Shara Azod

Little Black Book


The little black notebook was right there on the corner of Dontae’s desk. Though it was a complete violation of her privacy, Parson picked it up without qualm. Day after day he watched her scribbling in the damn thing, tuning out the world around her. Okay, not the world, just him. Dontae Brooks fascinated him, incensed him, turned him on in a way that made it impossible to even try to think about any other woman. What was worse, she was oblivious to his plight. She rebuffed any effort he made to get to know her better, and they had worked in the same department for three long, tortuous years. Over the past fourteen months, three weeks and four days Parson hadn’t been moved to date, or even just hook up. His damn body rejected all but her. And she wouldn't give him the time of day.

The more often Parson attempted to get Dontae’s attention, the more she studiously ignored him. His jokes were met with a blank stare or a quizzical frown. Never so much as a shadow of a smile crossed her pouty, lightly glossed lips. Glossed in colors ranging from a deep pink to a dark plum; he’d categorized every one she wore. Inquiries of a personal nature such as “So, what did you do this weekend?” were never answered beyond a simple “Nothing much.” He would’ve just assumed Dontae was antisocial to the extreme, only he knew that wasn’t the case.

Everyone else in the IT Department received smiles, laughter, jokes, banter. Men, women, straight, gay and otherwise-Dontae was a friend to just about everyone. She listened to problems, offered advice, met for drinks after work, discussed religion, politics and entertainment. But for him? Nada; not one kind word, not one question, not much of anything. It rankled the hell out of him. Not just because of the blatant snubs either. Every single time he attempted a conversation, especially one just between the two of them, she blew it off as quickly as she could get away. The thought had occurred to him she might be scribbling about him. Maybe the reason for her extreme dislike was to be found in these pages.

Was it a journal? Most people wouldn’t keep something that personal at work, unguarded, if they were writing about those around them. Taking a quick look around the cubicle maze that made up their main office space, Parson flipped it open. Dontae was out on a trouble call to one of the departments with the most technology- challenged individual imaginable. She’d been gone for a while. Most of the cubicles were empty, so no one was around to run their mouths.

I never realized white men could have such full lips. Then again, before Parson I never took much notice. How long had I stared at his lips, imagining them on mine, imagining them feasting from between my legs? Those lips were just that juicy. Now there was no escape from them, not that I would want to. He took my mouth in a slow, drugging kiss, and I swayed on my feet as his mouth sucked away all my will. Who was I kidding? I let it go willingly. Yes, his kiss made me drunk, it turned my knees to water. It made me burn deep inside my womb and it caused my panties to become drenched with my need. As our tongues intertwined, our bodies rubbed against one another. The light friction was not nearly enough to satisfy. His kiss was melting my bones, turning me into a vessel of pure need. My clit throbbed against the flimsy silk of my panties. Strong, steady hands traveled down the curve of my spine in a slow, sensual swipe, ending at my buttocks, which he then cupped, pulling against the rigid proof of his arousal. My hips rocked reflexively. Thankfully I had worn a dress to work today, so I could feel the heated pulse of his cock through my panties. Unfortunately I was soaking into the fabric of his jeans. But I couldn’t stop! I needed him, wanted him so bad I would fall down on my knees and beg for it if I had to. I needed him inside me, invading me, pounding me. Without shame I writhed against him, grinding desperately as the hands on my ass assisted my rocking rhythm.

“I’m going to fuck you, Dontae,” he growled in my ear before biting along the collar of my neck. “Fuck you without mercy. And then I am going to make love to you, slowly.” Breaking away from my heated flesh, he fixed me with a stare I couldn't break. “Tell me you understand, Dontae.”

“Yes,” I breathed, so very close to my first orgasm.

“Yes, what?” His hands stilled my hips, causing me to whimper. I didn’t understand. It must have shown on my face because he pressed. “Say my name. Prove to me you know who is talking to you, who will be taking you.”

“Yes, Parson.”

God, those eyes! The hot hazel gaze burned me alive with their intensity. He could ask me damn near anything and I was so spellbound by the way he looked at me, I just might do it. Here, in the tiny equipment room where they kept obsolete spare parts, I was about to be taken, just like he declared, without any shame.

“Please, Parson, I need you.” Forget pride, she had wanted him for far too long to let a little thing like that to get in the way. “Please fuck me.”

Holy shit! Rubbing his eyes, Parson re-read the passage he’d flipped to, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Maybe he wanted her so much that he’d transposed his own private fantasies to the page. No, that really was his name written in that fancy handwriting of hers. Hands shaking with a mixture of disbelief and some emotion he hadn’t yet defined, Parson found it was all similar. Stories about the two of them in various little hidey holes around their workplace. A couple public scenes too. The words leapt off the pages to surround him with possibilities that left him thunderstruck.

The writings stroked his cock like a physical being, stealing caution and common sense from his brain with every word he read. This wasn’t the Dontae he thought he knew. The one that smiled sweetly and spoke softly….to every fucking person in this damn place but him, that was. The conservatively dressed woman who tried to hide her woman’s body never uttered a bad word that he could remember. A deep russet blush crept up her cheeks whenever a subject was brought up that was the least bit risque. That woman wrote this? And it featured him?

Suddenly the steadfast refusal to allow him to get to know her better made more sense. While it was a greater relief than he cared to admit to learn that she didn't hate him, it just pissed him off that he hadn't had the foggiest idea that she might want him. How many damn hours had he wasted sitting in his cubicle looking her direction, mentally stripping her out of those shirts buttoned to her neck or those pants that swallowed her figure? How many times had he been forced to excuse himself to go to the bathroom because he had stared at her bountiful ass a little too long? He’d itched to see that luxurious figure he knew was buried under all those layers of clothing she wore. He’d obsessed over what kind of panties she might wear, if she had any panties at all. Did she shave or wax? Did she like to be on top or on the bottom, or maybe mounted from behind?

The woman had driven him half out of his mind, and not just because she wouldn't talk to him. He’d been attracted from the very beginning. The reason it had upset him so much that she had never responded was because he wanted her. Craved her. And all this time she’d been hiding an equal attraction. While he was pining, she was fantasizing, leaving him out in the cold. That ended here and now. No way was he going to ignore this. Not with the way he wanted her. There’d be no more hiding for sweet little Dontae. They were about to get real acquainted-and that was just the beginning.


Dontae rounded the corner, muttering under her breath about giving complicated equipment to the technically challenged, then came to a dead stop. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest as she witnessed Parson thumbing through her little black book. Holy crap! She’d forgotten to put it back in her desk this morning

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