Special Delivery

Riki Kaye

www.spice-books.co.uk

With her husband’s busy work schedule, Megan barely
got a chance to have dinner with her husband, let alone
make love. After three long weeks with no sex, she’s
had enough. It’s time to take matters into her own
hands…by visiting his office dressed as a sexy delivery
girl and giving him a lunch break he’ll never forget…

Megan steeled herself before pushing through the revolving doors into the downtown skyscraper. Up ahead, waves of white-collar professionals surged toward her, like business-suited ants swarming from their high-rise nest in search of noonday sustenance.

As Megan weaved her way through the throng, every eye in the place seemed to follow her. She felt virtually naked in her short-shorts and tank top. Nowhere to hide—not even behind her long auburn hair, which was stuffed under her Vincenzo’s Pizza ball cap. Even the guard at the security desk spent more time goggling at her figure than checking out the pizza box in her hands. But at least he let her pass.

She headed for the bank of elevators. There was only one open car—well, “open” was a relative term. The elevator was full to bursting with men in dress shirts and power ties, talking about everything but work. As Megan pulled up in front of them, the conversation abruptly ceased, leaving fourteen slack-jawed gazes fixed squarely on her.

They know I’m not a delivery girl—it’s written all over my face. I am so gonna get thrown out of here.

Not enough room in there anyway. Problem solved, right? Megan backed away—

As if prompted by a collective unconscious, the guys all squeezed farther back into the car, creating a space a scant two feet square. En masse, they beckoned. “C’mon…! Plenty of room…! See…?” Then they waited, eager as pups, practically drooling.

No way to refuse now. With a polite smile, Megan carefully shoehorned herself into the proffered spot. One glance at the floor buttons told her she didn’t have a prayer of reaching them. “Sixty-two, please,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, nervous.

The guy nearest the panel pushed 62. “Damn,” he said good-naturedly. “I’m on twenty-five.”

Megan ducked her head to conceal her scarlet blush. “Better luck next time,” she said demurely.

“What kind of pizza?” another man asked.

“Three-cheese garlic chicken with herbs and caramelized onions on a pan crust.” Megan thought her reply was a little rushed, but no one seemed to notice. A few guys even made yummy sounds. Maybe the delivery-girl act was working after all.

She turned to face the elevator doors as they slid shut. To make room for the pizza, she was forced to lean back, subtly pressing against the group. There was a soft exhalation from the man behind her, and she felt the tickle of his breath on the back of her neck. She focused on the numbers over the doors, watching them light up one by one. Fifty-nine floors to go.

This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, hands down. What the hell am I doing here, anyway?

Thirty-eight hours earlier

Michael was nodding off over dinner. At the rate his head was drooping over his plate, Megan figured he would crash-land in his beef béarnaise any second now.

She jumped up and came around behind him, taking his shoulders just in time. He jerked back to full wakefulness, then chuckled, chagrined. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Slipping her arms around him with a soft giggle, she pulled him to his feet. “Time for bed, sleepyhead.” She blew out the candles on the dining table, then steered him toward the bedroom, holding his hand as she would a sleepy child’s.

“But I don’t wanna go,” he protested. “I’m a ball of fire!”

Hmm, maybe there’s still some potential here after all, Megan thought. “We’ll discuss that when we get to the bedroom.”

Michael pouted. “Lately it seems as if we’re not doing much with each other except saying goodbye or good night.”

“The price of being indispensable,” she smiled.

“This work schedule won’t last forever.” Michael stifled a yawn as he plopped down on the bed. “It’s just that the board of directors is champing at the bit for me to finish this library project, and there’s a lot do yet. The good news is, they’re really excited about my designs.”

As she knelt to untie his shoes, Megan sighed theatrically. “I hope they know how lucky they are, having you all to themselves, day after day…”

He took her hand. “You have to make the most of the opportunities life gives you, babe.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So how long do you think you can keep this up?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Until I’m finished.”

Megan was reminded of a story she’d read in a French class back in college…some poor guy dying on a battlefield. Je suis mort!…I am finished! Terrific. Aloud, she said, “I’m glad you’re so important to them.”

