“Oh, God!” Maggie gasped, pulling against the restraints that kept her arms over her head. She looked down to see him working her left nipple with his tongue, taking the whole thing in his mouth, suckling sensuously.

At her words, he looked up at her, tousled salt and pepper hair perfectly framing his chiseled face, heat radiating from his brown eyes, a smirk on his lips. “You like?” She nodded vigorously. “Because I was thinking about moving further down,” he said, lazily tracing a finger down the center of her body until he came to the mound between her thighs. There he paused to stroke her moist pink folds, gently at first, then more intensely.

Maggie writhed in pleasure but with her feet bound to the corners of the bed there was little she could do. “Oh, God, Michael,” she squeaked, on the edge of molten pleasure.

He looked back up at her, his eyebrow crooked. “I’ve always wondered. Does a ginger taste like ginger?” With that, he lowered his mouth to her sex and began lightly flicking her clit with his tongue.

Maggie could feel her release building, with it a moan that started deep in her soul. “Oh... God!” she screamed.

She jolted awake, breathless and covered in sweat. Holy shit! What the fuck was that?! Cuffs? She swiped her long red hair out of her eyes. Now I’m dreaming kinky shit.

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom sink to splash water on her face. Dreaming about Michael now? She needed to get laid. Moving back to her bed she watched the display on her alarm clock blink to 5:17 am. Shit! The alarm would be going off in less than fifteen minutes. Which was probably too early, but she was anxious to be on time for her first real day of work. There would be no more sleep so she switched o  the alarm.

Maggie stood looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. She wasn’t a model, by any means. But she wasn’t bad looking. She touched her face, cocking her head to the side. She’d always loved her thick red hair. It made her different. If anything, she wished it had some curl to it, but it was always straight as a board.

She had good bone structure, like her mother’s, her father had told her, but she had no way of knowing. Her gaze moved down her body and she wasn’t unhappy with what she saw. Vaguely regular workouts and good genes kept her waist small and her hips and thighs toned. Impulsively she pulled her black tank top off over her head, tossed it on the bed, and stood looking at her breasts. Slowly she brought her hands up to them, cupping them in her palms, hefting their weight. 

Casey had always envied her 36DDs, unhappy with her own 34As. Maggie had never really thought about it, but looking at them in the mirror she watched herself languidly caress them, taking care to pay attention to her pebble-hard dark pink nipples and she liked what she saw. She felt a stirring and paused to remove her panties, kicking them aside. At the apex of her thighs was a neatly trimmed patch of red hair. Usually she waxed it all away but in the six months she’d been single, she had gotten out of the habit. With her right hand she continued caressing her breasts but she moved her left hand down to touch a needier space, all the while watching herself in the mirror. 

Maggie glanced at the time. She could go ahead and shower, but first there was a little unfinished business. Reaching into the drawer of her bedside table, she took out her current boyfriend, the one who was always there for her as long as she had AA batteries. In her mind, though, it was him. 

The days between Interview Tuesday and Monday, her first day with the firm, had own past in a whirlwind of activity and events, culminating with graduation on Sunday. The ceremony itself was at 10:00 in the morning, the better to get finished and allow for everyone to be on their way. 

Maggie had dreaded the commencement itself, though, knowing that she had no family to come and cheer her achievement. Since the early days of law school, Casey’s parents had ‘adopted’ her and had always included her when they came to visit, inviting her to their home for holidays and vacations. But Maggie still felt as though she were intruding on family time. Arriving in town on Saturday afternoon, the Allens had taken Casey and Maggie out for dinner that evening, showering both girls with gifts. They had invited Maggie back to their hotel after dinner, but she’d begged off, eager to leave the family to themselves. 

At the graduation ceremony, Maggie had been surprised to receive a large bouquet of spring flowers. Her heart had pounded as she’d read the card. Congratulations on your graduation. Murphy, Rannigan, & Metheney. She’d felt a sting of disappointment, having hoped they’d been from Michael. Now, she glanced at the table where she’d placed them in a vase, grateful for the passing of time. 

Maggie entered the firm’s lobby at precisely 9:00 dressed in a charcoal grey pencil skirt and white camisole topped with a thin pink ruffled cardigan. There were six others waiting, presumably newbies like herself. As she approached the reception desk, the woman looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Flynn. If you’ll just wait here with the others, Ms. Jordan from HR will join you shortly. 

Maggie thanked her and found a seat next to a tall handsome black guy with close-cropped hair wearing a grey suit, white shirt, and pink tie. She introduced herself. “Hi! Maggie Flynn,” she said reaching to shake his hand. “We’re twins today,” she remarked, laughing. 

He grinned back at her, shaking her hand. “Nate Washington,” he responded. “Yeah, we look like we could anchor the local television news.” 

“Are you from New York?” she asked. 

