My head is spinning with intoxication, it’s so loud in here that all I can hear is the music that vibrates throughout my whole body and soul. I have been dancing for what feels like days—lost in the beat and movement.
A reprieve from all the stress and demands that weigh me down every day. Work has been miserable. Getting passed over for a promotion I, one-thousand percent, earned. Only for it to go to some former frat boy who’s been coasting on daddy’s coattails and credit card.
It’s such bullshit too. He strolls in with his overpriced, too well-fitting suit, tosses a couple names around, gets a few clients that he has undoubtedly known since he was in diapers. Diapers probably made out of untouched cloud silk that was hand spun and sewn by unicorn fairies on top of rainbows. Fucking pretentious prick.
He’s not even a good guy. He ignores everyone, acts like he’s above all of us, and never attends the company events.
Well fuck him and fuck Macer Industrials. I doubt he’ll even stick around that long. The company is probably some sort of hazing ritual he’s being forced to go through before he gets to go to one of the fancy companies and sit on his ass while peons work their asses off for pennies so he can pocket millions.
Any positive vibes the music, dancing, and drinks had on me have completely diminished thinking about stupid work and the stupid system that overlooks ass-busting females like myself for rich lazy fuckers like Preston Richhead or whatever his stupid last name is.
Needing a bathroom break and another drink, in that order, I start scanning the dance floor for my friends. Where the fuck are they? I glance at where we were sitting, it’s empty. Thankfully, I didn’t bring a purse and entrust it with the group because that would be gone by now. I scan the dance floor again, the bar, the other tables. What the fuck? Did everyone leave and not tell me? No, they wouldn’t do that.
Even more frustrated and annoyed to all hell, I stomp off the dance floor. More than a few hands reach out and grab at me, all drunk guys. They’re most likely looking for some easy score to take home for a one-night stand. Well, I’m not interested. I’m not interested in anyone anymore, period.
I keep pushing my way through till I get to the ladies room. And of course there is a huge freakin line. I should just leave, get a car, go home, and call it a night. But I really have to go to the bathroom. And I really was hoping to just have a fun freakin night. But with my sour mood, that ship may very well have sailed.
Finally, after what felt like at least 5-7 business days, I’m at the front of the line. I make quick work of using the restroom, a feeling of relief making me feel slightly less pessimistic. Weird how that works. One thing off in the body and the whole world feels catastrophically off kilter.
Taking a deep breath, I wash my hands and leave the restroom, walking straight into a fucking wall. Well, it’s imposing and hard like a wall but when I lift my eyes I realize it’s not a wall at all. It’s Preston freaking Trustfund, or whatever his last name is.
You got to be freakin kidding me!
As if tonight needed to get any worse. What’s he doing here anyway? Celebrating his unearned promotion? Fuck this dude. And fuck this place, I’m leaving.
I go to move around the behemoth of a man and he moves with me, so I move to the other side. Still, he moves with me. I want to scream. And I’m about to when I remember he is technically my superior. Ugh, fuck this. Now I want to scream more.
“Excuse me.” Maybe if I act like I don’t know him, he won’t recognize me. He doesn’t pay attention to anyone anyway. Certainly, he won’t realize we actually work together.
“Oh,” his deep timbre grating against me. I didn’t realize his voice was so deep… probably because he literally never speaks at work. Naturally, he’s the best choice for the promotion. Absentmindedly, I roll my eyes at my own internal dialogue.
“Ashley, right?” Oh, what the fuck! Has he been talking? How does he know my name? Shit, he does recognize me. I mean, he must if he knows my name.
“Yup.” Trying and failing to curb my annoyed tone. I quickly dip around him, consequences be damned. Who cares what position he has at that place? Maybe he’ll fire me and I can sit on my disgruntled ass and collect unemployment for a while.
I am certain I made my getaway until my body is abruptly halted. A steel bar slams across my chest, hard and unyielding. It isn’t until I am dragged back against a warm, broad chest that I realize there isn’t a steel bar rather an arm is wrapped around me.
