Page 23 of City of Wind and Lies

I hate lattes. I like the bitter bite of a nice dark roast coffee in the morning. But I wasn't sure how Wren liked her coffee- all I had to go on was the knowledge that she and Cami have dipped down for afternoon lattes more than once.

Cazzo. Who am I?

Buying coffees, holding her after sex, being concerned she's not feeling well… I'm acting like a guy who's eager to please his high school sweetheart. This isn't me. I'm not a fucking tool, but I've never been accused of being chivalrous either.

We need to establish what this is. The casual hookups are fine by me- hell, my dick is getting hard at the mere thought- but the electric warmth that surges in my chest more often than not when I'm around her? I don't know what the fuck this shit is or how to feel about it.

Wren chooses that moment to tap her knuckles lightly against the glass of my open door. Swiveling back around, my eyes take an extended tour of her body as she steps in, closing the door behind her.

Holding up a thumb drive, she says something as she walks towards me, but I don't hear it. No, the skirt she's wearing has a slit up the thigh and that creamy bit of exposed leg has garnered all my focus.

Who knew I liked skirts so much?

She pauses beside me, gesturing with the thumb drive toward my laptop. "May I?" she asks, her delicate scent of jasmine and vanilla wrapping around me, short-circuiting my train of thought.

I lick my lips, staring temptation right in the pussy.

Rolling the chair back, I motion for her to do her thing, and she steps forward to lean over my desk, the round globes of her ass making all my blood rush south.

Today is not the day I stop fucking my employee.

My hands grip her hips, pulling her down onto my lap.

"Bowie!" she gasps as I hold her in place and grind my hard-on against her.

"Shhh, Passerotta," I whisper, my palm gliding up her thigh and sliding through the opening in her skirt.

I push the material of her panties to the side, parting her already slick folds and toying with her clit. "Mmm, wet for me already?"

Her head lolls back, resting on my shoulder as her lashes flutter and she hums softly. I nip at her lobe, increasing my pressure on the sensitive bud before sliding a digit into her tight cunt. Her back arches, legs clamping around my wrist at the intrusion.

She's a sopping mess within minutes of my ministrations, and I add another finger, pumping both of them in and out while she bucks her hips, seeking friction by grinding against my palm.

"Oh, I'm close," she cries, and I can feel her inner walls start to pulsate.

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes!" she cries out, hands gripping the armrests.

"So goddamn desperate, aren't you?"

"Yes!" she pants. "Bowie! Please!"

I still my fingers. "Please what?"

Coning three fingers together, I force them inside and she chokes on her gasp.

"Please let me come!" Her voice is pleading, laced with a feverous desire to find her release.

My other hand palms her breast, toying with her erect nipple pressing through the fabric of her shirt.

"Come on my fingers, Wren."

She rides my hand harder, whimpering as her thighs quake with her release. Then her motions still, her breathless body going slack in my lap as I slide my fingers from her drenched pussy.

"Here," I say, bringing them to her mouth. "Taste how sweetly you shatter."

Her lips part, sucking my fingers inside, and she hums as she cleans her juices from them. I withdraw my hand, spit-stringing down her chin as she relaxes back.

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