As she slipped off his shoes, Michael watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder jersey dress that clung to her in all the right places and showed plenty of cleavage, especially from his angle. “You look nice tonight,” he said.

“Thank you.” She rose to her knees, leaning closer as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“Smell nice, too.”

“Maybe you’re not so sleepy after all,” Megan purred, secretly hoping. She felt awkward and self-conscious making the first move. She wasn’t normally the instigator of romantic interludes; she had always been too shy, preferring that Michael take the lead. But lately they rarely even had a chance to cuddle, much less make love.

Gently but firmly, she pushed him back on the bed, spreading his shirt open, running her hands down his muscular chest. She felt his soft gasp of pleasure. “Mmm,” he murmured. “That feels good.”

Hiking up her skirt, she climbed on top of him and leaned down for a kiss, tickling his lips open with her tongue. Groaning, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, sending a tingle of desire flowing through her. She melted into his embrace as their tongues danced together.

His hands moved down, lightly fondling her ass. She ground herself enticingly against his groin as she planted tiny kisses along his jawline. When he didn’t respond immediately, she kept going, suckling his earlobe, then trailing her tongue down his neck to his throat. His hold on her relaxed, his hands slipping away…

Uh-oh, trouble in paradise. Megan pulled back to find that he had drifted off to sleep. Half of her screamed inwardly in frustration, urging her to shake him awake, while the other half wanted to be understanding and supportive, and let him be.

With a sigh, she climbed off of him. Another wild night bites the dust. She eased his legs onto the bed, then covered him up with an afghan.

She knew sleep would not be coming anytime soon, so she propped herself up against the headboard with her laptop and called up one of her clients’ Web sites, getting a start on the updates she had planned to add tomorrow. Her mind kept wandering, though, her eyes straying to the man asleep beside her. Finally she abandoned her work and sat back, watching the deep rise and fall of Michael’s chest in the darkness.

I can do this. I can deal. Sacrifice is part of what makes a marriage work, right? But I miss making love with my gorgeous husband.

Before she married Michael, Megan had been a virgin, such an innocent that she didn’t even know what an orgasm felt like. The breathtaking sensation of taking flight on the wings of sweet ecstasy, being overwhelmed by it, screaming with the sheer delight of it…he had introduced her to that, and so much more. He had shown her that sex wasn’t merely a joining of bodies, but an unending discovery of sensual joys and emotions she never knew existed. Now she couldn’t live without it. She enjoyed it. She craved it. And oh, how she ached for more.

The elevator stopped on the thirty-first floor. Megan watched the doors open.

I should bail now, while I have the chance.

Two men squeezed past her to exit.

I’m not moving. Why am I not moving?

Another man boarded.

It’s now or never. Here I go…safety is just two steps away…

The doors slid shut.

I must be totally nuts.

The new guy zeroed in on Megan immediately, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her curves as he maneuvered past her to get to the floor buttons. For the gazillionth time, she felt stripped bare. Sure, she had dressed this way on purpose, but for the benefit of only one man. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would be running this gauntlet.

Note to self: Kill Jeannie for talking me into this…

Twenty-four hours ago

Jeannie selected a fortune cookie. “Hon, this is way worse’n you think it is.”

Megan stopped picking at her lunch and regarded her best friend. “What, I’ll be psychologically scarred for life because I haven’t gotten any for three weeks?”

“Don’t you get it? This is just the beginnin’!” Jeannie declared, her concern bringing out her honey-magnolia drawl. “It’s only the reason my folks got divorced.”

Megan dropped a chopstick. “Divorced?”

“Dad was a workaholic,” Jeannie explained. “Gone before dawn, not home ‘til dark, workin’ weekends, always tired. He an’ Mom hardly ever did anything together, an’ they never talked—”

Megan winced. “This is just like Michael…”

“—while Mom was the obedient little wifey who didn’t lift a finger to change things. You wanna be a well-heeled doormat while you watch your marriage starve to death?”

It wouldn’t come to that. Would it? “This project is very important to Michael,” Megan said supportively. “His bosses have high expectations—he wants to do a good job. And this could open a lot of doors for him.”