The clean rich scent of Vetiver and Ambroxan, I recognize as Roja Elysiu, swirling around me, more intoxicating than the alcohol. The smooth silky texture of sea island cotton. A textile I’ve only heard of in luxury magazines but know innately that’s what it is. And a warm muscular hand, that has a slight roughness from working out but never really working gripping my arm more with passion than force.
Oh, fuck this, I need to get out of here. This rich boy is trouble in ways I don’t need. Or want.
“Where are you going, Ashley?” Minty breath tickling my ear. His deep timbre vibrating through me from the back.
I’m way too emotional and intoxicated for this. I’m not sure if I want to fight him or fuck him right now but either would be very bad.
I move to pull away but my efforts are ineffective against his hold. Even with heels, I’m tiny and short next to him. I curse the genetics that blessed me with such an injustice but quickly bring myself back into feigned composure.
“Please release me.” I assert myself in the most professional and confident way possible. A deception to the absolute wreck I am on the inside. This day, night, both, whatever, went from bad, to worse, to catastrophic.
I feel his words before I hear them, “Ashley, you’re clearly intoxicated, your friends have left, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for a beautiful, stunning, drunk woman to be alone.” Wait! What! My friends left? They actually did leave?
Shock and embarrassment flood me. “Wh-wha-what?” I stutter. All my false confidence shattered.
“They left about an hour ago. I’ve been keeping an eye on you to make sure you were ok. But,” he pauses and turns me around, “you’re clearly very inebriated and I’m not going to just let you off on your own.”
I stare at him shocked by… well, everything really. My ‘friends’ left? No one told me? I’ve been dancing alone for an hour? I hadn’t noticed for an hour? Gosh, I’m… maybe I am more drunk than I realize. I need to get a car and go home. I pull away, or try to again.
“Tsk tsk, I don’t think so Ashley.”
“Let me go, Preston.” I put emphasis on ‘go’. And did he just Tsk Tsk me?
“Oh, so she knows my name.”
His pompous smirk makes me want to smack his perfect face right off his well-shaped head. Agh, what is wrong with me! I’m drunk, it’s the only excuse. Also, who cares what his head shape is anyway? That’s weird.
I push at his chest to try and release myself from the very tight and close hold he has on me. But all it does is give me a nice feel of his perfectly sculpted muscular pectorals. Fuck. I need to go and now.
“Preston!” I’ll scream if I have to. I’ll scream, yell, cry, anything for him to let me go. But the amusement on his face at my tone as I said his name tells me he probably doesn’t care.
That’s when it dawns on me, he’s been watching me since my friends left. Clearly, not really friends but whatever. Still, he’s been watching me. And he called me beautiful and stunning and what the actual fuck.
“Come on,” he interrupts my thoughts, “I’m taking you home.”
“Oh no, I’m not leaving with you!”
“You’d rather leave with some strange Uber driver?” He actually looks a little hurt. But mostly he looks pissed and irritated. “No, Ashley, I’m taking you.”
“I’ll scream bloody murder!” I threaten but we both know I’m bluffing. He is sorta right. I would rather leave with a stranger but not because I’m worried Preston will do anything to me I don’t want. Rather, I’m scared of what I might want him to do to me if we leave together. And there is no way I am making a fool of myself to the newly promoted Preston Cockypants. Oh fuck, that wasn’t the best name to call him in my head because now I’m thinking of the cock in his pants.
Yup, I need to go. Now!
He leans in close, too close. Whispers into my ear, “My intent is to make you scream, Ashley.” My name coming out like a purr from a lion on the hunt.
I contemplate calling the cops. And saying what? ‘This man, that I know and work with, threatened to orgasm me to death.’ Yeah, I’d be the laughing stock of the whole freakin town.
His hand slides down my arm, taking my hand in his large warm hand. I feel even smaller and more delicate than I normally do. “Good girl” he leans in further and mutters into my hair when I grip his hand back.
He starts walking, and I swear to whatever Divine is out there that the crowd parts for him like that one guy parts the Red Sea. Everyone just moves to one side or the other. And eyes, there are so many eyes on us. I know it’s him and not me. His commanding presence demands nothing less.
We get to what I assume is his fancy schmancy car and he opens the door for me… like a gentleman.
