Crossing the Line

Chapter 1:

“OHHHHH YES!” I cried out as his hips drove harder and harder against me. I could barely remember my own name, let alone how I ended up in this position. He was pushing me closer and closer to the edge, and it took everything in me not to collapse against the upper half of my desk. I think to myself how risky this was — people are in and out of my office all day, someone could walk in at any second — but when have I ever been able to say no to him?

So here I am, an absolute mess and in no control. My breasts are spilling out of my bra, my stockings are at my knees and I am bent over my own desk as he rails into me from behind. I don’t even know where my skirt is at this point and he ripped just about every button off my shirt in his quest to get it open. My hair must be a mess with his hand so deeply burrowed within it, and I’m sure I will never get it back into the sleek position it was in at the start of this meeting 20 minutes ago. Oh s**t. That’s how we got here.

I glance back down towards the papers on my desk just as his hits that spot and any thoughts I have turn to mush. I start to climax as he flips me around and slams my back up against the window overlooking Central Park. My legs wrap around his waist and I am lost in utter bliss for a few moments. His lips find my own just in time to muffle my moans. At this point, I lost count of how many times he’s made me c*m, I just know I don’t want this to end. His hips are so relentless in his search for release that I’m sure I’ll have some bruises later, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I tilt my head down to the column of his throat and begin to lick and nip — finding the same spot that has always driven him wild. With one hand he reaches up and plays with my left n****e, pulling and pinching the hard little bud and the other readjusts the grip on my ass. He turns his head towards my ear and sucks on the lob before whispering filthy things into it. Within minutes, my body can’t take all the unending pleasure and I am once again pushed over the edge. I can do nothing but gasp out his name. And then, that’s it. He leans further into me and bites at my neck as he starts to unravel. As I feel him unloading inside me, it is impossible to tell where he starts and I end, our limbs are so tangled together and our sweat makes our bodies stick to one another.

As he gently places me back on the ground, he plants a long and slow kiss on my lips, before removing my now ruined shirt from my body. It’s taking everything I have just to stand up straight right now, and he’s moving about as if he’s fresh from a long nap. I hardly even notice as he begins to pick up the articles of clothing flung around the office, but I do notice when he drops to his knees in front of me. As he reaches forward to —- I assume — begin cleaning the mess running down my thighs, I snap back to reality again and snatch my tattered shirt from his outstretched hand.

“I’ve got it,” I say and begin to both clean myself up and move away from him at the same time. He get back up of his knees, but stays silent as we both begin to get dressed. Once my skirt and stockings are on, I stumble towards the cabinets lining the right side of the room, internally thanking myself for always keeping spare clothes and toiletries for long nights at the office. I choose a new shirt and put it on, and use the mirror to fix my makeup and try to control the birds nest my hair now resembles. Once I’ve managed to make it look like I didn’t just have some of the best s*x of my life, I turn back to my silent companion, finding it unfair that he still looks as fantastic as ever. And then he opens his mouth.

So, after all this time, are you ready to admit that I am still the best s*x you have ever had?” He says, and I swear it takes everything in me not to punch him in his smug little face. It doesn’t matter he WAS the best s*x I’ve ever had, I certainly will not be inflating his ego any more that it already is. So instead I smirk and walk slowly back to my desk, trying to appear as though my legs are not jello. In an attempt to make me look like the shark of an attorney that I am, I sink back slowly into my seat, grab the long forgotten papers on my desk, and ask in the most professional I-totally-did-not-just-have-s*x-with-you way, “Are you ready to get back to business? I have another meeting at 2:15.”

“C’mon Sam, I’m the most important person on your schedule. And you know I’m your favorite client. Just admit what we both know and we can get back to discussing the deal.”

“Absolutely not,” I huff, “it’s improper of an attorney to lie to her client.”

God he infuriates me, and I already know the next words out of his mouth will be about what just occurred —

“Well, I cannot think of anything more improper than an attorney allowing her client to bend her over her desk and f**k her until she can barely walk, but maybe I’m mistaken on the rules of your profession.”He rebuts, his smirk only growing wider.

“It was a one-time mistake that will never happen again.” I declare, making an internal vow to myself. I run through the repercussions of this in my head, knowing I would lose my job if anyone ever found out the risk I just took — regardless of the personal history between us. Something in my eyes must alert him to the rabbit hole I am starting to go down because his smirk drops, and he says, “No, don’t even start, you know I would never do anything to put you at risk. You got us here, and I want you to be the one negotiating my contracts for the rest of my career.”

I smile at the sentiment, but it does little to quell the thoughts swirling around in my head. I know regardless of what he says I will have to recuse myself from being involved in the legal matters his team gives the firm. And of course, I’ll have to admit the reasoning as to why I need to be recused. The executive partners will never forgive me for taking such a risk like this with a multi-million dollar client. My name in the field will be ruined. I’ll be a laughing stock. They’ll never understand our past — “Sam? You okay?”

He interrupts my internal monologue, his soft eyes shimmering with concern. I need to get myself together and get him out of my office. The less time I am around him, the less stupid mistakes I can make. I snap back to reality and clear my throat before beginning to discuss his contract.

“I’m fine. As we have been discussing, the team has finally agreed to our terms regarding your contract extension. If you agree to this contract, you will be signing a 5-year extension, with trade approval powers, for $280 million dollars. This will make you not only the highest paid quarterback in the league, but also in NFL history. Of that $280 million, $27 million is a signing bonus, which will put you at about $50.6 million a year, which is about $10 million more than your goal when you brought this firm in to negotiate. Does this all sound good to you so far?”

“Sam, I — you really don’t want to talk about us first?”