Welcome to the second of my excerpts from 'Twisted Lust', and welcome to Gavin McClain, a bastard (in my work at least) without equal. I'd never written an office sex story, but I decided if I was going to, he'd be the one meting out the sex. So it was that 'Career Move' came into being.
The task I set myself in any story featuring the sexually driven Mr McClain is to make him as bad a guy as possible while retaining his appeal. He appears in two 'Twisted Lust' stories and behaves appallingly in both of them. On to the link (it's hovering between the asterisks) and the extract...
“Alicia.” She jumped, almost literally, and could only hope that the low light-setting had disguised the degree of her fright. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
He was reclining behind his dark mahogany desk in a posture of supreme assurance and contentment; she could see, her eyes adjusting to the light, the open neck of his shirt, light-pinstripe jacket and tie having been cast casually on to the surface of the desk. An opened bottle of wine sat there as well, along with two glasses; almost lazily he leaned forward, lifted the bottle and poured two measures. “I always like a woman who makes an effort.”
She glanced self-consciously down at herself and knew how it must look. Gavin had risen fluidly from his seat and was moving towards her, carrying the glasses. There was a faint smile of approval on his lips, as he surveyed her startling, fleshy curves and the way they strained against the tight restrictions of her tiniest party dress. “Now why don’t you lock the door, just in case we get disturbed?” He stopped a foot in front of her, proffering one of the glasses. Her face burned in the heat of his steady, knowing gaze and she felt herself stumble in her resolve.
“Gavin, I haven’t come here for that. I - I couldn’t get through to you…”
“Oh now, Alicia - you.re wearing those fuck-me heels. What’s a guy to think?”
She looked down again, this time to her prettily strapped ankles, and noticed with another start that Gavin was expectantly barefoot. Even as such he towered several inches above her heeled five foot ten. She steeled herself to resist him. “That I was preparing to go out with my boyfriend for my birthday and that I couldn't contact you to explain,” she replied reasonably. “Look, I’m going to be late as it is. If you want this, then we’ll just have to arrange another time.” She wanted to sound decisive, but was sure he would notice the quake in her voice.
“Now Alicia…” They were standing by the photocopier and he set one wine glass on it, so he could reach his hand under the tresses of her hair and caress the side of her face. “I’ve got all sorts of calls on my time. I have to take my pleasures when I can and I’m likely to be very busy between now and the interviews at Aztec. Which means, Alicia, it’s tonight or not at all. So the question is…” - he pressed the glass into her hand - “...how much you want this.”
“My boyfriend,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m supposed to be going out to dinner with him…”
Gavin’s hand slid downwards over her throat and the bared flesh of her upper chest, then insinuated its way around the swell of her left breast. “Cancel it,” he told her, as if he were issuing an instruction to an employee, which, it occurred to her fleetingly, was the case. “Phone him now and tell him you’ll do it another time.” The exploring hand curved its way down the slope of her lower back.
“But it’s for my birthday…” Her breasts were heaving, noticeably she was sure, under the hugging strictures of her dress, and there was a writhing combination of panic and excitement in her lower belly. “We’re celebrating…”
His searching fingers rounded the broad curve of her buttock, pressing through tight fabric into the flesh beneath. The fingertips slipped below the dress's hem and his carefully manicured nails dug into the little crease between her butt cheek and upper thigh. Slowly, eyes locked unflinchingly on hers, he intensified his grip and drew her in to his massive frame, so that she could appreciate the degree of his arousal. Crushed against him she realised the truth of all those gossiped coffee-break rumours; her boss was extravagantly endowed and the few thin layers of their clothing failed to disguise his cock’s hardness, pressed as it was against the softness of her belly.
“You want a real birthday celebration, it’s with me - right here in this room. And it’s one you won’t fucking forget, that I guarantee.” He pulled back from her and clinked his wine glass against hers, then she copied him, in a state of semi-hypnosis, as he sipped. “Now are you going to be a clever girl and lock that door?”