“Do you need me to lift you into the seat, or can you manage?” And there it is, the asshole. I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. “Because,” his voice lowering, “my preference would be to pick you up and take you right here.” Ok, what the actual actual fuck because now I’m confused. I’m drunk and confused and aroused and I hate it and love it here.
I drop myself into the seat and give him the brattiest eye roll and he laughs. He actually laughs at me. Not like a little chuckle but like a whole full-blown belly laugh. Except he’s so fit it was probably more like an 8-pack laugh but still. Now I’m internally rolling my eyes at myself. The last thing I need is to think about his abs. Or his body at all. Cockypants coming back into my mind.
He closes the door, still smiling at me, and rounds the front. Watching me the whole time like I might flee at any moment. I might, if I were smart I would. But I don’t.
He slides into the buttery leather driver seat and turns the car on with the press of a button. “Should you even be driving?” I blurt out. Maybe trying to find an excuse to get out of this situation.
He looks at me confused. “Ashley, why shouldn’t I be driving?” “Because you’ve been drinking,” I state matter-of-factly. His eyes soften with a hint of humor. “No, Ashley, I haven’t been drinking.” His consistent use of my name is unsettling… and kind of endearing. Is that how he got the promotion? By repeating people’s names until they fell in love with him. Ew, what?!? Ashley, knock it off. Mentally scolding myself in third person.
He pulls off the curb and starts heading in the direction of my house. “How do you know where I live?” I ask accusingly. “I don’t, Ashley, but I assume you could share with me.” He glances over at me and that grin full of humor lights up his face in the dark car. “Unless, you want me to follow through with my promise to make you scream, then I can bring you to my house.”
I just stare at him. He stares at the road. But I know he can feel my eyes on him. I know it because the side of his lip is lifted in an arrogant smirk. A smirk that says he is enjoying this way too much.
“I’ll go home.” Stating flatly. Snapping out of whatever weird trance I’ve been pulled into. Well, kind of. The tension is still very much taking up more space in the car than I’d care to acknowledge. I’m just not sure which is thicker the sexual tension or the tension caused from my attitude fighting his ego.
I turn away from him and stare forward. He makes a turn, heading in the direction of my house still. Despite the fact that I haven’t told him where I live, yet. This son-of-a-asshole really does know where I live. I’d bet money on it.
I don’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything. The low hum of Hozier playing over the speakers. Interesting. Hozier is the opposite of who I’d think Preston is. Hozier worships women. Praises them in his music. I’d always thought Preston was of the womanizing sort. Surely, the music is a front. A trick to make me think he’s more sensitive than he really is.
Preston pulls into my driveway. I just turn to look at him. He throws his hands up in a gesture of guilt. “Fine, I looked up your address when I realized you were intoxicated and would require a ride home. And possibly wouldn’t be coherent enough to tell me. It really wasn’t hard to find.” He tags on with a shrug. I want to be angry, furious. But it was kind of a nice, albeit an inappropriate, thing to do. And it’s true, it’s really easy to find an address. Too easy actually.
“It’s fine. Thank you for the ride.” I say honestly. My buzz is rapidly fading, my attraction to him is quickly rising, and the best thing for me to do is just get the hell away from him. Fast!
I promptly open the door and hop out of the car. If he was going to respond, I don’t wait to find out. It isn’t necessary anyways. But before I can even get the car door shut, he’s already rounding the hood towards me. His impressive form towers over me as he comes to stand in front of me.
“Ashley, seriously, I wasn’t trying to impose on your privacy.” His eyes holding a hint of sorrow.
“I believe you.” And I did. I actually truly think he was just trying to be a good guy. What I don’t understand is why? And why does it have me feeling a certain kind of way? But it doesn’t matter because nothing will come of this. I’m not interested in some one-night stand with a co-worker I have to see every-damn-day. I’m not interested in anyone.
I’ve built my peaceful life and no amount of attraction or sexual tension or kindness is going to get in the way of that. Because I know what the outcome will be and I can’t go through it again. Nope, it doesn’t matter how hot he is or how nice he smells or how good it feels having his body so close to mine. Fuckkkkkkk! I need to get inside, alone, now.
