Elliott Anderson was at it again.
This time with the usual tall blonde, hair halfway to her hips and brushing the bare skin exposed by her open-backed dress. Simone couldn’t see the blonde’s face, but she didn’t really have to. The other woman would be beautiful in that cold, neutral way Elliott preferred. Perfect features. Blank expression. She’d be everything Simone wasn’t and would never be.
Simone’s office, tucked into a corner wing on the twelfth floor of the L-shaped Montgomery Building, was angled perfectly so she could stare down into Elliott’s eleventh-floor office on the opposite wing. She’d noticed it first a few months ago when, working late, she’d stood to stretch and caught sight of him with a blonde on her knees between his legs. Simone had been hooked at once, going so far as to do a little building-directory research to figure out who he was. Elliott Anderson, partner at Ross, Anderson and Kirk, attorneys-at-law. Now she clicked off her light so he wouldn’t see her watching.
Simone liked to watch.
Elliott kissed the woman, backing her up toward the desk until her ass settled against it. His mouth never leaving hers, he moved between her legs to push her back. His hand cupped her neck beneath her hair. Simone’s nipples went tight and hard. Aching.
She cupped her breasts briefly through the thin material of her plain white button-down blouse. It had been only a few weeks since the last time she and Aidan had gone to bed together, but it was long enough for her to wish it had been this morning instead of almost a month ago. She flicked her thumbs against her nipples, the sensation of her touch deadened by the fabric of her blouse and bra. It teased her without providing any real satisfaction … but she kind of liked it that way.
Thorough the window, Simone watched Elliott’s hand slide beneath the blonde’s dress. Imagining what magic his fingers must be working, she settled into her chair with her feet on the desk. A bottle of chilled seltzer water in one hand, Simone let the chair rock back and forth, just a little. She’d been ready to pack up for the night, letting exhaustion claim her even though she wasn’t caught up on the project and wouldn’t be even if she stayed until dawn. There came a point when you had to give up, if only for a little while.
At least she wasn’t tired any longer. The moment the shift of movement in Elliott’s office caught her eye, Simone had perked right up. It had been what—three weeks since the last time he’d come in late on a Friday night? She remembered because watching him had prompted her to call Aidan. That time Elliott had been with a short, plump blonde instead of a willowy, delicate-boned one. A little out of type, though with the same perfect, bored face as all the others. He’d fucked that one from behind, lifting her dress to reveal thong panties and pale, jiggly thighs. He’d sunk his fingers into her hair at the base of her skull and pulled, tipping her head back as he thrust, and that had been sexy. But when he’d leaned forward to whisper in her ear as he fucked her, never letting go of her hair, that had sent delicious shivers all through Simone.
What sorts of things did a man like that say while he was fucking? Simone was dying to find out. Too bad she wasn’t a lithe, beautiful blonde, she thought as she leaned forward a little to get a better glimpse of what was going on. He was, as far as she was concerned, perfection. Just over six feet tall. Dark hair gone silver at the temples. Lean swimmer’s body he liked to clothe in tailored suits—nothing ostentatious. Always classic. Professional. Subdued. Appropriate.
The man dressed like a master of industry and fucked like a jackhammer.
Simone wanted him.
Of course, there was next-to-no chance of that ever happening. Aside from the fact that Elliott liked a very distinct type that Simone most definitely did not and would never fit, they swam in completely
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