Lars Petersen nodded to his assistant and to the intern who worked part-time at City Hall and part-time at Dixon and Petersen. "Been a good week," he said, and pushed back his chair. He felt a double buzz inside his jacket. Cindy. "I'll let you two lock up. The Mrs. wants me."
"When Lars says 'good'," that means it was a rocking week," his assistant explained to the intern.
Briefcase in hand, he walked to his car. A compact edition of an American luxury sedan, it had just enough nice touches to not be out of place if he was taking lunch with a client or visiting state official.
Before pulling out, he checked Cindy's text message. "It's on. Hurry home."
Lars felt his face grow warm, and his cock swelled inside his slacks. It had been a while since Cindy had been able to arrange this sort of special connection. He'd been looking forward to it.
The electric driveway gate slid aside when he pulled up, and the garage door opened as he approached. The visitors' space was occupied. He grinned.
Entering quietly through the kitchen, Lars locked up his briefcase in his home office, hung up his suit jacket, and docked his phone.
He stepped back into the main part of the house and listened for what Cindy might be doing. Just thinking about it made his heart beat with anticipation. Even his slacks, carefully cut to avoid advertising Lars's frequent erections -- "law and politics gave me hard-ons, so sue me" -- couldn't conceal his excitement.
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