Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  No. That woman is always gone so quickly. If she were Cecily, the sheer magnetism would have drawn us together...wouldn’t it have? The point is, every time it happened, I got a little jolt.

  This is like a heady current running through my veins.

  I should act like the perfect gentleman and show her that sharing a room with her has absolutely no effect on me, but we’re past that now. Getting a rise out of her has always been irresistible. It probably has something to do with the fact that the very first time we met, she looked down at me, even though she’s a good six inches shorter, and told me I’d never make the cut. I don’t know what “cut” she was referring to, but I knew then that I’d prove her wrong. A hidden part of me knew she wanted me to.

  After that, we battled it out for three long years, circling each other like we were in some heated fencing match. I came out on top, with the number one spot in the class. She came in second.

  I don’t think she’s ever quite forgiven me for it.

  Either that, or this will be the battle royale. This will be the confrontation that wipes the slate clean for both of us.

  Cecily takes in a breath, her breasts rising and falling in a way I can’t help but notice, and without breaking eye contact, she yanks her pink shell out from the waistband of her skirt and pulls it over her head. She’s still looking at me as she dangles it from her fingertips and lets it fall to the carpet.

  Am I still breathing? I am, but only just. I expected her to cave. I expected her to walk toward me, into the living area, and cede the bathroom. I expected her to give a little ground.

  She’s doing no such thing.

  In fact, Cecily lifts her chin...and there goes her bra.

  My heart stops, hesitates, and jerks forward again, off-beat and wild.

  Cecily...God. Cecily is flawless, and she knows it, and she’s using it like a weapon. Her eyes bore into mine as she reaches up to the coiled knot of her hair and tugs the elastic out. Dark, shining waves tumble free, spilling down her back, and she helps things along by shaking her head from side to side like a shampoo model in a commercial. Only she’s a thousand times more beautiful than any shampoo model I’ve ever seen, or any shampoo model I ever will see. She’s fucking radiant.

  The imaginary pendulum representing the power dynamic between us creaks as she pulls it back toward her side of the room.

  I don’t move a muscle. I won’t give my cards away before I have to, and also, a part of me is a little afraid that if I do much more than blink, she’ll disappear in a puff of smoke.

  I can’t let that happen. I wasn’t willing to give up the room to her, God knows, but now that this is happening, I’m equally unwilling to let it end.

  A certain lack of oxygen to my brain edges in on the corners of my consciousness, and I force myself to take a breath. It’s a good thing, too, because Cecily is still looking at me with those dark-magic eyes. Is she blinking? Yes, there’s one. But it doesn’t matter, because the twin curves of her breasts take my attention hostage. They’re pressed toward me, because Cecily, in her infinite wisdom, has reached behind her back to undo the zipper of her skirt.

  I knew this could end in many different ways, but I did not anticipate any of them proceeding in exactly this manner. My cock strains against my boxers, infuriatingly constrained by my pants, but I wasn’t brought up to be rude. I’ll let her finish, first.

  Cecily wriggles her hips, working on freeing the skirt. It was not an illusion, then, how closely it fits. I’m seized with a burst of jealousy—somewhere, there’s a law firm filled with unworthy dicks who get to see her dressed like this every day—but then I remember that none of them are allowed to look, or touch. She’d burn them alive with the strength of her glare. I’ve gotten my fingers too close to that heat before.

  I wouldn’t mind doing it again.

  Cecily steps out of the skirt and lets it hang off her hand, cocking her head to the side. A beam of sunlight shoots through the open curtains and illuminates her hair, making her look like an avenging angel. One who is now wearing only a pair of pink panties the same shade as the shell that’s now a pool of fabric on the floor at her feet. “What? You’re finally letting me beat you?” She shakes her head, giving me time to absorb the sensual, smooth tenor of her voice. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as if she had brushed them with her fingers—it’s that powerful of a sound, even at a low volume. She doesn’t have to raise her voice and she knows it. Cecily shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “I never took you for that kind of man.”

  The skirt falls to the floor. She’s thrown the last gauntlet, and oxygen or no oxygen, risk or no risk, I never back down from a challenge.

  “That kind of man?” Even as I say the words, I’m working at my belt. And I will not, will not, look away from her eyes as I do this. I will not look down at the most perfect breasts I have ever seen—fuck. I will not do it again, after this. I swear.

  It goes without saying that Cecily can take her skirt off by swaying her hips with all the attendant sensuality of a professional dancer. I don’t have time for that kind of show. Instead, I shove my pants and boxers down to the floor and step out of them.

  There’s no hiding how hard I am. It strikes me as unfair, in this moment, that Cecily has a much better chance at hiding how she feels.

  I can’t stop the slow smile from spreading over my face when I see that although she has a chance, it’s not a guarantee.

  A shiver moves through her shoulders. I’m close enough to see her nipples rise to peaks, and then I look back at her face… she’s biting her lip.

  Then her eyes fall from mine, tracing a path all the way down over my abs and lower. I don’t know if she’s even aware of the fact that her gaze is lingering below the waist. She sucks in a slow breath, then lets it out. And she doesn’t snap her eyes back to mine, no—she takes her time. Which gives me a few precious moments to drink in the curve of her waist to her hips and the light in her hair and even the polish on her toenails, also a match for her panties.

