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  Alyssa Turner

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2011

  ISBN 9781908086235

  Copyright © Alyssa Turner 2011

  The right of Alyssa Turnerto be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by herin accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The storycontained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:

  Erotic Fiction Publisher 2010

  "Xcite has delighted its readers with a wealth of superb titles and first class storytelling. Their titles have far outstripped the others for both quality of the product and sensual erotic content."

  Contents

  Chapter One – Tina

  Chapter Two – Noemi

  Chapter Three – Pamela

  Chapter Four – Tina

  Chapter Five – Noemi

  Chapter Six – Tina

  Chapter Seven – Jimmy

  Chapter Eight – Pamela

  Chapter Nine – Noemi

  Chapter Ten – Tina

  Chapter Eleven – Pamela

  Chapter Twelve – Noemi

  Chapter Thirteen – Jimmy

  Chapter Fourteen – Tina

  Chapter One – Tina

  CAUGHT IN A VORTEX of rage, the words spew out of me and onto my keyboard in a deluge of anger and hurt. Every tap is punctuated with a heavy click of the keys. Interesting how an email can shout almost as loud as a live voice. Better yet, in a virtual world the floor is all yours with no interruptions.

  YOU ARROGANT PRICK! HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME LIKE THIS ...

  I pour out my broken heart in a single messy rant, and I don’t want to hear what he has to say about it. He’s going to suffer through the parade of my wrecked emotions just as I am.

  Bottled up in my cubicle, lost in a world of mixed memories, I ultimately drift to the moment I first saw him and how his skin glowed a deep shade of reddish-brown in the sunlight bouncing off the crystalline waves. I was with my close friend, Sonya, and he was joined by two other guys. Sonya and I were fixated, watching them play touch football in the sand – a fine display of male testosterone in all its glory. Taller than the rest, Jared had stood out among them and his body could not have been more perfectly sculpted for my taste in men. The truth is, I’ve always been a sucker for the big bruisers with broad shoulders.

  There was no mistaking it; he knew just how sexy he was. When he sauntered over, acknowledging my stare, I couldn’t help but lick my lips hungrily.

  He managed a casual ‘Hey’.

  I responded with another.

  A cock of his head triggered my smile and though our conversation was strained, it was clear that our physical attraction would not be ignored. That day marked the beginning of my flawed relationship with Jared and my email is the end of it.

  Feverishly, I rail on him in all caps about his lying, cheating ass, still reeling from catching him in the act with some random chick.

  Yesterday night I hatched a plan to surprise him at work. Surely, he deserved a luxurious meal at our favourite steakhouse for all the long hours he’d been putting in lately. Delighted with myself, I trotted up to his office in a pair of peep-toes, only to find the place deserted.

  Hadn’t he told me that he wanted to finish some last-minute structural changes on the community centre plans ahead of next week’s bid?

  An elderly man who had a broom in his hand informed me that everyone had been gone for at least half an hour.

  Suspicion, rank and present, had me tearing out of the small architecture firm and back down the stairs to see if his car was still in the parking lot. It was not so easily found at the back of the building. But there with the windows down was Jared with his eyes closed and his dick in the eager mouth of a wavy-haired brunette. How could I have been so dumb? Crying through the night, it’s only now that I am able to focus my emotions into a coherent response.

  As I begin to type in his email address, the auto-complete does the rest. Feeling like I have expelled a cancerous growth, I hit the send button, lean back in my chair and stare blankly out of my window into the courtyard that separates all six buildings in the IGB complex. Not much copywriting is going to get done today, as I sit determined to sulk the entire morning.

  Ten minutes pass and my inbox alerts me of a new message. It’s a reply: re: FUCK YOU and I am surprised that Jared has such a quick response to my manifesto on our shitty relationship. With flushed trepidation, I hesitate a bit before opening it.

  It reads, I think you sent this to me by accident. So sorry about your break-up, I know how painful a betrayal can be. Hang in there.

  I panic. ‘Holy shit! Who the fuck did I send this to?’ A closer look at the address reveals that the damn auto-complete selected James Andros, not Jared Williams.

  James, or Jimmy as I know him, is an assistant vice president of marketing. To me he is mostly a goofball who always makes working on boring pharmaceutical brochures slightly more bearable. We frequently forward each other funny YouTube videos and occasionally share lunch in the corporate cafeteria.

  I can feel my blood rush to my face and I am beyond embarrassed, but considering that I often need to work closely with Jimmy, I know I have to try to make the whole thing less awkward. What I really want to do is dissolve into my chair.

  Bravely, I reply, I’m sorry you had to read that, but thanks for the moral support. Send me a video to cheer me up, OK? And I hope that he will.

  Though we spend a fair amount of time together, Jimmy is only an acquaintance. Sure, we’re friendly, but I don’t know much more about him than what he cares to reveal. It’s the same with me, keeping ours a familiar, but strictly working relationship. I’d peg him to be about 12 years older than me, around 36. He has a slender, relatively unassuming physique and deep serious eyes combined with the shiniest dark curly hair; so very Greek-looking with his olive skin and strong jaw.

