The Perfect Secretary

“Miss Adams.”

The red indicator light of a recessed intercom on Sheila’s desk glowed. Pressing a discreet button, she leaned and spoke into it.

“Yes, Mr. Reid?”

“Come into my office, right away. Bring a pen and pad.” The light turned off, and once again the recessed intercom blended into the desk.

Gathering up her notepad and pen, Sheila walked to the set of double doors leading to Mr. Reid’s office. Six months ago, she’d been one of five women chosen from the secretarial pool to compete for the vacated position of Executive Assistant to Mr. Troy Reid. After a lengthy and gruelling board interview with Troy and his two partners, Seth Black and Chad Masterson—the partner rumoured to have married the previous E.A.—Sheila had been offered the job.

Their questions ranged from professional to personal. At times her head felt like it was split in two as they tag-teamed her, and often her answers were hurried as one would fire off a question about the company and the others would pry into her personal life.

After the interview she’d gone and sat on a toilet in the ladies restroom, because her legs had been like jelly. Although shaken, the idea of being Troy Reid’s personal assistant had her on edge. In a good way. Her attraction to him bordered on dangerous. He had no idea she had a huge crush on him, and drooled over him from afar.

The other two were nothing to sneeze at either. When all three men turned to greet her before the interview, she’d felt like she’d walked into a photo shoot for GQ. Alone, each man was potent, but together, a girl could be forgiven if she’d forget small things. Like how to breathe.

Pushing the door wide, she entered and strode toward his desk. He sat, watching her over steepled fingers. At the edge of a chair, facing his desk, she stopped.

No man had the right to look as good as he did. Broad shoulders, lean hips, hair the color of burnished oak, and melt-in-your-mouth chocolate eyes. Her breath hitched as those chocolate eyes narrowed and he brought his hands down onto his desk.

“Miss Adams. Did I not say ‘right away’?”

Sheila quelled the temptation to push her hair behind an ear. A habit she did when nervous.

“Yes sir, you did.”

“It took you ten seconds to get here, Miss Adams, and I know for a fact it should take precisely eight.”

Anticipation skittered through her midsection, and she swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, her palms clammy.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry Mr. Reid.”

“Sorry won’t do. Remove your shirt.”

Startled, Sheila hesitated. During her six months as his Executive Assistant, she’d seen interest flare in his eyes, but this—demand—was new.

“Miss Adams. Your shirt.”

Troy’s voice brought her out of her stunned silence.

“Y…yes, sir.”

She knew by following his request, she’d entered into a tacit agreement, and had to trust he wouldn’t broadcast this all over the building. And not do anything she wouldn’t want.

After placing her pad and pen on the chair, she unbuttoned the blouse, tugged it out from her skirt, and let it fall to the floor.

His eyes darkened as he took in the skin tone lacy bra that cupped her breasts. Breasts which were rapidly rising and falling with each quickening breath. A small hesitation, and then she picked up the pad and pen, and sat in the chair.

“Miss Adams?” His silky voice purred from the other side of the desk.

“Yes, Mr. Reid?”

“Did I say you could sit?”

Now she was confused. Prior to this, she’d come into his office, sit in the chair, and wait for him to relay rapid-fire requests that she sometimes struggled to keep up with. At times she’d spend hours trying to decipher her own short hand. As frustrated as this made her, the chance to be near him more than made up for it. The money wasn’t bad either.

Flustered, she stood. “No, sir. You didn’t.”

“Come here, Miss Adams. Leave the pad and pen on the chair.”

She did as he bade, and walked around the desk, stopping at the corner of it facing him. He’d swivelled in his chair, and frowned when she stopped. Pointing to a spot on the floor in front of him, he said, “Come here, Miss Adams.”

On shaking legs, she moved forward until she stood directly in front of him. Heat rolled off his body. Completely at odds with the goose-bumps raising the hair on her arms.

Big hands reached out and drew her closer, between his legs. They caressed her ass through the silky material of the skirt, and digging into the softness, urged her even closer to his body. Warm breath feathered across her breasts, and she closed her eyes when his mouth closed over a lace covered nipple.

Of their own volition, her breasts swelled, and her pussy moistened. He pushed away the fabric, and immediately suckled the hardened teat, pulling it into his mouth, letting it go with a satisfying pop.

“For being late, and for your impudence, you must be punished. Do you agree, Miss Adams?”

She struggled to form a coherent sentence. His hand had slid up her skirt, pushing aside her thong, and his thumb had unerringly found her clit, stroking it, sending jolts of electricity straight to her midsection. Her panties were soaked through, and her vagina throbbed. She ached for more than his thumb.

“Miss Adams. Do you agree you should be punished?”

She’d agree to anything to have this man finish what he’d started. Visions of his cock, driving into her from behind as she bent over his desk, made her cream even more.

“Yes. Yes, Mr. Reid. I need to be punished.”

His fingers slid from her panties, and he straightened her bra, a small smile on his face.

“Good. Gather your things, and be back in this office at precisely five o’clock this afternoon.”

She took a step back. Disappointment flooded her. He’d almost had his hand in her pussy. Her breast was tender where he’d nibbled on it, and she was supposed to go back to her desk and act like nothing happened?
He swivelled away from her and studied the papers in front of him.

When she didn’t move, he said. “You may go now, Miss Adams.