When I arrived at work, I bumped in

When I arrived at work, I bumped into Sara on my way to the elevator. We made plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor. Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Mr. Ryan’s office door was closed as usual, so I couldn’t tell if he was here yet. I turned on the computer and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I sat in this chair.
I knew I would see him this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood he would be in.
Although his temper had been even worse lately, his last words to me yesterday had been, “Get the garter belt too.” And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now. Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had he meant by that? Did he think he was going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if he rips it . . . I stopped myself before I could finish.
Of course he wouldn’t rip it. I was never going to give him the chance.
Keep telling yourself that, Mills.
Answering some e-mails, editing the Papadakis contract for intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the situation for a bit, and about an hour later his office door opened. Looking up, I was met with a very businesslike Mr. Ryan. His dark, two-button suit was impeccable, complemented perfectly by the pop of color in his red silk tie. He looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild man who had fucked me in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded once and turned back to his office.
Okay, so that’s how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren’t different. Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I finished my degree.
I followed him into his office and took a seat. I began going over the list of tasks and appointments that needed his attention. He listened without comment, jotting things down or entering them into his computer when needed.
“There’s a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this afternoon. Your father and brother are also planning to attend. It will probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared . . .” And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I’d been dreading.
“Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next month,” I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to see what was taking so long. He was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the desk, his face completely void of any expression.
“Will you be accompanying me?” he asked.
“Yes.” My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea what he was thinking as we looked at each other. “It’s in the terms of the scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it’d be good to have me there to, um, help manage your affairs.”
“Make all the necessary arrangements,” he said with an air of finality as he resumed typing on his computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and began walking toward the door.
“Miss Mills.”
I turned to look at him, and even though he didn’t meet my gaze, he almost seemed nervous. Well, that was different.
“My mother has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week.”
“Oh.” I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. “Well, please tell her I’ll look at my schedule.” I turned to leave again.
“I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend.”
Turning back slowly, I saw he was now staring at me, and he definitely looked uncomfortable. “And why exactly should you do that?”
“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “apparently she has someone she would like you to meet.”
This was new. I’d known the Ryans for years, and although Susan might have mentioned a name in passing, she’d never actively tried to fix me up with anyone.
“Your mother is trying to set me up?” I asked walking back toward his desk and folding my arms over my chest.
“So it seems.” Something in his face didn’t quite fit his nonchalant answer.
“Why?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
His brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. “How the hell would I know? It’s not like we sit around discussing you,” he growled. “Maybe she’s worried that with that sparkling personality of yours you’ll end up an old spinster wearing muumuus and living in a house full of cats.”
Leaning forward with my palms on his desk I glared at him. “Well, maybe she should be more worried that her son will turn into a dirty old man who spends his time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores.”
Jumping out of his chair, he leaned toward me, his face furious. “You know, you are the most—” He was cut off as the phone rang. We stared fiercely at each other from across the desk, both of us breathing heavily. For a moment, I thought he would throw me across the desk. For another moment, I wanted him to. Still glaring at me, he reached for the phone.
“Yes,” he barked sharply into the receiver, his eyes never leaving mine. “George! Hello. Yes, I have a minute.”
He lowered himself back into his desk chair, and I lingered to see if he needed anything from me while he talked to Mr. Papadakis. He held up his index finger for me to wait before he slid it over his pen, rolling it across his desk as he listened to the call.
“You need me to stay?” I asked.
He nodded once before speaking into the phone, “I don’t think you’d need to be that specific at this stage, George.” The deep tenor of his voice vibrated down my spine. “Just a general outline is fine. We need to know the scope of this proposal before we can move into drafting.”
I shifted where I stood. He was such an egomaniac, making me stand here like I was holding a plate of grapes and fanning him while he spoke to a colleague.
He looked up at me and did a slight double take, his eyes dropping to my skirt. When he looked back up, his lips opened slightly, as if he would ask me something were he able. And then he reached forward, pen poised between his finger and thumb, and used the tip of it to lift the hem of my skirt up my thigh.
