#mikefaist

he wanted all the best and brightest on his team, needing all the help with marketing and development that he could get. you were just out of college, fresh faced with a short, but concise, resume, and bright, eager eyes.

you got a small corner office, just next to his, with a smooth glass door reading “assistant marketing director”, and shelves lining the walls full of tennis memorabilia and a welcome basket, courtesy of art donaldson himself. it was all so shiny and new, so official, so real.

and then there was art, of course. the leader of it all. he was so polite, so down to earth despite his celebrity status, taking the time and care to interview all of his employees personally, to make them feel comfortable and welcome and like he really needed them.

a knock on your door interrupted you from your examination of your new setup, and you glanced up to see his familiar blonde hair and smile, “you settling in okay?” “oh, everything’s great,” you nodded, genuinely grateful, “thank you again, mr. donaldson. this is a better job than i ever could’ve asked for straight out of school,”

“please, you can call me art,” he smiled, waving a dismissive hand, “it’s my pleasure, really. your interview was extremely promising. i look forward to working with you,” he gave you one last glance over before nodding his head and leaving you to it, leaving behind an air of expensive cologne.

a few weeks went by, and you didn’t see him very often, mainly working alongside the marketing board. you kept busy, trying your hardest to further the company, to prove yourself worthy out of a pool of graduates.

after work one evening, you were in the parking garage, frustration tinting your cheeks red as you tried, and failed, to start your car. it was freezing, and your car wasn’t even that old, and you really had the worst luck. but then there was the clicking of shoes against the concrete, art’s expensive oxford loafers echoing through the garage. “everything alright?”

you hadn’t meant to cry, really. you were just so annoyed, so tired, and he looked so genuinely concerned. “woah, hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, coming to your side like a knight in shining armor, taking off his suit jacket to wrap it around your shoulders, “car trouble? it’s gonna be fine, i have you,”

you were completely humiliated, standing there sniffling and wiping your eyes, wrapped up in his jacket. “i’m sorry,” you hiccuped, “my car just won’t start and i got really upset, you don’t have to stay,”

“hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, “here, why don’t you let me take you home, honey? we’ll sort this out tomorrow. i’ll expense you a company car, we’ll draw up the paperwork,” honey. you’d stopped crying, but your cheeks were even redder now.

“yes, sir. thank you,” you nodded, wiping your eyes one final time. he grabbed your purse from the ground, one arm around your shoulders securing his jacket and one looped through the bags handle as he led you to his aston martin, helping you into the passenger seat carefully.

he let you put your address into the gps, watching you carefully like he was afraid you might cry again. you noticed he’d turned on the heated seats for you, and your cheeks flushed all over again at his consideration. “you didn’t have to do this,” you said finally, the air thick with tension, “i really appreciate it, though,” “it’s no problem at all,” he said surely, “i’m just sorry you were so stressed. we’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow, i promise,”

“you don’t have to do that, mr. donaldson,” “art,” he reminded you, paired with a stern look, “and i want to. you’re doing some really incredible things for the company, you deserve to be taken care of, alright? really, i should be thanking you,” you could’ve forgotten that you even worked for him, if the conversation hadn’t taken a turn. it felt so domestic, riding in the passenger seat of his car, watching the way his arm flexed as he steered. he’s your boss, you reminded yourself, you shouldn’t be admiring his arms.

he pulled into your apartment complex, the car idling quietly. “thank you again,” you smiled as much as you could manage, hoping you sounded as grateful as you felt, “i really appreciate you,” he turned to you, paused, as if he was deliberating, and then rested a hand on your knee gently, “i appreciate you, and everything you’re doing for the company. this business is everything to me lately, and you’re making some major improvements. i hope you know that,”

“y- yes sir,” you nodded, dumbstruck from the feeling of his hand on the bare skin past the hem of your skirt, “i appreciate the feedback,” it was suddenly too warm in the car, too confined, you were far too close to art your boss, who was looking at you like he was thinking exactly the same thing you were.

“i really wanna kiss you right now,” he let out a breathless laugh, “but i’m afraid that would be horribly unprofessional, and i don’t want to take advantage of you,” “take advantage of me?” you repeated, suddenly electric with want, “you wouldn’t be- we’re both adults, i mean, and i wouldn’t tell anyone-“

he didn’t let you finish, leaning over the console to crush his lips to yours, his free hand coming to rest on the side of your face as he kissed you. he was stern and directive, but soft and polite, just like he was in the office. he took the lead but didn’t rush you, running his tongue across your bottom lip like he was asking permission.

you weren’t sure how you even ended up in your apartment, but soon you were pressed against the inside of your front door, your purse dropped to the floor and arts suit jacket crumpled beside it.

his hands were greedy, slipping everywhere they could as he kissed you in a frenzy, and you kicked off your heels as you wrapped a leg around his, bringing him closer. your clothes eventually came off in a flurry, a pile of starched fabric beside you until you were left in your thankfully matching underwear, and art was in his dress pants, looking down at you like you might disappear.

“are you sure-“ “just fuck me,” you mumbled against his lips as you pulled him into another kiss, fumbling with his belt until his pants had joined your skirt, and then he was pulling off your bra and his fingers were dipping into your silk panties and the noises leaving your mouth were downright pornographic.

“you’re so fucking wet,” he panted, curling his fingers just right, “is that all for me, honey?” you nodded urgently, palming him through his boxers until you got impatient and pushed them down, taking him in your hand. “you want it right here, hm? or you want me to take you to bed?”

“here,” you pleaded, feeling like you’d die if you waited another second. his hands settled on the backs of your thighs, pulling you up like you weighed nothing, resting your back against the door and kissing down your chest. he drug the tip of his cock against your clit in a few sweeping motions, collecting your wetness before sliding into you, his hands digging into your thighs with bruising intensity.

“god,” you moaned, pulling at his hair slightly, chasing his lips desperately. he was slow at first, ever the gentleman, letting you adjust. but then he was greedy, fucking you roughly, moaning incessantly like he’d never felt so good in his life.

“need you to come for me,” he practically begged, working at your clit with shaky fingers, “please, baby,” you only lasted a couple minutes after that, coming undone around him with a desperate moan, pulsing around him until you felt him throbbing inside you, his thrusts growing choppy and erratic.

“let me down,” you requested as he grew closer, and he didn’t hesitate to let you go, brows knit in concern. god, if he’d hurt you- but you sank to your knees in front of him, taking him into your mouth and laving your tongue against him, licking your wetness away. “oh, fuck me,” he moaned, fingers fisted in your hair, “god, i’m gonna-“

he came down your throat with a tremor, his hips rutting into your mouth, chasing his high greedily. you lapped it all up, swallowing it with a hazy smile, and he stroked his thumb down the side of your cheek gently, fondly.

“good girl,” he mumbled, worn out, “god, you’re so good at that. good at everything, yknow. so fucking smart,” you stood on shaky legs, and he was quick to support you, a hand on your low back. “cmon, i’ll put you to bed,”

you took him to your bedroom, shy as you let him into your space despite the total intimacy you’d just had. he tucked you in, his touches all tender and caring, “i’ll see you in the office tomorrow, yeah?” you frowned up at him, brows knit, “you’re not staying?” “i figured you wouldn’t want me to, but-“