I was sitting at my desk at work, squeezing my thighs together and trying to stop the throb in my pussy.
Today marked four months and three days since I'd had sex.
And yes, I was counting.
A brightly lit, bustling office at a software company was the last place I usually thought about sex. As a busy secretary for a large department, I barely had time to go to the bathroom some days, let alone fantasize about sex.
I picked up my papers and tried to look busy, secretly watching the two handsome painters who were shooting smoldering looks my way.
They stood by the water cooler, filling their bottles. The tall painter had wavy brown hair that brushed his collar. Broad shoulders filled out his white painter's uniform, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned forearms. He tilted his head back, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he drank. A drop of water escaped and clung to his stubbled chin. He bent to refill the bottle, shooting glances my way.
His companion was half a head shorter and lean. A short, military-type haircut and clean-shaven face made him look young. Mid-twenties, maybe. He drank his water and wiped his full lips with the back of his hand.
The white overalls and tight blue shirts enhanced their trim bodies. Paint-splattered work boots completed the sexy package. I pressed my thighs together to calm the throb.
They came to paint the conference room and two newly renovated offices, working in an area taped off with heavy plastic. I'd been so busy all day, I'd barely noticed them until their recent trip to the water cooler.
I scrolled through my emails, half-watching the tall painter screwing the cap onto his water bottle. It was Friday afternoon, and I'd mentally checked out of work. My cubicle sat near the hallway so I could greet people coming into the department. Sometimes I liked the quiet, but other times I craved conversation and chatted with people who came to the water cooler.
The young painter spoke in a low voice, and they both turned to look at me. My heartbeat kicked up a notch. They walked over to my cubicle, and I looked up into a pair of dark brown eyes.
"Hi," the tall painter said. He offered his hand. "I'm Alex."
I lifted my hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rachel."
He gave my palm a brief squeeze, and his gaze slid down to my chest. My breasts were on the smaller side, but that never stopped men from looking. Alex had dark eyebrows and a strong jawline. A faint scar topped his left cheek, and his big hands were dotted with specks of white paint.
"Hi Rachel, I'm Ben," the young painter said.
A hot spark of awareness coursed through my body as I shook his hand. Close up, he was stunning. Bright blue eyes ringed with dark lashes, and a small cleft in his chin. His eyes held mine a few seconds too long. And those lips...up close, they were luscious.
"Nice to meet you, Ben."
How would it feel to fuck a younger man? Why hadn't I considered it? I always thought they wouldn't be interested. I held his gaze until he looked away.
Alex ran his hand through his hair. "Saw you watchin' us over your screen."
"I didn't—I wasn't..."
But it was too late. My neck heated. I had red hair and pale skin, and the smallest blush made my neck and face turn tomato-red.
He smiled, revealing dimples and nice teeth. "It's okay, darlin', I was lookin', too."
YOU ARE READING
The Painters
RomanceThey gave her a week. She gave them her heart. Rachel has dated since her divorce, but she's bored with men who act too polite in bed. She's dying for the kind of sex that can set her body aflame. Two gorgeous painters in her office fill her mind wi...