Most weekdays, my office door’s buzzer sounds at ten in the morning, signaling the arrival of Charlie, the courier. He’s a sight to behold, always bursting with energy and sporting a smile that lights up our drab office. I frequently work long hours, buried under deadlines and dealing with nonstop meetings. But there’s something about the joyful presence of Charlie that triggers a flutter in my chest — and a quiver in my pussy.

My favorite delivery guy is in his early 20s, with tousled dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes that seem particularly soulful for someone so young. He’s muscular and athletic, and each of his movements exudes vitality. I’d previously dismissed the idea of a relationship with someone my junior, but he unwittingly challenged that notion with every package he dropped... Read More