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Under the Boss’s Desk

by Lena Malick

This is a work of fiction. All characters are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All sex is consensual. All characters are over 18 years of age and are not blood related. Published by Lena Malick on Smashwords.

©2016 Lena Malick | Scorpio Rising Publishing

We were flying at thirty thousand feet. I was sitting next to my boss, the man I’d been madly lusting after for the last three years. He was asleep. Not surprising after what we’d been through in the last five days.

His head was tilted against the window, propped on a sliver of a pillow the stewardess provided. The shade was half down, with enough late afternoon light filtering through to softly illuminate his face. I couldn’t remember ever having the opportunity to look at him like this, completely unrestrained. I stared, greedy at the opportunity. His face had smooth, almost aristocratic features, except for his full lips. He had deep set eyes and porcelain-like skin. His arms had prominent veins running their length, the result of a crushing daily workout routine. He was only thirty-one, but already had lines on his forehead and small crow’s feet spreading from his eyes, violating the smooth texture of his luminous, pale skin.

His mouth was open slightly as he slept, his lips parted. I pictured myself kissing him, as I had imagined a thousand times. Only now I could imagine it while actually looked at his lips. I leaned in closer, careful not to wake him. I could smell him, the familiar scent of his cologne, combined with a musty, sweet smell. His dark eyelashes, as long as a young boys, lay graceful as silk over his eyes. My hair fell forward, nearly brushing his chin.

I sat back in my chair, not trusting my impulses. For three years, I had refrained. I’d not let my feelings be known, always keeping my desire at bay. When he announced his engagement, I celebrated with him. When she broke it off, breaking his heart, I held him as he sobbed. I worked long hours, sometimes weekends. I traveled with him, assisted him, and helped him keep his life in order. “You’re my rock,” he’d tell me. I’d rather be your lover, I’d always think.

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