CtrlC, CtrlV. CtrlC, CtrlV. #2
Jan apparently read the doubt on my face because he immediately adds, “Maria, your neck and chest are all red. Lie down.” He takes an orange container out of his pocket and shakes it vigorously.
Right. Coffee. Burnt skin. Panthenol.
I walk slowly over to the bench and lie down on my back. Jan moves his chair over to me and sits down right next to me. I follow his every move, admire his muscular body, and feel an involuntary surge of desire.
And I give myself a mental slap.
What the hell am I doing? After all, I already went through this six months ago! He shouldn’t do anything for me. But, in fact, he does.
Dammit!
I hold my breath as Jan leans over me and moves his gaze across my breasts. My heart quickens its rhythm; a tingling sensation spreads in the bottom of my abdomen.
“Ready?” he asks with an inscrutable gleam in his eye, and for a moment I doubt if I’m even ready to start breathing normally around him.
Fuck, Maria, self-control!
“I think it will be better if I take care of it myself.” I reach for the spray, and then Jan grasps my wrist and puts my hand down on the bench.
“No. I’ll do it,” he replies in a low voice, looking into my eyes. He shakes the container, brings it closer and sprays the liquid on my upper chest.
A shiver runs through my body; my muscles tense up. I lie still, look at Engler’s face and notice how the irises of his gray eyes grow thin as his pupils dilate. I try to breathe calmly. I shift my gaze to my chest; it rises and falls as if I’m running and…
Gosh! My nipples are sticking out like two cone-shaped birthday hats and I can feel them straining to pierce my lace bra. I’m about to burn with shame. Holy shit.
Why is this happening to me? Why exactly with him?
Of course, he has already seen my naked breasts, but only in a photo!
I raise my gaze to Jan, and he devours me with his eyes. His eyes are almost dark blue and shiny, nostrils slightly flared and…
Wait a minute! Is he biting his lower lip? Oh, Christ. If you don’t count that sick dream, I’ve never seen such an expression on his face. I didn’t even think he could look so lustful, passionate and sexy.
My heart is beating so loud that I’m afraid Jan can hear it too. I’m really nuts—it’s happening again. I’m getting excited again about the way Jan is looking at me! He better stop immediately. After all, he’s my damn boss, and I’m his damn employee!
This, however, does not stop me from staring at him and feeling an uncontrollable surge of desire.
God, his arms are so full of muscle. He could probably lift me easily, push me against the wall, take me standing up…
“Are you better now?” A low voice brings me back to reality.
Oh, he went back to the formal voice again.
And it’s a good thing too, because it effectively sobered me up.
I need to get back to my old train of thought: Jan is a cold-hearted, antisocial formalist. But apart from that, he’s physically massively attractive and has a killer body that I didn’t suspect him to have at all.
I noticed that he was tall and broad-shouldered long ago when he walked around in those perfectly tailored suits of his.
What I didn’t suspect was that he hides a freaking six-pack underneath them!
What guy at this age, in this position, can be in such great shape?
And my hand is almost raring to slide my fingertips over his sculpted abdomen, athletic torso and verify that Engler’s muscles are indeed as hard as they look.
Instinctively, I slide my eyes down below the shiny belt buckle of his pants and… I freeze. An impressive bulge stands out in the left leg. Holy Moley.
I swallow; electricity flows between my thighs. Calm down, Maria, it’s just a wallet or a cell phone… and judging by the size of the bulge, both.
“Maria, are you all right?” Instantly I tear my gaze away from his pants and lift my head.
“Yeah, sure. And how is your burn?” I naughtily take advantage of the situation to glance at his naked chest again.
Oh my, how gorgeous he is.
Or rather: oh boy, what a fucked-up person I am and, because of the breakup with Karol, absolutely in need of a good fuck. After all, it’s ridiculous that I’m turned on by the sight of Jan!
“Right. Please don’t move for a few minutes. Let the preparation get absorbed into the skin.” He stands up, and my gaze momentarily focuses on his pant leg again.
God, save me. It’s not a fucking wallet or a cell phone. Jan has a boner. And what a boner it is!
A wave of heat hits me, washes over my breasts, the bottom of my abdomen, and down until it reaches my pussy. I’m getting wet.
