On his way back into the building Vincent nods to Jeff, the security guard plowing his way through an over-filled sub, as if to say: hey, it's only me, as always this time of night, no need to extricate yourself from that mountain of beef and salami.
As ever, the guard ignores or misinterprets the gesture. By the time he reaches the barrier the man is up - surprisingly fleet of foot for someone so portly and gray - waiting for Vincent to remove his jacket and put it through the metal detector along with his little box of Chinese takeout.
Vincent sighs inwardly, thinking: Really? I'm a threat to this place?
Employees as well as visitors have their belongings scanned at RCE Energy, ever since a disgruntled marketing exec passed comment concerning his being passed over for promotion by emptying a handgun into the third-floor photocopier.
That photocopier had always been asking for it, though. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time. In recent years, though, there had been a rise in attempted invasions. Protestors, objecting to the Corporation's take on sustainable energy, running into the building armed with eggs, paint, other things not so pleasant.
So Vincent doesn't make any comment to Jeff the security guard, just complies as usual. Vincent's not a security man, but he actually feels some sense of solidarity with the guy ever since the CEO came down to his office one night after hours, asking him to carry out a special intelligence project.
"The major threat's not people throwing shit at our building, Vincent," the man had said. "This is the information age."
Vincent had accepted the job, of course. The kudos of a personal visit from Mr Stanton had been far too much to turn down. His constant dedication and extensive record of overtime had finally been noticed, and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity now.
He probably wouldn't know what to do if he ever did find a mole, of course. Vincent's not in corporate intelligence - Stanton no longer trusts the folks in corporate intelligence - he's just a lonely soul who doesn't have a life, coming back to the office with a little box from Wong's, just long enough after everyone's gone home so they can't see he's a sad workaholic.
Sad that he gets a little thrill when the elevator doors slide open to confirm that the 33rd floor is now empty.
Sad that when he reaches the fake walnut door to his office, he's buzzed to have some time to himself to get ahead on his work.
Sad that there's nothing for him at home but a dark little hole of an apartment.
He twists the doorknob and does a dorky little 360 as he slips inside, easing the door shut so that the latch clicks, sealing him inside his quiet sanctuary of gray, black and chrome.
When he turns around again, Cassandra Mayer is right there, lying there on his desk, waiting for him, without a stitch on.
Vincent drops his box of sweet-and-sour, eyes wide, jaw dropping to the floor. The shapely brunette is lying on her side, propped on one elbow, her long hair draped over a shoulder to hide her breasts, the only part of her that is in any way concealed.
To say it's a shock would be putting it mild.
He's never even seen the corporation's senior planning policy officer in casual clothes before, let alone stark naked, sprawling across his desk. And yet the very first wince of embarrassment that passes over his face is from realizing his beautiful, startlingly nude colleague just bore witness to his dorky little 360 as he entered the room.
It takes a moment before it begins to sink in that his disturbingly bare colleague is lying on his desk, waiting for him to react.
"C-C-Cassandra..." he stammers, wishing to the high heavens he could somehow channel Cary Grant just now.
Just an ounce of cool, suave calm would be worth the world.
Cassandra smiles as she traces a hand down the elegant curves of her body, from breasts to thighs, as though guiding his startled eyes to take in what he clearly can't quite believe is in front of him.
The warm peachy glow of her skin is so out of place in the coldness of the office with its black leather, cool steel and stark white decor. God, he can even see a little smudge of dark hair pointing the way to the delights concealed between her thighs.
"Why don't you close the door and come over here?" she says, seeming incredibly calm.
He always thought she was pretty, but she'd always played it down. Frumpy suits, little if any make-up, glasses that did not make best use of the angles of her face. Right now, she's made up like a supermodel, dressed down to the maximum, there's no sign of any deficiencies in her eyesight.
Vincent steps forward, gulping a huge lungful of air as a mix of emotions washes through him. The thrill of seeing Cassandra like that, so stunning against the sober backdrop of his office, offset by a sudden heart-stopping realization that she is the one he's been hunting.
She is the mole.
