As the evening of the Christmas party approached, my dread only grew, but I figured if I had to go, I'd make an impression. With some of the money Sullivan had paid me, I splurged on a new dress. It was red, his favorite color, and as soon as I slipped into it, I knew the hemline was too high and the neckline was too low. Still, I bought it with little hesitation. I also purchased matching heels and lipstick. 

The party was to take place on a Saturday, at the same swanky hotel. I spent too long getting ready, so I didn't arrive until close to nine. By that time, the festivities were already in full swing. Stepping into the ballroom, I immediately wished I'd worn something more modest. My supervisor caught sight of me and widened her eyes. The shocked look on her face prompted me to tug at my dress hem in a futile attempt to lower it.

My fellow office assistants regarded me with their usual contempt. Desperately, I searched the crowd for Sullivan. I just wanted him to get a glimpse of me; I wanted him to see my cleavage swelling from the bodice of this dress I'd chosen solely for his benefit. We'd get a laugh out of it during our next meeting in his office, I told myself. 

Someone placed a drink in my hand, and I mumbled my thanks, still scanning the crowd. Finally, I spotted my boss talking to a few of the other executives. At his side was his glamorous wife. She, too, was dressed up, but her outfit was far more tasteful, complementing her willowy frame. Her chestnut-brown hair was swept back from her face, revealing her high cheekbones. Though there was no real rivalry between us, I felt my courage fading.

Before I could turn around and slink out of the hotel, Sullivan spotted me. His expression of surprise was far less dramatic than my supervisor's, yet I noticed it. By now, I could read him well. For several seconds, his stare lingered on my breasts. Then it traveled over my entire body before drifting upward again. 

So he did appreciate my outfit. I managed to hide a satisfied smile while lifting my glass to my lips. My work here was done, I decided, and I was free to leave.

My boss had other plans for me. I watched him incline his head toward his wife, his hand at the small of her back as he spoke. How many times had I felt his palm at that very spot on my own body? 

Whatever Sullivan said prompted his wife to look in my direction. She raised an eyebrow while regarding me. Oh, yes, she knew just what I was up to. Why hadn't I assumed that she, of all people, would have an inkling of Sullivan's fetish for big tits?

As they started toward me, I gave him a helpless look. This is a bad idea, I tried to convey with my eyes. But he merely smiled, his expression pleasant but formal. 

"Aurora," he said, his voice ringing out over the music, "I'm glad you could make it! I don't believe you've met my wife. This is Yvonne. Yvonne, meet Aurora, one of our most talented assistants."

I almost snorted at that. Somehow, I managed to maintain a friendly smile while offering my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well." Yvonne again looked me over, her upper lip curling slightly. "Love the dress."

Sullivan blanched at his wife's icy tone. When his gaze met mine, it held an apology. 

I wasn't sure how long the three of us would have stood there in a painfully awkward silence. Fortunately, someone called out to Sullivan, and he wished me a good evening before guiding Yvonne away. I stared after them, feeling flushed and sick. All the while, I knew Sullivan and I wouldn't be sharing a laugh over this. No, he'd probably be furious that I'd shown up to the company party with my tits on display.

Fighting a surge of panic, I carried my nearly full glass to the bar. On the way, I noticed a small group of older executives who were at or past retirement age. With wide eyes and wagging tongues, they shamelessly ogled me like a pack of hungry hyenas. 

I placed my glass on the bar counter and turned to leave, but one of those gawking executives blocked my way. "Aurora, you look spectacular!" As he spoke, his stare remained fixed on my tits.

"Uh, thanks, Mr.—"

"Please, call me Howard tonight." He reached for me, and I tried not to cringe. "Come on, let's dance!"

"Oh, no, I'm not a good dancer." My effort to extract my wrist from his grasp proved futile. "No, really, Howard, I don't want—"

He leered at me, his grip tightening. "Just one dance, sweetheart. You can't show up here in that dress and then refuse a gentleman's attention."

"I think I'm gonna throw up!" I blurted out, far too loudly. Several people around us fell silent and stared. 

Howard immediately released me, then took a step back, as if to avoid any imminent puking that might occur. "I'm terribly sorry you're ill, dear."

Offering a wan smile, I turned and practically fled the ballroom. Outside the hotel, I took deep breaths of icy air, trying to calm my nerves. I wanted to both scream and burst into tears. Instead, I rushed to my car and drove home.

In my apartment, I kicked off my heels and stripped out of the dress. I couldn't imagine myself ever wearing it again. Retrieving a bottle of cheap Chardonnay from the fridge, I poured myself a large glass. By the time it was empty, my trembling had mostly subsided.

