Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
VINCENT
I’ve heard rumors about the secret lounge under Octavio’s for some time, but it had never truly interested me before. I am a wealthy orc, with decent looks and at least a modicum of charm when I turn it on. Finding someone to fondle or fuck has never been an issue for me if I actively look for it.
But I haven’t looked in a long time, not since I hired Ms. Kristoff.
Rosette. I would never say it out loud, her first name. I think I’d get an erection instantly if I did. No, since the moment I brought her on—my little blonde human assistant, with her big eyes and soft makeup—I can’t think about anyone else.
I jack off every morning and night to the thought of her, to the image of her big tits straining the buttons of her silk blouse, her toned ass moving with every stride under her skirt.
It’s never too short, never a question of her professionalism, and yet it’s deeply erotic to see the clear outline of each ass cheek, even the indent where her thong underwear wraps around her plump hips.
Everything about her is goddamned perfect. She’s small by virtue of being human, but for a human, she has meat on her, just the right amount. She wouldn’t break under my big hands, and she might even be able to take my cock if I taught her body how.
But I can’t have Ms. Kristoff. I will never give her what she wants, not while she works for me.
It’s too much of a hassle, too big of an HR nightmare.
And until recently, I’ve survived the way she shows off all her incredible assets, simply begging me to reach out and squeeze that marvelous butt.
It’s been two years now since bringing her on, which is two years since I’ve had sex with anyone.
Sometimes it feels like my dick’s going to fall off.
Still, I’d never fire her. It would be impossible to find someone else who knows how to do her job as well as she does it—silently, with laser precision. Ms. Kristoff knows my mind, what I want out of her, and she executes it without requiring intervention or correction.
Today though, I finally reached my limit.
After she showed off what she has between her legs, bare and exposed for my eyes, all I wanted was to grab her and plant her on my lap, rip off her skirt, unzip my pants and bury my cock in her.
The need became so overwhelming when she said goodbye that I realized…
I needed to move on with my life. I needed to get some kind of relief with a warm body and try to banish this obsession from my mind, because it will never go anywhere as long as Ms. Kristoff works for me.
I can’t have her, no matter how soft and delectable her pussy looked between her toned thighs.
So tonight, I decided to give up on her once and for all and do something about this insatiable hunger.
Octavio’s is well-known for their discretion, and visiting will save me the trouble of trying to pick someone up at a bar to quench my physical needs.
Relationships are far too complicated when all I need is one night to get it out of my system.
I thought that’s what I was here for until I looked up and saw her.
It’s Ms. Kristoff all right, here in Octavio’s, and she’s wearing the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen in my life. A revealing corset top holds up her significant breasts, and her nipples are just barely visible. It’s more skin than I’ve ever seen on her.
It’s not just her body I find arresting. She’s wearing dramatic dark makeup, with a black wig on top of it all. Gone is the blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, and now she has dark hair cropped at her jawline. She’s even colored her naturally light brows darker to match.
I notice everything when it comes to my assistant. I have her memorized, and these small shifts and changes have unnerved me beyond reason.
Glancing at the drink menu again, I’m so disconcerted that I pick something at random. “I’ll have the Bombay Special.”
Fuck. What am I saying? I don’t want that. I just want a martini with two olives, but seeing Ms. Kristoff here, where I least expected her, has switched off my brain.
“Yes, sir,” she says, smiling broadly. She’s recovered from her surprise and now plays the flawless hostess. I admire how easily she slips into her nighttime persona.
How long has she worked here? How many other clients have touched her, maybe even been inside her? The thought sparks a searing flame as Ms. Kristoff—no, Velvet—turns around and departs with my drink order.
When she was simply my assistant, I could ignore the idea of what she did after hours.
It was none of my business. In my mind, she vanished from existence the moment she left my sight.
I tried, and succeeded, in never thinking about what her personal life might entail because it would only serve to infuriate me if I imagined her with a boyfriend or girlfriend.
She wears no wedding ring, at least, so I always had that.
But here, knowing what the girls do as part of their work, I burn with the fire of an imploding sun. Now I can’t help picturing her on top of one of those old men sitting nearby, moaning as she’s filled, and I want to flip over the fucking table and then shatter it into matchsticks.
I could if I wanted, but I manage to stay in my seat, stewing and steaming the entire time that Velvet is gone.
What a name to choose.
Am I not paying her enough? Why would she feel the need to take a second job? I’ve seen where she lives, and it’s not as if it’s out of her price range. She’s in an apartment building on the lower end, one that should be perfectly affordable on her salary.
I puzzle over this while she’s gone, but only a few minutes later, she reappears with the drink in her hand. Right. Not a martini. Still, I take it and sip in front of her, nodding my head in approval at the flavor. I will choke it down for her.
“May I sit with you?” she asks. I think she means sitting on my lap, and instantly, that’s all I want. Yes, her ass pressing against my cock, her small body in my arms? I should leap at the chance. This is my opportunity to make even just a shred of my dream a reality.
