Woring Late

I hadn't realised how late I'd been working. It is at least seven o'clock by the time I realise, and it is already properly dark outside. I stand up from my desk to stretch, and take a look around the office.

You are the only one still left -- everyone else had gone home what seemed like a long time ago. You catch my eye as I look above the cubicle divider, and wink at me. My heart surges, my hands going clammy. What am I thinking? I'm a married woman, and I shouldn't be feeling that familiar tugging of desire below my navel, not for you. I've told myself that I'm off limits, that you will not have me, because I made a promise to another man a long time ago. But still the flirting with you leaves me breathless, leaves me with fantasies which should never be voiced.

You're coming toward me now, running your hand through your short dark hair, lean body moving with perfect ease as you cross the floor. My heartbeat speeds up even more. I'm remembering the emails we sent each other, you promising to make me feel like no one else ever had, your quiet arrogance about your sexual prowess, the way you managed to get me to tell you my deepest desires. I know the things I told you were wrong, that I shouldn't be telling you what gets me off, or that I find you attractive, but the compulsion persists. I breathe deeply as you reach my desk, casually sitting on the edge, your eyes flicking unashamedly over my breasts in their silk blouse.

"Rough day?" you ask, casually ignoring my rapid breathing and the sudden flush that I can feel has coloured my face. "I've had to do a lot more than usual as well."

"Oh, come off it," I snort. "I know you're just hanging around so you can get me alone to take advantage of me."

I immediately regret this the moment it leaves my lips. Your slow smirk, and the way you look me directly in the eye makes me quiver. I can feel myself getting wet, just thinking about you. I try not to let it show, not to encourage you further. I force myself to think of something else. Of going home to my husband, of cooking him dinner, of watching TV and not having sex for yet another evening. No, my life is not idyllic, but I must remain true to my promises.

I smile uncertainly back at you, trying to keep my cool, and start to pack up my belongings to go home. I don't feel safe to stay another minute in this empty office with you. I don't think I'll be able to keep my one man policy unless I leave immediately. I bend to retrieve my handbag from under the desk, and can feel your eyes on my behind as I bend down in my tight pencil skirt. My face starts to burn again.

You still haven't said anything after my last flirtation, and I try to relieve the tension by finding something flippant to say. But I'm struck dumb by how much I want you to take advantage of me right now. My mind is flipping through my own personal store of pornography as I pack up and close down my computer.

I imagine you sweeping everything off my desk and throwing me onto it, shoving my skirt up past my thighs, popping buttons on my blouse to get access to my breasts, my thighs, my skin, the warmth of me. I imagine your hands running all over me, doing the things you said you would in all of your emails. I imagine the danger of it, that we could be caught at any minute, my legs wound around your back, head thrown back in ecstasy.

I imagine you pushing me up against the wall of the office, taking me from behind, with just pure lust, nothing more. I imagine your hands entwining in my hair, pulling my head back as you whisper your deviant mind into my ear.

In the real world, my imaginings haven't taken more than a couple of seconds, but now, I find that you've moved ever so slightly closer to me. We've never touched before, with the exception of the occasional accidental contact, which left trails of fire across my skin. Now your thigh, from your seated position on my desk, touches my backside ever so slightly. It seems like an accidental touch, but I know it probably isn't. My skin sings, and I push back against you slightly, partially in an attempt to move you away from me, partially (but not admitted even to myself) to feel the warmth of you through our clothing.

In an attempt to regain my composure, I say goodnight, ready to go home. You push yourself off my desk, and to my great dismay, say, "I'm just on my way home too. May I walk you out?"

"No!" I want to scream. I need to keep faithful. But I don't, because although I've promised that I'll never love anyone else but my husband, I want to do things with you that I've never done with anyone else. So instead, I nod dumbly, a distinct feeling of the inevitable coming over me. I tell myself that I can resist you, that nothing will happen to me. You are a perfect gentleman, I'm sure. But I also know with absolute certainty that if you decide to take me tonight, I probably won't want to fight.