Despite the frigid night outside, I changed into a roomy T-shirt, forgoing pants altogether. Drifting toward my small, shitty-sounding stereo system, I pressed the power button. I'd hoped listening to some music would soothe my nerves, but when COIN's "Along For The Ride" began playing, tears flooded my eyes, and I rushed to turn it off. 

Though it was only half past ten, I felt exhausted. Standing before the bathroom mirror, I cleansed my face of makeup and then brushed my teeth. All the while, I tried to avoid looking at my reflection. My bed beckoned to me like an old friend, and I climbed beneath the covers, yearning for sleep.

But sleep didn't come. Lying on my side, I stared into the shadows. My imagination turned against me; vividly, I pictured my supervisor waiting at my desk on Monday morning, ready to escort me from the building. 

I was still awake when a soft knock sounded on my door just after two in the morning. Bolting upright, I wondered if it was a hallucination brought on by anxiety. When another knock followed a few moments later, I turned on the bedside lamp, then rushed to the door.

Peering through the peephole, I gasped to see Sullivan. His head was tilted downward, so I couldn't see his face. My trembling returned full force as I let him in. He looked up to meet my startled stare, his expression hopeful.

"Sullivan, what are you doing here?" Even as I spoke, I couldn't help but notice how gorgeous he looked in that three-piece suit. He must have come straight from the party. 

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

I hesitated, caught between desire and dread. "This should wait till Monday. Someone might see—"

I didn't have a chance to finish before Sullivan stepped toward me. A surprised yelp escaped my lips when he cupped my face in his hands, but he silenced me with a fierce kiss.

The feel of his mouth on mine made me moan. I was so lost, so transfixed by lust, that it was Sullivan who had to kick the door closed behind him. His lips worked to coax mine apart, and my arousal intensified to a dizzying rush at the moment our tongues met. 

Finally breaking the kiss, Sullivan told me between heavy breaths, "I'm sorry about tonight."

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied.

Grasping his hand, I pulled him toward my bed. It took me only seconds to remove my T-shirt and panties, and I noticed my boss hungrily staring at my naked body while he undressed. My impatience led me to unbuckle his belt. Again, his mouth sought out mine, and we shared another deep kiss. Stroking him through his pants, I discovered he was fully hard and ready.

Once we were both free of clothes, I lay on the bed and reached for him. He eased his body on top of mine, showering kisses on my face and neck, and then my breasts. I spread my legs, welcoming him between them. His tongue glided over the curve of my belly. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured against my skin. I smiled, stroking his hair. Did he really think that, when I looked so different from his wife?

Traveling farther downward, Sullivan positioned himself between my parted thighs. The feel of his warm breath on my wet folds made me whimper with blatant need. Tonight, he didn't tease me; I wondered if he sensed how much I'd longed for this. Sweeping his tongue over my flesh, he soon homed in on my clit. With his mouth, he wove that same spell over me he'd so easily cast with his fingers while we were in his office. He licked and sucked my tender bud, his attention far more gentle than what he usually gave to my nipples. 

Eagerly pleasuring me, his moans joined mine. As I writhed and rolled my hips, he slid his hands upward to cup my breasts. I lifted my head to give myself a better view of his mouth between my thighs. When our eyes met, I saw the heat in his stare. 

He circled his lips around my clit and began fervently suckling until I was flushed with arousal and aching to come. "Don't stop!" I begged. "Fuck, I'm close!"

As incredible as his mouth felt, it was the hard pinch he gave both my nipples that sent me over the edge. My spine arched, and I let the orgasm tighten its grip on me, again and again. Only after my trembling subsided and my cries faded did Sullivan lift his head. 

He gave me a few moments to recover while kissing his way back up my body. When he pressed his lips to mine, I was rewarded with the taste of my own arousal. 

Gazing up at him, I found he looked different in the lamplight of my apartment. In his office, he often worked to control his abject desire, as though it was a carefully guarded secret. But here, it was plain in his face for me to see.

He sat up, with his legs folded beneath him. Neither of us spoke as he grasped my hips and pulled me even closer. No words were necessary, for hadn't we known, or at least hoped, that it would eventually come to this?

He was still fully erect, his tip glistening with precum. I draped my legs over his thighs. Already, my pussy was aching to be filled. He positioned his cock at my opening, teasing me with the insistent pressure of his flesh against mine. Holding my stare, he slid inside me.

"Yes!" I moaned from the sensation of him moving deeper, with no barrier between us. 

"You can't imagine how much I've wanted this," Sullivan told me in a choked voice. 

Oh, but I could!