“Your job is important, too, isn’t it?” Jeannie pointed out. “You’re a damn good Webmistress—that’s why your clients expect a lot from you. You work your butt off, but you still manage to run your house an’ have some verve left over for your hubby at the end o’ the day. There’s somethin’ outta kilter here.”

Megan pushed her plate away. “Michael’s just…he loses sight of the rest of the world sometimes when he gets this involved in his work. I’m happy that he’s happy. Really.”

Jeannie snorted. “Bull. You’re pissed ‘cause he doesn’t miss you as much as you miss him.”

Busted! Megan slumped guiltily in her chair. “Yes! I’m angry. And selfish. And awful.”

“And horny.”Jeannie broke open her fortune cookie and took a gander at her fortune. “‘You have a unique personality.’ Damn straight!” She looked pointedly at Megan. “Why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

“He has enough pressure on him as it is.” Sullenly, Megan slid even lower in her seat. “Besides, I thought your soul mate is supposed to know stuff like this, and you don’t have to tell him.”

Jeannie raised an eyebrow. “So that’s your solution? ‘Someday my prince will come to his senses’?”

Megan grabbed a fortune cookie, staying stubbornly silent. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it. She cracked open the cookie and uncurled the message within:

Unless you change direction, you‘re likely to end up where you‘re going.

She stared bleakly at the words. “Crap.”

Jeannie tossed a couple of bills on the waiting check, then pulled Megan to her feet, hooking an arm comfortingly through hers. “Now now, don’t cloud up,” she said as they headed out of the restaurant. “It’s not necessarily Michael’s fault. Some men just get caught up in the breadwinner thing. They’re stupid that way. What you gotta do is reorder his priorities.”

“I’m trying!” Megan said with exasperation, as they emerged into the afternoon sunshine. “I make romantic dinners, I dress up for him—”

“Naw, hon, it’s time to play hardball,” Jeannie said matter-of-factly. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses as they strolled down the boardwalk. “You gotta seduce him.”

“I’ve already tried that, sort of,” Megan said morosely. “By the time he comes home, he’s too wiped out.”

Jeannie shrugged. “So go to him.”

Megan looked quizzically at her. “You mean kidnap him at work? Take him to a motel?”

“You told me he works through lunches, didn’t you? Eats at his desk? So you do it right in his office.”

Megan blanched. “In public? Me? Hellooo. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Megan the Mouse? I couldn’t even mess around with Michael in his backseat when we were dating.”

Jeannie put an arm around her shoulders. “Megan, my shrinkin’ violet, the time has come to grow up,” she said firmly. “This is your clueless workaholic sweetie you’re fightin’ for! You’re bein’ replaced by a shapely li’l draftin’ board here! Listen up—the stakes are high, and you gotta bring your most formidable weaponry to bear.”

“Uh…weaponry?” This was sounding more harebrained by the second.

Jeannie waved a hand expansively in the air. “Do blueprints have a face that launched a thousand ships? Can a board o’ directors make a man squirm an’ beg an’ scream? Can designin’ a friggin’ library make Michael’s cock rock-solid hard?”

Megan gulped. “Good God, Jeannie, I can’t do all that!”

“Sure you can!” Jeannie declared. “That’s my point. In the desirable human female contest, you beat Michael’s job big-time.” She continued sauntering down the sidewalk.

Oh, to have Jeannie’s brassy confidence. Megan hurried to catch up to her friend. “Even if you’re right—even if I were a drop-dead, sex-drenched seductress—this is all moot. The higher-ups frown on spouses visiting during work hours. We’re considered a distraction.”

“Ha! They must have a few brain cells after all.” Jeannie grinned at Megan. “Rules were made to be broken, darlin’. Good stimo for your marriage, to put a little danger in it. Not to mention, it’d be sexy as hell.”

Megan was feeling light-headed. She was probably hyperventilating. “I’d never get away with it. I don’t belong there—I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Pshaw! Not if you hide in plain sight. Act like you’re a messenger or somethin’. Wear some booty shorts an’ a sexy li’l top—the tighter the better. No bra, either.”

“No bra?! I never go out without a—”

“You gonna do this or not?”