We walk slowly down the corridor together toward the lifts. We pass a couple of high level executives in their offices, busy on late night phone conferences, but they ignore us as they chew their gum and talk shop. My awareness of everything is heightened: the click of my heels on the marble floor, the feel of my skirt rubbing against my legs, the warmth of your skin reaching across the tiny gap between us. Your arm brushes mine because you're walking too close to me, and I flinch, moving to make more space between us. But you move closer to me again, until I am just skimming the wall in my efforts to avoid your touch. You're talking about something, but I can't hear what it is. The blood is rushing to my head, making me feel dizzy.

We reach the lifts and you reach out to push the button. You bump me with your left hip, friendly enough, to catch my attention.

"You OK?" you say, concern on your face, beautiful green eyes wide.

Not really, I think. I want to push you against the wall, be the sexual aggressor. I want to kiss you, make you moan, make you lust for me the way I do for you. But I don't tell you this. Because I'm a good girl.

"Yes," I say, "Just tired, that's all".

You half smile at me lazily. "If you were mine, you'd be tired all the time."

I blush.

"You'd never get any sleep," you continue. "But you'd love every sweaty, panting minute of it."

I unconsciously catch my lower lip between my teeth, and I see you smile. You know that's my tell for arousal. Because I told you. Even though I shouldn't have. Somehow the knowledge that you know I'm aroused makes me even wetter and hotter. This is wrong, but I like the danger. I wonder how far I can push my luck before it gives out, and I get into trouble.

The doors to the lift open and we step inside. I make sure that I stand a respectable distance away from you, as the doors close. I lean a thigh against the bar that runs the perimeter of the lift, and angle my body away from you on purpose. You stand on the opposite side of the lift, hands in your pockets, and regard me. You look me up and down, eyes running appreciatively over my chest. You look at me like a piece of meat. I am nothing to you but the opportunity for sex, and I love that I can be desired by someone like you with such force.

I remember the email you sent me describing what you would like to do to me in this lift. I shiver, and look at the floor rather than at you. I can imagine you are probably looking at me right now, trying to catch my eye, a knowing smile on your face. You know that I'm remembering about that email.

Suddenly you reach past me to press the Stop button on the lift. Your arm brushes my breast as you reach past me, and I can feel the skin tighten as my nipple hardens. Your touch is delicious, but I'm also frightened. What are you doing?

I look up at you, eyes wide. My mouth starts to form the word "what", but never gets any further as you kiss me hard. You've moved silently to press me into the side of the lift, and the pressure of the bar into my hip is uncomfortable.

I break the kiss and push you away. This is not acceptable behaviour for a married woman! But you are relentless. No sooner have I pushed you away, when your mouth is back, muffling my cries of "no, stop!" You know its wrong, and so do I. I squirm to get away, to restart the lift and get out of the confines of this steel box, but this seems to excite you more.

I try to turn my head away, to avoid your kiss, but you grab my hair in one of your hands, winding it around your fist, and I can no longer resist. As you slip your tongue into my mouth, I give in. It may be wrong, but its happening, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Your free hand moves to my breasts, and effortlessly pops some of the buttons on my blouse open. I shudder as I feel the warmth of your hand slip inside my bra, cupping my breast. Your hand massages my breast, moving in slow circles, but its restricted by my clothing. Your tongue and mine intertwine: you taste of mint and coffee. Your mouth is so warm, and I start to relax as your touch becomes more familiar. The bar around the lift is now pressing into my lower back, but I don't mind.

Unconsciously, my legs part as my breath starts to get shorter and faster. I can feel your arousal pressing into me, and it fuels my desire. Parting my legs has made my skirt ride up a little higher, and as we continue to kiss, you take your hand from my bra and put it up my skirt. I feel your fingers graze my naked thighs, soft touches which make me grip your shoulders a little tighter. Your hand is still exploring.