Leaning forward a bit, he again took hold of my hips. His thrusts started out gentle but soon increased in fervency. As my tits bounced and shook, he stared down upon them, utterly enthralled.

All the while, I reveled in our first fuck. Tender yet demanding, it alternated between gentle and rough, just as Sullivan always had. I craved both sides of him, and both aspects of this lovemaking. With a sly smile, I tugged at my nipples, pulling my breasts taut. The way Sullivan's dick pulsed inside my pussy let me know just how excited I'd made him.

His gaze moved from my tits to my face, and then all the way down to my pussy. I quickly discovered he loved seeing me take every inch of his cock.

"I can't get enough of you, Aurora!" He appeared almost tormented now, at the mercy of his lust. But I knew he had disregarded whatever guilt remained in his mind in order to finish what we'd begun in his office weeks ago.

Each time he buried himself all the way inside me, my muscles tightened around his cock. He grew slack-jawed from the pleasure of it, and as my tits continued swaying, their movement seemed to entrance him. Of course, I did plenty of my own admiring; merely watching the sensual rhythm of his body heightened my ecstasy. 

It soon became too much. Just as Sullivan always had before, he now effortlessly brought me to the brink. I clawed at the bedsheet, tense with anticipation. Moments later, my second orgasm descended upon me, not so much a wave as a crash. I shuddered, biting the heel of my hand to keep from screaming.

The guttural sound that emerged from Sullivan's throat made clear he felt each powerful contraction that seized my body. I expected him to quickly succumb to his own climax. Instead, he lay upon me, his arms providing a firm embrace. I let out a faint cry when he flipped both of us over so that I was on top. 

"Ride me," he begged. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead.

Tossing my hair over my shoulders, I let my hips follow their natural inclination. With a grace I possessed for this act alone, I rode Sullivan's cock, working to heighten both our pleasure.

My tits, swinging back and forth, had a mesmerizing effect on my lover; he couldn't tear his gaze away. Moving faster, I slid my pussy along the length of his dick. Finally, he warned he was close, but I didn't stop. No, I leaned forward to press my tits against his chest.

Holding me tight, he began wildly pumping his hips, driving his cock into me at a relentless speed. By that point, I had little strength to withstand my third orgasm. Sullivan must have sensed I was right there, for he urged, "Come, baby! Come on my dick!"

I could only moan while the spasms overtook me once again. Sullivan gasped and stiffened even more inside me. And then he came, issuing that growl I loved.

Lying against him, I counted each spurt of his semen bathing my inner walls. Though my orgasm had ebbed, my muscles still continued milking him, as if greedy for every drop.

Once Sullivan was finished, I kept him inside me. He held me close as our breathing slowly returned to normal. Only after he'd grown soft did I ease off of him so I could lie at his side. Immediately, he embraced me again. Closing my eyes, I inhaled his scent, which mingled with my own.

"I love you," he whispered.

I tensed, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Don't say that," I quietly pleaded. "It's not fair for you to say that when you belong to someone else."

Sullivan buried his face in my hair. "You don't think it's possible to love two people at once?"

Despite my fear of getting hurt, my heart began a desperate, hopeful pounding in my chest. "I'm sure it is," I finally replied. "But you're married to one of those people." Turning in his arms, I met his stare. "How are you even here right now? What did you tell your wife?"

"I dropped her off at our house after the party," he said. "I told her I needed to return to the office to take care of some things."

I let out an unflattering snort. "And she believed that?"

His expression was almost grim. "Yvonne believes what she needs to." While stroking my hair, he gazed off into the distance. "I do love her, but the trust between us... well, it's a delicate thing." 

I lay completely still, waiting for him to continue and make me understand.

"A few years after we got married," he went on, "I was putting in long hours at the company, trying to prove myself. Yvonne resented it, and she accused me of being married to my work. I should have spent more time with her, should have..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "Anyway, she ended up having an affair with a friend of a friend. Eventually, I forgave her, and she promised she'd never betray me again. She also stopped complaining about how much time I spent at the office." Finally, he met my eyes. "There are certain things she and I don't discuss. My visits to strip clubs, for example. And my stunning assistant in the red dress."

I pressed my face to his chest so he wouldn't see my shy smile. But he must have felt it, for he added, "And you were absolutely stunning tonight, Aurora. When I saw Howard pawing at you, I wanted to beat the shit out of him."

Lifting my head, I planted a kiss on his mouth. "So you're not upset I wore that outfit tonight? I mean, it probably seemed like I was flaunting our relationship in front of your wife." Maybe I'd intended to do just that, albeit subconsciously. I sometimes had a penchant for self-sabotage. 

