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meets me on the other end of the line. “Oh dear. You mean you’d like the name of someone who didn’t check off to meet you?”
    Thinking back to the darn clipboard we were all saddled with, I realize there’s no way Heather marked hers and handed it in. After our…encounter…on the secluded patio, she made a beeline for the exit. “Yes, someone who maybe forgot to hand in her form.”
    “I collected all the clipboards when the event ended. All forms were accounted for.”
    Damn. I know she couldn’t have filled hers regarding me. I never saw her lift a pen when I sat with her. “We…chatted…outside for a while. But I didn’t get her last name.”
    “I’m so sorry, Mr. Carmine. I can’t reveal anyone’s name without permission.”
    Anger spikes through my calm façade. This is not going as well as I planned. “Can you make an exception?”
    “No sir, I cannot.”
    “What if I promised to donate a large sum of money to your favorite charity?”
    A distinct iciness creeps into her voice. “No.”
    A sigh escapes me and my shoulders slump. Money won’t buy me out of this one. I’ll have to try another avenue. “Okay, thanks for your time.”
    We end the call and I shift in my seat. The sensitive helmet of my cock rubs against my underwear, driving me to further distraction. I reach down to move myself, hoping to find a comfortable position.
    Impossible.
    I’m aching to jerk off, an act I don’t normally have to perform unless traveling for business in an isolated area.
    Unbidden, the image of Heather across the bistro table blossoms in my mind, bringing back the exact moment she asked if I wanted someone to tell me what to do. Her long, black hair cascaded over a shoulder, the trailing ends hugging the underside of one pert breast. An enigmatic smile creased the delicate features on her fresh face. No one would have guessed her simple sweater and skirt hid a cauldron of sexual heat bubbling below the surface.
    No pretense of heavy makeup, no overly done hairstyle a man can’t touch, no slave to fashion…well, except those spiked heels she wore. If she hadn’t barked that order at me to turn off my phone, I could have easily missed her. And that would have been a crying shame.
    The memory of her taste has me jumping up to lock the office door, right as I reach to unzip my fly. The pressure mounting in me has to come out or I’ll be useless all damn day. A small part of me is annoyed at how she left me hanging last night, but as my fist closes over the flesh of my engorged cock, I have to admit I don’t care.
    I free the swollen organ and feel like an eager teenager discovering the joys of self-pleasure as I pump my length up and down. My head leans on the chair back as I close my eyes and picture Heather telling me to get on my knees. The skin slides up and down in my grip, creating a warm friction.
    I recall Heather’s husky voice guiding my thumbs to her wet sex. Her musky smell spilled into the night, choking out the lingering aromas of the city.
    A bead of come leaks out the weeping slit of my cock and trails down the side. I massage the slick warmth around my shaft in a circular twist of my fist and increase the pressure on each stroke, driving myself closer to a peak.
    My mouth waters at the remembered taste of her. She was so sexy when she came, mewling soft little sounds of pleasure deep in her throat. I want to slide into her tight wetness and feel her writhe around my flesh. I’d make her call out her release, not stifle the noises like last night. The image of driving myself deep and fast into her permeates my mind, forcing out all other thoughts.
    The arousal I’ve felt all night and all morning combined with the stimulation of my hand promises to deliver a powerful peak. The pressure builds in the base of my cock and all I hear in my head is Heather moaning her pleasure while I plunge inside her. I jerk my fist faster, willing my fantasy to become real. At the last moment I remember