Skyline Lessons

The rooftop terrace of Meridian Tower was a glass-and-steel ledge suspended above the city's glittering grid, and I was sweating through my new shirt before I'd even set down my coffee. The air smelled of hot asphalt and diesel, and Lena Vasquez — my boss, my new boss, the woman who'd hired me over Zoom with a voice like gravel and honey — was already there, leaning against the railing with her back to the view.

"So," she said, not turning around. "You're the one who thinks he can handle my accounts."

"I handle pressure well," I said, and my voice cracked like a teenager's.

She turned. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a white blouse unbuttoned one button too far, and her eyes were the color of a storm rolling in. "Let's find out."

She walked toward me, heels clicking on the concrete, and stopped so close I could smell her perfume — something sharp and expensive, like rain on hot metal. Her hand came up and straightened my tie, fingers brushing my collarbone, and I felt my cock stir against my zipper like it had a mind of its own.

"You're nervous," she said. "I can see it in your hands."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." She tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "But I like nervous. Nervous means you care. And I need someone who cares about the details."

Her hand slid from my tie to my chest, palm flat against my heartbeat. "Show me how you handle pressure."

Before I could answer, she'd pushed me back against the glass wall of the stairwell, her body pressed against mine, her mouth at my ear. "I've been thinking about this since your interview," she whispered. "The way you bit your lip when I asked about quarterly projections. Fucking adorable."

I grabbed her hips, pulled her into me. "Lena—"

"Shut up." She kissed me, hard, her tongue sliding against mine, and I tasted coffee and something sweeter. Her hand found my belt, unbuckled it with practiced ease, and then her fingers were inside my pants, wrapping around my cock, stroking me slow and deliberate.

I groaned against her mouth. She pulled back, looked me in the eye, and dropped to her knees.

"Is this okay?" she asked, and her voice was already thick with want.

「ああ、そうして。」

She took me in her mouth without another word, tongue flat against the underside, then deep, swallowing me to the base. I fisted my hand in her hair — dark, silky, pulled back tight — and she moaned around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. She worked me with her hand and her throat, spit glistening on her lips, her eyes watering but never leaving mine.

"I need to fuck you," I rasped.

She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned around. "Then do it."

She bent over the railing, skirt hiked up around her waist, and I saw she wasn't wearing panties. Her ass was round and pale in the fading light, and I slid into her wet pussy from behind with one smooth, filthy thrust. She gasped, gripping the metal rail so hard her knuckles went white.

"Fuck, yes," she breathed. "Right there."

I drove into her hard, my hips slapping against her ass, the city sprawled out below us like a witness. Her moans got louder, less controlled, turning into these little broken sounds that made me lose my rhythm.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't you fucking stop."

I grabbed her hips, pulled her back onto me with every stroke, and reached around to find her clit. She bucked against my fingers, her inner walls clenching around my cock, and I felt her start to shake.

"Come for me," I said, low in her ear.

She did — a sharp, guttural cry that echoed off the glass, her body shuddering against mine, her pussy milking me. I held on until she loosened, then pulled out and turned her around, pressing her back against the railing.

"Now my turn," I said, and I dropped to my knees.

She laughed breathlessly, thighs trembling. "You're going to eat me out after that?"

"I'm going to make you come again."

I lifted her leg over my shoulder, buried my face between her thighs, and licked her from the bottom of her slit to her clit in one long, slow stroke. She tasted like salt and sex, and she moaned my name — "Marcus, oh God, Marcus" — as I sucked her clit between my lips, flicking it with my tongue until her whole body went rigid.

"Again," she gasped. "Fuck, make me come again."

I fingered her while I licked, two fingers curling inside her, and she came with a sob, her thighs clamping around my head. I didn't stop until she pushed me back, breathless and grinning.

"Okay," she said, pulling her skirt down. "You're hired."

We rode down the elevator in silence, both of us flushed, her lipstick smeared, my shirt wrinkled. In the lobby, she handed me a business card.

"My office. Monday. Eight AM sharp."

She walked out into the evening, and I stood there, smelling her on my skin, watching the city lights flicker on. The coffee was cold by the time I remembered it.

Monday morning, I showed up early. She was already there, a fresh cup of coffee waiting on her desk, and she looked at me over the rim of her mug with those storm-colored eyes.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Not really."

"Good." She set the mug down. "Neither did I. Shut the door."

CATEGORIES: Instructor, Office, Boss