  The panties.

  Those panties are the last thing between my eyes and all of her. The pendulum between us screeches to a halt right in the center. There’s a strange tug in my chest, willing me to go toward her, but now that we’re an almost even match....

  I stay where I am.

  “So,” I say, into the space over my thudding heart, loud in my ears. “What kind of man did you take me for?”

  * * *

  Cecily

  * * *

  What kind of man am I, again?

  I have no words.

  Not a single viable sentence comes to mind. They’re all half-formed things that keep running up against the sight of his body. Every one of them crashes and burns.

  This is not the first time I’ve seen Jaxon naked, yet I still find myself stunned at how unworthy his clothes were to be touching him the way they were. So intimately. How could they ever be expected to measure up, when all the work he’s done has led him to this point in life? This pinnacle?

  I’ll admit one thing, and it’s that...I know. I know how much work he puts into his body, because I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him almost every day since I got hired at my firm. I’ve been meticulously professional about the entire situation to the point that he has no idea I’ve been working for his firm’s biggest rival.

  The two law firms face each other, each housed on several floors of skyscrapers that stare each other down twenty-four hours a day. The company gym for Jaxon’s firm is on the eighth floor, right across from my office. Sometimes, when I’m working late and he’s got all the lights on....

  I’m not looking for him. I’m not stalking him. In fact, I’ve been trying to avoid him since law school, and he keeps reappearing on the street, and in that company gym. What was I supposed to do, quit my job? Not a chance.

  My mouth has gone dry from the sheer heat of him. We’re still in separate rooms with me over here in the bedroom, but the ten feet between us might as well be
nothing.

  God. How did he get hotter? He took on a grueling job, working hours that are on the level with mine, and still....

  I thought he was unfairly gorgeous in law school. I thought it couldn’t get any better. I was wrong. So wrong.

  Processing the fact of him, like this, in front of me, scrambles my brain. That’s why I don’t see it at first.

  The heat.

  I feel it, of course. The body reacts to things long before the brain does, or else the species never would have survived. Then it registers, and it’s...it’s more than heat. It’s pure fire. The way he’s looking at me right now is molten.

  I stand stock still, my breathing shallow. I’m used to looking at everything like a conquest. The top grades in law school. The best job at the best firm that would have me. The most difficult, prestigious clients. I find them. I conquer them. One after the other. No excuses.

  Now Jaxon is looking at me like a conquest.

  I resist the urge to squirm, to get out from under the delicious strangeness of it. Nobody looks at me that way. I’ve tried dating apps. I’ve swiped right enough times on enough tepid men to know it would be a long process, finding someone who saw me as conquerable. It would take a man who was pretty damn self-assured.

  It would take a man like Jaxon Bliss.

  I flip through the list of people I’ve seen in the last two years, which is small and so bland that all their faces blend together into one boring asshole. All of them were too intimidated by me to interest me. Why did I ever think I liked that? No, I never did. I was only trying to convince myself otherwise.

  Jaxon is not intimidated at all. He’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and the fact that he’s interested—very interested, by the looks of it—is on full display. But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look down. His gaze is as level as it’s ever been. It’s me who wants to look away, but I won’t. For a lot of reasons, but one of them is that I don’t want to.

  The spark between us crackles and jumps, and I still don’t have an answer for him. What kind of man is he? A demi-god.

  I can’t say that.

  I settle on a challenge instead.

  “Go ahead.” I let the words fall easily between us, as if this is a situation I find myself in on a regular basis. As if he’s commonplace. “Be whatever kind of man you want to be. I was on my way to—”

  Before the words are out of my mouth, he’s there. How did he cross the room so fast? It doesn’t matter. What matters are his strong hands on my skin, turning me around and pinning me to the spot. One arm wraps around the front of me, holding me in place, and the other slides under my chin, tipping my head back far enough that my throat feels bared. Not only exposed...but bared.

  “This kind of man.”

  Oh—oh. My entire body reacts to him, draws toward him, my skin tingling with goosebumps. If my hair wasn’t so long and heavy, it would stand on end like I’d been struck by lightning. For all I know, I have been struck by lightning.

  His fingertips are so light on my throat that I almost believe he’d let me step away. Deep down, I know he would let me step away. Deep down, I know that he’s a gentleman at his core.

  But I don’t want a gentleman.

  Not right now.

  Maybe not ever.

  He holds me that way for three ragged breaths, then four, then five. I feel all of him. My concentration expands from his hands to the arm locked over my breasts, to the hardness pressing into my ass from behind. There’s no give to him at all.

  Jaxon makes a noise into my hair, taking a big breath of me, a big animal breath. His hand tightens on my neck and I lift my head another inch, resting it against his shoulder. No, that’s not right. It’s not really resting. He has me captive against his shoulder.

  All of my nerves are alight. All of me is reduced to the places where his hands are against my skin, and his muscles are pressed into my back, and his cock—

  Nothing else matters, except taking one breath after another. It’s so much sensation that I can hardly bear it.

  But I want to.

  I need to.