His eyes widened when he saw the garter.
“I understand,” he murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. “I think we can agree that’s a positive development.”
His eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to pound. When he looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto his lap and bind him to the chair with his tie.
“No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary outline.”
I slipped around his desk and sat in the chair across from him. He raised an eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between his teeth, biting down.
Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in his office, and to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.
“Yes, I see,” he said, but his voice was deeper even still, hoarse now.
My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as he did. It was as if he took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and said, “These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I’m offering you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me.”
And if he’d said that out loud, he would have been right.
“Yes,” he said again. “I think that’s the ideal path forward.”
You do, do you? I smiled at him, chewing my lip, and he gave me a devilish half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.
Mr. Ryan coughed and fumbled for his water glass. “That’s fine, George. We’ll take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline.”
I began moving my hand, thinking of his long fingers rolling the pen, those very hands grabbing my hips and waist and thighs when he drove into me in the lingerie store.
I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped. I imagined his hands and taut forearms, muscles tensing beneath skin as his fingers moved inside me. His legs in front of my face the night in the conference room, tight and sculpted, struggling to keep from thrusting.
Those eyes, on me, dark and pleading.
I looked up to see them exactly as I imagined, not watching my hand but seeing his hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be his touch doing this to me instead of my own.
At some point, his call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the silent room. He sat across from me, sweat beading his brow, his hands gripping the arms of his desk chair as if he’d been thrown into the wind.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked quietly.
I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I just did that to myself.”
His brow lifted. “Indeed.”
I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. “If that will be all, Mr. Ryan, I’ll get back to work.”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

When I arrived at work, I bumped into Sara on my way to the elevator. We made plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor. Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Mr. Ryan’s office door was closed as usual, so I couldn’t tell if he was here yet. I turned on the computer and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I sat in this chair.I knew I would see him this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood he would be in.Although his temper had been even worse lately, his last words to me yesterday had been, “Get the garter belt too.” And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now. Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had he meant by that? Did he think he was going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if he rips it . . . I stopped myself before I could finish.Of course he wouldn’t rip it. I was never going to give him the chance.Keep telling yourself that, Mills.Answering some e-mails, editing the Papadakis contract for intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the situation for a bit, and about an hour later his office door opened. Looking up, I was met with a very businesslike Mr. Ryan. His dark, two-button suit was impeccable, complemented perfectly by the pop of color in his red silk tie. He looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild man who had fucked me in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.“Are you ready to begin?”“Yes, sir.”He nodded once and turned back to his office.Okay, so that’s how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren’t different. Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I finished my degree.I followed him into his office and took a seat. I began going over the list of tasks and appointments that needed his attention. He listened without comment, jotting things down or entering them into his computer when needed.“There’s a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this afternoon. Your father and brother are also planning to attend. It will probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared . . .” And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I’d been dreading.“Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next month,” I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to see what was taking so long. He was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the desk, his face completely void of any expression.“Will you be accompanying me?” he asked.“Yes.” My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea what he was thinking as we looked at each other. “It’s in the terms of the scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it’d be good to have me there to, um, help manage your affairs.”“Make all the necessary arrangements,” he said with an air of finality as he resumed typing on his computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and began walking toward the door.“Miss Mills.”I turned to look at him, and even though he didn’t meet my gaze, he almost seemed nervous. Well, that was different.