The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

The intercom crackled to life on my desk.

"Miss Kellerman. My office. Now."

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling of my office for the past two weeks. Two entire weeks of Finnegan Wolfe barking orders at me like I was some intern instead of the executive assistant who kept his entire schedule from turning into a mess.

Did he really not recognize me? I had stewed on that question like some mad woman every single day in the past two weeks. I mean sure I had changed my hair from that awful crimson to my natural dark waves. I had switched perfumes too-but come on!

His cock had been inside me. Deep inside me. In an airplane bathroom where he’d pinned me against the wall and fucked me until I couldn’t remember my own name.

How could he not remember? Those hands had gripped my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as the thick length of his cock sunk into my pussy, filling me up- god I wanted to be back there again, listening to those sexy grunts as he rammed into me, hard and fast getting all my juices dribbling-

"Miss Kellerman, spacing out wasn’t on the job specifications for being my assistant. Are you there or shall I ring HR?"

His cold formal voice sliced through my thoughts and my lips curled in a sneer.

He makes me want to throw my stapler at his head.

"Of course, Mr. Wolfe." I kept my voice as professionally neutral as I could even though I hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. "I’ll be right there."

The intercom clicked off.

Asshole.

I pushed back from my desk, smoothing my black skirt. It had ridden up my thighs, showing off my porcelain thighs. I’d bet he would lose his mind if I walked into his office like this with my skirt half way up my ass.

More like he would fire me.

I chuckled at the thought as I headed for the door leading to his office.

Life was so fucking unfair. Why on earth does an asshole like him get to be so gorgeous? It was a crime, a felony.

His sharp jaw, those broad shoulders and his thick, huge, lovely cock. Men like him were supposed to have tiny dicks. Case in point, the blundering excuse of my ex-fiance.

He didn’t look up from the document he was reading and just sat there behind his massive desk, his pen scrawling across the page. I gave a sigh, watching his forefinger and thumb grip the pen.

He could grip my nipples like that.

Pinch and pluck at them while grinding his thick cock between my ass cheeks. My tits ached and my fingers twitched with the urge to give them a good squeeze.

Another sigh left my lips and those sexy emerald eyes finally flicked up. They met mine, held for half a second and then flicked away.

"The Mitchell file." He reached for a folder on the corner of his desk. "I need the cost analysis from the construction company by the end of the day. Also, get me an update from the designer, he has twenty four hours to turn in what he has worked on or he can kiss his job goodbye."

"Of course, boss." I muttered, stepping up to take the folders from his hands.

Our fingers brushed and my breath snagged.

Just a touch. It was barely anything. The barest graze of his rough fingertips against mine as the folder transferred from his hand to mine.

But my entire body lit up like he had plugged me into an electrical socket.

Heat flared low in my belly and my breath caught. For one second, I was back in that bathroom, screaming as he made me cum hard.

I yanked the folder away so fast papers nearly slipped out.

His face scrunched up in annoyance and desperately, like an idiot, I looked for any sign that he had felt it too. That tiny muscle jumping under his jaw, meant he was either furious or-

God, what was I thinking? He was my boss!

My boss who apparently had the memory span of a goldfish because he didn’t remember fucking my brains out thousands of feet in the air. And, I wanted him to.

"I want the updates today, not in two weeks, Kellerman, move the fuck along." He grunted, dismissing me.

I turned on my heel and walked out, absolutely not thinking about how those hands had gripped my ass while he... I had to cum. I had to use little Bobby.

The door to my office closed behind me with a soft click and I slid the lock in. My bag sat on my desk and I fished out my small orange vibrator. Little Bobby.

Maybe bringing a sex toy to work was insane, but I’d known he would frustrate the shit out of me today, like every other day and still leave me wet and aching for him at the same time.

I perched on the edge of my desk,my skirt hiked up around my hips and pushed my black lace panties to the side.

The vibrator hummed to life on the lowest setting. I pressed it against my clit and gasped, snapping my eyes close.

I wished he would have grabbed me in the office. His hands spread across my thighs, running a finger between my quivering wet cunt lips, his eyes dark and hungry, like he wanted to devour me whole.

