Naked Sushi. Jina Bacarr
Читать онлайн книгу.
would happen next, I could only guess. Anticipation, I found out, could be as good as or better than the sex.
I didn’t have long to wait to find out.
He turned me around and faced me toward the copier and then slid my jeans down below my thighs. Next, he pulled down my black silky panties and then ran his finger up and down the crack in my rear, eliciting a moan from me. I wiggled my butt as his fingers moved up and down in an intimate manner so close to my anal hole I couldn’t stop panting.
The naughty girl in me was overly excited by what was happening to me in the chilly copy room. I felt daring with my pants down in this high-tech room in an old Victorian mansion, once the seat of respectability.
And, boy, was I turned-on.
In spite of the air-cooled temp, I seethed with heated anticipation when he positioned himself behind me and then eased forward to push the bulge in his pants against my bare butt. I heard the snap of a condom.
“Is that a new one?” I asked him, hopeful.
That surprised him. “Don’t worry,” he said, laughing. “The expiration date is years away.”
I sighed, relieved. If I were thinking straight, that would have alerted me that something was wrong. Most programmers I knew carry subprime, expired condoms. But I wasn’t thinking straight. Instead, I twisted my head around and saw him pull out his dick and slip a raincoat over it.
Jeez.
“Big” didn’t begin to describe him.
I licked my lips.
I arched my back in total surrender when I felt his erect cock push against the cheeks of my backside. He found me wet and ready for him when he inserted one finger and then two inside me. Without a word, he slid into me with ease. I rode him without fear, his cock moving in and out of me, my passion building, his breathing becoming more erratic with each thrust. I squeezed my eyes, and I swear tears escaped onto my cheeks. My feelings became so intense I couldn’t help myself.
I moaned and moaned and moaned.
I didn’t care about anything else then. All I could do was let go. I couldn’t believe my luck. This was me, Pepper, desired by a sexy man. Instead of always being on the outside looking at the cool people, I was having a booty call at midnight, and it was sublime.
His hips smacked into my butt, pushing his cock into me, his breathing coming loud and fast. I could barely utter a word. My throat was hoarse from letting go of my emotions and the pent-up feelings buried so deep inside me. I couldn’t wait for release. I swear he sensed my desperation. He nuzzled his face in my hair, muttering sexy endearments in my ear, his musky, intoxicating smell overwhelming me. Then he fucked me harder, his thrusts stronger, his rhythm unchanging as his cock filled me until it was almost painful. I didn’t care.
“Harder,” I yelled.
The stirrings of a powerful orgasm built inside me. That delicious spiral of something intangible swirling around inside you. Promising you a taste of pleasure beyond what you’ve experienced; pleasure you will do anything for.
I couldn’t hold back much longer.
I leaned forward over the copy machine, pushing my buttocks up against him, urging him on. His body stiffened against me and he yelled out, his voice ragged, vibrating off the walls.
The room swayed in front of my eyes, the steady rhythm of sex, sex, sex beating in my brain like frenetic drummers with ceaseless energy. A surge much like an electrical charge gripped us both, racing through his body and into mine.
Then he came.
His explosive climax set off an out-of-control response in me. I went wild, crying out, thrashing about and slamming my hands down on the platen glass of the copy machine. Crazed, frantic, lost in whirling abandon, I slid my sweaty palms all over the machine. Wild, pawing, and scratching like a wolf in heat.
Oh, my God, it was good.
It didn’t last.
In a wild moment, I pushed the copy button by mistake. A powerful white light flooded into my face as the light bar moved back and forth, blinding me.
I hit another button and a blaring alarm went off.
Oh, shit.
I was a goner.
Chapter Two
Damn. I couldn’t see.
Groping helplessly, I fumbled around, trying to turn off the alarm, my panic mounting. Screeching, raw sounds grated on my ears, sending my passion into a nosedive.
No. No.
I pushed the button again, but the noise wouldn’t stop. I pushed another button, then another, but the damn thing kept shrieking like a video game villain gone berserk.
“What the fuck—” yelled the stud in black sweats, slipping out of me and then pulling up his pants.
“I can’t turn it off,” I cried out, frantic.
He pulled his baseball cap down lower. “Sorry I can’t help you, babe. Gotta go.”
Before I could pull up my jeans, he grabbed the file along with the copies from the exit tray and started for the door.
“Wait!” I yelled. “I didn’t come yet.”
“I owe you one,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. Tender-like. That surprised me. Then he saluted me with the tip of his cock—I mean, cap—before he raced out the door. I noticed then his hair looked weird, askew. It didn’t hit me until later he was wearing a dark wig under that cap.
“You can’t leave me like this,” I moaned, sinking down to my knees with my jeans squashed around my ankles. “You can’t.”
I squeezed my pubes together, but the unbearable ache in my groin wouldn’t go away. And that noise. I couldn’t stand it. I hit the machine with my fist, expecting it to blow up in my face. I didn’t care if it did.
To my surprise, the noise stopped.
The room went deadly quiet. Like a tomb.
I let out my breath and wiped off the sweat running down my cheeks, my neck. The silence was worse. My passion refusing to die, my ego suffering, my mind telling me I must withdraw, retreat. Forget him.
I couldn’t.
I wanted to cry.
I was caught up in a web of fantasy that had crossed over into my real world, and I didn’t want to escape its spell. I wanted to remain in this sexual wonderland like I was Alice.
Still groggy, frustrated, I noticed the stud had dropped the original file on his way out but taken the copies with him. Curious, I reached over to grab the sheets of paper spread out on the floor.
No sooner did I wrap my fingers around the official-looking documents than Ms. Sims, Mr. Briggs’s office manager, burst through the door, yelling, “What the hell are you doing in here?”
The Wicked Witch of the West.
In person.
She glared at me through her glued-on lashes. You’d think she’d never seen nude buttocks before when she saw me scrambling to pick up the papers scattered everywhere. My bare ass was up in the air, my thighs still wet with excitement.
I didn’t get along with the tall, skinny woman with the perennial Vogue smirk on her lips. Ms. Sims—no one knew her first name—always wore black, including black jet earrings that dangled to her shoulders. I swore under the gaudy fluorescents her skin had a green-gray tinge. She’d never liked me from the day I was hired. I was the only programmer the agency had in their job bank who could write the code they needed, so she was stuck with me. And she knew it.
“I was working late on that commercial spot—” I began, pulling up my jeans.
She