My buzz has faded some but not completely. However, the heady desire for this man is only growing the longer I’m around him. It’s been a long time, very long time, since I’ve been attacted to someone. So, now it’s time to go inside and remove the temptation of this man before I do something stupid.
“I do believe you and I’m not even the slightest bit upset, or whatever, just thank you for the ride and stuff.” I ramble before ducking underneath him, apparently unexpectedly since he didn’t stop me. Hurriedly, I get to my front door.
But he’s on me and before I can even register his presence he spins me around. My back pressed to the door, his face inches from mine. I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. Or I don’t, I don’t know. My body does but my mind. My mind is confused and fuzzy from the alcohol and the night and the overwhelming presence of an attractive man.
He leans in further. His lips brushing against mine. If I leaned in, or he leaned in, we’d be full-on kissing. Instead, he whispers over my lips. “Ashley,” he draws in a deep breath closing his eyes, “I want to kiss you. I want to do more. But you’ve been drinking all night and there is no way in hell I’m going to be a drunken mistake.” The last word coming out with a venom that feels personal. Not for me, for him. “But,” he brushes the tip of his nose along the length of mine before kissing my forehead, “we aren’t done.” He mutters against my skin, his lips remaining pressed to my skin for longer than necessary.
It’s my turn to draw in a deep inhale. Taking in his smell. God, he smells so fucking good. Like freshly laundered clothes and spring water. But in a masculine and domineering way. If I just tilted my head to the side, I could run my tongue along his neck. My mind drifting to what he would taste like.
I feel like I’m literally melting against the door. But I catch myself. Swallowing deep and standing taller, well, straighter. I’ll never be tall next to him.
I pat his chest, a condescending move. “Sure.” That’s all I say is sure. It’s all I can do to keep myself from forgetting who I am. I manage to turn and unlock the door. His form still crowding my space. Opening the door gives me the room I need to move away from him. And not surprisingly, yet disappointingly, he doesn’t move to follow me inside.
Nope, he just stands there looking so freakin sure of himself. So smug and hot and damn sexy.
I give a cute little wave, fingers wiggling, and a mocking smirk. Like I’m so sure of myself and my ability to not fall for him. Meanwhile…
The second the door closes. I hook my thumbs under the thin straps of my dress, tugging them off my shoulders and letting the dress drop to the floor. My hand takes no time at all to slip under my lace panties and find my clit.
The sexual tension that’s been building, since literally running into this annoying and annoyingly attractive man, needing to a find release.
I lean against the door. Fingers circling my clit quickly. Heat and wetness building. I imagine him pressing into me against the door just like he was only moments ago. But instead of the taunting closeness, he actually touches me.
Imagining his fingers teasing my wet pussy. Rubbing me with his strong and slightly rough hands. His lips on mine, kissing me with need. His other hand exploring my body. Squeezing my tits the way I am now.
The pressure building as I imagine him pressing himself against me so firmly, feeling his hard length, his cock in his pants. An arousal that is caused by me. This powerful, controlled man unable to contain his need for me.
A thought that has me pushing closer to the edge. Tipping closer as I imagine him pleasuring himself, just as I am, to the thought of me. Imagining that he barely made it to the car before he had to pull out his cock and wrap his fist around it greedily trying to find a release just as I am.
I plunge two fingers into my wet pussy, imagining him fisting himself to thoughts of sinking his cock into me. I fuck myself with my fingers simultaneously picturing him jerking his cock but also plowing into me. Fuck, it’s too much. My other hand drops to my clit. Flicking over it while I fuck myself with my fingers. Wishing it was his fingers, his cock, him bringing me to my orgasm.
The onslaught of visions bombarding me as I use my own hands for pleasure. I don’t just fall over the edge. I plummet. Melting towards the ground as I come down from the depraved, licentious self fucking that really only made me need more.
My senses barely coming back to me as I hear the start of an engine. The engine of a fancy schmancy car and I know immediately that he definitely took care of himself just as I did. That he definitely found his release just as I did. And even more than that, I know without a doubt, work has just become way more fun and exciting. Monday cannot come soon enough.
