He liked his coffee black with no sugar.

The darker more confident side of her took the fact as a testament for how he preferred his women. Her skin was the color of the aromatic liquid currently burning the tips of her fingers as she gripped the cup tightly. She imagined him canvassing her dermis with his tongue, committing every mole, scar, and stretch mark to his memory as he tasted her time and time again.  

It was only a fantasy.

Every morning her hand shook as she carried the cup on the saucer to his desk and waited for his inspection of the piping hot liquid. She bit the inside of her cheek as nervous tension riddled her body as she lingered. She stared as he studied the cup intently, checking for cracks or smudges until he gave it conditional nod of approval. In the end he tilted his chin towards the ceiling and took a tentative sip of beverage before sliding the saucer and the cup across the desk. He waved his hand and dismissed her from his presence.

Dejected she walked away, taking the nearly full mug back to the kitchen, pouring the remaining coffee down the drain, washing the cup and hanging it from the hook above the sink in preparation for the next day.

She returned to her desk and waited.

Sometimes she filed, documents, briefings, minutes from their meetings, and bills.

Other times she shuffled through the small pile of mail on her desk; anything to occupy her time and negate the perception that she was lazy.

It was all a charade, she was waiting for him.

Mercifully the phone on her desk buzzed and she pressed the illuminated button and listened for his instructions, "Ms. Jenkins please, come to my office."

April Jenkins walked hurriedly from her desk. She smoothed down her skirt as her heels clicked against the tiled floor. Two inches and not a fraction of an inch higher was the requirement for her shoes, he'd listed it on the contract she signed upon accepting his offer of employment. The remaining terms: straight black pencil skirts that fell just below her knees partnered only with tailored blouses in primary colors comprised her wardrobe and her natural hair was to be worn in soft curls or neat afro of low to medium height.

For three years this was how she lived from eight am to five pm each day.

The rigidity of April's schedule and the subsequent demands of one Carter Beck did little to disturb her.

She had grown accustomed to orders, in fact she found them liberating.

April knocked one time and paused in front of his door, awaiting clearance to enter. When he uttered the words, she didn't dawdle; she turned the knob and crossed the threshold.

"Please close and lock the door Ms. Jenkins."

She did as she was instructed, shutting the door tightly and turning the antiquated lock.

Three years and she still could not get used to the look and feel of his home away from home; the large mahogany desk that sucked up the brightness from the large bay windows; the woodsy scent of his cologne that saturated the air, and him a domineering presence at a little over six feet, slim, athletic build, and an icy stare that often rendered her speechless.

He still sat behind his desk, intense gaze dictating the pace of her heart and the depth of her breaths.

"Good Morning Ms. Jenkins."

The roughness of his voice sanded her skin, peeling away layers of uncertainty, to reveal a willing and submissive woman intent on achieving the greatest level of pleasure.  

"Good Morning Mr. Beck."

He moved swiftly possessing an over abundance of grace when he lifted his body from the seat and erased the distance between them. His eyes were dark, his features harsher than she recalled, "Did I tell you to speak?"

She whimpered and he softened immediately, lightly stroking the exposed column of her neck with his fingers, "Forgive me my pet it's been far too long."

Her eyes met his and he nodded, "You are forgiven Mr. Beck."

The smile that rested on his face was full and warm; lighter than the darkness that the office held, more comforting than the terse words that had passed between them, and exactly what she needed.

He dictated his further requests without words.

She knew that when he raised his hand and pointed to the desk that she was expected to stand in front of the immaculately designed piece of furniture, place her hands palm down, and bend ever so slightly at the waist.

She did so without hesitation and was quickly rewarded with a firm smack to her ass.

There was no time to waiver or wager her composure.

She kept her shit together, tasting blood in her mouth as she bit down on her tongue, in an effort not to respond to the well timed and strategic placement of his flattened hand. Her center warmed and she felt the moisture in the seat of panties increase.

"I can smell you."

She forced her body not to shudder when his lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

"Are you wet for me?"

She wanted to scream, yell to the top of her lungs, that he was the only man who could cause this type of reaction in her, but she remained still; her eyes studying the silver frames on his desk.

The wedding photo on the beach in Bali...

The baby girl named Layla, with curly hair and eyes almost as bright as his...

Those were her distractions even as his fingers connected with the most intimate parts of her and tested the well of desire created by his attention.

"Did you miss me April?"

His voice dropped to a whisper and she heard the distinct sound of his zipper lowering.

"Answer me Ms. Jenkins."

She croaked when she felt the head of his cock pressing at her lips.

"Yes..."

He bit down on the thin flesh at the base of her neck, "Yes...what?"

She took a deep breath and held on to the edge of the desk in preparation of what was to come, "Yes Mr. Beck I missed you."

He filled her completely with one thrust, neither of them moving, as she stretched to accommodate his intrusion.

She took a labored breath and slowly began to roll her hips. He forgot about their roles, meeting each rhythmic motion with a forceful jut of his own hips.

"Shit April."

She had him exactly where she wanted him. Her muscles locked down on him and he nearly came undone; digging his fingers into the part of thighs, panting the words only reserved for her ears against her skin, and releasing a steady stream of heat deep within her womb.

They collapsed on top of his desk, pushing files to the side, as their bodies shifted and he cradled her in his arms.

The kisses he splayed across her face were gentle, sweet, a reminder of the days when they were best friends growing up on the same block.

That was almost twenty years ago. Now after ten years of marriage and two rambunctious children that possessed every negative trait of their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carter Beck, did what they could to keep the spark alive in their marriage.

Three years ago it was wife assisting husband with the duties at his office in the hopes of adding some kid free quality time to their days. Then they made the mistake of watching a Spader classic one evening and well the rest is salacious and mature rated history.

"Good Morning Mrs. Beck."

She rolled her eyes accepting the kiss he placed on her lips, "Don't try and play nice now sucker, you're still picking CJ up from soccer practice at five."

His hands drifted beneath her skirt and connected with the stickiness both their bodies had expelled. He slid his fingers between her lower lips while his free hand made easy work of the shirt and bra covering the breasts he loved to adore, "Maybe I can change your mind."

April straddled her husband's thighs, "Or maybe I can shut you up and make you scream my name like a little bitch."

She eased her body lower, taking every inch of him into her wetness. She saw his bottom lip when it began to quiver and there was no doubt he was definitely on carpool duty for the rest of the week.