Then his fingers weave through your hair as he trembles in his overwhelming desire for you, his urgent need to touch you, yes and take you and yet, he...pauses, only touching your hair, enthralled in the simple blink of your eye.He swallows, fighting his deepest yearning to watch your breasts rise and fall with each progressive breath. Studying their curves he lowers his hand to hold it just above you, as if absorbing the aura of your softness through the scant fabric. Every fiber of his being. She blushed about four shades of red, before stammering out, “I am so embarrassed.”“There is no need to be embarrassed,” I replied. “You’re a good hard worker.”“Oh my God!” she exclaimed as our conversation from Friday night filtered into her thoughts. “I’m so sorry,” she quickly apologized.“There is no need to apologize,” I said.She buried her face in her hands.I stood up, walked past her and checked the office door to make sure it was locked. I closed the venation blinds that covered the. More

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