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Remember Me. Oliver, Secretary! It had been on the night of the office Christmas Party when Oliver learned a sensual secret about his seemingly-quiet Executive Assistant Felicity, that was the same night she became something much more.

Oliver ran a tired hand through his cropped hair remembering, when he felt short spikes where there had once been more length, that he had clippered the same a few days earlier.

It was quarter past eleven, a ridiculous hour to still be in the office pouring over papers his eyes were too tired to focus on. Twinkled lights of other office workers burning the midnight oil covered the city scape he could see from the 69th floor of the Queen Consolidated Tower.

His eyes were drawn to the oak panelled door cracked barely an inch open as a familiar sound honed his senses. He sucked in air and smiled, creamy rich lavender soap touched in tiny wisps against his nostrils.

Tap, tap, tap-tap. That was the sound of at least 3 inch heels against a marbled floor. Specifically that was the sound of her 3 inch heels against a marbled floor, because every third tap was a double one.

He would know, he had memorized it by now. He leaned over the glass desk, his loosened tie stroking against it and whipping up deliciously hedonistic ideas.

Shaking them from his head he pressed the intercom button and waited. It only took her five minutes before the tap, tap, tap-tap grew closer and halted outside his door.

Five excruciating long minutes if you were to ask Oliver. A meek tap on the door like always, this despite the fact she knew his office was empty of other workers given she sat right outside and despite the fact he had, only five minutes ago, asked her to come in.

Still, there was something endearing about the gesture and he had grown both accustomed and fond of it. The door opened slowly but without a creak.

Tap, tap, tap-tap Felicity walked in and closed the door behind herself, so gently that the click of the lock was barely heard. His eyes wandered up her legs, black stockings, plain.

That was a shame he liked the ones with the softly embossed pattern of vines, it made him feel like Jack, with his very own tantalising beanstalk to climb growing up her leg.

Mid thigh the stockings darkened into a band of satin, threaded with a thin ivory ribbon. These ones were new. A nice surprise.

Suspenders sunk in against her upper thighs, clipped to a garter of shimmering black satin trimmed with whimsically thin lace which sheathed flimsy sheer black panties he could absolutely tear with his teeth if he so wished it.

His hauntingly blue eyes roamed further up, tracing the soft and supple curves of her stomach and clinched waist until they reached her breasts. He lingered there for a few moments until he continued his path upward, his cock straining against the tailored midnight blue Hugo Boss pants.

08.03.2020 – Our thighs came into contact, sending electrical charges to my brain. Bad ass hmong bitch. I would become her love slave. Jesus, fucking, Chris , Felicity her brain screamed at her as she felt a familiar warmth building between her legs.

Eyes behind two-toned glasses stared, unflinching, across the room at him. He had admired long enough. Tap, tap, tap-tap She was behind him now and Oliver thought back to the moment he learned the most sensual of secrets about his timidly-shy EA.

It was the moment she became something much more.

And so, she had passed off most idle thoughts about what his chest might look like once devoid of clothes, to harmless musings and slightly dirty dreams. Having a big name behind you on a CV was impressive, even more so when that name was also the one affixed to the side of the building. Plum lace insert high leg cupped body clothing A note was taped to my chest.

Christmas Party Friday, 6 December Not yet, but give him an hour or two more and he probably would be though. The single malt whiskey was going down a treat although his body would certainly feel the effects of it tomorrow.

He had no sad excuse to be nursing the dregs of his fifth, no eighth? He had no baggage and he liked it that way. With its brushed gold accents and its echoing cream marble floors everything in it spoke to the height of opulence and wealth.

If only for the night. Nearby the foxes chortled away, the women who had scooted past the age of 40 but refused to admit it.

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They were mostly diploma holding women who had scorned traditional family lives to focus on climbing ladders. The IT crowd nursed spirits mixed with soda.

The chorus girls of junior secretaries sipped brightly coloured cocktails. The mother hens of support staff guzzled down glasses of red wine.

The accounting department sulked in shadows clasping imported beers. They were good people, mostly, and fine people, likely.

Just watch. Because watching was what Oliver liked to do.