  And then there is his subtle dry humour, which thrives on irony. I often can’t tell whether he’s joking or not until he tempers a rather prickly remark with a quick wink. He seems to enjoy our meetings and though I’ve spied him taking some extra long glances at my ass, I’ve never entertained him as a love interest before. Not that I don’t find him attractive – and I’m pretty sure he isn’t married. He’s just not my usual type and certainly not who I’m expected to date. A 20-something black woman on the arm of a white, Ivy League business type isn’t exactly something you see every day on the streets of Miami.

  Less than 15minutes later, Jimmy has me laughing aloud over a Jackass -type stunt video, specially delivered to put a smile on my face. I thank him in yet another reply and finally find some energy to get back to work. As the hours pass, it seems pointless to resend my nasty email. So at the end of the day, I simply type two words, It’s over, and send both the message and Jared on their way.

  The air is warm and muggy during my evening drive home. It’s a nice change from the industrial strength air-conditioning that I sit in all day at work, so I keep the windows down to enjoy the breeze and the smell of fresh rain. Once on the freeway, I can’t wait a minute more to call Sonya and tell her that I’ve finally broken it off with Jared.

  ‘Girl, I hate to say it, but I saw that coming a mile away. Cheatin’ motherfucker, never could keep his eyes in his head wh
en some chick walked past. I’m sorry though, for you, honey.’ Sonya never bites her tongue and I love that about her.

  Her signature laugh fills my car when I tell her about the email mishap. And even I have to admit it’s pretty damn funny. Poor Jimmy, seeing my address and expecting some plucky video clip. How shocking instead to open my seething letter, which reeked of every four-letter word known to man.

  By 11 p.m., my anger has subsided, and all I’m left with is that achy hole in the pit of your stomach that tells you something is gone. He won’t have to change his address; it was never that deep, still I can’t deny that it hurts as if it was. Only a few miscellaneous items to throw in a box still linger like spoiled fruit around my apartment. The TV isn’t much company, but I aimlessly flip through the channels for something to take my mind off things anyway. And even though Jared hasn’t always slept over, a real emptiness fills my bed tonight. I am officially single again, and alone.

  Then like a message from my subconscious, his face appears to me through the darkness – Jimmy. What about Jimmy? His wit, I never really thought about it before but it’s damned sexy. And those wide eyes of his, like dark marbles, piercing and intense – they could send chills through me with a single glance. Not to mention his pouty, red lips are the kind that all girls wish for themselves.

  What would it be like to taste them?

  No doubt, my sudden fixation is merely a quick remedy for a raw and broken heart, but that face still lingers as I drift off to sleep.

  When a week has come and gone, I finally hear back from Jared in a text message asking me to send his CDs and electric razor to him in the mail. Bastard. I throw that shit in the garbage instead.

  The same afternoon, Jimmy sends me an email requesting some revisions to a birth control brochure. Politely, he also asks if I’m doing OK. Against my better judgment, I confide that it’s mostly hard at night, when it’s late and I am alone with my thoughts. I don’t mention that I regularly conjure images of his snarky grin as an effective distraction.

  After a few hours, a new message arrives. You deserve better, Jimmy writes.

  It’s the end of another uneventful day by now, and the sun is beginning to set behind the buildings across the courtyard.

  I type back, I definitely deserve to feel better than I do now. I hate him for what he did, but it’s still hard to suddenly be alone after so long. Then to make sure I don’t sound too pathetic, I add, Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I click send and begin to straighten up my desk before leaving for the night. Just as I’m about to power off my computer, he sends another email.

  Let me fuck you, the subject reads. It is so direct and unexpected, unlike anything he has ever sent to me before. I open it. It will make you feel better. Is he joking? I can’t tell.

  I reply, Pardon me? I like playing it coy and innocent, just in case he is kidding. Then I wait, tapping my finger lightly on the desk. It seems like for ever before a response comes, and I almost dismiss the whole thing as some crazy stunt. Then finally, I have new mail.

  Sit back, I am going to fuck you right now. You won’t be thinking of that asshole any more. I bite my lip and do what he says, admittedly curious to see what he has in mind. He continues, I am running the palm of my hand over the top of your blouse, circling over your nipples and making them plump and hard. I kiss your neck and you raise your head to expose more of it to my wet tongue.

  My mouth is open, hanging agape as I stop reading for a moment and peep around the corner of my cubicle to see if anyone is still around. The office seems deserted, so I return to my desk and continue to enjoy the ride he’s taking me on.

  You unbutton your shirt to show me how beautiful your breasts are and I round your nipple with the tip of my tongue. Then, I pull it between my lips just softly enough to make you gasp. I take it entirely into my mouth, while slipping my fingers under your skirt. You spread your legs wider and I give you a surprised look when I find that you are not wearing any panties. Your pussy is already dripping and pulsating. We are both impatient to feel it wrapped around my cock. But first, I want to taste you and confirm what I already suspect: that you are sweet and tart.

  I can only make an assumption about how tasty I am, but he is definitely correct about his effect on my mood. I do feel better. And I am indeed dripping wet, right through my panties. Compelled by the throbbing, I unbutton my pants to slide my hand into my crotch. It’s incredibly slick and, with two fingers, I slosh around my clit and await the next part of his message to arrive.