  Jaxon shifts his weight from one foot to another, a subtle change. He keeps his hand gently, almost casually, against my neck, while the other hand starts to slide down, down, down. His fingertips circle my belly button and I hold my breath.

  He grazes the waistband of my panties and it hits me, the thought wild, that this is an excellent core workout. I’ve never been so engaged in my life, from my head to the tips of my toes. I’m trying to pull away from him, just a little, just so I can feel him holding me in place. I’m also trying to press myself closer in. I’m a human contradiction on the most basic level, and I’ve never felt so alive.

  Jaxon doesn’t pause in the downward trajectory of his hand, so it’s both breathtaking and inevitable when he uses those fingers to nudge my thighs apart and stroke between my legs, over the pink fabric of my panties. I never thought anyone would see them. They were a purchase I made solely for myself. The pride I feel at Jaxon touching them, feeling them this way, makes total sense and no sense at all.

  His fingers test my folds. The outlines of my pussy feel obscene. I have no way of seeing them right now, and I’m relishing in that lack of ability...but they feel so shamefully drawn, and it’s because he’s pressing the fabric closer, feeling them out, tracing paths that only my hands have traced for far too long. I gasp in a breath as he makes a path around my clit with one fingertip, avoiding the swollen nub. I wish he wouldn’t avoid it. God, I wish he wouldn’t. Some of my control slips. I wriggle against him, tiny bucking motions of my hips, and there it is, his grip tightening on my neck and on my pussy at the same time. His low laugh moves through me like a roll of thunder.

  I’m wet, right through the fabric. He’s taking his time, letting me feel that he feels it, and somehow it’s a thousand times dirtier and more shameful and a million times hotter that he’s stroking me through the panties. The more he touches me, the wetter they get, and I can’t hide it. No part of me wants to hide it.

  Another degree of control crashes to the floor and I move my feet another inch apart. I give him another inch of ground, knowing while I do it that he will take a mile.

  “That’s what I thought,” he growls, running his fingers over the cloth, over my slit. “Wet already. You never could help yourself, could you?”

  * * *

  Jaxon

  * * *

  Cecily always liked things this side of rough, and I’m not surprised to find her panties already collecting juices between her legs. It’s all I can do not to bite down on her when she resists my hand, pressing back with her thighs to let me know she’s fighting this...though not quite enough to make me stop. With her head pressed up against my shoulder, her neck is such a delicious target.

  She would like it if I sank my teeth into that delicate flesh, so I do her one better. I press my lips against the curve of her neck and create the slightest pressure, dragging my tongue across the same space for good measure.

  Is it really taking the bait if you want the bait all along?

  God, I wanted this bait. And this bait...it wanted me. Maybe she could play it cool while I wasn’t touching her, but now the beat of her heart is strong and fast beneath my fingers, and best of all, I can feel her starting to lose the supreme control she has over herself in the tiniest increments possible. A jerk of her here, another inch between her thighs there. I wouldn’t mind if she pushed her ass harder against my cock, which pulses painfully against that pink fabric.

  A little pleasurable torture never hurt anyone, unless you include my balls. They’re paying for every moment of this, and it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.

  I lay my fingers down alongside her clit, the nub almost, almost at the place where they join, and let my fingers there, not moving, just creating the knowledge that I am here and I am in control of her pussy lips. Cecily strains forward, her body begging for more, but I don’t give it to her. Not yet.
>
  “I bet I could make you come like this.” I let the words stay even and low, and I’m rewarded with a tiny gasp of breath. It makes an outsized impression because I feel it move under my hand, and apply a bit more pressure there. Her heart beats faster. I didn’t think that was possible.

  “I’d be...” Cecily swallows, and there’s such an intimacy to that sensation beneath my palm that I have to stifle a groan. “...disappointed...if you didn’t.” Every breath she takes is short and shallow and poor Cecily can’t do a thing to hide the beautiful tension singing through every muscle. I don’t even think she’s aware that she’s risen on tiptoe and keeps dipping her body down a fraction of an inch, pressing that hot, wet pussy into my hand, and rising back up to respond to the hand under her chin. It’s her deepest rhythm, and I sure as fuck won’t say a word to make it stop.

  “Awww.” She arches back against me at the sound. “When have I ever let you down?”

  It’s hard, letting her body get even an inch away from mine for even a moment, but I do it for a good cause. I turn Cecily toward the bed and push her forward, her hips against the edge. She helps me tilt those hips until her back is arched and her legs are spread and she’s open to me.

  Then I take one long look at the pink fabric holding tight to the dips and curves of her pussy...and attack.

  Cecily throws her head back at the first long stroke of my tongue over pure fabric. It doesn’t matter that the panties are still on—I can taste all of her sweetness, and it’s exactly the same as I remember from the night we spent together in law school. My balls tighten in response, needing her, and it’s like the call of her body has every nerve in mine connected through the point where my tongue teases her lips.

  I don’t stop there. How could I? There’s so much sucking and biting and swirling to be done, all through the fabric that I’m certain is slowly killing her. It’s slowly killing me, but I’ll die the good death for what I know is coming. Fuck me, it’ll be so good.