by Virna DePaul
Every bite mark along the side of his hand as he tries not to make noise is a bite mark too much. Lee’s hand stretches up to trace the lace lining my bra and I should stop him. Because I’ll remember that gentle touch, and it will only bring pain later on whenever a stray breeze reminds me of the ghost of his fingers.
I shouldn’t be hearing my name whispered like that from his lips, like a plea, like a prayer. I should tell him to shut up. I’ll hear it every single night I’m in bed long after Lee’s left and found himself his next model or actress. I’ll hear it and think that he’s there and then I’ll have to open my eyes every time to the truth: Lee doesn’t stay.
He never stays.
I should stuff my thong in his mouth and tie his wandering hands to the desk legs and ride him till I come and tell him to leave. To get the fuck out. To get lost. But I stroke his cock and listen again and again to the way he says my name. I let his fingers leave indents above my hip bones that I secretly hope leave a mark for me to trace later. I let my body memorize everything about how he feels beneath me: the muscles along his upper thighs, the contraction of his toned abs, his dick hard in my hands, dripping with precum.
“Lift up your ass,” I command.
His unfocused eyes settle on me and I repeat my words. He raises up his hips with slight confusion on his face and I slip his wallet from his back pocket.
“Are you robbing me?” he asks and dreamily adds, “Not that I care. You could take me for all I’m worth and I’d just lay here.”
I grin, pulling out a condom from behind his library card.
“Oh, I intend to. I know we didn’t use a condom last time, but I forgot to take my pill this morning, so better to be safe…”
“Sure, sure.”
I rip the packaging and only vaguely aim for the trash can in the corner of my office, not caring enough to see if it went in or not. Lee pounds his fists against the desk when I slip on the condom and rise up enough to position myself over his cockhead.
“You…” I whisper as I lower myself down enough so I feel him at my pussy, “You have…” I gasp when I push myself lower still, “…to be…,” my breathing quickens and I hold back a moan, “…quiet.”
My inner thighs quiver and my hands on his chest shake when I’m fully seated. I roll my hips and Lee slaps his hand against the metal side of my desk. It rings loud and abrasive in the office and I lean over him and press my finger to his lips. Both of our eyes lock on the door, waiting for a concerned question or a curious knock. When it remains silent, I’m about to remove my hand when I see the thrill in Lee’s eyes. I hesitate nervously for a moment, but then I twist my hand and carefully cover his mouth.
“Do you like that?” I whisper.
He nods and I lift up so that just his cock head is inside me before pressing my ass back down to his crotch. My heart leaps when I hear him groan, the sound muted against my hand.
“Put your hands above your head,” I order him in a voice that surprises even me.
It’s husky and deep and commanding. It’s the voice I use in the courtroom.
I know he likes it when I feel his hips flex and he immediately puts his hands above his head at the edge of the desk. I grasp both his wrists with my other hand as I ride him slowly. His biceps bulging in the corner of my eye remind me that there would be no stopping him from grabbing my own hands and flipping me over without any effort at all. But the look in his eyes tells me he won’t. He likes it: me in control.
I pick up my pace and soon I’m having to bite my lip to cut off my own moans. My thighs burn, but I fuck him faster, sweat starting to run down my back. I clamp my fingers over Lee’s mouth tighter when his groans grow louder.
Lowering my lips to his ear, I whisper between gasps, “They’re just outside, Lee. What if they were to hear us and walk in?”
My nails dig into the soft, tender skin of his wrists and my hips stutter when he shifts his head and bites my finger. God, I’m close.
“They’ll walk in here and see us,” I whisper before licking his ear. “They’ll see me on top of you like this.”
I wince at how his teeth on my finger stings, but it turns me on more than anything when he curses around my finger and I pound my ass down harder, driving his cock deeper inside of me. His heart pounds under my tits. I think he’s close, too.
“They’ll see my hand over your mouth and my hand holding down your arms,” I continue.
His arms squirm in my grip.
“Stop moving,” I hiss.
“Goddamn,” he groans around my finger.
“Do you want them to see this?” I ask. “Do you want them to see you under my control?”
He nods and I come, biting down on his arm to muffle my scream when he says just two words.
“I’m yours.”
I collapse on top of him as my world spins and my hand falls from his mouth. He slips his hands from my now loose grip and grabs onto my waist, just above my hip bones. All it takes is lifting me up and down a few times with those strong hands of his and he buries his head against my neck as he comes. We lay there, him catching his breath and me running over and over in my mind those two simple words. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.
Silently, I sit up and ease myself off of him and climb down from my desk. I slip my thong back on and fix my skirt and quickly button my shirt. After tucking back a few strands of hair that had slipped loose, I move around the desk and bend down to start rearranging everything in my office. I’m aware of Lee removing the condom and tucking himself back into his pants.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly, swinging his legs around so that he’s sitting on the edge of the desk.
He’s watching me, but I continue to straighten the pile of legal documents as if he weren’t.
“I’m getting back to work,” I answer, still not looking up at him.