“My mother has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week.”“Oh.” I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. “Well, please tell her I’ll look at my schedule.” I turned to leave again.“I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend.”Turning back slowly, I saw he was now staring at me, and he definitely looked uncomfortable. “And why exactly should you do that?”“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “apparently she has someone she would like you to meet.”This was new. I’d known the Ryans for years, and although Susan might have mentioned a name in passing, she’d never actively tried to fix me up with anyone.“Your mother is trying to set me up?” I asked walking back toward his desk and folding my arms over my chest.“So it seems.” Something in his face didn’t quite fit his nonchalant answer.“Why?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.His brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. “How the hell would I know? It’s not like we sit around discussing you,” he growled. “Maybe she’s worried that with that sparkling personality of yours you’ll end up an old spinster wearing muumuus and living in a house full of cats.”Leaning forward with my palms on his desk I glared at him. “Well, maybe she should be more worried that her son will turn into a dirty old man who spends his time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores.”Melompat keluar dari kursi-nya, ia membungkuk ke arahku, wajahnya marah. "Anda tahu, Anda yang paling —" ia terputus ketika telepon berdering. Kami berpandangan sengit dari di meja, baik kita bernapas berat. Untuk beberapa saat, saya pikir dia akan melemparkan saya di meja. Untuk beberapa saat, aku ingin dia. Masih mencolok di saya, ia mencapai untuk telepon."Ya," ia menyalak tajam ke penerima, matanya tidak pernah meninggalkan saya. "George! Halo. Ya, saya punya satu menit."Ia merendahkan diri kembali ke kursinya Meja, dan aku berlama-lama untuk melihat jika dia memerlukan sesuatu dari saya, sementara ia berbicara kepada Mr Papadakis. Ia mengangkat jari telunjuk bagi saya untuk menunggu sebelum dia meluncur ke atas nya pena, bergulir di mejanya saat ia mendengarkan panggilan."Anda perlu saya untuk tetap?" Saya bertanya.Dia mengangguk sekali sebelum berbicara ke telepon, "saya tidak berpikir Anda akan perlu untuk menjadi yang spesifik pada tahap ini, George." Tenor dalam suaranya bergetar tulang punggungku. "Hanya garis besar umum baik-baik saja. Kita harus tahu ruang lingkup usulan ini sebelum kita dapat bergerak ke dalam penyusunan."Saya bergeser mana saya berdiri. Dia adalah seperti egomaniac, membuat saya berdiri di sini seperti aku memegang sepiring anggur dan mengipasi kepadanya saat ia berbicara kepada seorang rekan.Dia menatap saya dan melakukan mengambil ganda yang sedikit, matanya menjatuhkan ke rok saya. Ketika dia mendongak kembali, bibirnya dibuka sedikit, seolah-olah ia meminta saya sesuatu yang dia bisa. Dan kemudian ia mencapai ke depan, pena siap antara jari dan ibu jari, dan digunakan ujung itu untuk mengangkat kelim rok saya atas pahaku.His eyes widened when he saw the garter.
“I understand,” he murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. “I think we can agree that’s a positive development.”
His eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to pound. When he looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto his lap and bind him to the chair with his tie.
“No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary outline.”
I slipped around his desk and sat in the chair across from him. He raised an eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between his teeth, biting down.
Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in his office, and to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.
“Yes, I see,” he said, but his voice was deeper even still, hoarse now.
My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as he did. It was as if he took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and said, “These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I’m offering you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me.”
And if he’d said that out loud, he would have been right.
“Yes,” he said again. “I think that’s the ideal path forward.”
You do, do you? I smiled at him, chewing my lip, and he gave me a devilish half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.
Mr. Ryan coughed and fumbled for his water glass. “That’s fine, George. We’ll take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline.”
I began moving my hand, thinking of his long fingers rolling the pen, those very hands grabbing my hips and waist and thighs when he drove into me in the lingerie store.
I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped. I imagined his hands and taut forearms, muscles tensing beneath skin as his fingers moved inside me. His legs in front of my face the night in the conference room, tight and sculpted, struggling to keep from thrusting.
Those eyes, on me, dark and pleading.
I looked up to see them exactly as I imagined, not watching my hand but seeing his hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be his touch doing this to me instead of my own.
At some point, his call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the silent room. He sat across from me, sweat beading his brow, his hands gripping the arms of his desk chair as if he’d been thrown into the wind.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked quietly.
I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I just did that to myself.”
His brow lifted. “Indeed.”
I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. “If that will be all, Mr. Ryan, I’ll get back to work.”