I increased the speed and ran the vibe in circles over my clit. My tits heaved and strained against my shirt.

"Ohhh," I moaned, bucking my hips against the toy.

His cock pushed into me. That first brutal thrust that stretched my pussy. My walls clinging to his dick as he rammed into me so deep I swore I felt him in my throat.

My head fell back. The vibrator pressed harder, faster. I was close. Right there on that edge.

"Cum,"

His deep voice filled my head and I let out a small wail. Almost there, oh god, and- Nothing.

I hovered right there. Right on the damned edge. My thighs were shaking, pussy clenching and needed coiling in my belly so tight it hurt.

But I couldn’t cum.

"Fuck." I hissed out between clenched teeth, pulling the vibrator away.

Another failed attempt at an orgasm in two weeks.

****

"You ordered Thai?!" I squealed excitedly, walking through the door of the apartment.

Annette stood in the kitchen, dumping pad thai onto two plates. She had some black slacks and a tank top on.

"Of courseeee! Welcome home babes, those are for you." She jerked her chin toward the coffee table.

There were about two dozen roses in a crystal vase that probably cost more than the flowers.

I didn’t need to read the card sticking out of them to know who they were from.

"That walking STD sent you flowers." Annette scoffed, handing me a plate when I scooted over to her. "I told the doorman to burn them, but he said it was against building policy."

"He couldn’t even get me my favorite." I hissed, holding up the plate to my nose. Oh hell yeah, that smelled delicious. "I hate roses. They smell like funerals."

"What do you like again? Peonies?"

"Peonies." I grabbed a fork and stabbed a piece of chicken. "Which he would know if he’d ever actually listened to me instead of-"

The intercom buzzed.

"Miss. Kellerman?" The doorman’s voice crackled through. "You have another delivery."

"Ooh, now he’s definitely overdoing it," Annette drawled. "What does he think, some flowers would make him forget you caught him in a freaking orgy?"

"Must be some kind of mind erasing flowers," I laughed dryly.

"Should I send the delivery person up?" The doorman asked again.

I glanced at Annette and she shrugged, shoving some chicken in her mouth.

"I’ll come down." I set the plate aside on the counter with a click and grabbed my keys.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. Probably because I was mentally composing ways to tell Drake to fuck off and die.

Dear Drake, I hope your dick falls off. Love, the woman you cheated on.

Dear Drake, your flowers suck and so did you.

The lobby was empty except for the doorman and a delivery guy in a muddy brown uniform holding a small box.

That shit had better be expensive jewelry because I would, in fact, keep it and pawn it off at some shop for money.

"Miss Kellerman?" The delivery guy checked his tablet. "Sign here, please."

I scribbled something that vaguely resembled my name and took the box.

Now this was weird. There was no sender or card, no label except my name on it. That was very unlike Drake, he liked to make sure I knew it was from him, the pompous asshole.

"Thanks." I tucked it under my arm and headed for the elevator.

I pulled back one corner of the tape and lifted the flap-

A chill swept down my spine.

No. My hands shook as I ripped the box open completely and gasped, clamping a hand over my mouth.

No, no way!

An old and crinkled newspaper sat on top. The edges crumbled slightly where my fingers touched it.

LOCAL COUPLE KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT.

The headline screamed across the page in bold black letters. Under it, was a photo of my parents. Young and smiling, my Dad’s arm around Mom’s shoulders, both of them looking at the camera like they had their whole lives ahead of them.

My vision blurred.

I blinked thrice. Big fucking mistake. The moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes spilled over, running in hot lines down my cheeks.

"Hugo and Isabella Kellerman died instantly when their vehicle left the roadway. Investigators believe speed and bad weather conditions contributed to the single-vehicle accident. The couple’s nine-year-old daughter survived with minor injuries."

My fingers crumpled the edge of the paper. I knew this. My parents died in an accident fourteen years ago and while I was in the car with them, my memories of the accident were hazy. That wasn’t what had me shaken up. It was the red pen marked under the title on the newspaper.

They were forced to lie to you.