Jina Bacarr - Naked Sushi

“Silly, dumb, stupid” were adjectives I’d use to describe my actions, but what girl stopped to think when a kiss was this good? I didn’t. My body became the prey of this corporate raider Casanova. His hands were all over me, toying with my heavy red-plaid flannel shirt, yanking at the buttons hanging on for dear life. With one small tug, he popped off the top two.

Oh, Lord, what next?

I did nothing to stop him when he cupped my breasts, wondering how far he’d go. He trailed his fingers along the flimsy black lace edging of my bra.

“Mmm...” he moaned. Was he enjoying the kiss? Or surprised that a geek like me was into sexy underwear?

Just wait until you see my new French-cut black satin panties, I wanted tell him. But I was so conscious of his devouring mouth on mine, my entire being trembling with suppressed emotion, I didn’t dare break the lip-lock.

Besides, I wasn’t going to let him get that far.

Was I?

Pressed up against the copy machine, I began to have my doubts. I couldn’t move, as surely as if I were tied down, my legs spread wide apart, his groin pressed into my mound. His hands wandered. Oh, boy, did they wander, searching up and down my body, his fingers pulling apart my shirt and letting it flap in the cool breeze blowing through the overhead AC vent.

“Oh, yes,” I barely breathed when he broke the kiss and then placed his hands on each side of my waist and squeezed it. I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me when he touched my bare skin. I wanted him to go back to eyeing the cute black lace edging of my bra with a front hook.

A front hook, I wanted to shout.

No fancy maneuvering needed to prove to me how much of a stud he was by reaching around and undoing my bra with one hand.

My nipples ached for his touch, but he seemed fixated on stroking and then pressing the flesh on my hips. His hands roamed over my buttocks and then up and down my legs, gripping and squeezing them with a cavalier vigor that did me in. I arched my back toward him to give him greater access to me.

He grabbed my crotch.

I moaned. Damn, did it get any better than this?

Who would have thought I’d get caught in the copy room with a sexy guy when I had to work late? Not me. Had the geek fairy godmother heard my prayers and brought me a man of my own?

A little voice crept into my head, telling me to grow up and quit believing in fairy tales like my best friend, Cindy, but I couldn’t turn back now. I pretended I was a bucking bronco and this cowboy was taking me for a long, sexy ride. I writhed, humped and nearly assaulted him. I grabbed his black T-shirt and raked my nails up and down his chest. Wanting to touch him, feel him.

I breathed desire in his ear, not wanting to let him go. Still, I walked a delicate tightrope with this man. My ego was on the line. On one hand, I yearned to break boldly out of my shell. To act upon this chance encounter without guilt, no regret. Let him touch me, fondle me.

On the other, I was scared shitless.

What if I disappointed him?

This was a common problem with me. Analyzing the hell out of everything I did, even sex. I was no sleek avenger with all the right moves. I was more like the sassy-mouthed brainiac in the spy flicks who sat at her computer, tapping out answers on her fancy keyboard. Not that I’m bad looking, but I came off as an easy mark when I tried to flirt. I was too eager to please without thinking about the consequences.

Not tonight.

Sexually charged up, incredibly intense, I decided to go for it. I stepped out of my ordinary world and relished this escape from reality. My blue-rimmed spectacles slid all the way down my perspiration-slick nose. I didn’t push them back up.

How could I?

I was completely helpless in his arms when his hand dropped down between my legs, his fingers pressing against me. I wiggled my ass. I wished my jeans were off and he was pushing through my pubic hair until he found my throbbing clit.

Just thinking about it made me moan again; the steady pressure of his fingers rubbing against the rough denim stressed me out. I sensed this man possessed an enjoyment of sex that went way beyond a casual cop-a-feel.

A buzzing excitement slithered through me when I rubbed up against him, primal-like, daring him to tame me. I imagined him pulling down my jeans and panties and then probing me with his tongue, massaging all around my clitoris with his mouth. I growled, the low sound coming from the back of my throat.

That aroused him more.

I wiggled my hips, hoping he’d get the message. Something about the methodical yet sensual way he touched me set off a slow burn between my legs I couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, pulling on the drawstring of his sweats, but I couldn’t untie the knot. “It feels so good.”

“You tempt me, babe,” he said, kissing the nape of my neck. “Are there cameras in here?”

I shake my head. “Mr. Briggs is too cheap for that.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands holding me tighter. Pulling at my jeans and searching for the zipper hidden beneath the button-down flap in front.

“Allow me.” I unbuttoned the flap, nearly ripping it off.

“I’m curious,” he said, drawing down the zipper on my jeans with an alacrity that set me on edge. “How did you know I was in here?”

“I didn’t. I thought everyone had gone home.”

“You’re sure no one’s around?” He nibbled on my earlobe and then licked all around my ear until I shivered with pleasure.

“Yes. It’s Super Tuesday.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Poker night. The guys meet at Sam’s Bar after work and memorize cards.” A lightbulb moment flickered in my brain, making me ask, “How come they didn’t invite you?”

“I prefer strip poker.” He ran his fingers over my bare midriff, digging them down into the elastic waistband of my panties. I moaned and instinctively pushed against him. From the grin on his face, I could see he was turned-on.

“How about a game of Five-Card Stud?” I mumbled no louder than a whisper. Could he smell my need, moistening my panties with droplets of desire?

I could, which meant I couldn’t wait much longer.

“I’ve got a winning hand right here,” he said, grabbing my ass.

What would happen next, I could only guess. Anticipation, I found out, could be as good as or better than the sex.

I didn’t have long to wait to find out.

He turned me around and faced me toward the copier and then slid my jeans down below my thighs. Next, he pulled down my black silky panties and then ran his finger up and down the crack in my rear, eliciting a moan from me. I wiggled my butt as his fingers moved up and down in an intimate manner so close to my anal hole I couldn’t stop panting.

The naughty girl in me was overly excited by what was happening to me in the chilly copy room. I felt daring with my pants down in this high-tech room in an old Victorian mansion, once the seat of respectability.

And, boy, was I turned-on.

In spite of the air-cooled temp, I seethed with heated anticipation when he positioned himself behind me and then eased forward to push the bulge in his pants against my bare butt. I heard the snap of a condom.

“Is that a new one?” I asked him, hopeful.

That surprised him. “Don’t worry,” he said, laughing. “The expiration date is years away.”

I sighed, relieved. If I were thinking straight, that would have alerted me that something was wrong. Most programmers I knew carry subprime, expired condoms. But I wasn’t thinking straight. Instead, I twisted my head around and saw him pull out his dick and slip a raincoat over it.

Jeez.

“Big” didn’t begin to describe him.