The air conditioning comes on with a cough and a grunt, breaking him out of his thoughts.
"What's this about, Cassandra?"
He tries to add a note of strength to his voice, if anything to counter the tremor he knows is in there. It's not an entirely successful attempt. He takes a couple of steps forward, involuntarily. Though he's a little horrified at what she's done, he's drawn by her beauty, can't resist.
"It's about you, Vincent," she says, teasing a finger or two through her hair, then on down her breathtakingly flat stomach, pointing the way to the center of her womanhood. "It's about you, and me."
He can detect the slight sweetness in the air from her perfume, even above the clinical corporate cleanliness of the office. His whole body is pulsating with desire, how could it not? His cock swelling inside his pants, as good as a devil sitting on his shoulder telling him to ignore the facts that have recently come to light in this case.
"Come here," she says, tilting her hips and then with just a little movement, turning to lie on her front, revealing a glimpse of her pert derrière to him, as she gives him a come-hither flick of the fingers.
He takes another couple of paces forward, and she smiles again with feigned innocence. As if to say, I'm just a silly girl who couldn't resist your charms, Vincent.
But Vincent doesn't believe he has charms. What he does believe is that he has information that puts Cassandra at risk.
"How did you find out I knew?" he asks her.
He trembles a little, and tries to hide it. He'd be nervous at the best of times if ever a beautiful woman like this offered herself to him, but right now he's terrified someone will find them, assume this has been going on a while.
He'd lose his job, his career.
When all this came out, about Cassandra stealing secrets, they would assume he was in on the job. Maybe that's what all this is about. She's lying here on his desk, naked, like a siren to lure him in, to be smashed on the rocks.
But what beauty.
He's dazzled, a deer in the headlamps. He's not even thinking about resisting her, though he is wondering how far she will go before somebody leaps out of a closet with a camera, to gather evidence and trap him.
"Never mind all that," she breathes, and reaches for his belt.
He's a little surprised he's already within her grasp. Hardly noticed how close he'd gotten to her. Her hand touches down just below his buckle, and then sweeps over the hardness that's almost bursting out of his pants.
"Mmm..." she coos, and looks up at him with mischief in her smile and fire in her big brown eyes.
"You don't have to do this, Cassandra," he says softly, but he doesn't stop her unzipping his fly, reaching inside his pants to grab his rock-hard shaft, springing it free into the open air.
"You want me to, though, don't you?"
There's something obscene about his exposed cock clasped in her hand, just inches from her pretty face, her full lips, as though it's some kind of microphone and this is just another session of office karaoke. It seems so wrong, his own swollen member out in the open air, held by this oh-so attractive young woman.
But she's not looking at it with revulsion - quite the opposite, in fact. She responds as though it is the finest delicacy.
Then Cassandra, of all people, has his cock inside her mouth.
Her eyes close in bliss, as her mouth sucks gently at the tip and her hand begins to squeeze his shaft, then slowly pump him. The heat encircling his cock is exquisite. Vincent is a little surprised that the person with a camera hasn't jumped out of the closet yet. He's more than a little surprised that someone as respectable as Cassandra Mayer, the youngest senior policy officer in the Department's history, has her lips around his engorged shaft.
That she'd go this far just to stop him exposing her.
She tilts her head, looks up at him as she withdraws the tip of his cock from her mouth, and then she's smiling broadly at him, as though this is the most wonderful thing in the world. She bites her lip and slowly pumps him a little, before her tongue emerges and she's licking him in long, sensual strokes, releasing little moans of pleasure apparently at what he is allowing her to do.
She's exploring him, and he can see her feet gently rubbing against each other and against her calves, as she focusses on his pleasure.
He just can't understand why she's doing this, why she's making it appear that she's enjoying this. She's the smartest person he knows - in their dealings, she's always a few thoughts ahead of everyone else, she's always the one with a grasp on the situation, and the best course of action. Why does Cassandra feel she needs to seduce him like this?
Why does she think he's dangerous enough that she has to distract him with her body?
He's in no position to object, however.