For a few moments there, I’d let myself believe he’d actually meant those two little words. And that’s exactly what I’d been afraid of: I’m falling for him and I can’t control it.
I return my clock and container of paperclips to the desk, but he stops me with a hand on my wrist.
“Hey,” he says.
I straighten my clock with my other hand, but he grabs that wrist, too.
“Hey,” he repeats. “Hey, look at me.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically, before I let my eyes fall into place with his.
“You’re kind of stealing my thing,” he says, smiling.
“And what’s that?”
“The ole fuck and run.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes from my lips.
“It is a work day, you know,” I explain. “And we are still in my office at my job.”
Lee dismisses me with a wave of his hand. He pats the spot next to where he sits.
“I have to work, Lee,” I insist.
He pats the desk again.
“Lee.”
“Jenna, your cheeks are still flushed and I’m pretty sure those are your nipples saying hello through your shirt. Just sit for a second.”
He twirls me in a circle as if we are on the dance floor and I stumble right onto the desk where he wanted me the whole time. We sit and look at the view from my window and I’m extremely conscious of the fact that he’s still holding my left hand.
I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.
I tell myself to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the warmth of his skin. Stop thinking about the way he glances over at me when he thinks I’m not looking. Stop thinking about the sweet little circles he traces with his thumb.
“Anything you want to tell me, Jenna?”
I look over at him in surprise. “Like what?”
He laughs, that easy, carefree laugh I so envy.
“Anything. Anything you’d like to tell me. I’m listening.”
“That’s a first.”
He turns his face to me and I’m surprised at the sincerity on his fac
e when he answers, “I always listen to you, Jenna. Always.”
I squint my eyes in suspicion.
“I’m serious.” He squeezes my hand. “Everyone else talks and talks and talks and, yeah, I sometimes don’t listen. But, Jenna, when you speak… well, when you speak I listen. Simple as that.”
I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.
Stop it, Jenna. Stop it. For a moment I’m tempted to tell him, to fess up about my blog, about what I wrote about him, about why I wrote what I wrote about him. A part of me wants to tell him how I feel about him, how I’ve always felt about him.
“I do have something to confess,” I finally say.
He waits.
“Your cock is larger than I thought it would be.”
Lee grins, but I can tell it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a bit of disappointment there. And I don’t know why.
“You already told me that this morning, but I’m happy you’re impressed.” Suddenly he’s standing up and his hand is falling away from mine and I’m immediately missing its warmth.
“Well,” he says, “I’ll let you get back to work then.”
He smiles and sounds cheerful, but I can tell something has changed.
“You need money for a taxi to get home, babe?” I ask, stacking papers to keep myself occupied.
“Funny. I’ll just do my walk of shame to the subway, thank you very much.”
“Atta girl.” I wink and whistle when he turns around and I can see his ass.
“Don’t objectify me, Jenna Harrison.”
“Don’t have an ass like that.”
He laughs and waves before closing the door.
And it takes everything I have not to go after him.
10
Lee
Damn my dick.
I had her. I almost got her to slip up and accidentally reveal that she was the anonymous face behind that blog. Everything was going exactly as planned. I hit all her weak points. Man, the look on her face when I said the blogger must be uneducated! In her mind, she was cursing me. I could practically hear her screaming thoughts. Harvard Law, asshole. I went to Harvard Law.
Then, I brought in that jobless jab. The Cheetos bit was a nice improvised touch. Yeah, I saw her pride squirming in that tight black skirt that hugged her every curve. She’d wanted so badly to correct me. She’d been seconds away from blurting out:
“You're in my office, you idiot. And you know I don't eat Cheetos anymore after you got me high on graduation night and I ate a whole bag before promptly throwing up that whole bag.”
It was the virgin part that got to her. She was going to say something like, “Where was your dick last night, Lee? How can I be a virgin?”
But that dick of mine screwed it all up. All that hard work, all that set up … and with three little words, I threw it all away without a second glance. What were those words?
And lock it.
And lock it.
After she said that, I didn't stand a chance, and she knew it. I was hers then. Jenna pushing me down, reaching up to take off her thong, then straddling me. How was I supposed to stop that?
In my apartment, I turn on my computer and close my eyes while waiting for it to boot up. God, the way she tried to stop herself from moaning. It only made me want her to moan louder. I wanted all her coworkers to hear her scream. Hell, I wanted all of New York City to hear her scream.
I should have known this would be more difficult than I thought. Jenna's crafty. Well, and my dick is stupid. But, it's all good. I had amazing sex, checked off number four on my list of sexual fantasies, and now it's time for phase two.
I log into my computer and pull up Jenna's no longer anonymous food blog. I browse around a bit for the contact info. Hmm, what’s this? I’ve accessed a chat room for what Jenna describes as:
Angry Restaurant Owners Who Want To Be Proved Wrong. Again.
Should be interesting. With a few beers at the ready, I settle into my chair and crack my knuckles. Here we go. I wait for a second, pondering my opening move, and then start to type my first words to this ‘anonymous’ food blogger.
I'm glad my nice, round butt made up for my boring, uninspired lasagna.