"No, I'm not upset," Sullivan assured me. "Tonight was the perfect opportunity for you to show off that glorious figure of yours."

I beamed at him, though I knew my eyes revealed way too much. "So I'll still have a job on Monday?"

He laughed and gave me a squeeze. "You can count on it."

***

In the new year, we kept seeing each other. Sullivan often came to my apartment, but I occasionally surprised him at his office after hours. Over time, we must have grown too comfortable, not nearly as careful. Someone must have seen or heard us, for in early spring, a complaint was made to the higher-ups about an illicit relationship occurring between an executive and his subordinate. I offered to resign, and Sullivan recommended me for a position at a nearby company. I enjoyed the atmosphere at my new job; it was far more cordial than what I was accustomed to.

Meanwhile, I scrapped the novel I'd been working on for years and started fresh. The words poured out of me, taking the shape of a coherent narrative. I spent many evenings typing furiously on my old laptop, and when the first draft of the novel was almost complete, I decided to join a local writing workshop.

During its weekly sessions, I grew close to another writer named Maddox. He was almost thirty, and like me, he worked full-time while pursuing his true passion. He was in the midst of writing a screenplay. We started out as friends, nothing more. Over coffee, he revealed he wasn't all that interested in adhering to a strictly monogamous relationship. So when he asked me out on an actual date one mild summer evening, I felt comfortable explaining I was currently involved with someone and didn't plan to stop seeing him. Maddox assured me he had no problem with that. 

As our relationship grew more serious, we promised to always be honest with each other. If Maddox was interested in seeing someone else, he knew he could talk to me about it beforehand. We ended up having that discussion less often than I'd first imagined we would. And since I had my hands full seeing two men, I certainly wasn't interested in dating, or fucking, anyone else.

I was honest with Sullivan, too. Of course, he accepted the arrangement I'd proposed, though I sensed he sometimes missed having me all to himself. Yet I believed him when he said he would always be ready and willing to see me on whatever terms I chose. 

The three of us even met for dinner a few months after Maddox and I started dating. I was both relieved and delighted when Sullivan and my boyfriend hit it off. With his easygoing nature, Maddox could charm almost anyone.

Afterward, Maddox went to a friend's house, giving me and Sullivan time alone at my apartment. My former boss and I shared kisses while undressing each other. 

"Now you understand," he whispered with a tender smile, "that it's possible to love two people at once."

Later that year, I finished revising my manuscript. I wasn't above asking for Sullivan's help, and the next time he stopped by my apartment, I presented my novel to him. "If you could ask your friend in publishing to take a look at it and share his thoughts, I'd be really grateful."

"Of course," Sullivan said. "He's an agent who works with a lot of successful authors."

"But I want you to read it first." Swallowing hard, I tried to hide my nervousness as I added, "I've changed all the details, so the book can be classified as fiction. But it's... it's about us. I mean, it's based on our relationship, and I want to make sure it's okay for me to share it with others."

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. "I look forward to reading it, Aurora."

I didn't hear from him for a week. During that time, I bit all my fingernails down to the quick; my anxiety was almost palpable. I feared Sullivan would hate what I'd written. And if he did, I would tuck the manuscript away in a drawer and never look at it again.

On a Thursday evening, he came to my apartment. I immediately recognized his gentle knock on the door. Maddox had gone to a local club to see a musician friend perform, so I was alone that night.

My stomach twisted into knots as I rushed to let Sullivan in. The instant I opened the door, his face lit up in a huge smile. Holding my manuscript aloft, he said, "My friend loves the book. He wants to be your agent!"

It took some time for his words to register. When they finally did, I let out a giddy shriek. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. He'll be in touch tomorrow."

"Oh, my God!" Reaching for Sullivan's hand, I pulled him to me. 

He gave me a fierce hug before planting a kiss on the top of my head. "Congratulations, Aurora."

Looking up at him, I searched his face. "But what about you? Did you read it?"

Sullivan laughed. "In one sitting! I was awake till two in the morning because I couldn't put it down."

"And what did you think?"

His gaze softened. "I think it's incredible, and I think you're an amazing writer. That's why I called my friend as soon as I could. After I raved about your book, he made it a priority."

I blinked back tears of relief and gratitude. "I was so afraid," I confessed, "that you'd be upset about me writing our story."

Sullivan stroked my cheek, his touch banishing all my fears. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "this has always been your story to tell. And you've told it beautifully."

I realized then how wrong I'd been, when I first set out to weave the many aspects of our relationship into words. Refusing to make this a fairytale romance, I was determined to honestly portray all the conflict and doubt, the lust-filled power struggles and deepening affection. And in the process, I'd written something genuine and true.

I'd written a love story.