Craving My Hot Secretary

ANTON CALPADI’S POV

She’s wearing that skirt again.

The one she wears on Mondays. That high-waist one that clings to her like a second skin, effortlessly accentuating the curve of her hips and the small of her waist.

Don’t even get me started on the slit of the skirt that rides up to the inner parts of her legs, leaving everything else that’s in there to one’s imagination. My imagination.

And God… I’ve imagined too much.

I have imagined how those long creamy legs that seem to go on for miles would feel, wrapped around me, and how her waist would dip in when I press my hands hard on it as I take her from behind.

How her ass that jiggles with every sway of her hips would go red from my own skin slapping on it as I fuck her into oblivion.

Sometimes I wonder: does she notice my heated gaze every time she’s in the same room with me to tell me about my schedule?

Does she notice how I just sit in my office, pretending to work when, in truth, all I do is watch her from across the room, where we are both separated by glass doors and windows?

Just like I am doing right now.

And that’s why I see her when she stands and begins to make her way towards the door that separates us. I shift in my seat to adjust the glaring hard-on growing in my pants just as she walks in with a bright smile on her face.

“Good morning, sir. I have your schedule for the day.” She begins to say, but I can’t hear her anymore, just like every time she comes this close to me, because I’m reminded of what we are to each other.

To Carla, I’ll always be her boss.

It’s what I’ve been to her for the past four years. No matter how sinful my thoughts towards her are, they are just that. Thoughts. Ones I can never act upon because of our relationship as a boss and a dutiful secretary.

Carla is saying something again, but I’m not listening. Her lips are moving, but the words that come out of them aren’t what’s got my attention.

I pretend to be listening with my back laid to rest in my chair, my fingers tapping away on the table out of habit, legs crossed and eyes shifting focus every few seconds.

Shifting focus between her small yet full red lips and the creamy skin of her neck left exposed by the beige shirt she is wearing. The top two buttons are popped out, leaving out a small hint of cleavage that seems to tease a more alluring view than the one I’m looking at.

Where have I seen that shirt?

It takes the colorful rose patterns on the right side, right on her breast, for my brain to pick up on where I’ve seen the shirt before. Melanie wore it once… and it was just yesterday, when she was at my office.

Melanie is one of my many friends, the ones with benefits. I’m the typical CEO who’s always too busy to date but, of course, has all the time in the world to let a woman wrap her mouth around me in my office.

If Carla judges me for my waywardness, she never shows it. All her face sports every day is that gummy smile, even as she shows a different woman into my office almost every day.

“Leave your shirt on…it’s pretty. I want to look at the flowers move when I fuck you.” I remember saying it to Melanie yesterday.

The rose flowers on the shirt almost seemed like they were alive as Melanie’s breast jiggled in them. It’s why I’m able to remember the shirt, because of the pretty flowers on it.

But fuck…if that sexy piece of clothing doesn’t look better on Carla.

Now all I can see is Carla in place of Melanie. All I can imagine is her being the one shuddering hard from a mind-blowing orgasm. All I can imagine is Carla’s mouth taking my whole length in, in place of Melanie.

Not like I didn’t imagine the same thing yesterday too. Even as Melanie had her mouth wrapped around me yesterday, taking me with the skills of a seductress, taking me back and forth from the ninth cloud, I didn’t see her.

Behind my closed eyes, I saw Carla. In my messed-up mind, it was Carla taking me.

Pathetic, eh?

A woman was doing her best to drive me crazy yesterday while my mind was far gone…to another woman who was outside my office—separated by the glass and the blinds to cover my indecency. She was out there, typing away furiously on her keyboard. Being the good fucking secretary that she’s always been.

It’s why she’s in front of me right now as the dutiful secretary she is, reading from her iPad, looking up from it occasionally to hold my gaze as she rambles my schedule to me as she does daily.

It’s become robotic to me. Her voice. Her movements. Even the slightest blink of her eyes.

They’re practiced and precise. It’s the kind of thing you expect from someone who has been at it for years. It’s the kind of thing I expected and wanted when I hired her, a secretary who does as she’s asked, no questions asked.

But I don’t think I want that anymore. It now sickens me. I now itch to hear more than the usual “good morning, sir” or the occasional “yes, sir” when I give commands.

I now crave to hear something other than me having to be at a certain meeting at a particular time. I badly want to hear other things than the time and place I’m meant to eat my lunch.

And maybe that’s why I break, and totally snap.

“You look…different today.”

The words are out before I can salvage them, but I don’t regret them because they shut her up and make her tear her eyes away from the iPad and the rest of my boring schedule.

Her big amber eyes hold confusion at my words. I’m drawn to how they swirl in the ocean of their own creation, almost making me lose more concentration than I already have.

Carla is quiet for a while. I sense the discomfort before I see it in her eyes. She’s probably thinking of the best way to reply to me since she has never practiced a response to those particular words as she has for every other word I’ve said to her.

Since I’ve never said such to her before.

“If you would kindly explain how, sir. Did I do something wrong?” She asks.

I swallow hard. How do I tell my secretary she let her hair down today when it’s usually up—tied in a tight bun with curly strands of the golden locks falling by the sides of her face—without sounding like I’ve been watching her for too long?

How do I say that she looks so fucking gorgeous with it falling over her shoulders right now?

How do I tell her that smoky makeup on her face looks freaking hotter on her compared to when Melanie had it on her own face yesterday and all other days beyond that, without sounding like a creep?

She stays quiet, lips pursed and expectant of my answer. What exactly do I say?