“Maria! Get a grip on yourself, slut!” I scold myself mentally and close my eyes, as if that will help at all.
I hear Jan’s footsteps moving away. After a moment, I hear the sound of water pouring from the faucet. Some kind of splash. Some rubbing.
I lift my eyelid and nearly fall off the bench.
Engler is washing my blouse! I manage to hold back a snort but only barely.
Oh boy, they haven’t played this tune yet.
I’m amused, shocked, a little touched and, strangely enough, even more excited.
I watch stunned as the muscles of his broad back and taut shoulders are hard at work washing out the coffee stain.
MY. BOSS. IS. DOING. MY. LAUNDRY.
I smile to myself. This is something I didn’t expect. I look at him, satisfied, but after a moment it occurs to me that, after all, I don’t have any clothes to change into at work.
Shit, what am I going to put on now?
“What are you doing?” I jump off the bench, foam trickling down my chest and belly.
“What do you think?” he answers dispassionately, without even looking at me.
“Well, that’s what I don’t know. How am I supposed to put this blouse back on now? It’s all wet.” He comes across as smart, but he didn’t think of such a small detail.
“There is a hand dryer in the restroom,” he replies, rubbing the stain.
“Which barely works. I won’t get it dry until the New Year.”
The jerk! I shoot my irritated gaze at his large hands violating my poor blouse. He’s about to rip it to shreds.
“Can’t you see that your rubbing isn’t doing anything? The stains won’t come off in a hand wash.”
“They will come off. I sprinkled them with baking soda,” he says, as if he knows perfectly well what he is doing.
This surprises me. How does he know such things? And where the hell did the baking soda come from in the employee lounge?
Whatever. It still won’t help the stains.
“Please leave it alone. I’ll soak it in bleach at home.”
“You must finish your report today. You will not work in such an outfit.” He rubs the fabric harder.
Stubborn bastard.
“There is no one here anyway.” I shrug my shoulders.
“But I am.” He twists the blouse, shakes it off and lifts it. The stain is still there. “What the hell!” He looks as if he stepped in dog poop.
It makes me want to laugh at him. It makes me want to laugh at the whole situation.
“After all, you’ve already seen me half-naked anyway,” I joke because this is the only thing left I can think of.
“You can’t work in just a bra.”
And without a bra? I don’t know where this fucked-up thought came from, but I shake my head to get rid of it.
Unfortunately, my imagination has already started to wander.
I wonder what kind of face Jan had when he saw my topless selfie?
Did he like it? Did he get aroused? Or did he take matters into his own hands while looking at my photo?
The image of Jan jerking himself off flashes before my eyes.
His hand sliding over his erection, his gaze fixed on my naked breasts, a murmur of pleasure coming out of his slightly parted lips…
My throat dries up, I clear my throat and this immediately catches his attention.
He tears his eyes away from my unfortunate blouse, looks at me for a moment, then—instinctively—glances at my cleavage, where a white, sticky liquid is running down.
His pupils widen, I hear him gasp, and he holds his breath.
“You will wear my jacket,” he says firmly, looks away and walks to the chair. “And fasten those damn top buttons.” He hangs my wet blouse on the backrest and leaves the lounge, taking his stained shirt with him.
*
My eyeballs are about to bulge out from staring at an Excel table full of numbers. I’m about to melt from the heat, wearing my down jacket.
It was predictable that I would not be able to focus on my work while wearing Jan’s jacket.
The perfume that saturates it makes my most intimate places tingle, driving me insane, its fragrance distracting me and arousing emotions I really shouldn’t feel.
I’m furious with my body for allowing itself to be manipulated so easily.
I’m hot. Very hot.
I turn around in my chair, pull off my shoes and tights to cool down a bit (as the jacket absolutely must stay on), then shift my gaze to the window to rest my tired eyes.
I miss summer—the sight of leaves on the trees, cut grass, flowering bushes—anything that is green, juicy, fresh and alive.
But I can only dream about it. Not only has it been snowing non-stop since yesterday, but our office is on the 33rd floor, in the center of the city, so even if all hell breaks loose, I won’t get to see anything more than concrete, cast iron, plates and glass. Fucking corpo-life!
I get up to stretch my legs, and walk barefoot to the window—or rather, the large, tinted, mirrored glass. It’s already dark outside.