“I didn’t say that Mr Clarke…I…” I paused, staring at his blank face that gave nothing away.
He didn’t let me finish. “Tell me, do you insist on calling me that because you take pleasure in knowing how it affects me? Or is it punishment for the… ‘tease of a kiss’?”
I was astounded, but I eventually found my words. “I think you should drop me off now and let me find my way. This is very unethical, and I can’t…” My words were cut off as a shiver went through me like a thunderbolt.
He had moved incredibly close to me, and I could feel his hot breath on me. His closeness disarmed me, and once again, I had lost my train of thought because of it.
“When you stood and walked away at the end of that meeting. I have to know—did you purposely choose to leave first so I wouldn’t miss the agonizingly enticing sight of your bountiful arse, and the sway of your hips in that skirt?” He paused, drawing me in with his intense gaze and using his finger to lightly trace the edge of my skirt.
I was stuck at the moment, drawn in as he continued to speak in his unique style. “Because, if that was your goal, be assured that you scored.”
His eyes ravished me, I could feel him trace the curve of my hips with them. “The skirt is sin, the bloody way it hugged every curve of your arse. I must confess, I had the urge to smack it hard, just to see the way it would jiggle when it meets with my palm. It was then I decided on this ride.”
I was soaked, and my nipples were at attention. I was irrevocably aroused. His raw un-garnished words turned me on more than I could possibly understand at that moment.
“This is highly unprofessional; you need to stop,” I said haughtily. I was more irritated at myself because I knew I was losing the battle in my head—the good for you - bad for your war.
He was not done, though. No, he was determined to get it all out. “Needless to say, that the teasing kiss left me wanting more too.”
I was about to argue that he was wrong by using ‘too’, but once again, he was not done.
His cherry plum lips rose and spread in a smirk. “The other night I spent a long while than I have in a long time wanking my balls out. All thanks to the memory of the way you sipped your wine, or maybe it was the way you groaned, when the taste of dessert hit your lips or perhaps, the way your full ombre lips move every time you speak. And you know how I know you are not so unaffected by me?”
“How?” I asked, widening my eyes when I realised I had asked it aloud.
“If I got my hand in your knickers, tell me, what would I find, dryness or otherwise?”
I gasped with a startle. He had me hook, line, and sinker. I couldn’t even open my mouth to deny it. Not with his hand on my thigh, his breath so close, his body so near. Not with his extreme proximity.
“I am going to kiss you now,” he said, but he didn’t move. He was waiting for my permission.
And I found myself nodding because I wanted it, and there was no fight left; it was just the two of us thanks to the partition, and no one had to know.
I melted when his left arm came around me, pulling me onto his lap, on his bulge which dug further into my arse. His hand went straight under my wrap-top, squeezing hard on my boobs.
I hardly had time to enjoy his touch when a hard pinch on my nipple finally sent a quiet moan flying out of my mouth. I never knew pleasure could come out of pain.
His other hand gripped hard behind my neck, and I welcomed it, panting and embracing the pleasure that came with the pressure as he whispered my name like hot breath.
I was just about to beg him to do it harder when his mouth met with my already opened one.
His tongue immediately captured mine, taking his sweet time to roll, swirl and dance in my mouth, slowly and patiently. It was as if my tongue, my lips, and my mouth were his cone of ice cream, and boy did I like being licked.
I was on tonguing heaven. I could taste whatever spice was in the meal he had eaten, but couldn’t put my finger on it.
I let him do the work, dancing, and just making me hungry for more. He grunted into my mouth like he couldn’t get enough of me.
I latched onto his hard abs, my hand sculpting the hard ridges as I enjoyed my tonguing session.
And finally, he gripped harder on my nipple, compelling me to grind so intensely hard and slow on his bulge. He groaned hungrily in my mouth, twirling and fondling even more fiercely and roughly.
It was all the kinds of rough I never knew I wanted.
He suddenly withdrew without warning, the action extracting a low whine out of me.
My eyes flew open to look at him and were met with his dilated eyes, the typically sea-blue eyes of his were just about two or three shades darker. They seemed almost wet, like he’d glistened them with carnal desire and want.
Despite his words,and the not so modest making out and the arousal I felt beneath me, it was seeing his eyes that made me accept what he told me.
He was in the very least undeniably attracted to me, and that sent a wave of undiluted joy through my body.
He stared at me, drinking me in, and piercing my soul like a hot knife through butter.
I couldn’t say for sure where the bravery or the intent came from. But despite all my reservations, with a smile, I moved my right hand under my blouse and put my hand on his, which was still on my left breast, squeezing and at the same time giving him one last almost painful grind on his erection.
I did it with the hope that it would haunt his dreams, and send him cold showering as often as humanly possible. And then I extracted myself from his lap.
Surprisingly, he let me go.
I looked back at him as I adjusted myself, using my phone to check my face while trying to act unaffected.
He was smiling, not the usual ghost of a smile or smirk or male resting bitch face that had only ever graced his face, but a full-blown smile.
The thought that I could make him smile was empowering like I was wielding a sword.
“What?” I asked.
“Now, who is the tease?”
* * *
I stood outside the building where he dropped me off, and had completed my assignment. I brought out my phone to use google map to look for Bank underground station since it was the closest. It was then I noticed someone familiar walking towards me. I turned to find that it was Mr Clarke’s chauffeur.
“Miss Wright, Mr Clarke has asked me to drop you off at wherever it is you are headed.” He said, straight to be the point.
“He did what?” I asked in rhetoric.
A hint of amusement touched his lips, but no reply came out.
“Never mind, I’ll let you be on your way. I’m just headed for lunch somewhere on King Williams Street, and I’d rather walk.”
Thankfully, he didn’t look offended. Instead, he pressed on, “I’ll follow you with the car and drop you off wherever you are headed afterwards.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustrated because I understood the man was only doing his job.“Would you be content with just dropping me off at Canary Wharf, Mr..?”
“Mr Ganglani,” he filled in, looking relieved that I agreed.
“But only if you let me sit in front with you, Sirji?”
He smiled at my use of my limited knowledge of Hindi. Yet, I could sense a refusal at the tip of his tongue, so I beat him to it. “No one has to know.”
He thought on it before nodding slowly in agreement, beating me to open the door for my entrance and saying, “I am too young to be a Sirji.”