Page 41 of Over My Dead Boss
“You can’t make me come yet,” he grunts and turns me around, bending me straight over his desk and onto all the scribbled notes, writing implements, and his manuscript. “You went through all the trouble of getting these,” he reaches for one of the packs of condoms on the desk and rips it apart, “so we had better use them, don’t you think?”
“I think I’ve been waiting even longer for this than you have,” I sigh, fully out of breath from the blowjob, but even more from the anticipation of what is about to happen.
I look over my shoulder as he puts the condom on and smacks my ass; the sound traveling through the mansion, and the delicious sting up my spine. His tip is teasing me, sliding over my entrance. I move up against him, wanting him to enter, but instead, he pushes me down onto the desk, making me wait, and squirm, and beg.
“Fuck me. Now. Please.”
His laughter is low and heavy while his hard cock is circling my clit, withholding what I want most, until finally, without warning, he slides inside. I didn’t know I could ever be as wet. Slow and steady, his long strokes fill me up and it’s so fucking good. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and more. His thrusts grow deeper the longer he keeps going, and I notice his control slipping. He grabs me by my hair to hold me in place and pounds away, releasing dark groans from deep within. He pounds me from behind, hard and rough and ravishing, before he pulls my head back, making my rear arch. I can feel his stubble against my face, his cock still moving inside me.
“Everything ok?” he huffs, turns my head and waits for my answer. All I am capable of at that moment is to nod. He kisses me, his tongue looking for mine, and then I am being pushed down onto the desk, Phoenix taking me hard from behind.
“I love fucking you,” he growls.
It’s those four words that push me over the edge.
From deep within, the most intense orgasm I have ever felt takes over. I scream and convulse and am close to tears when I hear Phoenix grunt with all his might, giving me two, three, deep and lasting pounds.
He pulls out, removes the condom, and a second later, I feel his cum all over my back. It is warm and hot and I wish this moment would never end.
Phoenix bends over and hugs me from behind, panting.
I am tousled, ruffled, disheveled, spit all over my face and cum flowing down my back and I have never felt as fulfilled as in that moment. If I could spend the rest of my life doing what we did just now, I would.
Still spasming lightly from the best orgasm anyone ever had, Phoenix carefully strokes my head and kisses my cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his subtle Scottish accent ensuring me that if I wasn’t, he would see to it that I would be.
25
Unable to form coherent words, I smile and nod and fully collapse onto the desk. Phoenix grabs some tissues to clean us up before he takes me in his arms and carries me to the couch. Tenderly, I am being wrapped in a blanket like a little burrito. Then he places his arm under my head like a pillow and hugs me from behind.
“Thank you,” I whisper, all strength having left my body. “I am not sure what happened, but… thank you.”
Phoenix laughs into my unkempt hair and I love how comfortable this feels. “I am glad you liked it,” he says and pulls me tight.
After some well-deserved cuddling, Phoenix goes back to work and I prepare dinner, which we then forego in favor of having sex a bunch more times until we finally pass out in his bedroom from pure physical exhaustion. I am pretty sure that I have some sort of spiritual out-of-body experience at some point and that I am ruined for any other sexual encounter thereafter.
When I awake at dawn, still satisfied to the bone, Phoenix is snoring steadily next to me. Like the creep that I apparently am, I watch him for a bit and then go to my room to take a shower and to get dressed. When I return to his bedroom, he is still sound asleep and since it’s still before seven, I decide not to wake him. I do, however, take the $200 he gave me when we first met, and place it on the pillow next to him with a note thanking him for last night. Then I take Dog for a quick walk.
We return when the sun is already up and warm, and a freshly showered Phoenix is preparing breakfast. All three of us sit down at the table and dig in.
“Thanks for last night, Loverboy,” he reads my note out loud.“But just so you know, you should charge a lot more than $200.”
“Not more than three-fifty, please. Or I won’t be able to afford you anymore.”
Over the next three or four days — it’s hard keeping track of time when you spend most of it under blankets and behind drawn curtains —, the $200 exchange hands several times. He slips them into my bra after taking me fully clothed on the dinner table, I return them by sticking them into his boxers when requesting a striptease, and one morning I find them tugged between the pages of his notebook that he has left for me to edit.
We slip into a routine of getting up early, having breakfast together and, instead of Grumpy Time, doing each other whenever we feel like it. Which is often. And good. So freaking good. And the longer it lasts, the more worried I grow that this will have to end soon. I briefly consider burning his notebooks so he has to write everything again, but know that isn’t an option, so I just push the thought aside like any responsible adult would.
Eventually, my new glasses and my long expected online order arrive after being stuck in delivery for some time. I take the sewing-kit from it, hide the rest of the package under my bed, and use the first opportunity I get to sneak into Phoenix’s closet. Despite having two left hands, I manage to sew the left pockets on a few of his pants shut, carefully aligning my stitches to the existing stitching so as not to arouse any suspicion.
I have to wait another day until he finally notices what I have done when trying to put some treats for Dog into his pocket. Confused, and just like Dog when she tries to catch her own tail, he spins in a circle, trying to get his hand into the supposed opening.
“That won’t work,” I say with a smile.
“Did you…” he tries once more and then puts his right hand into his right pocket. “Did you glue my left pocket shut?” He laughs and stares at me, dumbfounded.
“You know, I take my job as your assistant/editor/bodyguard and seamstress very serious. You said it bothers you that you always get caught on your left pocket while cooking. And while, yes, glueing would have been much easier, I didn’t think of that. So I ordered sewing supplies and sewed it shut. Now I really wish I would have thought of glueing it though because that was a lot of work.”
“You did this to all my pants, didn’t you?” Phoenix’s laugh is contagious and even Dog gets all excited at it. Or maybe at the treats that just fell down onto the ground when he made his way to me, embracing my face with his hands, holding me tight.
