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Vincent

Weak

By Jennifer CypertPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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My heart is beating and I have little wispy butterflies in my stomach as I return with the waters. I wasn't gone long, but I was glad to be back. There is something about his presence that intimidated and pulled me to him. I felt sexy and alive when I was around him and yet not myself at all. I looked forward to coming to work, just so I could sit across from him in the cubical.

Vincent is sitting at his desk, his long legs stretched out, one leg draped lazily over the other, hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed. I set my water down on my desk and brought his to him. Vincent looks up at me, eyes sparkling. I am dazzled by them yet again as his pupils dilate ever so slightly. He untangled his legs placing both feet flat on the floor, knees slightly parted. He reached up to take the water from my hand. Our fingers touch as he takes it, sending fire and ice throughout my body. Thank God this building stayed at sixty degrees during the summer, and that Rose was menopausal. I would be a walking inferno in mid August if it weren't for those two factors. I look away from him, take a steady deep breath and exhale before taking a sip.

"So, back to the subject at hand," he stated, breaking the silence.

"What... the presentation?" I inquired a little more than confused.

"You," he spoke, commanding me to let him feel up my soul. My breath caught at the mere word. I suddenly felt light headed, in need of my chair before I needed an ice pack... a band aid... smelling salts. I rolled my chair facing opposite his. I folded my legs in my pencil skirt, tucking them under. The act of our shoes touching might reveal too much of what I decided not to wear.

"Well, let's see... I graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a bachelors in graphics design, and a minor in business. Then, decided to move here, to the Big Apple. I have a passion for painting. A need for it, like breathing. There isn't much of an art movement in the Heartland as it is here, which makes me sad."

"Fascinating. What medium do you enjoy using the most?" he inquired, the corners of his lips raising slightly.

"I love high quality acrylics and pouring mediums the best. There is this one medium that I love in particular. When you use it, the colors spread on to the surface in loops similar to that of agate. The effect is mesmerizing when colors are selected properly. I love it," I say, almost feeling like I have said too much.

"I would love to see them sometime. I highly admire those are artistic," he confessed. My ego instinctively got a boner. It had been a long time since someone intrinsically valued my work.

"I would like that very much," I speak softly, touched, in utter awe. I am blushing again.

His phone chimes. Vincent looks down at the phone. "The food is here. Shall we eat in the conference room?" he asks standing.

"Sure. That sounds great. The chairs are more comfortable, anyhow," I answer rattling on.

"Okay, I'll meet you there." He ambles to the exit.

I open the door to the conference room, the cold air hitting my thin white blouse. My nipples are making an appearance and there's nothing I can do about it except let it happen. I adjust the lighting to a somber, relaxed tone. The table is a gigantic cherry wood, able to hold twenty four people with enormous velvet golden amber chairs with out arms. I pick one directly in the middle. It's my favorite seat during meetings. I get to pretend to listen, because I already know what's on the memo.

Vincent walks in, carrying a large brown paper bag, sitting the food down across from me.

"Hey, I'll be right back. I forgot to grab our drinks," I hurry to get up to get them.

"Alright, I'll be here."

"I hope so," I singsong back to him as I leave.

He snickers behind me. It must have been at least fifty five in there. The temperature was bearable in comparison. Poor Rose... I rush to get our drinks, nearly snagging my nude panty hose on the corner of a cubical, stumbling in my heels, bumping my knee on the next one. I refrain from calling out to the smarting annoyance.

When I return, there is a beautiful assortment of color arranged in the center of the table. My nipples return to ice cubes, announcing their return to full attention. The angry hunger goddess is threatening to rip her way to rage war. I hurry to sit down, kind of hoping he didn't notice either one.

"Help yourself, there is enough for three," he encouraged. We eat, in silence, forgetting ourselves, indulging in each flavor and texture. I finish right before I start to feel too full, laying my chopsticks down. They immediately roll on to the floor. I forgot the edge slightly curves downward. Getting on my hands and knees is no easy feat in a pencil skirt.

"Allow me." Vincent bends down before I can react. I feel the tip of one slowly racing up the top of my right foot. I exhale sharply, the black plastic tickling and burning as it inches to my calve. He meanders to the inside my inner thigh, spreading my legs as far as they will go with his other hand. Vincent traces down the center of my vulva, making me wish that I had suddenly wore something sluttier. My loins turn into a hot menacing blaze as he moves it top to bottom. A moan escapes my open mouth, encouraging him to speed up his rhythm. The fire licks up my flesh in jealous waves, demanding thought, sound, light.

"I've wanted you since the day I saw you," he growled, his mouth sucking in my flesh, still afflicting my soon to be creamy center.

"Then what are we still doing here?" I say struggling to make words. My insides are clenching and releasing, trying to keep up with the madness. I start to feel a salacious shift rippling through my loins.

"You are so close, Jocelyn. I can hear it in your breath. I want to take you, just not here. I want to know what you feel like, so cum for me." he commands of my body.

fiction
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About the Creator

Jennifer Cypert

A lover of all the impossibles if only they are in my head.

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