Uncle Damon's Little Voyeur 03

A knock sounds on my office door. I lift my eyes from the contract and look at Lydia. She just shrugs and raises a brow, already wondering who would dare knock without being called.

I rarely deal with staff directly. Executives know better than to walk in unannounced unless the building is on fire.

“Come in,” I call out, keeping my voice low and praying to the good Lord that it wasn’t my wife.

Milly’s blonde hair appears first. Her face is already flushed. She only pokes her head in. “Uncle Damon?”

“Yes, Millicent.” I lean back against the leather chair.

She doesn’t step inside. She just stands there with half her body still in the hallway, mouth opening and closing like she can’t decide whether to speak. Her eyes flick to Lydia, then back to me.

I glance at my assistant. “That’s enough for now.”

Lydia nods, gathers her things, and slowly walks out, allowing Milly to step inside before closing the door behind her.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

I haven’t seen her since last night. She was already gone by the time I got up and got ready for work. She somehow managed to make breakfast before running away from me. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was running because she always waited for Yelena before.

“I just—” she pauses and clears her throat. “Wanted to apologize.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing very well what she was apologizing for but wanting her to say it anyway. “What for?”

My cock is already reacting to the sight of her standing there in that fitted blouse and the skirt that hugs every curve. That shy-girl persona wasn’t doing her any favors either.

She points a finger over her shoulder like last night is still hovering somewhere behind her. I almost smile.

“Last night.”

“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “What happened last night?”

Her face reddens even more, and she catches her lip between her teeth.

“If you don’t say it,” I tell her, voice low, “how will I know you mean it?”

She stays quiet for a long moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The movement makes her tits press against the blouse. I let my eyes drop there for a second before coming back to her face.

“I shouldn’t have been watching,” she finally whispers.

I stand up slowly. The chair rolls back. I walk around the desk without taking my eyes off her. Each step makes her breathe a little faster. By the time I stop in front of her she has to tip her head back to keep looking at me.

I reach past her and lock the door.

Her eyes go wide.

I don’t touch her yet. I just stand close enough that she can feel the heat of me, and the candy-sweet scent of her perfume hits me straight in the chest.

I crowd her until her back hits the door. “Did you touch yourself when you got to your room?”

Her lips part. For a second I think she won’t answer. Then she gives the smallest nod.

“Did you come?”

Another nod, tinier this time.

I lean down until my mouth is near her ear. “Do you want me to touch you right now?”

She nods again. Fast and almost desperate.

I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Then why the hell were you apologizing?”

She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is already uneven as I bury my face in the side of her neck and breathe her in. My tongue comes out and drags a slow line up the soft skin to the spot just under her ear. A tiny sound escapes her throat.

My cock is hard, pressing against her stomach through my pants. I don’t try to hide it. I roll my hips once so she feels every inch of what she’s doing to me. I’ve never been into a chubby woman before. Maybe that’s why I was never quite satisfied.

The thought of taking her while I hold on to that ass and those hips is going to be the end of me.

I keep my mouth on her neck, licking and nuzzling, never going near her lipstick. Every time my tongue moves she makes another tortured noise. I stay there until the noises get harder to hold back, until her hands are fisting the front of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.

Only then do I let one hand slide down.

I palm the full curve of her hip first, then move between her legs, pushing the skirt up just enough. She’s already soaked through her underwear. I rub her over the fabric in slow circles, feeling how hot she is, how ready. Her head drops back against the door with a soft thud.

“How old are you?” I ask against her neck.

“Huh?”

“How old, Milly?”

I should know this. But I haven’t really been a model uncle, have I?

“Twenty,” she whispers, arching into me.

I slip my hand inside her underwear and find her clit then. She’s wet enough that my fingers glide easily. I work her in tight little circles, then slide two fingers lower and push them inside. She is tight and scorching and already fluttering around me. I curl them and keep my thumb on her clit, stroking her.

Her hips start moving against my hand. Small, helpless rolls. I keep the same rhythm, not faster, not harder, just relentless. My mouth stays on her neck the whole time, tongue tracing the same path over and over while she tries not to moan.

When she comes her walls clamp down on my fingers and a deep sound escapes before she can stop it. I work her through it, slower now, until her legs are shaking and she’s gripping my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

I ease my hand out of her underwear and bring my fingers up between us. They’re shiny with her. I bring them my mouth.

A knock hits the door right behind her head.

“Damon?” Yelena’s voice comes through the wood. “Are you busy? Lydia said you were free.”