She licks up from the base to the tip of his cock, then takes it back inside her mouth, her head bobbing down impaled by his hardness. She tucks a strand of her hair behind an ear, then presses forward, putting everything into the motion of her head sinking down his cock, time after time.
Tentatively, a little unsure of where he should put his hands in such a situation, he touches her face, caresses her cheek, runs a hair through her dark, silky hair.
He places his palms on her head as she continues the motion on his shaft, and it's almost as though he's taking control. Cassandra moans quietly in encouragement, and tilts her head up again to smile at him, accepting his touch, urging him on.
Now he holds her more firmly, and she moans again, louder, encouraging him. He holds her head firm, and stirs his hips a little, and she's coaxing on further, so that he is now controlling the motion, the speed, the force of his swollen head inside her burning wet mouth.
Vincent, bashful Vincent, shy and retiring Vincent, Vincent the corporate geek, is fucking the face of the most beautiful girl at the company.
Oh, he'd attracted the passing attentions of female colleagues before a couple of times, at Christmas parties gone by, or other celebrations or corporate outings. He wasn't an ugly guy. But he'd always found it somehow tacky, lacking class. He didn't want to be seen in that way by his colleagues.
Cassandra is, and always was, on a whole other scale of temptation. Still, what a weak person he turned out to be.
The pretty brunette now slips him out of her mouth, and she's reaching up, pulling his head down to kiss her lips. It seems like forever since he kissed anyone, in fact he can't even work out how many years it was since it last happened. But it feels natural with Cassandra, taking her lips inside his for the first time, touching his tongue gently inside her mouth as she responds a little more vigorously.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, snatching a moment for breath.
"Why do you have to ask?" she replies, and she's looking into his eyes like some kind of starstruck teenager gazing at her idol.
And damn, she's so naked.
She swings her hips round on the desk, so she's sitting on the edge as she kisses him, her hands exploring his hard cock once again. Vincent finds himself looking down at her breasts in their full glory, nipples hard and pointing at him, and he can even see down between her thighs, see everything, right there in front of him.
"I'm not... going to... tell anyone," he says between kisses. "I don't know... anything about... what you've been doing."
She smiles again, "What I've been doing is trying to attract your attention, Vincent."
He's a little surprised, doesn't know what to say.
"You haven't a clue, have you?" she's amused by his lack of social skills, no doubt, the fact he finds women such a complete mystery.
She pulls him close to her now, her legs brushing against his thighs as she tears at his belt, forcing his pants and underwear down to the floor. The air is cold on his bare behind, but the contact of her soft hands sprawling over his loins inspires enough heat to make up for that.
Then she's using his cock to caress the soft flesh either side of her pussy, and he's forgotten all about the chill.
She's using his erection like it's her own personal sex toy, stroking herself with it, running the tip along her moistened folds, grazing his cock against her clit.
"I've been after you for a while, Vincent," she growls, "but you never seemed to notice me."
"I was always told it wasn't polite to stare."
With a little more nerve, he takes over the motion of his cock against her searing flesh now, and she lets him, and lies back along the desk.
He continues the caressing action, gliding the purple head around her pussy lips, over her mound and that little sprinkling of soft down, then more firmly against her sensitive bud. She gasps a little at the contact with her clit, but he continues his teasing motion, even dipping his tip in between her lips, only not quite penetrating her.
She says, "I thought the only way to break through might be some kind of bold move."
Her pussy is seeping as he toys with her lips - it's clear she's aroused by him, or by this situation.
"Risking your job, your career, just so I would notice?" he asked.
"I think we're talking about two different things," she smiles. "The bold move I'm talking about is what you see before you right now. All that other stuff - well, that all began long before I noticed you, Vincent."
It's the first time she's actually acknowledged that "all that other stuff" is true, that it's real, it's out there. That without saying it explicitly, his suspicions about her are correct.
"You don't have to do this," he says, though his attraction is so intense now, the thought of stopping seems unbearable. "I'm not going to tell anyone about - "
"Shh..." she touches his lips with her forefinger, gently stifling him.
He wants to believe her, that her seduction is not merely an attempt to crudely derail his little investigation, but the coincidence is just a little too irresistible.