Nate shook his head. “Nope, this is my first time in the city. I graduated from Tulane last week,” he answered. 

“Wow, Tulane? I graduated yesterday from NYU. Did they come down there for a job fair?” she wondered. 

“Yes, I interviewed with a lot of firms, had a few others, but I decided I wanted to try living in New York,” he confided. 

She smiled at him. “You’re going to love the city.” 

A tall black woman impeccably dressed in a black skirt suit with a purple silk blouse entered the room. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Pat Jordan, assistant director of Human Resources. We have a few housekeeping details to take care of, then we’ll take you on a tour of the firm and outline your job descriptions. Follow me, please.” 

Maggie, Nate, and the others followed Ms. Jordan down a hallway to a large meeting room where contracts were presented, explained, and signed. They next went downstairs to the building’s security office where photo badges were made. 

“With your security badge, you can come and go twenty-four hours a day,” Ms. Jordan explained, “something you may want to do in order to keep up with your assignments and projects.” Nate and Maggie grimaced at each other. 

Back on the 45th floor, Ms. Jordan began the tour of the offices beginning with their workstations and explained that the group would be a sort of a pool, performing tasks assigned by the various partners and associates of the firm. Maggie glanced around at the cubicles, each of which had a name on the outside. She saw one for Nate Washington. 

“Where’s yours?” Nate whispered. 

Maggie shrugged and raised her hand. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, I don’t see my name,” she said. 

“Ah, Ms. Flynn,” Pat Jordan began, “you have been assigned directly to Mr. Rannigan, per his request. You’ll be located on the 50th floor. As a matter of fact, now that we have all the preliminary business squared away you’re free to head upstairs. The rest of this really won’t apply to you, as I’m sure Mr. Rannigan and his staff will have their own orientation.” 

Maggie blinked in surprise. “Um, okay, thank you very much,” she said, feeling her face flush pink. “I’ll just be going then.” 

Ms. Jordan went ahead with her discourse. Maggie stopped by Nate. “Hey, Tulane, text me,” she whispered, quickly giving her number. Her phone blipped in the elevator. 

What the???? he texted.

I have no idea! Drinks tonight. Let’s debrief, she returned.

The doors slid open on the 50th floor and Maggie stepped out tentatively. 

This floor was different from the others she’d visited. The floor in the reception area was white marble and the desk looked Scandinavian, all pale wood with clean lines. 

The pretty blonde woman behind the desk glanced up from her computer and smiled. “Hello! You must be Maggie. I’m Karen Stewart, Michael’s assistant. We spoke on the phone last week.” 

Maggie recalled the first call she made, the one to set up the interview with the Murphy, Rannigan partners. “Yes, hello, it’s nice to meet you,” she managed, feeling completely out of her league. Karen came around the desk to shake her hand. Up close, Maggie realized that Karen was older than she’d first thought, mid-forties, maybe, judging by the crinkles that framed her blue eyes when she smiled. 

“Welcome to Murphy, Rannigan,” she said. “Michael had planned to meet you himself but he’s with a client. Let me just show you your desk and you can get settled in and wait for him there.” 

Karen led her down a hallway paneled with light wood interrupted now and then by frosted glass doors with names painted in silver script. She stopped at the end of the hallway in front of one of the doors. “Here we are,” she said opening it. “It’s small, but it’s all yours.” 

Astounded, Maggie walked in. It was a very small space. A small desk of the same light wood as the reception desk was against the wall to the left and directly across from it was a matching credenza on the right. There was space for a small leather desk chair between them. e back wall was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Central Park. 

“The man is coming this afternoon to put your name on the door,” Karen was saying. “We’d hoped it would be finished before you got here, but he’s running behind.” She smiled kindly at Maggie. “Now, can I get you anything, water, coffee?” 

Flummoxed, Maggie managed to shake her head. “No, thank you, everything is just perfect,” she responded. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in,” Karen said. “Michael should be along shortly.” With that, Karen left, pulling the door closed behind her. 

Maggie stood for a moment trying to catch her breath. She walked to the window to look out across the park. Unbelievable, she thought. I have my own fucking office?! She turned to look at the desk, noticing for the first time that centered there was a thin gift box wrapped in white paper and a silver bow. A small card was affixed to the top, her name scrawled on the envelope. She opened the envelope and removed the monogrammed note card. SMR, she read. The same scrawl crossed the inside of the card. 

Welcome, Maggie, to Murphy, Rannigan, & Metheny. Sorry I missed your graduation. Think of this as a Welcome/Happy Graduation/late birthday gift. Hope you like it. Michael 

Maggie’s heart pounded. In slow motion, she carefully removed the wrapping paper and took o the lid. Smiling, she lifted the gift from the box. It was a new folio in buttery so tan leather with silver accents of thin filigree on the corners and centered in thin feminine script were her initials: MMF.