Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357
I paced the hall outside his office, listening to the steady, calm tone of his voice as he presented the client with a solution to whatever techy problem they were having. Not understanding anything he was saying was such a turn on. Hearing him speak his geeky language had my thighs rubbing together. The soft brush of nylon between them only made me wetter. There was no way I could wait any longer. Carefully, or more accurately, quietly, I pushed on the cracked door to his home office.
He was so in the zone of problem-solving that he either didn’t hear me or didn’t bother to look over at the distractions. My heels were silent on his lush carpet. The only sign of his acknowledging my presence was his soft inhale as my hand rubbed from his right shoulder down to his left pec. I pressed myself to his back and let my lips brush over the skin of his neck. I smiled when I saw the slight rise of gooseflesh in the wake of my mouth.