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Yes, Val. There are many things I need. I’d like to hear you call my best friend sir in the boardroom just to see if his eyes light up or if he has to adjust himself under the table. I need to convince you to go out with me. I need to convince myself that you wouldn’t look perfect on your knees right here, right now. I wonder if she’d let me climb under the desk and hide between her legs for the next hour. Or two. I could clear my calendar.
No one ever wrote a play about a man who is so desperate to be something to a girl that he would settle for being her human bib. Never has there been a less swoony moment than this. Kill me now and on my tombstone, label me a complete fucking weirdo.
What can I do to get this girl to smile like that for me again? I’d sell my damn soul for it. This smile could move mountains. Baby Jesus would weep graciously. Damn it, Romeo. Get your shit together and stop acting like a love sick teenager.
Romeo. Hart. Beau. Each of them stands to greet me with panty dropping smiles. Speaking of panties, I’ll need new ones. How does someone get lucky enough to end up with three bosses who look like they should be on the covers of romance novels? No idea. Bodies? Rideable. Faces? Sittable. Dicks? I haven’t seen them, but I'm betting they are fuckable. And lickable. What more could you ask for?
Then again, when he says team, I hear train. And now I’m thinking about my bosses running a train on me. Is that on everyone’s fantasy list or just mine? Only with them though. It’s the group dynamic the three of them have going on. Their teamwork makes my wet dreams work.
“And I show up to not one blind date, but three. All of whom are my fucking bosses. Cupid is an absolute dirty fucking cunt.”
I dive in. That’s the only way to explain the enthusiastic way I begin to eat her out. I want to crawl inside her and live here.