Megan tried to picture herself in a professional business office, in front of God and man, peeling off her clothes, having wild animal sex with Michael on his desk, or in his chair, or—

She shook her head. Vehemently. “No. No. Forget it, Jeannie. I’ll think of something else.”

Megan stood in front of her full-length closet mirror, studying herself with a critical eye. She was decked out in a brand-new sheer negligé with matching G-string. Her makeup was perfect, and her hair looked just right, cascading lushly down her shoulders. She was a sight to wreck a freight train, as Jeannie would say. For the final touch, she selected one of Michael’s favorite perfumes and dabbed some behind each ear, plus a dash between her breasts. Getting herself ready to surprise him had been like foreplay; her head and body buzzed with all sorts of sexy scenarios for the evening ahead.

She heard the hum of the garage door opening: Michael was home. Scurrying as fast as her stilettos would carry her, she hurried to the kitchen. She could hear his car pulling in as she took the ice bucket and chilled Dom Pérignon out of the refrigerator and set them on the dining table beside two crystal champagne flutes. She positioned one of the dining chairs to face the door to the garage, then sat, draping herself artfully, ready to ambush Michael as he came inside. Propping one long, shapely leg on the dining table, she arranged her negligé for maximum effect, then settled back and waited.

And waited. But the door didn’t open. Megan glanced at the clock on the wall. One minute…two. From the garage, silence.

Three minutes. Too long. She got up and cracked open the door.

Michael was still in his car, behind the wheel, dead asleep. Megan didn’t know whether to strangle him or burst into tears.

She fetched a robe to put on over her negligé—no point in making him uncomfortable, too—then walked him inside half-asleep, undressed him and poured him into bed. After that, she marched back out to her romantic tableau and snatched up the champagne, popping the cork without ceremony. A short detour through the kitchen for a jumbo bag of Cheetos, then out to the balcony, where she plopped down in the dark, with a lovely view of the condos next door. Perfect conditions for stuffing her face with trash food, swigging bubbly and sulking.

A light winked on in one of the condos across the way. The curtains were open; Megan could see into the living room. A man and woman had just come home. They were giggling like teenagers—probably had a few drinks in them—and kissing each other as they fumbled with their clothes.

The absolute worst thing Megan could imagine watching right now was Romeo and Juliet over there doing a real live porno movie. That’s it. I’m outta here…

Only problem was, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She stared, transfixed, as Juliet backed up against the wall. Romeo pulled open her blouse, bending down to tongue her exposed nipples. Juliet squirmed, her head lolling back and forth.

Megan could feel her own body responding. She licked her lips as a sensual warmth spread through her, centering deep in her core. Juliet knelt, tugging Romeo’s jeans and boxers off of his hips, taking his stiff rod in her hand. She traced her tongue slowly along the length of it as she gently raked her fingernails over his balls. Romeo threw his head back as she took him in her mouth and sucked hungrily on him.

With a moan, Megan shut her eyes, trying to tamp down her rising desire. You‘re making yourself crazy. You came out here to get your mind off sex. But she couldn’t help it—she peeked again. Romeo was sitting Juliet down on the dining table, sliding her dress up to her hips, pulling off her panties. Then he pushed inside her and started fucking her with gusto. Juliet laid back on the table, her mouth hanging open in dizzy ecstasy as he vigorously pumped away.

It was both maddening and weirdly arousing, sitting here in the dark, watching these two strangers bang each other’s brains out. Megan realized she was rocking in rhythm with the writhing lovers. Her own pussy was aching, begging for release. Her hand had unconsciously found its way down her belly…her fingers were sliding beneath the tiny patch of lacy fabric between her legs. She was wet, really wet. She could easily work herself up to orgasm…but she pulled her hand away. It wouldn’t feel the same without Michael.

She sat back, resolutely crossing her arms, as the couple pounded their way to sexual nirvana—Juliet convulsing wildly, arms and legs flailing, as Romeo thrust spasmodically into her a few final times. Megan groaned softly as a sexually charged shudder rippled over her, leaving her insanely aroused but unfulfilled.

There was nothing like extreme frustration for providing a head slap of crystal clarity.

