Phillip Graves didn't think he needed a secretary. He could handle everything himself. At least he'd thought so before he'd gotten so busy that everything had practically fallen out of his hands. It pissed him off. Not even though Phillip had decided to hire a secretary.

The click of heels echoed against the walls of the corridor. In your hands is the folder containing the base lieutenants' report you carried into Graves's office. Tapping your knuckles on the office door, you went straight inside without waiting for a “Come in.” Graves was sitting at his desk, reading the paper in his hands and only glancing at you. Moving closer, you placed the folder of reports on the edge of his desk and walked around the man's chair to stand behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. As you began to gently massage his shoulders, the man mumbled contentedly, closing his eyes and placing the paper he was holding on the desk. Reaching back, the man's fingers gently touched your leg, stroking the calf of your foot.

Removing your hands from his shoulders, you stepped aside, cautiously taking a seat on the arm of his chair, where his hand immediately wraps around your waist and slides to your thigh, slowly, but deftly, making its way under the fabric of your skirt. His fingers stroke your thigh, climbing higher and higher and scuffing higher up the fabric of your office skirt. Suddenly the American's fingers freeze, stopping the stroking as he feels the fabric of the lace beneath his fingers. Lowering his gaze down, Graves hums contentedly, smirking as he looks at the lacy fabric of your stockings.

“Someone's in a playful mood today, hmm?” The man's fingers slid higher again. When he touched the lacy fabric of your panties, a satisfied smile spread across the man's lips.