To be fucked by you is the best thing I can imagine. To be fucked by you, with my cum dripping down my legs, mingling with the wetness created by your fervent mouth on my pussy spilling, onto the counter below me is the best thing I could ever imagine. To be stretched out across the desk that separates us, reaching up on tiptoe with the arch of my feet just getting tighter as you lick my honey pot and bring me closer to orgasm is what I think about in meetings when you catch my eye, sitting there in panties that are stretched taut over my lips and damp from fantasies.
I’m sat here thinking about how cold the marble of the table would be against my nipples and forehead when you pushed me down. Thinking about that hand curled possessively around my shoulder, body pressing into my back as you lean over biting my neck just above the collarbone, made all the more evident by my breath caught up in my throat as your other hand slides one finger lazily through the heat between my hips; this finger never quite dipping into the slit between but just rubbing, rubbing the tip of my clit that reaches out for you filled with blood and my heart beat.