Michael is married to me, not his job. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let us both be deprived of all the fruits of wedded bliss. I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I will.

The elevator stopped on forty-seven to pick up another passenger. Megan was still nervous as hell, but getting used to the ogling from each newcomer…even liking it a little. Hell, she worked out every day to keep this body trim and toned. She might as well be proud of it.

The new guy inhaled the chicken-and-garlic aroma as he boarded. He leaned toward Megan. “I wouldn’t mind some of that.”

“The pizza would be nice, too,” a guy in back deadpanned.

The joke was such an eyeroll, Megan couldn’t help but let a giggle slip free. Like an avalanche following a snowball, the whole group burst into laughter.

The elevator reached the sixty-second floor. As Megan stepped out, she glanced over her shoulder. “Best ride I’ve had all month, boys,” she said airily, playing her part for all she was worth. “’Bye now.”

They gave her a host of waves, grins and cries of “Later!” and “See ya!” Then the doors closed and she was alone, hearing nothing but the nervous pounding of her heart.

Carpe diem, she thought as she pushed open the wide glass door to Tandy Architectural.

She’d never been here before, but she knew Michael’s office was in the northwest corner. She had timed her arrival to coincide with lunch hour, when—according to what Michael had mentioned in the past—everyone would be gone. Except him, of course.

Sure enough, the place was deserted. Megan allowed herself a small sigh of relief: no witnesses. She made a beeline down the aisle past rows of empty cubicles, turned the corner at the far end—

And skidded to a stop. There was a woman sitting outside Michael’s corner office, eating lunch at her desk.

Megan ducked back out of sight behind a partition. The woman must be Bonnie, Michael’s secretary. But she was supposed to be gone like everybody else! Damn damn damn.

Cautiously, Megan took another look. Bonnie was only on her yogurt; a sandwich and an apple still sat on her desk. Megan needed a distraction.

She stole up the aisle, scanning desktops, bulletin boards, file carts, searching for anything she could use. There—in the kitchenette alcove. A countdown timer on the fridge. Megan set it for thirty seconds, then raced back down the aisle, crouching inside the last cubicle to wait.

The timer went off with a piercing beep-beep-beep that could make ears bleed. It was marvelously annoying, even better than Megan had hoped for. She snuck a peek over the top of the cubicle. Bonnie was wincing, yogurt spoon halfway to her mouth. Wrinkling her nose in irritation, she rose and headed up front. Megan ducked down until the secretary passed. Then it was a sprint for Michael’s office.

Megan shut the door and leaned against it. She had actually made it inside without dropping the pizza: another small victory. As she caught her breath, she took quick stock of the office.

Amazingly, Michael was so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t even looked up. He was at his desk, in shirtsleeves, poring over a graphic on his monitor. A cafeteria sandwich, still in its plastic wrapping, sat forlornly at his elbow, half-buried by a litter of design sketches. In fact, every surface of the office was cluttered with drawings and blueprints, except for the comfy-looking leather couch off to one side.

Why is it so bright in here? Jeez, could be the thousand windows. There were two whole walls of them—huge picture windows with clear views of the office buildings across the street. Plus, there were no curtains, no blinds, no way to shut out the rest of the world. Not exactly a tailor-made setting for a modest young woman interested in jumping her husband’s bones.

At least I can lock the door…oh, crap. There wasn’t any lock on the door. Lovely.

Steady, Megan. Danger is sexy, remember?

She crossed to the couch. There was a coffee table there, scattered with more sketches. Carefully she collected them into a pile safely out of the way. She opened the pizza box, taking out paper plates, napkins and a small container, which she set aside for later. She glanced at Michael: still oblivious. Putting a slice of pizza on a plate, she tiptoed to his desk and set it down in front of him, careful not to get any cheese on his drawings.

“Wha—!” He looked up, startled. “Megan?”

She put a finger to her lips, pointing to the door. “Bonnie doesn’t exactly know I’m here,” she said softly. “I kind of snuck past her.”

Michael’s mouth dropped open in wonder. Megan giggled, enjoying his surprise. She had never seen him taken so completely off guard.

He sputtered for a moment before he could form coherent words. “What are you doing here?” he asked, matching her quiet tone.

