Under Wraps: A Secret Baby Quarantine Office Romance (Love Under Lockdown Book 7)
could see the ripple of every one of his back muscles. I couldn’t see his face, but I figured it was in the same sort of neutral, semi-meditative expression I had seen while we were working the day before.“Please dress in appropriate work clothes,” Damien said, not even looking up as I sat down.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor as I pushed back from the table.
It had been another gamble, like saying I couldn’t sleep and asking for his help the night before. It hadn’t worked out as well as the night before had, but it was still worth a try. I wasn’t sure why Damien was being so cold and acting like nothing had happened. He had never seemed like the asshole type, so I figured there must have been something else going on.
He could have just been deep in work; I knew as well as anyone what he was like with his head deep in research. It had only been a day, and not even a full day, since I had really met him, but I had watched him work, oblivious to all around him. I guessed that there could be an earthquake and he wouldn’t notice until a bit of ceiling plaster fell onto the document he was reading. He could also have the same concerns that I did, about mixing business with pleasure. So, so much pleasure!
The firm was pretty old fashioned, still imposing dress codes and having a strict, zero-tolerance police for inter-office romance, let alone sweet, kinky fucking. While not explicitly mentioned in the handbook, it was taken as implied.
Damien was on track to partner, the first time such a thing had happened since the firm’s founding. If what happened between us got out, he probably wouldn’t even have a job anymore, let alone a promotion. I would definitely be discarded without a second thought.
I retreated to my part of the suite and got dressed as quickly as I could. Most of had I brought was pretty sexy, and some of it was really sexy. I was trying to make a strong impression on Damien, hoping he might notice me.
However, he had made it clear that he was in business mode, so I decided to go with something a bit more modest: a tasteful blouse with a thin argyle sweater to hide my figure, and a skirt that went down a bit past my knees. I considered knee-socks, but I had never really gone for the schoolgirl look. Leaving my feet entirely bare, I marched out to bravely stare down the barrel of background research.
It was almost impossible to stay focused with such supreme sexiness so close to me. I could have reached out and touch him if, I’d had that much nerve. The room got hotter as the sun got higher in the sky. Without thinking, I shed my sweater to get more comfortable. My massive tits were straining against the material of my shirt.
To be fair, this happened with pretty much every buttoned shirt I had ever worn. My tits were so big that they never quite fit inside entirely, the material always parting around the fourth or fifth button, giving a generous view of the healthy, pink flesh beneath. It also didn’t help that, no matter how long or short my skirt was, my ass was pretty hard to ignore, my hips wiggling as I walked, my tits bouncing in time.
It was quite a display even going down to the corner store. The beach was even worse; even the most modest of summer clothes made me come across like a sex kitten, let alone a bathing suit, or God forbid, a bikini. Horny boys from 19 to 90 literally drooled over me. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had gone swimming.
It didn’t end with the sweater. As the day went on and the temperature rose, the buttons on my shirt began a downward trend. I swear I didn’t notice. I didn’t even look. I kept my eyes on the scripts as another button came loose.
I began to wonder if I had just been convenient. A toy for Damien to use for his own pleasure, never to be used again. It was this last part that upset me most. It wasn’t the idea of being used; I wanted to be used, to be controlled and submissive to my sweet master. I just couldn’t stand the thought that it wasn’t true. That Damien wasn’t really my sweet master at all, and never wanted to touch me again.
I felt a whimper come up from my throat, the idea being almost too much to bear. I barely swallowed it down in time. I had no idea what he would have done if he had heard me. Would he yell at me, berate me? Would he hurt me? Or, worst of all, would he do nothing at all? Pretend I didn’t even exist? A spanking, even with a switch, could never compare to the pain of that. To think you had an honest connection with someone, even if it was only sexual, and then find out that you were wrong.
I almost cried when it happened: a move so subtle I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it had happened at all. Just a flick of the eyes. Then another. It was true. It was real. He was looking at my tits. He wanted me, even if he shouldn’t. Even if it was wrong. He wanted me. And I wanted him.
Slowly, and without looking at him, so as to not make it obvious what I was doing, I undid another button. My shirt was flying open, barely able to contain my tits. Only the bottom three buttons were still fastened.
He took a real look then, both long and longing. His gaze pulled to my beautiful, bountiful bosom as though by magnets. Taking the