I wait for a response. There aren't any little dots blinking that tell me she's replying, but I know a reply is forthcoming. There’s no way Jenna will be able to resist.
Less than two minutes later, I see the dots.
Got her! I drink to my brilliance as I wait for her to type.
My mouth was suffering. No need for my eyes to as well.
And so, the games begin.
I drum my fingers against one another like I'm a cheesy movie villain luring Bond into my wicked trap. I even add a little audible “Muahaha” to set the mood.
I care deeply about the pleasure of my patron’s mouths. I could show you?
I can already tell those blinking little dots are going to drive me crazy. I sip my beer to try and chill out. Finally, she responds.
Sure, if you don’t mind a scratchy beard.
Well played, Jenna. I forgot for a second I’m not supposed to know that the anonymous blogger is a woman. Maybe I need to make some sort of flow chart or Excel spreadsheet in order to keep track of all of this.
Now, I know that Jenna is the blogger. And Jenna doesn’t know that I know. But Jenna doesn’t know that I know that she doesn’t know … Wait, what? I drink a little more beer, because nothing readies the mind for difficult puzzles like beer. I put my hands back on the keyboard.
It’s more the sharp tongue I’m afraid of.
I can almost picture her. She’s probably wearing those old, baggy sweatpants she always wears. In my head though, I see her wearing nothing but that black thong she tossed on her office floor this morning. And she’s in her bed on her stomach, typing at her laptop. Her feet are up in the air, toes curling like they curled for me in her tub. Her ass arches up as she thinks about me. She’s even growing wet as she imagines me –
Your tough as hell steak can file it down I’m sure.
Well, there goes that mental image. Yep, the real Jenna is in sweatpants ready to lampoon me. I need to stay focused, on my game. This is war.
Next time you come to the restaurant, I’ll just have the kitchen throw the steak on a plate raw, because you’re an animal. Vicious. Absolutely vicious.
Jenna responds more quickly now.
Next time?
I don’t respond and let her come to me.
What makes you think I’m coming back a next time after the pain and emotional trauma your restaurant put me through?
I’m gaining ground, so I still remain silent on my end. Those little dots pop up again and I drink in celebration of my small victory.
Well?
Jenna’s got to be in her bedroom, stalking back and forth in front of her laptop screen with a glass of wine in her hand desperately close to sloshing over the side. I’ve seen her spill it like that a thousand times when she’s frustrated. I laugh.
Judging by your praise of my body, in explicit detail, I have no doubt that you’ll be back.
I can practically see steam coming through my computer from her flared nostrils.
In fact, I type wickedly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already been back.
Oh, there is definitely wine on her floor right now. The little dots pop up for a few seconds, then disappear. I pump my fist in the air despite the fact that I’m alone. The three dots show up again and I wait and again they disappear. Best. Day. Ever.
Mostly because Jenna rode me like a professional cowgirl, but still…
I put my hands back on the keyboard. If you like, I could show you my secret menu.
Is that what you show your model friends? They seem to change frequently, which makes me think your secret menu is either small or unimpressive.
I'm about to type back when she adds, Or both.
Jenna has definitely seen my 'secret menu'. And I know that she knows it is neither small nor unimpr
essive. But I restrain myself, since I'm not supposed to know that she knows. I am not smart enough for these tricky, tricky games. Maybe my accountant will help me out with that spreadsheet? I certainly pay him enough.
I chug the rest of my beer and crack my knuckles once more. Game face. Game face. Focus.
My secret menu is so indulgent, so decadent, that only a few can go back for seconds.
It's an all right response. I'm still in the game.
Those three little dots pop up. While they're pulsing, I run to the fridge for another beer. I almost wipe out racing around the corner and I end up smacking my hip on the kitchen island. As I leap back into my chair, I nearly fall out of it. Jenna has responded.
So, you're telling me you're sweet?
Damn it. That's good. I strum my fingers across the keyboard.
Sweet for titties.
The moment I press Enter, I regret it. My head falls onto the desk and I groan. She’s snorting in victory, in pleasure. I am an idiot. I picked a word battle with Jenna. Harvard Law grad, Jenna. Brilliant lawyer, Jenna.
When I finally coax myself to look back up at the screen, my jaw drops.
I have titties.
Little Jenna!
Oh, really now?
But they're on my secret menu.
What a delicious, delicious secret menu that is.
My phone beeps, and I flip it over to see a new email from one of the investors who’d bailed on me. He wants to reconnect. Says that based on his conversations with my agent, Owen Kiss, he’s reconsidering, and that the other investors are, as well.
I should be thrilled. I should stop everything to address this. But all I want to do right now is flirt with Jenna.
I put my phone on silent and scoot back up to the computer.
Will I ever get to review your secret menu? I type.
Is she remembering how I licked her secret menu, squeezed her secret menu, dragged my teeth across her secret menu? Is she touching herself?
I shift in my chair because now I'm thinking about it. I don't have to look down to know I'm already tenting in my pants.
I worry it's not your taste, Jenna responds.
I have a very refined palette.