“Having lunch with my husband,” she replied sweetly.

He looked her outfit up and down, impressed. “So this is what got you up here.”

She did a runway model’s turn for him. “Do you like it?”

He nodded, making an inarticulate noise of appreciation as he took in the show. She felt a bit shy under his gaze, but exhilarated. There was a world of difference when her own husband was doing the staring.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” he finally said.

Coyly, she smiled. “I was hoping I might give you an appetite.”

He chuckled softly. “You have no idea.”

He certainly didn’t seem preoccupied with his job anymore. Megan heard Jeannie’s parting instructions in her head: Work it, hon, just work it. She pulled off her cap, shaking her head, letting her hair tumble down. “Let’s eat,” she said invitingly. She took his pizza and returned to the couch, hips swaying, then sat, casually arranging herself in a pleasing pose, the way she had practiced in front of her mirror this morning.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Michael picked up his phone and hit a button. “Bonnie?…I’ll be on a conference call for a while. No interruptions, okay?…Thanks.” He pressed an outside line, set the receiver down and smiled at Megan.

She patted the empty seat beside her. “Come and get it.”

Megan could hardly believe it. Michael was awake, and he was with her. They munched on pizza as they talked in hushed, intimate voices about everyday stuff like the new baseball season, upcoming movies and the dog they wanted to get. Michael was relaxed, yet there was a charged energy coming off of him in waves. And the way he looked at her…Megan couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had trained all his focus on her, only her. She felt the same giddy joy she’d felt back on their first date.

They polished off the pizza in record time. Michael spotted the little container sitting unobtrusively next to the pizza box. “What’s in there?”

“A surprise,” Megan replied enigmatically.

He reached for it, but she playfully batted his hand away. “Patience.”

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her, and she smiled coquettishly. “This is very special dessert…a feast for the senses. First you must close your eyes.”

Intrigued, he obeyed her, settling back on the couch and shutting his eyes, a half smile of anticipation on his face.

Megan opened the container, revealing a piece of freshly made tiramisu, one of his favorite desserts. She gathered up a forkful and waved it slowly under his nose, letting him get a whiff of the cocoa dusting the top.

His smile broadened. “Tiramisu…!”

She touched the confection to his lips. “Open,” she said softly.

He opened his mouth, and she slid the cake inside. He closed his lips over the fork as she slowly drew it out. With his tongue, he rolled the tiramisu around in his mouth, letting the sweetness of the custard mingle with the bitterness of the espresso. As he hummed deep in his throat, Megan watched his face relax into an expression of exquisite satisfaction.

He swallowed. “More, please.” He opened his mouth without prompting, eyes still shut.

Here goes nothing. Megan met his parted lips with her own. With a cry of surprise, he returned her kiss with an enthusiasm he hadn’t shown her in weeks. His tongue tasted of rum and custard as it swirled against hers.

She left his mouth, trailing creamy kisses along his faintly stubbled jaw as she loosened his tie. He caressed her arms, making delicious little noises all the while. Once she had his tie undone, she started on his shirt buttons, nuzzling her way down the broad expanse of his chest as she went. “I don’t know why your bosses have that silly rule about spouses not visiting,” she murmured against his warm skin. “How could they possibly think we would be a distraction?”

“Babe…” His voice was husky with desire.

To her delight, he was already hardening under his slacks. She might not know much about the art of seduction, but whatever she was doing, it was working like gangbusters. The realization set off sizzling little sparks of anticipation inside her.

As she unbuckled his belt, his grip on her arms tightened. “My God, what are you up to now?” he panted. “Bonnie’s right outside…”

She unzipped his fly. “Then I suppose we’d better keep our voices down.”

“The door,” he gasped softly. “It doesn’t lock.”

She gave him a Cheshire-cat smile. “The fun of breaking the rules is that you might get caught.”

He stared at her in amazement—and a wicked little grin appeared on his face. “You’re full of surprises today.”

“Not the shy little wife you left at home this morning, am I?” Feeling curiously empowered, Megan slid off of the couch, settling herself between his knees. She worked his cock out of his briefs. It was still semisoft, warm and throbbing between her fingers. Wrapping her hand around the base of his shaft, she leaned close to inhale his intoxicating scent.