I suddenly realise that you've taken your hand out of my hair, and my head is no longer pinned. Your fingers push aside my panties, and reach the hot, wet centre of me, and you gasp, taking your mouth from mine as you do. You look deep into my eyes, your own wide with the knowledge that I want you too. And, still looking into my eyes, you use your rough thumb to gently rub my clit. I moan, closing my eyes letting my head fall back. This feels so good. You stop rubbing for a minute, and let your thumb just rest for a minute, feeling my heart beat. The motion of my pulse is arousing me further, and I feel my knees beginning to give. You must feel it too, because you push me into the corner, and lift me slightly so that my bottom is resting on the bar. I wind my legs around your calves to keep my balance, but you push into me so that I'm going nowhere.

My skirt is now hiked up to my hips, allowing you easy access to continue your attentions with your hands. You slip a finger into me, making me gasp. You move your finger in a slow circular motion, letting my hypersensitive parts feel absolutely everything you have to offer me. Your thumb continues its slow rubbing, and I suddenly feel a warmth spreading from the centre of me. The friction of your fingers is delicious, and I can feel my muscles start to tighten. Suddenly, without any warning, the pleasure builds to its climax, causing me to cry out loudly with surprise and ecstasy. I give into the pleasure, my moans making you smile, my guilt a distant memory. I'm hardly even aware of you holding me up.

What feels like many minutes later, I return to you, and I can see that you are struggling to restrain yourself. Your jaw is clenched, and I can see from the look in your eye that you want to bury yourself in me deeply. I run my hand over the stubble on your jaw, still coming down from my orgasm. You growl at me, frustrated and impatient. Although I haven't completely calmed down yet, and I can still feel my muscles twitching like the ticking of an over heated car engine, I use my legs to urge you closer to me.

I move my hands from where they were clasped about your neck, and reach between my legs to open your trousers. The button fly makes this a little more difficult, but together we manage. Then, taking you in hand, I guide you to my lips. I push aside my soaking panties, and leave you to do the rest. You lean forward slightly, nudging into me, and I feel you enter me. You fit me perfectly, if not slightly tightly due to my clenched muscles. A little more leaning, and you are completely inside me, sunk as far as you can go. We both moan at this, and stay absolutely still for a few moments while my muscles adjust to you.

Your hot mouth is back on mine again, this time your tongue in my mouth. We still haven't moved from our position in the corner of the lift, and I'm growing impatient for that delicious friction which brought me to such a delicious climax only a couple of minutes before. I wiggle a little closer to you, allowing you a little more access to me.

You pull your mouth away from mine, and start to moan deliciously. You move your hips ever so slightly, not drawing out of me, but moving just enough to remind me just where you are and what you are doing to me. The steel of the lift is cold against my back, as we find a rhythm and start to move together. You're doing most of the moving, lifting up onto your toes to push into me, and then rocking back to pull out. Your face is so close to mine, and you are looking right up at me, into my eyes as you slowly fuck me until I almost go out of my mind. I've never had it like this before, and something tells me that your arrogance wasn't so far fetched.

Your hot breath is on my neck now, and I can feel goosebumps raising on my arms and chest. My nipples stiffen (what seems impossibly) even further, and I can feel my muscles, which were so ready to receive you, begin to tighten again. You are moving so slowly within me that this moment seems never ending.

You start to shudder uncontrollably, and holding my thighs, you drag me forward slightly off the bar, taking some of my weight. You begin to drive yourself into me like a man possessed, green eyes closed now. I can only hold on and enjoy what you're doing to me. You take a deep breath, and emit a deep, and incredibly sexy growl as you let yourself go. The sight of you reaching your final pleasure pushes me over the edge, and I submit to the waves of deep, pulsing, warmth that floods my system. You are still buried deep in me, hands under my thighs, as I cling onto your neck and whisper in your ear, "Oh God, yes..."