It's too late to back out now, though, metaphorically or otherwise. His cock is already wet with her juices and throbbing with need for attention. If there's a photographer waiting in the wings, then so be it. He'd be a shipwrecked mariner the rest of his life, but at least he'd have the memory of being with this exquisite creature, even for the briefest of moments.
He strokes her pussy lips with his hardness, moving in ever-decreasing circles towards the center of her heat, coating himself in her copious moisture, teasing her a little before he slowly inches forward, slipping his tip gently inside her.
"Fuck me, Vincent," she says quietly, staring into his eyes wild unbridled lust.
He's far beyond any doubt now, beyond the event horizon that would allow anything other than giving up to the irresistible forces driving him forward. She closes her eyes and gasps as he glides inside her, his massive erection piercing her, squeezing its way into the hot, slippery tightness he can feel trembling with desire.
She gasps again as he fills her completely, the tip of his cock grazing against the centre of her sensitivity, deep inside.
For a moment, just a heartbeat or two, he pauses to look at her, in awe at her beauty, those curves in all the right places, shapely breasts peaked by hard nipples, her pretty face the stuff of his dreams.
Then just as slowly, he's slipping out again, almost completely, so that his burning hardness very nearly breaks contact with her, only his tip touches against her pussy lips. He smiles in sheer bliss, and she responds with her own smile, her eyes locked with his, that spark in her whole demeanor that makes him forget anything outside of their own connection.
Then gently but firmly, he places his hands on her hips to hold her in place as he begins a slow thrusting, circling his hips to slide his cock in between her slick folds, easing into a rhythm deep inside her heat.
Her head turns to the side, eyes closing again as he begins a steady pumping into her, her mouth opening to suck in air as the energy threatens to overload her system.
"Oh God..." she moans. "Oh, Vincent..."
One of her arms cradles her head, and she's running her hand through her silky hair as he thrusts into her, massaging her head as if to cope with the sensations flowing through her.
His own need drives him on now, to accelerate his pace, penetrating her with growing force.
She looks up at him with another powerfully bright smile, to encourage him and simultaneously inspire him. He responds by upping his pace, and her expression transforms into one of almost aggression, a silent growl in reaction to his power and stir him on to continue as forcefully as he dares.
Urgently, now, ordering him: "Fuck me, Vincent. Fuck me."
Her whole body is shaking, pulsating, shuddering as he ploughs into her, and her moans turn to gasps as she lies back, eyes closing again to cope with the explosions of ecstacy rippling through her body. She's so wet, he can be as violent as his fitness will allow with his lunges inside her, pounding her flesh, each thrust its own dramatic collision.
Her hands sweep over her body to end up closing over her breasts, coaxing them and teasing her nipples to draw out their own passionate song as he continues to fuck her.
He feels himself approaching the final peak of his endurance, but eases his rhythm a little to sustain it a little longer. As if to make up for the slowing pace, he moves his hands from her hips to trace over her contours, one ending up caressing her soft, slippery flesh around her pussy and his own rigid shaft plunging into her.
His palm comes to a halt directly over her most sensitive button, and the pretty brunette is almost singing in response to the exquisite sensation of this new pressure on her clit. Continuing his new slower grinding action of his burning cock inside her, Vincent presses down on her, his strong hand applying growing force to her little bud, until he's almost using her clit to support the weight of his body while he fucks her.
Echoing the rhythm of her own hands caressing her breasts, he gently stirs his soft palm against her clit while he continues to grind his hardness against the sensitive wetness of her vagina, and her elevated gasps and moans only drive him on until he's virtually crushing her little button with the heel of his hand.
She pulls herself up onto her elbows, and she has a wry smile that suddenly shocks Vincent into thinking this must be it: the game is up. She's going to call out the man with the camera to capture all this for posterity and the law courts.
It's all over.
But she only bites her lip, still wanting more from him, and he sees she just wants to switch to a different position.
Her feet drop down over the edge of the desk, and his cock slips out of her as she pulls herself up, standing to kiss his lips before flashing him another dazzling smile.