"Excuse me a moment, please," she said. The elderly lady nodded and began pulling voluminous brokerage reports from the large manila envelope she brought with her.

"Are you with a client?" his low voice rumbled through her and she felt a rush of heat between her thighs.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, smiling at the prim matron. She obeyed his command to continue her work and began to sort through the lady's papers as he continued to speak.

"Ah yes, you had an appointment with Mrs. Wharton this morning. Three hundred years old and more money than God, isn't that how you described her? The oldest WASP on the planet."

She struggled to control her breathing as her heart hammered in her chest. His deep laughter rippled through her body, setting her skin on fire.

"What do you think she sees when she looks at you, girl? Does she see the real you? Do you think she can see you crawling nude to my feet, begging my touch? Do you think she can imagine the way your nipples harden under my lips and teeth? The way you writhe with need as my hands claim what is mine? Or perhaps she can hear that animal sound you make as your body arches up so eagerly to me. The way your flesh swells and your thighs part so willingly as my hot breath passes across that sweet cunt of yours. Perhaps she can even smell you now as your juices seep into those lace panties you wear.”

She rocked forward in the chair, pressing her thighs together.

"Don’t squirm...you know that’s not very businesslike."

Oh, what that man did to her. She clenched her fingers for a moment to control the shaking and smiled to Mrs. Wharton, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Settle," he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice resonating through her. She once again began sorting through the pile of papers on her desk as his voice took her to a place all too familiar.

"You are wearing that gray suit I chose for you today, aren't you? The short skirt and that fitted jacket, looking like the quintessential professional. Only I know what lies beneath that soft tweed. The deep purple I bought to cup the breasts that belong to me. The lace that rasps across the hard nipples, it must send a jolt through you every time you move, doesn't it? I love the taste of your skin, girl, the textures of you. I love the soft, silken flesh of your breasts against my face, the crinkly nipples that spring up under my teeth as I nibble. I like to suck each one into my mouth as my hands slide over the curve of your hips, my thumbs hooking into the fragile lace panties. I do so enjoy slowly pulling them down as my mouth feasts on the breasts I own. I hunger for you, girl. I would love to be there to press your naked body down upon that big desk and dive between those thighs. Tormenting that little swollen pearl hidden deep within your pink flesh. My hand pinning you down to the desk as you writhe and buck, while my tongue dances over that pearl, feeling it swell and throb till I suck it between my lips."

The client was forgotten now, as he took her away from work, away from the office, away from the world. His voice drew her to that place where only he existed. Only him.

"I love the sounds you make, the sounds I force from you. I revel in every helpless cry and whimper, and then the feral groans that erupt from your throat as I manipulate that delicious body. I never tire of exploring you. Each time I find new delight in your responses. I love the shudders that pass through you as I growl into the core of you, the way your folds contract around my intrusive tongue. The sweet musky scent of you fills me as I feast, consuming what is mine.

"What do you think your clients would think if they could see you then? Your porcelain flesh pink and mottled with the evidence of your desire, the frantic look in those blue eyes, glazed with lust. Would they be shocked at the guttural sounds emanating from your throat in that moment when language fails you? Would they even recognize the husky rasp of your voice when you finally manage to croak out enough words to beg... to beg me to let you release?

"What would they think of the professional businesswoman then?

"They do not see what I see. Every time I think of you. Whether you are in jeans or a suit, or an evening gown, that is what I see.... the beast... the animal that I own.

“With every breath, I feel you, I smell you, and I taste you.

"Even now, as your skin heats, you know.

Your fire is mine, girl... the fire that fuels your blush."

She swallowed a moan as he growled, "Back to work now. We will continue this later at home. Do not be late."

The "click" as he disconnected echoed in her head. Unsteadily she returned the phone to its cradle. She blinked, her eyes slowly regaining their focus as she realized she had crumbled a financial report in her fist. She laid the paper flat, smoothing over it with her free hand. A small cough broke her from her trance-like state. She lifted her head quickly, having forgotten the old woman's presence on the other side of the large desk.

Aged and experienced eyes, met her own. Unable to hold the woman’s gaze, she lowered her head, feigning concentration on the papers spread on her desk. A small wrinkled hand covered hers, patting it lightly.

"I remember just such a moment, dear."

She gasped and looked up. When their eyes met, the old woman winked and leaned in to whisper, " The most compelling men are the ones who can ignite a woman’s blush.”