My boss, Bruce Davies, CEO of Davies and Birch Advertising, stood there in the doorway with his mouth open in surprise. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Alex had me bent over my desk, my short black pencil skirt shoved up to my waist, my breasts spilling out of its matching jacket, nipples trailing against the desk blotter, and his big cock shoved so far up my cunt that I felt like singing opera. Alex was breathing hard behind me, a death grip on my hips. “Don’t move,” he barked as he increased his speed. My ass twitched against his groin as he filled me again. His shirttails tickled my lower back. “Oh, Glory.” His voice was a harsh whisper as his cock grew and hardened inside me. I squirmed to get closer, feel more of him. “I can’t stop, babe. I can’t.” I flexed my muscles, stroking his cock to let him know it was okay to keep going, that I wanted him to continue, that I was feeling him. His hands, slippery now, slid along my ass as he tried to maintain his grip. And then he was coming, his body jerking against my ass as he spewed his seed. I was glad I’d remembered to make him wear the condom. It felt like he had uncapped a fire hydrant and couldn’t get the cover back on. Finally, he trembled a bit and went still, his hands coming to rest on my waist and lower back.

      “When you’re done here, Ms. James, I’d like to see you in my office,” Mr. Davies said before he backed out of the doorway and pulled the door closed.

      “Sorry about that,” Alex said as he pulled out, tugged my skirt over my exposed ass, and set about repairing his clothing.

      “Hey, what can you say?” I said, not just to soothe him, but because there wasn’t anything to say. I’m Glory James, Junior Account Rep, but mostly I am, or was, assistant to Mr. Davies. I don’t file or type his correspondence or anything like that. He has another assistant for those things. I handle the things he doesn’t have time for like preliminary research, clients’ backgrounds and sales or production figures that he needs right away, or tweak contracts before Legal finalizes them. Sometimes I pick a client up from the airport and make sure he or she is settled in, and occasionally I take them to dinner or for drinks when Mr. Davies has an emergency. That was the case with Alex here. Alex and his ex-wife design and manufacture shoes mostly, but they do fashion and have recently developed a line of furniture. They’ve been scouting ad agencies. That’s where I come in. There’s a pun in there somewhere, but fucking Alex was not intentional. I mean, it isn’t in my job description. I just liked him. He’s a big man who takes care of his body and he’s smart, reads books, not just trade magazines and newspapers.

      “Will you be okay?” he asked after we’d both straightened our clothes and exhausted the container of wet wipes I kept in my desk drawer. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

      “No, I’m good,” I said, smiling at him ’cause what the fuck. I’ve been working for Davies for two years with no complaint. I’ve always done everything he asked and he has continued to give me more responsibility. That must mean he likes the way I do things. If he can’t forgive this one indiscretion then he’s in the wrong business. Besides, it’s after hours, and the client is none the worse for wear.

      Alex pulled me close, offering me comfort. He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t think he will, but if he fires you, you can come work for me and I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

      I leaned my face into the crisp baby-blue of his shirt taking in his masculine scent and the heat that radiated from his chest.

      “And don’t let him bully you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” He pulled me back a bit from his chest so that he could see my face, and I could see the meaning in his eyes. I nodded.

      “I’ll wait here,” he said, turning me toward the door.

      “No,” I said. “You go on back to the hotel. I’ll call you later.”

      He stood there, unmoving.

      “Really,” I assured him, “I can handle this.”

      “Glory,” he began.

      “I got this, Alex, really,” I said, and picked up the file we’d come up here for. “And take this with you. Read it over and tell me what you think. I’ll call you. Tomorrow midmorning at the latest.” I was shoving him and the folder out the door.

      “I can wait, and you could come back to the hotel with me,” he coaxed.

      I laughed. “Thanks, but really, I need to deal with this and I need a minute. I want you to go, okay?” You have to be firm and clear with some guys. Alex is nice, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship. You have to give him credit, though. He isn’t like some of these jerks who get theirs then skitter off like the rats they are at the first sign of difficulty.

      I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. I could feel his soften and meld with mine. “It was good,” I said against his lips, and it was, too, even though I didn’t come off. That probably had more to do with being interrupted by Davies. “You are good,” I said, and slid the tip of my tongue between his lips. He cupped my ass and squeezed.

      “Now go,” I said firmly, and pushed him out the door.

      I watched for a minute to make sure he headed to the elevators and didn’t detour to Davies’s office. When I heard the ding of the elevator, I closed the door to my office and leaned against its hard surface to catch my breath and steel my nerves. Then I headed to the side door of my office, the one that led directly into Davies’s.

      I knocked once. “Come in.” He voice was muffled by the closed door, but it was clear. Uncertain how these matters were usually handled, I stood in the doorway contemplating my next move. “Sit,” he said, and waved toward one of the three leather armchairs positioned in a half circle in front of his desk. I took the center one, seating myself directly in front of him as he sat behind his massive desk leaning forward, his elbows just at the edge supporting his weight. He studied me for a minute letting the silence speak as he clasped his hands together. One finger strayed from the steeple to toy with his lips.

      “Alex Rodriquez?” he said, or was it a question.

      “Sir?” Mine was a question.

      “Why?”