"Okay! Off to my office. Come on, Morgana."
Drunken Mr. Payne turns and races off. I grab my coat and purse, feeling it's better to have my things with me in case I need to flee.
He catches an elevator before I have a chance to catch up so I get to his office a minute after him. The door is open and I see his suit jacket on the floor in the middle of the room while his red tie is hanging from the coat rack. I place my coat and purse on the rack before moving farther into the room. As I get closer to his desk I see his shoes on it and socks lying in his client chair.
"Morgana." His voice is low and coming from the side of the room. I turn to see him sprawled on his black leather couch. One arm draped over the back, while the other hangs over the side. His legs are spread eagle and either it's the way the material of his pants are gathering or this man has a semi.
His head jerks indicating for me to take a seat on the couch next to him. My lips purse and my internal organs go to war. My brain is shaking it's head and telling me to high tail it out of there offering me things I don't like, facts.
"He's drunk. He's my boss. He's drunk." Shut up, Brain, I know already!
My vagina is jumping up and down wildly screaming at me: Oh woman this man is HOT. So hot. Did I mention he's gorgeous? Because he's super fine. Plus, he seems to be ready for action.
I stiffly walk over to the end of the couch and sit down. Pushing myself as far from him as possible. I stare straight at the chair with the socks refusing to turn my attention to him.
"Yes, Mr. Payne, what did you need to see me about?"
I feel the couch move and hear the soft sliding sound of his body moving. Suddenly I feel the heat of him next to me. His finger starts down my thigh to the hem of my black cashmere dress I wore specifically for the party. It hugs my body perfectly, keeps me warm in the Chicago winter and is office appropriate.
"You make this dress." He whispers in my ear as his fingers come to the bottom hem and flutter across my thigh.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. I should stop him. I should really stop him.
"Mr. Payne, you're drunk." I continue to stare at his dirty sock, knowing if I look at him I won't stop him.
"Henrik." He whispers.
I nod, "Yes, Henrik. You have been drinking and I don't think ..."
"I don't drink, Morgana."
I turn to look at him. Bad mistake. My nose is only an inch from his. His eyes fall to my mouth and I pull my bottom lip in due to nerves.
"So, Henrik, you haven't been drinking tonight?"
"Yes I have, Morgana. Tonight is the exception to the rule. To my rule. Let's not talk about rules."
"What do you want to talk about?" I regret asking as soon as the words exit my mouth.
His smirk is back and his head tilts playfully to the side as his hand continues caressing my thigh inching up ever so slightly as time goes by.
"You. Us. This dress. Your soft skin. Your glasses." He laughs and shakes his head. Henrik is looking at his hand that has now moved just under my dress and is mere inches from my soaking panties.
I should stop him. I should really stop him. Morgana! Stop him!
"I dreamed about you in your glasses."
Nope, not stopping him. I also can't get my mouth to work so I just keep staring at his mouth as he talks. He continues looking at his hand, which is now pushing up the fabric of my dress and I know he can see what color my underwear is now.
His finger reaches the edge of the black lace as his eyes move up to mine. They are almost black in the low light and the muscles in his face slack from desire.
His fingers push past the fabric to my wet folds as his eyes close. I whimper from the intrusion.
"Oh, Morgana. You are so wet for me."
Chapter 8 - THE Zipper Incident ...
"These are in the way. I better take care of them."
Henrik falls to his knees on the floor in front of me. His thumbs hook under the lace fabric of my panties and tug. I lift my bottom off the couch to help him with his task. Leisurely he drags my undies down my legs, over my thigh-high stockings and creates an erotic burn. My Brain is still screaming at me to grab my panties and hobble out of this room like a respectable adult. Memo to Brain: Go Away!
Once the fabric is loose and in his hand, he balls it up and tucks it into his pants pocket. I really hope I get those back, they weren't cheap. My heart is racing as I watch his fingers smooth over the edge of the stockings. He lowers his head and juts his tongue out creating a small wet trail on the sheer fabric.