Boss!Jotaro Kujo x Secretary!Reader
Fingers clacked against the plastic keyboard dutifully, [colored] orbs focused on every word created and only stopped for a brief stretch of your shoulders or the adjustment of your pencil skirt. You carefully revised the email for typos or grammatical errors, and made sure you had addressed the sender in a proper and professional manner before sending it off. A groan left your lips at the dozen more, bold-faced subjects you had yet to respond to regarding your boss's availability and schedule; complaints, questions, praises . . .
Curiously, you leaned to peer into the adjoining office only to find his desk vacant and your attention flickered to the watch on your wrist. A grimace twisted your mien, brows furrowed with more sympathy than exasperation. Mr. Kujo's meeting was running late again and, more often than not, that was responsible for souring his mood. This wasn't to state that he was terrible or unkind to you, but under such circumstance the already curt man became more so and often would shut himself off completely.
It use to intimidate you. Jotaro Kujo was a large, broad man with a rather austere and calloused countenance. Add that he was a man of very few words and he may as well been unapproachable. You had only ever attended a meeting with him a handful of times and, had you not, you most likely would have never heard him speak more than one or two words. One instance that remained clear in your mind was when he had opted to leave in the midst of aforementioned meeting, while the host was still speaking.
"Not interested," he had stated firmly.
It was hard not to admire him, and his principle. Jotaro Kujo was blunt, and didn't like his time wasted. He didn't care what people thought, even if the manner in which he handled a situation wasn't the most professional, he couldn't be bothered; not to state he was insensible or unethical, but he was stubborn.
You had learned to adapt to his ways, and learned his likes and dislikes by gestures and different octaves of grunts. He may have never outwardly expressed his appreciation of you, but in the end he didn't have to. You knew just by the tasks he entrusted you with, and asking your occasional input. You were proud to be his secretary.
When the door to his office swung open, you were up and out of your chair with notebook in hand. The grizzly of a man, sharply dressed in a jet-black suite, immediately loosened his tie and ran his free hand through his onyx locks. Jotaro palmed his desk and released an aggravated sigh.
"How did it go, sir?"
Despite being his secretary for years now, your voice still wavered an iota. His moods and brooding demeanor may have not been as challenging anymore, but he was still a dauntingly gorgeous man. All the women in the office wanted him, and you were no different; you were just better at hiding it (which wasn't hard to do, considering the numerous ways the others flung themselves at him).
His cerulean hues slid to your form in the doorway and his posture straightened. Yanking his cobalt tie from his neck, he grunted an all-to-familiar phrase,
A smile ghosted over your expression as he collapsed into his chair and reclined,
"That bad, huh? Perhaps you'd like some tea before I get started?"
"No," he kicked his feet up on the desk and waved you over lackadaisically, "Get it over with."
With a firm nod, you proceeded toward the front of his desk and clicked the end of your pen against the notepad. Jotaro watched your movements precisely, different from his standard half-lidded malaise that came post-meetings. Your throat tightened under the intensity of such a gaze, the effort it took to break it and continue with your routine was harder than you were willing to admit.
"Wh-while you were away, I sent the response emails like you requested and have already heard back from quite a few. The only branch still unwilling to participate in the merge is Brando Enterprise, which --quite frankly-- didn't surprise me..."
Jotaro hummed and brought his legs down from the desk. Instead, he inclined and rested his elbows against the surface, fingers laced in front of his mouth and his eyes narrowed, placing you under closer scrutinization.
"Erm . . . That being said: the branches that are interested their schedules are conflicting, but I took it upon myself to make meeting arrangements as convenient as possible. I managed to narrow it down to three different days, and after the lunch hour."
You descried him rising from his chair slowly, still intently leaned over the desk and you swallowed,
"Your mother called," you paused, quickly scribbling out the bit about why he refused to return her calls, and continued, "Your uncle is getting married. He wants to know if you'll be able to attend a celebratory dinner next weekend and apologizes for the short n-notice. He . . . forgot?"
Jotaro stalked around the desk, shrugging out of his suit-jacket and tossing it in the leather seat.
Timidly, you rotate to maintain facing him, though you're focused on the notes in front of you, "Y-y-you've a doctor's appointment this Friday afternoon, and I've taken the liberty of blocking out the rest of your day."
He'd undone the first few buttons of his crisp, orchid colored shirt and you'd begun to feel warm.
"The numbers are in order, we've been right on the mark with our spending and profits . . . A-and my v-vacations hours are still," you look up to find Jotaro directly in front of you, and he gently takes the planner from your grasp only to toss it aside, "P-pending."
Jotaro stood before you, so close that you were nearly perched against the desk. He reached out and took a strand of your hair between his fingers, inspecting it almost curiously. Your words were stowed away at the base of your esophagus, an unforgiving heat spread across your cheeks. His height was domineering, and you could hardly contain your surprise when he leaned in and captured your lips with his. Your posture went rigid and your hands hovered stiffly at your sides.
His mouth moved and the plump nature of his lips forced yours to comply. Jotaro swallowed your astonishment, large hands braced on your hips and coercing you closer. A moment later, and you melted; allowing your lids to flutter shut and grasp the fabric of his button-up. Your heart raced as his tongue pushed itself into your orifice, and your stomach preformed a somersault as he fervently pushed himself further into you.
A sharp mewl was elicited from you, unsteadily undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Your thoughts were indecipherable once your fingers traced the outline of your boss's marbled chest and abdomen, his hands also eagerly untucking your blouse from your skirt and lifting you onto the table. Jotaro left a trail of vehement kisses along you jawline, and nipped your exposed neck. One hand supported the small of back, while the other brought your pelvis to the ledge and wrapped your legs around his waist.
The deep growl the reverberated within his chest sent trills down you spine, teeth grazing and the urge between your legs swelling with the gyration of his hips. With your head thrown back, it allowed him better access to your collar, his wet muscle salaciously rolling wherever it pleased.
Your skirt was pushed up, your blouse undone, and the clinking of Jotaro's belt was heard in your ears. Your lids were heavy with lust, and you looked up at him with a bite of your lip as his hand moved up your thigh to the only piece of fabric standing in his way.
Knuckles rapped on the door, and the two of you froze.
"Mr. Kujo, sir. You're needed downstairs."
The glare he shot over his shoulder would have been deadly had it made contact with the person behind the door. You averted your gaze to ensure you, too, wouldn't be killed by the look, despite still being wrapped around his torso.
"Fine," Jotaro answered gruffly.
His orbs flickered to you askance, and pulled away. You straightened out your skirt and buttoned you blouse silently, head still swimming and cheeks still abysmally crimson. The first thing you would do when you got home would be to curl into a ball and scream.
"Good grief," you looked to your boss back in his suit jacket, his tie in it's proper place, and a hand raking through disheveled locks. Jotaro glanced over his shoulder, and handed you the notebook he had previously discarded, "I need you to make a call for me."
"Oh . . . Y-yes, sir. To whom?"
"Make a dinner reservation for two tonight. Take the rest of the day off and be ready by seven o'clock. Let it be clear: you're staying with me tonight."
Your brows shot upward, and Jotaro slammed the office door shut before you could properly stammer out another "Yes, sir."
|To be continued------>