She stole a glance at him. He seemed utterly entranced by her hand, his eyes dark with desire. His gaze rose to meet hers, and she felt his body shudder as his cock twitched and hardened further. “Shy little wife, my ass,” he murmured.

With a smile, she took him in her mouth. He loved getting hard this way. Keeping her head still, she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft. He leaned back with a quiet, lustful groan, and she felt his manhood growing, filling her mouth, until he was butting against the back of her throat. Only then did she begin to move, raising up until only the swollen head remained between her lips. She brushed against it with her tongue in rapid, feather-light strokes, tickling and teasing, tasting the pre-cum at the tip, before plunging back down on it again.

As she made love to him with her mouth, Michael squirmed with pleasure, his ass rubbing against the leather of the couch. He buried his fingers in her hair as soft moans escaped him. “Do you have any idea how good this feels?” he whispered.

She increased her pace, pushing her tongue more insistently against him as she bobbed up and down. He began moving with her, pumping hungrily in and out of her mouth. She could tell he was getting close—

“Dammit, babe, you’ve got me so hot, I could screw you right here,” he panted.

Megan shivered as his words sent a delectably carnal flush scorching through her like wildfire. Slowly, she let him slip out of her mouth. As he moaned in confused protest, she stared at his throbbing prick as it pulsed in her hand, glistening wet.

She could feel the enormous windows glaring at her like wide-open, scandalized eyes. But here was Michael, splayed half-naked on the couch, yearning for her with a passion he hadn’t shown her in what seemed like forever.

Could she do it? Could she not do it?

Looking away from the unforgiving glass, Megan got to her feet, undid her shorts and let them drop. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The air felt cool on her naked skin.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked enticingly.

“Sweet fucking God,” Michael breathed. He looked as if he were about to come right then. Licking his lips, he glanced at the door, deliberating—but only for an instant. He grabbed his slacks and briefs and shoved them to his knees. “Hell, we’re already living dangerously.” He stroked his rod invitingly. “C’mere.”

Stepping out of her shorts, Megan turned her back to him—he had a particular fondness for her derrière—and straddled his thighs, swaying her firm ass close to his face. He caressed it appreciatively, dropping a quick kiss on each cheek, then slid a hand between her legs and gently eased his middle finger inside her pussy. She sighed blissfully in response. She was already hot and wet, more than ready for him.

As she focused on the divine manipulations of his finger, he chuckled close to her ear. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She smiled as she realized…“I am. Immensely.”

He ran the head of his cock along her inner thigh. “Where’s the rest of my dessert?” he teased.

She took him in her hand, caressing him, inviting him inside. He guided her on to his shaft, and she sank down until he was buried as deep as he could go.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured against her neck. He began to move, with delectable slowness. Megan braced her hands on his muscled thighs as she rocked up and down on him, matching his rhythm. He felt so good, his hardness tight inside her velvet softness. His hands left her hips, pushing her top up to set her breasts free. He cupped their fullness, trapping her erect nipples between his fingers. She whimpered, arching into his hands, urging him on.

Michael picked up his pace, his thrusts deep and powerful, as he slid one hand back down to her snatch. Megan gasped as his fingers found her clit, rubbing against that sensitive nubbin with each stroke of his cock. She rolled her hips, grinding her crotch into his fingers as she bounced more vigorously, listening to the slap of her ass against his naked lap.

She ventured a look at the big bay window looming before her. She imagined some lonely office wonk in the building across the street…perhaps choking down a bland vending-machine lunch as he scanned these windows with binoculars in hopes of experiencing a little vicarious excitement. Day after day, he would strike out: nothing but empty offices, or a few stressed-out wage slaves working through their lunch hours. Today though, his restless search would come to a screaming halt. At this moment, he would be staring at a practically naked, red-haired woman, her legs spread wide as she had her pussy stuffed by a man’s thick, hard cock.