  I throw your legs over the arms of the desk chair and insert my tongue into your glistening hole. I lick at the sides before inserting it again. You thrust your hips forward and I am happy to bury my face further into your cunt. Then, as you rock your hips over my mouth, I extend my tongue and lick you in time. When you are just about to come, I pull you off the chair and onto the desk. As you lie on your back, with your legs on my shoulders, I unzip my pants and slip my cock inside you. Now you will get the fucking you have been waiting for.

  I’m aching for it now, my pussy pulsing hard under my hand. I spread my legs further apart and wish there was a way for me to take off my pants, allowing my fingers more freedom, though I don’t dare. My cubicle is open to the rest of the aisle. At any moment I might have to whip my hand out of my panties if I suspect someone is about to walk by. Eager to continue the adventure, I intently follow his next words.

  My first strokes are slow. I want you to feel my cock slide against your walls, every inch making your body quiver. You throw your head back and beg me to fuck you harder. I keep you waiting a bit longer, and rub your clit while my dick grows even bigger inside you. You squirm and moan, not caring who hears you. When you are delirious with anticipation, I finally grab your hips and drive into you. Gripping the edge of the desk, you cry out each time I enter, fast and deep. I give you more and, relishing the grin spread across your mouth, I grab your ankles to reach the gateway inside that leads to a body-thrashing orgasm. Instinctually, I know exactly where it is and, gritting my teeth, I knock on it until it opens. You scream, your cunt tugs on my cock in electric spasms and I do not relent. I am rising inside and will give you the hot injection you want. One last pass, and there it is, pouring into you, warm and sticky. You look so fucking sexy, displayed on the desk, shivering a little from coming so hard. I give you my jacket and kiss you gently before zipping my pants and leaving. I hear you say ‘Thank you’ as I turn the corner.

  I let out a hard sigh. Inside I am boiling over and can’t wait to get home to my vibrator. After wiping off my drenched hand I reply, TYVM and prepare to leave.

  At home, in bed, I masturbate until I fall asleep while reliving the mind-fuck Jimmy has gifted me. I dream about his hands between my legs and his cock in my mouth by the copy machine in the back hallway. Several times, I wake up overheated and sweaty, even having to change the tank I’m sleeping in.

  Morning light ushers in the harsh reality, depriving me the euphoric effects of my three orgasms and furrowing my brow with concern. One thing I don’t need is any more drama in my life, especially at work.

  Two years ago, I was only an intern at IGB, busting my ass in editing while still in grad school. It wasn’t easy, but I put in extra hours and kissed enough of the right asses to get noticed. I was hired as a copywriter after graduation. The salary is decent; enough to support my shoe habit and pay the bills on time. In all, I like my job and almost everyone I work with. Then there’s Marilyn, who is senior vice president of marketing and both Jimmy’s and my supervisor. My ass-kissing days are over, and maybe she missed all those lattes I happened to bring her after lunch, because she has become a first-class bitch ever since.

  All showered, I sort through my closet looking for something sexy but work-appropriate. Satisfied, I settle on a pencil skirt that accentuates both my thin waist and my round ass and, to complete the look, I leave one more button playfully undone on my blouse than usual.

  Of course, I know how silly it is
– the way I am so concerned about looking my sexiest for Jimmy, like he’s some kind of high-school crush. I barely know the guy and, sure, we had a little X-rated chat, but what does that even add up to except a cyber booty-call? Self-conscious, I almost change into my characteristic knit top and pressed pants.

  I’m not used to that much attention from men. Maybe it’s because I typically avoid eye contact with any man I don’t know. People call me shy; I’d say that I’m cautious ... preferring the safety of my comfort zone. Still, as much as I hate to admit it, I do have a crush. And weirdness aside, I want him to swallow hard – better yet, get hard – if he happens to see me today.

  With my reservations checked into my push-up bra, there is definitely an extra bounce in my step as I clack across the concrete parking lot in strappy red heels. Inside I’m a mix of excitement and nerves, anticipating what the day will bring.

  Lunch rolls around and no word from Jimmy. I’d gotten second looks that morning from a few other male colleagues, but really, I could have cared less. Thankfully, Sonya calls and invites me to grab a bite to eat around the corner. It’s a welcomed distraction since I’ve mostly been preoccupied with imagining Jimmy’s lanky frame naked and pressed on top of me, weirdness be damned. When I meet up with her at the restaurant, Sonya takes one look at my outfit and shakes her head.

  ‘Girl, who are you fucking or trying to fuck at work?’ she says in her matter-of-fact way.

  I can’t help but laugh; she knows me so well. ‘You won’t believe what happened before I left last night,’ I gush. Just like a schoolgirl, I spill it all. Her mouth dangles open as she listens to all the details. Even as I recount the episode, I begin to cream my panties.

  Halfway through my grilled chicken salad, my BlackBerry signals I have a new message. Eagerly, I check it and my heart skips when I see it’s from Jimmy.

  Would love your input on a new concept. 1.30 p.m. – Conference room B. Panties optional. I crack a sly grin and speed up the pace on my lunch.