Nick's thighs tensed, his breath quickened. With his eyes still closed he felt her warmth moving upward again, then her lips pressing against his wet shaft as she plunged. This time she stopped about halfway down the rod, sucking softly on the red-hot flesh. Gism swelled his member to the breaking point.
A hoarse cry escaped his lips as her caress suddenly slid down his prick to the base. The cockhead pressed against the back of her mouth, then exploded inside her, sending spurt after hard spurt of his hot seed deeply into her throat.
She swallowed quickly, but continued moving her kiss up and down his prick as he came. His cock tensed and relaxed with each spurt, his thighs shook, his breath came fast and hard. And then, he felt the final drops of his semen leaking into her mouth.
She swallowed again, then licked his cock clean from base to crown. Her eyes opened, she looked up in his face, beaming with pride.
"Wow, you came fast," she murmured.
"Thanks to you," Nick replied, breathing deeply. "That was terrific, Sally."
She wiped her mouth and stood up. "I owed you that one, Nick."
He curled his prick back into his fly and zipped up. "I guess I was really horny today."
"The way you came, it looked like you haven't had anything in months."
Nick thought of his fiancee Julie, and how infrequently she satisfied him. "No, it hasn't been months," Nick laughed. "Thank God for that."
"You better excuse me now," Sally said. "I've gotta go redo my lipstick."
Nick blew her a kiss. "Why don't you take off early today, Sally. You've put in a hard day."
She was on her way to the door. "I'll see if I can finish my work." She stopped in the doorway, grinning. "My paperwork, that is."
He smiled at her again, then dropped his eyes to her ass as she slipped through the door. Yes, he said to himself, she's got a fine ass. One of these days I'm going to fuck that girl, and I'm sure I won't be disappointed.
He leaned back in his chair, chuckling to himself. There was still a pile of work on his desk. But at that moment, Nick felt completely contented.
CHAPTER TWO
Nick Harrison was a man who had every reason to be content, with a beautiful fiancee whose father owned the advertising agency Nick worked for.
And since Nick had worked long and hard to reach the point now where he could swing his swivel chair around to stare at the array of Manhattan skyline from his office on the fortieth floor, he let himself stare at the tall buildings and bask in his happiness.
He sighed and leaned back in the leather chair and his thoughts flowed leisurely and quickly over his recent promotion to account executive at Connors and Ross, on top of his engagement to Julie Connors.
Nick knew people would say one thing logically followed another. But he knew he was a good enough man to get to the top without marrying the boss's daughter. After all, his rise in Connors and Ross had been rapid and sensational a long time before Marshall Connors' only daughter returned to New York from school in Europe.
The phone rang and Nick swung around and moved up to his huge desk and picked up the receiver.
"Mr. Connors wants to see you in his office right away, Mr. Harrison," his secretary said in a crisp, professional voice.
"I'll go right in, Miss Lewis," Nick said.
Nick hung up the phone and shoved the chair back and got to his feet. As he crossed the deep carpet, the feeling and contented confidence came over him again, and he speculated if Connors wanted to discuss the Jarvis account, or the marriage.
Nick straightened his striped tie in the mirror over the small basin behind a partition in one corner of the large office. Then he walked out, and stopped beside Miss Lewis' desk, in the cubicle just before the long hall.
Miss Lewis' smile was dazzling, and filled with perfect, bright-white teeth and full, red lips. "Shall I hold all calls or have them transferred into Mr. Connors' office?" she asked. Her darting, devilish green eyes stared up at Nick and her voice softened to a husky, hardly-veiled intimacy.
"No, don't transfer them," Nick said, and he allowed himself the luxury of a rapid glance at the protruding mounds against her tight, green sweater.
"Very well, Mr. Harrison," she said, and took a deep breath, which accentuated the up tilted mounds. "What shall I do while you're gone?"
"You've earned a break," he said. "Have some coffee or something. Use your imagination."
"Thank you, Mr. Harrison," she said, and her smile deepened. "I'm a very imaginative girl. In everything I do."
Nick glanced a final time at the thrust against the green sweater. "I'm sure you are, Miss Lewis," he said.
Nick turned and walked out into the corridor and moved leisurely toward Connors' office. He nodded at other people who came from offices along the corridor, but he thought of Miss Lewis and that smile and those eyes and that body.
Nick shoved open the double doors and walked into the entrance foyer to Marshall Connors' suite of offices. His secretary, Miss Morgan, looked at him over the tops of wire-rimmed glasses. It was rumored that Miss Morgan had been in his office forever, that they had built the whole place around her neatly-kept desk, and as Nick looked at the compilation of wrinkles on her hawk-thin face, he was inclined to believe the story.
"Mr. Connors is waiting," she said briskly, and turned at once to her typewriter.
Nick opened the large oak-paneled door and stepped into Marshall Connors' cavernous office filled with nostalgia as well as elaborately expensive, dark-wood furniture.
"Come in, Nick," Connors boomed, and got up from behind the walnut desk at the far end of the room.
Nick walked quickly across the room, glancing as always at the huge portraits that hung along the walls, and at the framed degrees and testimonials and awards and cups along the shelves and on cabinet tops.
Connors, a tall, wiry man with brush-cut grey hair and a face which showed little evidence of his sixty years, stood between two enormous paintings, one of himself as a thirty-year-old pioneer in the advertising business, the other of Carlton Ross, his partner, who had died several years ago. Nick shook hands with Connors, and as always was impressed with the firm, aggressive handshake. Then Nick sat in the huge leather chair to which Connors gestured.
"Well, Nick, I've been looking over the Jarvis account and the new advertising campaign," Connors said, as he settled down into his chair. "And I could not possibly be more pleased. And Frank Jarvis told me at lunch today that he feels the same way."
"Thank you, sir," Nick said, and allowed himself the smugness of knowing the flattery was justified.
Connors leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "Normally I would be inclined to reward you at this point," Connors said. "But I'm not going to Nick, my boy. Not in the normal sense, at least. Because I don't consider you a normal man."
"I don't quite follow you, sir," Nick said.
"Nick, I'm taking you off the Jarvis account," Connors said.
"Taking me off?" Nick asked. "But the campaign is just getting under way."
"Nick, anyone here can direct the campaign, now that you've set it up," Connors said. "Many men here with far less ability and drive can handle things now. Instead of a rest and a reward, I'm going to give you a challenge."
And Nick sat up in his seat and knew suddenly what the challenge would be, but allowed Connors the deference of seeming to have surprised him. "Again you've lost me," Nick said. "I'd welcome a challenge, but I don't quite understand."
Connors leaned back in his chair and stared at Nick a moment. Then he leaned forward on the desk again. "Nick, I'm putting you in charge of the Dennison account," Connors said, in a voice he would have used had he been a doctor telling a patient he had cancer.