Her legs are spread wide for me. She’s always so eager to have me take her across my desk.

My secretary, Lydia, is begging for it, and that’s all the motivation I need to drive it home.

I pump into her roughly and grip her hips between my strong hands, trying to keep her in place and from ruining all the paperwork on my desk.

“Yes, Paul, oh fuck, yes.”

Yeah, I know, baby. You want it…bad.

She came on board to my firm a couple months ago, and we’ve made this a little nightly ritual. It took less than a week of her working for me to have her on her knees in my office, begging to suck my cock.

Who am I to say no? Paul Armstrong does not say no to a beautiful woman so easily.

I am, by definition, a player, but Lydia doesn’t know that about me. She might’ve surmised it given the fact that I’ve never once invited her to my place or seen her outside of the office. But I’m not about to ruin the fluid sexual relationship we have going.

That’s all it is—sex. That’s all it ever is.

I’m fairly new to the city, came in from London a couple months ago. I live in a nice little place—okay, a nice big place while I look around town for the perfect penthouse.

I grab a handful of her beautiful tits and then I thrust into her harder than ever.

My twelve-inch cock goes in deep, and she cries out my name again. I cup a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her gasps for me.

“Paul, fuck, I’m coming so hard.”

She always comes hard. Lydia—the twenty-something personal assistant who organizes my life and dresses for my benefit every single day—always has multiple orgasms with me.

I know I’m the best she’s ever had. I’m the best most women have ever had. That’s why it’s my pleasure to fuck them into oblivion; I’m doing them a fucking favor.

Today, she’s got a tight little bondage dress on. It’s far too inappropriate for the office, but who am I to complain? She’ll get the message soon enough that I’m not really interested, and then she’ll either quit, move to another department, or hold her head high and come into work every day even as I fuck a new round of women.

What can I say?

It takes a lot to keep me interested for any length of time…and Lydia’s just not that interesting.

Besides, it’s a two-way street. She’s fucking me because I’m the boss and a natural dominant. I’m fucking her because she has nice tits and she’s conveniently located.

Don’t think I’m an asshole just yet. I’m holding out for love, but at this point in my life, it’s been more about lust than anything else.

You try finding the whole package in a city like this. I need brains, beauty, and a certain amount of vulnerability that’ll keep my cock hard for a lifetime.

“Paul, baby, fuck. You’re so hot!”

Lydia’s screaming and coming all around my thick shaft. I take my time to draw out her pleasure, and then I sink into her deeply and pull out just in time to spray cum all over her tits and torso.

It glistens so nicely on her flat belly, and I take a second to just watch as she scoops my essence off her chest and licks her fingers clean.

Good fucking girl.

I let her pull herself together and make my way to the bar. It’s nighttime already, and I need a fucking drink.

To say I’m a workaholic is an understatement. I work all the goddamn time, and that’s why Lydia’s so convenient to have around.

“Mmm, Paul, that was so good,” she says, getting back into her tight bondage-style dress. “Hey, you wanna get a drink somewhere?”

“Hmm, baby I’d like to, but you know how much work I have to do. You go out, have fun.”

She pouts, and I go over to her kiss her softly to remind her that it’ll be this way same time tomorrow.

“Okay,” she says cheerily as she walks to the door. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Fine,” I say absentmindedly over my shoulder.

I’m already burying my head in a stack of new reports.

I work too much, and I know it, but let’s just say it’s more important to me to get ahead then it is to go out on the town for some mediocre fun.

I work late into the night, and then I hit the gym that’s close to the apartment. I love to work out late, when no one’s there, when normal people have gone to bed.

That’s when I come alive. I’m a night owl and survive on very little sleep.

I work out hard, to the very max, then I shower up and go home. I have a black Porsche that I drive when I want to give my limousine driver the night off. He deserves it.

He has a family and everything, not like me. I have no one to answer to and I like it that way.

Tonight is no different, and as I click on the lights of my darkened apartment, I can’t help but think of her.

She doesn’t have a name. She’s barely even a neighbor. But she lives next door in The Bradford, and she’s so fucking beautiful that I find myself staring from my place into her apartment often.

I just like to get a glimpse of her, to know that she’s okay.

And I vow to meet her one day soon.

It just has to look like an accident.