Guilty Pleasure. Jane O'ReillyЧитать онлайн книгу.
He’s a lot taller than I realised, and his hair is shot with strands of gold mixed in amongst the red, and he’s got the faintest of freckles, and something about his mouth makes me weak.
I sink slowly to my knees. We still aren’t touching, but being in this position in front of him intensifies my excitement. He carefully unfastens his jacket, moving the sides apart to give me easy access to his belt. The buckle gives with a soft clink, and as I unfasten his trousers, my knuckles graze against the hard, warm wall of his lower belly. When I ease down the zip and realise that he isn’t wearing anything underneath, I nearly swallow my tongue.
When I see his cock, I think I definitely do.
Long and thick and so very, very hard, the slit at the end is already slippery and wet. I open my mouth, taste him. I wrap my fingers around the base, as far as they will go, and squeeze until I can feel his pulse against my fingers, and then I lower my head and open my mouth around his dick.
‘Hurry,’ he says, his voice low and rough. ‘Hurry. We might get caught.’
Yes. Yes we might. With a slow twist of my hand, I work my mouth slowly down the length of his lovely cock, taking him as deep into my mouth as I can and holding him there. I slide back along his length, right to the tip, swirl my tongue around the swollen head and through that slit at the end.
I should rush. I should work him hard and fast, get him off, but I don’t want to. I want to savour this, to take my time, because I don’t think I’ve ever had my mouth round a cock as stunning as this one. And because with every passing second, the chance that someone might walk in and see us increases, and the thought of it sends a rush of hot, wet heat flooding into my cunt.
The other staff are just on the other side of the door. I can hear the sounds of their chatter, the clatter of keyboards and the thud of footsteps as people move around, doing what they’re supposed to be doing.
I suck to the end of his cock again, find the sensitive spot just below the head and slowly work it, looking up at him as I do so. I don’t expect to find him watching, and the jolt of those water blue eyes goes right through me. His mouth is slightly open, and he licks his bottom lip, and fuck, he’s hard. He slides a hand into my hair, gentle at first, then he gets a good grip and I realise what he wants.
He reaches out and presses his other hand against the door, holding it closed, and then he pulls my head forwards, pushing his cock deep into my mouth. A rock of his hips, and he pulls back. ‘Hurry,’ he says softly, eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed. ‘We don’t want to get caught, Tasha.’
No, we don’t. But I think he likes the fact that we might.
He fucks back into my mouth again. ‘Suck harder,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to get caught with my cock in your mouth, do you?’
I try to shake my head, but my mouth is too full of cock to manage it properly. I’m right up on my knees now, both hands wrapped around the thick base of his erection as he sets the pace, sets the rhythm, makes sure I don’t slow, I don’t falter. And things are getting sloppy now, and it’s getting harder and harder to stay quiet, and I want so much to shove a hand inside my knickers and finger myself.
He smells of soap and sex and the fur around the base of his cock is red, too, and I can’t even begin to describe how much it fascinates me. He’s pulled his shirt up a little, and I can see the faint blue veins that trace under the skin of his belly, the dip of his bellybutton, the lean play of muscle under the skin.
‘Fuck, I think I need to come,’ he says.
And then someone knocks on the door.
I nearly lose my rhythm, but he doesn’t let me. I grip him tighter, suck him harder, deeper, as he closes his eyes. ‘Just a minute,’ he calls. He almost manages to make his voice sound normal.
Hurry, Tasha, hurry. He’s breathing fast now, and so am I. Fuck, what are we doing? We should stop, only I can’t stop, because he’s coming. He’s coming right in my mouth in thick, hot spurts, more and more, and fuck, it’s hot.
But there isn’t time to think about it, to do anything more than swallow and wipe a hand across my mouth as I push to my feet and shove my hands back through my hair and watch as he hastily fastens his trousers and tucks his shirt back into them and smooths his tie.
He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I as he opens the door and I walk out, still dazed. I bump my way past Cal Bailey, who grins at me in that cheeky way of his as he strolls into Ethan’s office.
I stagger back to my desk, barely able to focus, drop into my chair and sit there, staring at my screensaver and wondering what the hell just happened.
Ethan Hall happened, that’s what. All over my tongue.
Somehow, I manage to make it to the end of the day, though I’m not sure I’ve been particularly productive. I’ve answered three emails from Mr Donovan and drunk far too much coffee, and I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about Ethan. It’s suddenly occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about him, apart from the fact that he’s got a beautiful cock. Everything I think I know I’ve basically assumed, which isn’t the same as knowing at all.
Realising this makes me feel strange and confused, as if I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where everything is familiar and yet everything is strange at the same time. It gets to six and everyone starts to leave, and for the first time in months, I shut off my computer and get my bag and leave too. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll be in that chair in his office, desperately trying to masturbate away the tingling ache that I’ve had between my thighs all bloody day. And I don’t want to do that. All of a sudden, what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks feels wrong, and I can’t work out why.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I bump straight into Ethan and Cal. Shit. Shit. Talk about bad timing. I think about ignoring them and going straight home, but there’s no way to do that without looking rude, and anyway, they’re both looking at me with obvious curiosity.
‘Leaving early tonight, Tasha?’ Cal asks me. God, he’s an arrogant bastard. He’s good at his job though, I have to give him that. Clients love him, particularly the women.
‘No,’ I reply.
‘We’re going for a drink,’ Ethan tells me, his voice gentle. ‘Do you want to come with us?’
And because he asks, and because of the way he asks, I find myself nodding. ‘Okay.’ I have to act like everything is normal, like nothing happened earlier. If the men are going to the pub for a drink after work, that’s what I have to do too. Everyone knows that just as much work goes on over a pint as it does in the office. A sudden anxiety scratches at me, wondering how many of these informal meetings I’ve missed when I’ve been in the office.
Cal leads the way, hands tucked in his pockets, long legs swinging at a casual pace. The pavement is narrow, and I’m forced to fall behind. Ethan brings up the rear. I can feel him behind me, feel the prickle of his gaze on my back and I want to look at him, but I don’t. I want to know what he’s thinking. We reach the pub and Cal pushes the door open and steps inside. He holds the door for me, and I put my hand to it, but when he lets go it’s heavier than I expect and it swings back on me. Then Ethan is there.
He puts his hand against the door, just above my head, but he doesn’t push it open. I’m stood on the step and he is stood on the pavement, and he’s slouching slightly, and I can’t seem to breathe as our gazes lock and he looks down at me. And his mouth, it’s just there. It’s just right there, and no-one can see, and there’s a moment, and I take it.
I lean forwards and touch my mouth to his.
Electricity arcs though my body like a jolt from a power socket and I jerk back. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’ I set my shoulder to the door and shove it open and march into the pub, clutching my bag tightly. Cal