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I track her, take in her coiled hair, her fragile nape, her curvy form. The petiteness of her frame rams home as she passes my desk pushing the trolley. Her unremarkable dress affords me an impression of her lightly bouncing tits and a first glimpse of her smooth legs. They’re shapely, firmly muscled with delicate ankles I can’t wait to wrap my fingers around. My senses tweak to the decadent morsel she’ll make once I get my hands on her.
Observing her this way on Friday would’ve given me away, but here in the privacy of my office, I indulge myself.
Without speaking, she reaches the table and starts to lay out my lunch in precise movements. I scrutinize her body again as my cock wakes. Despite being on the thin side, her proportions are flawless.
Put simply, she’s perfection wrapped in drab work clothes.
Hell, even her hands are delicate.
I rise and return to the front of my desk as she leans forward to place the last of the domed dishes on the table.
“It’s customary to acknowledge the occupant of a room when you enter,” I murmur.
She stiffens, turns and grabs hold of the trolley handle. Our eyes meet for a charged second before she looks away. “I’m not normally that rude.”
“But?”
Her face pinches in a quick grimace. “The chef…he briefed me on how you like things.”
“I sincerely doubt he has the first idea of how I like things. But please, enlighten me.”
Her gaze meets mine, again for a furtive second, then darts away. I want to be irritated by that. But I know what she sees when she looks in my eyes. I know what everyone sees. So I let her get away with it.
“You don’t like being engaged in conversation. You don’t like the noise of cutlery. And you like your dishes to be laid out in precise angles.”
“Lord,” I murmur. “You must think I’m a freak…?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Elly,” she supplies, her voice a touch on the husky side.
“Tell me, Elly, do I look like a freak to you?”
Her breath catches. The sound is faint, strangled at the last moment, but her gaze returns to my face. I’ve given her permission, and she takes her time to drink me in. The tinge to her cheeks is evidence that she likes what she sees.
My cock thickens. I cross my legs at the ankles, which draws her gaze lower. Her eyes widen on my crotch and she blinks before averting her gaze once more.
“Umm, no, you’re not a freak.”
“Thank you.” I straighten and approach the dining table. Her fingers tighten on the trolley, but she doesn’t move away. I reach her and slowly inhale.
No perfume. No expensive shampoo or cosmetics. Just cheap soap. And yet, I want to rip the uniform from her body, lay her bare on my dining table and devour her instead of the food.
Perhaps she senses my forming intentions. She takes a few steps to the side, dragging the trolley behind her. When she continues her retreat, I pause in the act of pulling out a chair.
“Where are you going?”
This time when her eyes meet mine, they stay for more than a second. “Back to the restaurant.”
“No. You’ll wait until I’ve finished. Then you’ll clear up. I can’t abide the lingering smell once I’m done eating.”
She seems caught between mutiny and surrender.
“Is there a problem, Elly?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I don’t want the chef thinking I’m slacking.”
“Are you in the habit of doing that?”
An affronted frown unleashes before she visibly reels it back. “Of course not. But he’s a bit…temperamental.”