Not My Type - Sex Stories

Not My Type

... strip lights.

She caught me staring as my cock took on a life of its own under the desk. “See? That’s what he didn't do.”

I shuffled to rearrange my aching erection and snapped my attention back to her face. “Not sure I follow.”

“That reaction. That look.” She nodded in my direction. “I basically threw myself at him and he said his wife would never forgive him. Walked away.”

I eyed the way her clothes hugged her body. “I admire his strength. Not many could resist you.”

Mischief lit her face. “That include you?”

I said nothing. Tried to stare her down and ignore the urge to take a second look at her pussy. She made it doubly difficult by widening the gap another half step. I held her gaze and willed my cock to wither. To not betray me.

Zoë smiled. Stood and circled my desk to stand alongside my chair. I smelled danger. Sensed the unbridled need in her voice. “Aren't you curious?”

I swallowed. “Curiosity killed the cat.” Slid my gaze up to meet hers. She bit her lip, turned to face the wall behind me and sidled closer, her thigh brushing mine. Then pressing firmer.

We both regarded the bulge in my cargo pants that I tried to cover with my hands. She inched forward, shuffling her stance until the armrest of the chair nudged the material of her skirt.

My throat dried completely when she rose on tiptoes and lowered herself, gasping when contact was made. The chair rocked as she ground her pussy against the armrest then stepped back.

The ...

... unmistakable scent of arousal met my nose and I stared dead ahead at the desk surface, not risking the glance I knew would be my undoing.

A tiny chuckle drifted and she dropped a hand to brush mine. “You're good.”

In a daze, I croaked, “No, I'm bad.”

I let her fingertips wander. Curl beneath my palm. Lift. She placed my hand on the armrest, and her juices slid against my skin as I gripped it.

My knuckles whitened. Maybe I thought inaction was a good defence.See, honey, she came onto me and I couldn't do anything about it. Nah, flimsy. I had to face up to the fact I wanted to be there. Wanted it to happen. Had lusted over it happening from the day of the interview.

Yet still I stared at the desk. Did nothing when she inched forward again. Nothing when she lifted. The only outward change was my breath hitching as her pussy made contact with my knuckles.

She ground against me, impossibly slick lips staining my skin with arousal. With infidelity. It oozed. Drizzled over my fingertips and dripped to the floor. I longed to taste. Held the armrest tighter, fighting a losing battle of willpower.

God she was hot. Soaked. The reversing beeps of a forklift below filtered into the office to join her soft panting and the clicks of wet skin on skin.

She slithered back. Crouched and kissed my juice laden fingertips. Stood, peeling my grip away and turned my hand face up. I let her. Did nothing except sigh, heart rate spiking as her pussy slipped onto my palm and her juices ...