The Casanova by T L Swan

ELLIOT

I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I’m just finishing up these reports and then we’re heading out. Running the London arm of Miles Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility.

My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It’s a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely.

They’ve been ages, what the hell are they doing?

I click onto the security camera to see if they’re close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye.

What’s that?

I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation.

It’s a woman wearing a high ponytail—she’s in a bright red, Lycra sports dress. . . It’s fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt. . . Huh?

She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier.

I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like. . . a photocopy room, maybe. I can’t quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn’t be photocopying.

I’m confused.

I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man’s voice comes on.

“Good evening, you’re listening to Disco with Dave.”

The radio is playing.

“I’ve got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time,” his voice continues.

A song comes on, it’s catchy and familiar, although I can’t place it.

The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other.

Hmm, interesting.

Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to “Ring My Bell.”

She’s really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side.

Hmm. . .

I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress.

The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful. . . She’s dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it’s very. . .

She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts.

My cock twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued.

She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so. . .

Fucking hot.

My cock pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can’t remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone.

She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants.

Delicious.

She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer.

What the fuck?

It’s Kathryn . . .

“You ready?” Tristan’s voice sounds from behind me.

I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” I stammer. “Just got to take care of something.”

“Okay, don’t be long, hey?” Jameson says.

I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock.

No.

Couldn’t be.

Kathryn’s not hot, she’s never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fucking hot.

My cock is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone.

Just another quick look. . . Wouldn’t hurt.

It probably wasn’t even her.

I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat.

It is her.

She’s facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances.

I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off.

My cock clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head.

Fuck . . .

I need to get laid.