The He!
I saw him again. I’m not sure he knows what his smile does to my body, or the way his cologne fills the air each time he enters my office. I can still smell him; and feel the intense way my body catches fire each time that manly scent hits my nostrils.
We were supposed to be discussing a contract with a prospective client but I barely caught any of the words he said. Good thing he couldn’t see behind my desk — my legs locked tight, my skirt ridden up, and squirmed and tried to soothe the ache burning between my legs.
He kept talking, and his voice sent chills through my body. I wanted to stand up, walk over to his side and throw myself on him. I wanted to sit on the desk in front of him, spread my legs so he’d see how wet I was, and bury his head down there. And have him pleasure me with those beautiful lips.
But that ring in his finger acted like some kind of force field pushing me back. Why are all the good ones always taken?
I still find it almost impossible to resist his charm. And sometimes I feel like it’s weird because I’ve come in contact with so many handsome men. Working in the publishing industry sometimes means a lot of meetings, and acquaintances.
His case seems a little different; we work closely together and, unlike the others, I get to see him every day. I think that’s starting to become a big problem. I was on the phone today when a soft knock came on my office door. I glanced up when the door opened, and he walked in.
Where’d the wind come from? Or was it all in my head? I wasn’t sure, but it felt as if he was walking in slow motion. My heart beat wildly and I stuttered into the phone, unable to keep up with the conversation.
It was one of those many moments when everything seems to freeze all around me, and time slows down. When all I can focus on is his face; the flames in his eyes, and those strong arms. I always wonder what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms.
My stomach tightened at the sound of his voice. My thoughts strayed a lot, all through the time he spent in my office. The minutes burned slowly, and the pressure built with every second.
Each time our eyes met I’d shudder and bite back a moan. There was always that rush like the buzzing bite of live electricity.
My thoughts always strayed, and it was a hard battle trying not to move my hand under the desk and touch myself.
What if I did that and he gets curious, and it turns out that he wants me too?
People have affairs, right? I guess it shouldn’t be an issue if something sparks between us. But I know I’ll feel terrible about it. Moments like this always make me wish things weren’t so complicated.
I’m always a mess after he leaves. My body aches and heats up, filled with cravings and desires, and lustful thoughts. Night time are always the hardest — I find myself thinking about him while in the shower. I’d keep my eyes close and imagine the hot water as his kisses, sending waves after waves of pleasure trickling down my naked body. And I’d touch myself, somehow wishing the hands were his and not mine.
It even gets intense when I get in bed. I find my thoughts occupied my images of him; the sparkle in his eyes, and his glowing smile. I’d hang on to the short moment we bumped into each other and his hand mistakenly brushed over my chest. Except it doesn’t play out as a mistake in my head. The fantasy always forms in a different way; we’d bump into each other, and instead of having an awkward moment where we both chuckle and move away, he’d grab me and pin me to the wall. Perhaps he’d whisper sweet words of how he’s always wanted to devour me, and I’d gasp and remind him about his partner. He’d shush me up with a kiss and then proceed to do things to me.
It’s torture, having these fantasies, but I can’t help myself. I just might have to do something about it someday soon, and I fear it might involve giving in to the lust.
