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Summary
The days following your first meeting, you started to make more of an effort on your appearance and wore the shortest shirt you could wear before your dipshit colleagues would start whispering about you blowing the CEO, that old balding dickhead. You also bought more lacy lingerie, replacing the plain cotton panties and functional beige bras in your dresser. Just in case he decides to give you what you want out of the blue.
You pictured him sitting you down on the couch in that tiny backroom, kissing you a little roughly as he slides a hand under your mandatory black work pencil skirt, stroking your clit in small circular motions with his index and middle finger. You want his kisses to leave you absolutely breathless, for him to devour you like you were some kind of prey, to leave teeth marks on your collarbone. Marks you could easily hide because despite his animosity, he's definitely the thoughtful type.