2

After five more minutes of mindless vacuuming, I head to the supply closet and ease open the door. I step inside and close the door after me.

The only light in the room comes from the crack at the bottom of the door, but I can smell Joel’s cologne so I know he’s already here.

“Hey,” he says, embracing me in the darkness.

I long to feel myself pushed up against the wall and fucked, but he merely holds me for a moment. I hug him back and accept his brief kiss. I hope he brought a condom, because even though he’s promised we’re exclusive, I’m not ready to trust him enough to fuck without protection.

Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt from the STD testing clinic to prove it.

My eyes adjust to the dim lighting. We’re surrounded by shelving units bearing cleaning supplies. I’m no stranger to this room—I frequently have to come in here to get my job done.

Joel steps away, unfastens his pants, and pulls out his cock. I reach for him, eager to feel him inside of me, even though his track record of satisfying me is spotty at best. Still, a girl’s gotta have hope. I can be fast with rubbing myself, and I might come while he’s still inside of me.

Sometimes I wonder if he even cares about giving me release, though. He occasionally goes through the motions of reciprocation, but it does nothing for me.

For being twenty-five years old, you’d think I would have more self-respect. Either I should make more of an effort to teach him what works for me, or I should cut him loose and find someone who makes me happy.

But…I haven’t worked up the nerve to do either of those things.

Instead of fumbling with my clothes, Joel presses down on my shoulder.

Freaking great. He wants head. I lower to my knees. The linoleum is cold and hard against them. I take his dick in my mouth, irritated at the way this is going. He certainly won’t press me against the wall and give me head after.

“Yeah, baby, like that,” Joel moans as I swirl my tongue over his cock.

I wonder if he calls me “baby” because he forgets my name in the heat of the moment. Last week, he called me Carol instead of Ella. No harm, no foul. Since the name slip-up, I feel no guilt when I imagine I’m sucking Mr. Tyler instead of Joel. I hope that doesn’t make me a terrible person, but I would never accidentally call Joel by his dad’s name while in the throes of passion.

Especially if no throes are to be had.

I’ve tried directing Joel and asking him for what I want—something a little rough, a little dark, a little dirty. Whenever I ask, he smiles and kisses my cheek before laying me out on his office floor, where we do it missionary style and he breathes against my neck, never looking me in the eyes.

So I’ve stopped asking.

But now as I suck Joel, I think of his father, who is all gruff command, salt-and-pepper whiskers at the end of a long day, and frowning disapproval at everyone he sees. My panties grow damp at the thought of that disapproving, stern scowl directed at me. I don’t understand why, but the thought of Kingston Tyler’s stormy eyes locked on me and looking furious while I suck him off just does it for me.

My hand creeps down to the hem of my work uniform—a plain, navy sack of a dress with a prim white collar and cap sleeves. I reach between my legs and touch myself over my panties. If I move quickly enough, I could get off like this while I give Joel head.

I’m thinking of Mr. Tyler, imagining the way he’d be a little rough, maybe holding my head as he fucks my mouth. I hum around Joel’s cock at the idea, then dip my fingers inside my panties to stroke against my clit.

Little sparks of bliss gather in my pussy. My muscles clench on emptiness and I wish for a great big cock. I could be fucking a man who holds me down, restrains me, maybe blindfolds me so I’m wholly dependent on whatever sorts of filthy pleasure he feels like doling out.

Maybe that man could be someone like Kingston Tyler.

I bet he would pull me up to standing and push me against the wall and give me head. His whiskered cheeks would scrape against my inner thighs. He’d wait until I’m just about to come, and then he’d stop, spin me around, and fuck me from behind. I would scream with pleasure.

Arousal coats my fingers as I slide them over my folds. It would be so good with a man like Mr. Tyler. He would boss me around. Maybe even spank me.

My face feels hot at the very idea. I’ve never been spanked before. Who knows if I would even like it? But I sure as hell like thinking about it. I wonder if Joel would ever try it…

And with that, my pleasure diminishes, because I am pretty sure the answer would be no.

So I can’t think of that, not if I want to get off. My imagination takes me back to the fantasy interlude with Mr. Tyler, and how it could be him in here, taking what he wants from me and giving it back tenfold.

Yes. It would be so fucking good.

Just as I’m about to reach my climax, Joel comes without warning.

I swallow him down and sigh, tugging my hand out of my panties.

“You’re a great girlfriend. Thanks, babe,” he says, petting the side of my head.

Like I’m a fucking dog.

This has to end soon. I wonder if I’ll lose my job when I tell him it’s over? He might complain about me to my boss, Melinda, at Maids in Heaven. Melinda won’t appreciate the trouble. She’s usually understanding, but she might just fire me rather than deal with whatever problems Joel could create for her. And I can’t afford to lose even a day’s pay—my shitty apartment doesn’t pay its own rent. And the cockroaches aren’t paying their share, either.