Last night, Megan had been the voyeur. Now that the roles were reversed, she had expected to be ashamed…but surprisingly, she felt confident, beautiful and decidedly aroused at the notion that someone might be watching. For her, Megan the Mouse, it was a gloriously emancipating realization. She wanted to savor this moment, naked on her husband’s lap, fucking him in his office on his lunch hour, revealing this daring aspect of herself that neither of them had known she possessed.

She quivered as she pictured herself through her observer’s eyes. She hadn’t expected exhibitionism to be such a turn-on.

Michael was nuzzling her throat, kissing his way up to her ear. She felt his teeth nipping her lobe, his tongue leaving a gossamer trail across the sensitive skin inside. His hands were still busy, one fondling her breasts, the other circling and teasing her clit, driving her even higher as he continued to piston in and out of her. The urge to moan loudly—hell, to scream—was almost irresistible. Megan put a knuckle in her mouth and sucked on it to quell her moans. Michael was having the same problem; she could hear his rhythmic panting as he struggled to stay quiet.

Megan pictured her voyeur watching as she undulated on Michael’s lap while he played with her breasts and toyed with her clit, making her jerk and tremble. Did the sight of her husband screwing her make this clandestine watcher hot, too? Had he already abandoned his stale sandwich to unzip his fly and pull out his dick? Was he pumping in time with Michael’s thrusts, jacking himself off as he watched the two go at it?

Then the window and whoever might be watching didn’t matter anymore, as Megan lost herself to the rising tide of her ecstasy. Her whole body was quivering, her hips gyrating uncontrollably. She fell back against Michael’s chest, latching on to his neck, tucking her head against his throat as she squirmed desperately on his cock, trying to take him even deeper. He pounded into her, faster, faster.

“Almost there, babe,” he grunted against her cheek. “Almost…there…”

“Me, too…” Megan wanted to reach the pinnacle right with him. She shut her eyes, blocking out everything but him.

He pinched one nipple hard as he pressed down on her clit. The erotic shock sent her bucking forward in his arms, her pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain. She felt her desire soaring, cresting, bursting into orgasm. Clutching wildly at him, she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her cries as her body was wracked by shudders of sheer rapture. His hold on her tightened, and with a low groan of release, he came, too, emptying himself inside her with several final thrusts.

They fell back together against the couch. “That’s the best damn dessert I’ve ever had,” Michael said, out of breath.

“We aim to please,” Megan smiled, equally spent.

He laughed softly. “I can’t believe we did this.”

That was the understatement of forever. Giggling happily, Megan climbed off of him—oh, she was going be sore tomorrow—and went about straightening the coffee table, putting his design sketches back where she found them. “Time to return to the real world.”

He stopped her, taking the sketches away. “No, Megan. This is a job.” He tossed the papers aside, then took her hands, holding them tightly. “You, my beautiful, brave, sexy Megan—you are the real world. I won’t lose sight of it again.”

She got a little teary-eyed at that. Shyly, she looked down. Michael tipped up her chin, giving her a tender smile as he kissed her fingers. Then he waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “It sure was fun being reminded, though.” She laughed, and he grinned at her.

They cleaned themselves up and dressed quickly. Megan was back in her perky little outfit, tucking her hair under her cap, before Michael had retied his tie. She looked exactly as she had when she’d entered his office…with the addition of a rosy afterglow.

She hooked a thumb toward the door. “Any ideas on how to sneak me out of here?”

Michael made a show of looking surprised. “You mean you don’t have that all plotted out, too?”

She smirked at him. “I thought I should leave something for you to do.”

He made a face at her as he picked up his phone and pushed a button. “Bonnie, I’m available again. Oh, and would you go down to Printing and pick up those blueprints for the east atrium? I’ll need them for my two o’clock… Thank you.” He hung up, then crossed to the door and cracked it open. “The coast is clear.”

As Megan collected her pizza box, Michael gave her a last, lingering kiss. “Thanks for lunch. Especially dessert.”

Megan smoothed down his collar and straightened his tie, then nodded with satisfaction. As she opened the door, she turned back to him, her eyes sparkling impishly. “How about Greek next time?”

She was rewarded with a broad smile from him as she slipped out.

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All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

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Published in Great Britain 2009.
MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Robyn Gries 2010

ISBN 978-1-4089-2777-9