“Never get involved.”
That, in Joan’s opinion, is the best way to handle the constant sexual tension that comes of working in an office full of dangerously insatiable males of her own race: gorgons, a strange, sensual, half-alien people. Traditionally, gorgon males do not cope well with the constant, maddening arousal of their irresistible monthly cycle, and their secret attempts to sate their urges often result in exactly the kind of torrid interpersonal drama that she strives to avoid.
So, when Joan walks in on the highly respected, coldly efficient Mr. Hashizaki in the throes of an embarrassing cycle-induced display again, she knows that the right thing to do is turn around and leave, just like she did the first time. Instead, she finds herself inching forward, her mind full of filthy fantasies, her body aching to revel in his forbidden touch.
Can she fight her own primal need to submit to his greedy, dominating grasp, or will she end up crossing the line?
Warning: this short, erotic 18,000-word novella contains rough, secret office sex, multiple male orgasms and bdsm roleplay. It is suitable only for adults. Want a taste? Continue reading…
I couldn’t help but tremble a little when I heard and felt him following closely behind me, my body briefly gripped by the instinctual fear of having an angry male in my blind spot. Nothing is going to happen, I told myself, firmly. He’s hardly going to jump you in front of half the office. It helped to imagine a disheveled, wild-eyed Hashizaki trying to spring at me from behind; the thought of him losing control that way was so laughable that it almost made me smile.
Naturally, as I’d expected, nothing happened as I paused to key my way into his office, or as I walked in, set down the plate, unclasped the cover, and dug around in the pocket of my apron for a cutlery set. Then, as I straightened, I heard the slight sigh of his office door closing behind me, and even though I knew the damn thing was set to close automatically, I found myself tensing up, all too aware that we were now shut away in a small, enclosed place.
Mr. Hashizaki came up beside me, careful to keep a healthy distance between us. “Relax,” he said bluntly, his tone slightly amused. “I’m not that far gone yet.” But the musky smell that rose off of him said otherwise, said way too much about what he’d likely be doing as soon as I walked out that door. He probably wouldn’t even stop to eat. He’d sit down, unzip himself, key up the sound filter with those thick, trembling fingers, and rut into his hand like a dog.
“Fuck,” he muttered, cutting across my sordid thoughts. “I forgot to grab a drink. Would you…?”
“Sure,” I said, hastily, hoping I hadn’t gotten aroused enough for him to catch a whiff. “Just a sec.” I fumbled with the door controls, feeling guilty, then stepped back out into the section, trying to get my thoughts in order. It didn’t take long to make my way to the cart and back, though I wished it would, since all I could seem to think of was Hashizaki stroking himself.
Stop being an idiot, I thought, wryly. He’d cut off his hand before he’d let anyone see him at it. He wasn’t the type that would die rather than hint at anything to do with his cycle, but he also wasn’t the kind of man who’d joke about it or use it as an excuse to flirt. “Sir?” I said, into the intercom by his office door. “I’ve got your drinks.”
For answer, the door hissed open, and Hashizaki beckoned me in from his seat behind his broad, cluttered desk. “No orange left, huh,” he said, eying the cans I carried. “Just set them down over there.”
As he gestured in my direction, I noticed that his cheeks were flushed, and that there was a light sheen of sweat on his face. I should have known not to step too far forward, should have paid attention to where he’d been pointing, but I didn’t, and I was setting down the cans on his desk when I noticed that he’d gone still, that his fly was open, and that the hand he’d not been gesturing with was wrapped around his slick cock.
“Uh,” I said, unintelligently, then closed my mouth, forcing my gaze back to the drinks I had just set down. A heavy silence spread between us, punctuated by his strangled little breaths. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he said, hastily, “no, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t–this isn’t your fault. If you would just–”
The door cut him off, sighing closed behind me, leaving more silence in its wake. I looked up then, ready to make an awkward joke of things, only to find that Hashizaki’s gaze had drifted down to my breasts, and that his shoulders were trembling.
Worse, I swore I could hear something else, something other than our hesitant breaths. A light squelch, the kind of sound a man might make when tightening his hand around his cock.
“Wait,” I said, faintly, but there it was again, and again, and this time I saw his arm move, saw the way he tensed forward, and now there was no mistaking what he was doing. “I should, I should leave.”
“Do it,” Hashizaki said, tightly, his guilty gaze now on his desk. “I’ll stop while you–as you leave.”
“But…” I told myself I couldn’t help looking, that anyone would in this situation, with the sloppy, squelching sounds he was making. It sounded like he was using lube, and the thought of him squeezing it out onto his hand, or of him even owning lube was ridiculously absorbing. “You’re still…”
“What,” he said, lowly, “you don’t think I can stop?”