Well, among In fact, cards on the table, Oliver had a whole host of things he liked doing. Most of which, he knew, were not meant to be spoken of in polite company.

Slender arms, bare with faint wisps of blonde hair. Pouted lips, succulent red. Eyes, blue, almond shaped, staring directly at him with just one raised brow, silently challenging him.

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She was the timid little secretary he had recruited only two months prior from her quiet position down in the IT department? It had been almost a joke, a test of his mother’s goodwill and his father’s patience.

The old biddies he had sitting outside his office previously were undoubtedly good at their job, but they mothered him and took everything far too seriously.

He had a mother and if he wanted serious he would have watched the nightly news. Oliver needed some light entertainment and after looking through those within the firm who had put requests in to be looked at for promotions or internal recruitment, Felicity Smoak, MIT graduate slumming it in the IT department had caught his eye.

She was wholly inexperienced in that sort of role and she had looked at him most quizzically when he had offered her the position.

But, after tacking on the prospect of working on the development of new and next level technical advances, Felicity had accepted the deal on one very odd proviso No discussion, no wiggle room.

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But, here and now, the woman beside him did not resemble his charmingly sweet little EA, with her short but not that short skirts, her frosted pink lips, demure ponytail and vividly painted nails.

Yes, Felicity the EA was cute and he had found himself admiring her a few times, particularly in that grey dress with the orange patches, but it was a passing recognition that she was easy on the eye and a sweet, charm of a girl to work with.

He had found her pleasant and smart. Like a fruit salad, nice, sweet, probably good for you but not your first choice when selecting from the desert tray The Felicity at the bar hugged in red was definitely not fruit salad.

She looked different without her glasses, not better or worse, just different. He enjoyed different.

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Oliver stood up faster then he had expected to and his slight wobble broke a chuckle from her lips. Her eyes stayed on him, lockedand when Oliver settled on the word locked he absolutely meant it.

The direct contact of those flourished blue eyes was almost too heavy. He instinctively shifted in his seat to ease some of the weight.

All Oliver could do was smile and lightly chuckle at her candour. I want my hands on what you can offer me. The things that division can conjure up will be extraordinary and I would like a front seat to seeing it happen, in hopes that perhaps one day booking in your hair appointments with Gerard will see me through to actually being a part of their revolution.

She also wore a gown made of the same fabric that slipped down her shoulders. As her own breaths slowed she heard these others more clearly. Plum lace insert high leg cupped body clothing Alistair sat down on the floor with his trousers round his knees and looked almost ready to cry and Katie, on the bed, didn’t look much better.

Oliver admired the way she spoke, it was direct but without any hint of arrogance or aggression, it was beyond refreshing in a world of kiss asses and back stabbers.

Not because the wallet was anything special but because inside it sat the key card to his penthouse suite and it was conjuring up ideas.

Terrible ideas. Woefully improper ideas. He could not sleep with his secretary? Could he? He waved the bartender over and was presented with a refreshed drink within the minute — he had offered the bartender a hefty tip if he kept the replenished drinks coming.

There stood my mistress, still dressed in her leather outfit. Sexy Dresses for Women, Mini Club Dresses different sizes She then untied the gag and removed the dildo from between my teeth.

Felicity had lines, lines she clearly preferred not to cross. Lines like the key card burning a hole in his pocket. Oliver leaned in, his elbows burrowing into the varnished oak table.

There was something utterly distracting about the way she said that word, hidden.

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Had she heard something? Seen something? Had he let something slip? Because she seemed to know something that very, veryfew people knew.

No demands, no judgement, she had left it simply as a statement placed figuratively out in the open on the table in front of them.

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It was probably the whiskey talking and maybe this moment was going to be the single most stupid decision he would make, but honestly he really stopped giving a fuck the moment the idea first landed in his brain.

Oliver slid the leather wallet from his pocket, flipped it open and eased the key card from the slot it normally lived. Felicity gazed down at it, the lights may have been dim where they were sitting but there was no mistaking what it was.

She knew she should probably say no, but saying yes seemed a far more favourable course of action. She was breaking a whole host of rules, ones that could see her both fired and banned and she wanted neither.