I remember the first time I noticed you watching me, Paco. Not the polite, professional glance of a senior executive acknowledging a new hire, but the slow, deliberate drag of your eyes down my body when I bent over the copier. I was twenty-two, fresh out of college, and convinced I’d landed the job because of my GPA. It took me months to realize the truth: you’d been hunting me from day one.
You were twice my age, married, with a wedding band that caught the fluorescent office light every time you gestured too broadly in meetings. I shouldn’t have seen you as a man. But you were patient. You noticed the way my slim skirts hugged my ass, the way my nipples pressed against the thin fabric of my blouses when the air conditioning kicked on. You never said anything crude, not at first. Just a lingering look. A hand on the small of my back that lasted a second too long.
The rainy day was your opening. I was standing under the awning outside the office, shivering in my heels, my blouse already damp and clinging to my chest. Your car pulled up, window rolling down. “Get in, Isis. I’m not letting you wait for a bus in this.”
I hesitated. You were my boss, sort of. Married. Old enough to be my father. But my feet hurt and the rain was turning my hair into a mess. I got in.
The dinner invitation came three days later. “Just a thank-you for your hard work on the Henderson account,” you said, and I told myself it was normal. Professional. But then there was wine, and your knee brushing mine under the table, and when you walked me to my car in the parking lot, you didn’t ask. You just kissed me.
I should have stopped it. I didn’t.
Now, months later, I’m on my knees in a motel room off the interstate, the cheap floral bedspread scratchy under my shins, your cock sliding deep into my mouth. The room smells like bleach and stale cigarette smoke, but I don’t care. I’ve learned to love this place, the anonymity of it, the way the desk clerk never looks up when we check in.
“Fuck, Isis,” you groan, your hand fisting in my hair. “That mouth. Jesus.”
I look up at you, my lips stretched around your thickness, and I think about all of it. The dinners at restaurants I could never afford on my salary. The shopping sprees where you sat in the dressing room and watched me try on lingerie, your eyes dark with want. The paid vacations to Cancún and Aspen, where I fucked you on balconies and in hot tubs while your wife thought you were at conferences. The car—a sleek little BMW that I definitely didn’t buy with my paycheck.
My boyfriend, Mark, couldn’t give me any of that. He’s sweet, in a boring kind of way. He brings me flowers from the grocery store and thinks missionary is adventurous. He doesn’t know about you. He doesn’t know that while he’s texting me goodnight, I’m on my back in a motel room with my legs over your shoulders, your cock pounding into me so deep I can’t breathe.
You pull out of my mouth with a wet pop, and I gasp for air, saliva dripping down my chin. “Turn around,” you say, your voice rough. “I want that ass.”
I do as I’m told, crawling onto the bed on all fours, arching my back the way you taught me. You kneel behind me, your hands spreading my cheeks, and I feel your tongue trace down my spine before you bury your face between my legs. I moan, pushing back against your mouth, your tongue lapping at my pussy from behind, flicking over my clit.
“God, Paco,” I whimper. “Eat my pussy. Just like that.”
You’ve turned me into this. Before you, I was shy in bed, unsure of my own body. Now I beg. Now I know exactly what I want and I’m not afraid to ask for it. You’ve made me a fucking goddess, and I’ve never felt more powerful than when I’m naked beneath you, your mouth working me over like I’m the only thing that matters.
Your tongue pushes inside me, and I cry out, my fingers twisting in the sheets. “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”
You don’t. You lick and suck until my thighs are shaking, until I’m so wet I can feel it dripping down my inner thighs. Then you pull back, and I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper, but I shake my head.
“No,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “I want to feel you. I’m on the pill.”
You hesitate for only a second before you toss the condom aside. Your cock presses against my entrance, and then you’re inside me, filling me completely, and I moan so loud I’m sure the people in the next room can hear.
“That’s it,” you grunt, your hips slamming against my ass. “Take my dick, Isis. Take all of it.”
I do. I take every inch, meeting your thrusts with my own, pushing back against you, my pussy clenching around your cock. You reach around and find my clit, rubbing it in tight circles, and I’m close, so fucking close, when you lean forward and whisper in my ear.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “I’m yours, Paco. Fuck, I’m yours.”
That’s all it takes. I come hard, my whole body convulsing, my pussy milking your cock as I scream your name. You keep thrusting through my orgasm, and then you pull out and flip me onto my back, straddling my chest.
“Open your mouth,” you say, and I do.
Your cock slides between my lips again, and I taste myself on