and his groin as he saw her turn, Anita's lovely round breasts shaped by her tunic.
"Everything's fine, but I can't reach the top shelf and it's been a few days since I've dusted up there. I can't reach that far, and I worry I may lose my balance and knock something over."
Steven gets up from behind his desk and strolls over to her. "I tell you what, I'll stand behind you and make sure you don't tumble backwards.
She looks his way with an embarrassed smile on her face. "Thanks, that's a good idea."
Steven cannot help but breathe in her delightful floral scent as she moves to stand behind her, Anita's body so very close and the sight of her shift rising over her hips as she reaches up to dust the shelf setting his imagination racing.
"Oh no, Steven!" she cries out, unaware of having used his name as her head swims and her free hand flails for the railing of the low steps that she's standing on.
Before she takes in what is happening she falls backwards and into his arms, Stephen holding her for an instant against him, careful not to hold her for too long or else she'd discover what state he's in, the sight of her making him so darned hard. She's enthralled with him and how he holds her makes Anita turn and glare at him.