“Yes,” I say, pulling out the chair beside me. Confusion twists her face only briefly, before the practiced smile returns and Velvet gracefully places herself in the red cushions of the other chair.
What on earth do I say to her now? Instead of trying to come up with something, I slide my drink across to her.
“If you would like some.”
Velvet peers at me, then down at the drink before nodding agreeably. She takes a graceful, tiny sip, then puts the glass back on the table.
“Thank you,” she says with that same bright smile I’ve never seen before. She doesn’t smile like that at work, always focused on her job. “What brings you here tonight?”
Right. At least there’s that—it’s her role to make conversation.
“Needed some relaxation.” If that’s what I can call it. “A little downtime.”
“You came to the right place.” She shifts closer in her chair. “Why don’t you give me your hand?”
I blink down at her, trying to figure out the rationale behind her question. But I come up blank, so I do as I’m told, extending my arm across the space between our armchairs to give her my hand. My green fingers look like sausages in her tiny, delicate, human ones.
And then, she starts to rub. Working her way around my palm at first, she digs in and then releases, massaging as she goes. It feels… exquisite, and also strangely painful. No one has ever massaged my hand before. She makes her way to my fingers next, squeezing each one from the base to the tip.
I wonder if she would handle my cock like that. Would she press down as she stroked it? Choke it as she sank her mouth down on it?
Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but it’s impossible not to as I look into my assistant’s face, her eyes shadowed with makeup, her lips a feral red. As to be expected, my dick responds under my slacks. It thickens and rises until I know Velvet can see it.
“Sir,” she says in a silky voice, her gaze darting down to my waist and then back up to my face. “You know I can help you with that.”
I practically choke on my drink. She’s propositioning me, out in the open, with her own voice. Asking to touch me. Relieve me.
Against my will, my cock twitches inside my pants. But I can’t. Not with my assistant. Not with Ms. Kristoff, who is off-limits to me.
I should request someone else, but I can’t bring myself to do that, either.
Is this truly, perhaps, my opportunity? Could this be the moment I’ve been waiting so long for?
I glance around the room, where no one is paying attention to us.
Even if they did, all they would see is what they expect to see: a rich man in a suit with a beautiful, scantily dressed woman on his lap.
After a solid few moments of silence have passed, where Velvet patiently waits for my answer, I clear my throat.
“Please,” I say, my voice coming out strained.
She nods with another smile, and climbs out of her chair, easily seating herself on my thigh. I utterly dwarf her like this, as if she is a child and I am Santa Claus.
Her touch. Her ass on my leg. Her hip against my belly. All the places we’re connected turn white-hot.
Her hand snakes out, gently caressing the bulge that’s formed under my slacks.
She’s gentle with it, skimming over the top, and I’m absolutely fucking electrified.
I’ve never allowed myself anything, and here she is, caressing my dick with only two layers of clothing between us.
I’ve been starving in the desert and now my mouth is buried in a trough of the world’s sweetest water.
“Hmm,” Velvet says, her voice low, tuned in a way I’ve never heard it before. “You seem trapped in there.”
I don’t even realize that my arm has extended around her, circling her back, as she reaches down to unfasten my belt.
Next is the button and the zipper on my slacks, revealing my black boxer briefs.
Normally, I am not self-conscious in the least about how I look, but I never expected the one on my lap at Octavio’s to be Ms. Kristoff.
Damn, and I’m hard. Painfully hard as her hand strokes once again over the fabric like she’s testing my shape underneath.
My cock is ready to rip through my boxer briefs.
I’m unable to move, simply watching in fascination as she hooks her thumb in the band and pulls it down, which lets me finally burst free.
Thank fuck I’m mostly hidden by the table.
Velvet gasps, and my arm curls tighter around her back. I hope she’s not scared of it. It is a monster, the damned thing, already dribbling at the tip. Veins throb along the sides, leading up to the head that is a softer green than the rest of my skin.
Then, her petite human hand creeps up to the base, her fingers trying to wind around it. She can’t even get close to connecting them on the other side.
“What was your name, sir?” she asks, giving it one gentle, testing stroke.
I almost forget my own name as she lifts her hand partway up, then slides down to the root again. “Vincent Roth.”
“Well, Vincent,” she says in an alluring tone, “I can’t wait to taste you.”
She leans down, and I don’t even try to stop her as she drags her tongue across the head of my cock. My hips surge against her, my body out of my own physical control. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed about all those long nights alone.
Well, not everything.
“Mm,” Velvet hums, her lips vibrating against me. Fuck, that’s good. “Yes, delicious.” She strokes up with her hand and sinks me even deeper into her mouth, enveloping the whole head. I feel like I’m going crazy. I must be delirious, and this is my hallucination.
But I keep still, keep from showing any of this on my face, how deeply she affects me. How much I simply want to grab her head and push it down, or throw her onto the table and wrap her legs around my hips as I drive into her.
Because once I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.