by Fiona Murphy
I started out as a low-level assistant for the seamstresses, working only part-time around my bookstore job. Lorraine saw I had the dedication and aspirations to go further and was willing to do almost anything to get there. Within six months Lorraine moved me upstairs, earning minimum wage plus commission. Working my ass off and quitting the bookstore after a year worked out. Lorraine made me an assistant manager three years after the first day on the floor. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really an assistant manager position—I was the manager in everything but name. For the last five years I’ve ran the reports, the numbers, did the purchasing, and basically ran myself ragged doing both jobs.
All while I tried to get a business degree. I’m further behind than I want to be at this point. I have at least another year at the two courses a semester that was all I was able to do with my workload so heavy.
Corporate stepped in when a customer complained about Lorraine chewing out me on the sales floor. The woman was a long-time customer and believed I was the manager. After a quiet investigation, Alan Ramsey visited the store personally and took me out to lunch. He was blunt: Lorraine’s behavior and use of me was no longer going to be tolerated. My hours were atrocious, and he went over my true responsibilities as an assistant manager and what they would be when I became manager. He asked me about my future plans, and what I was studying, and asked me for my receipts for school. If I didn’t have them, they would be happy to accept a bank statement. His apology seemed sincere, and he told me about his going on to New York and his brother coming to Chicago. He didn’t talk about his brother. My promotion was in place, but it would have to wait for Edward to sign off on it.
The conversation with Alan was three weeks ago, my promotion happening last week, means Edward Ramsey is here in Chicago. I just want the guy to make an appearance and then go away. I’ve worn my nicest clothes all week, and my heels are all killing me. I’m not typical of most women in Chicago—I wear ballet flats often to work, but didn’t want to this week in case Edward Ramsey makes an appearance. My walk from the El is excruciating. I don’t know how women wear them all hours of the day.
Stepping out of the elevator, I push my phone back into my purse and turn down the hall to my apartment. He’s there, leaning against my door. Air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I stop, hardly believing it’s him. Then he straightens at the sight of me and looks pissed. His anger gives me the backbone I lost at the sight of him.
I’m going for cool and barely pull it off. “What are you doing here? I told you before, one night only.”
He smiles, and it’s a knowing smile. “And I believe I told you there was a difference between what you want and what you need. I was patient, but I’m done with that now. Open the door and let me in or I’ll fuck you here in the hall.”
His sincerity is clear, and I back away. “Trey, I meant it. I don’t want to fuck you again.”
He follows and grabs my wrist, lightning fast, and pulls me up against the hard length of him. “Thank god, because fucking isn’t what’s really on the menu, we’ll get to that when you’re ready. Open the door, Kate.” It’s a whisper and also a very clear command in my ear. When I don’t move his hand slips over my ass and below my skirt.
I move then, fast, knowing he will keep his word. My key is in the door, and I barely have time to turn the knob before he’s behind me. Pushing me forward, his hard cock against my ass, and I’m wet instantly for him.
“Good girl. I can smell you ready for me, and I’ll be inside you soon, I promise you, first you have to pay for your bad behavior.” Sliding my zipper down he removes my thong and skirt in one movement. His strength is on full show as he picks me up and settles me on the edge of the bed, my ass up at him. I shouldn’t be surprised by the stinging slap, but I am, and yelp. Once hard on the right cheek, then another against the left. Gasping, I can’t get air in before he smacks the right cheek again, harder, and I’m gushing. My hands are clenching the covers, and I bury my scream in the bed, wondering if I have just come from the spanking, but the need is still eating at me. No, not a climax, but damn close, and then he spanks me again. I hear the sound of the bedside table opening, and a second later he’s tearing open a condom.
His name is a whisper. My throat is too tight for more.
“I know what you want, sweetheart, and I will, later. Right now I need to be inside you, and later I’m going to make you sit on my face for at least an hour. Your punishment has only just begun. Especially as you loved the spanking. It wasn’t really a punishment.” With those words of warning, he pushes hard and deep, and it verges on pain he’s so damn thick.
We’re both breathing hard and heavy, and only the sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room for long minutes. My climax slams into me violently, and my pussy clenches hard and tight. The groan of my name thrills me as it spills from him at the moment I feel him fill the condom. His cock is jerking, and I clench again, taunting him. Growling, he pulls out of me, and I hear the condom hit the empty trashcan, and then he’s up and undressing. I can’t move. I want to but I just can’t. Every bone feels like mush.
He lifts me easily and settles me in the middle of the bed. He’s naked, and his fingers move quickly over my blouse. When he opens it and gets to my bra, he slows and lowers his face to the valley of my breasts. Breathing deeply, the sight of him enjoying my body so completely has me fighting the tightness in my chest. With one hand he undoes the front clasp, and his fingers brush lightly over my breasts, circling a nipple before tweaking it with the slightest edge of pain.
“So beautiful, so damn responsive. Night after night I dreamed of you, waking hard and aching for you. Beating off like a fucking teenager because of your stubbornness. How many have you tried to fuck since that night?”
I can’t meet his eyes. How the hell did he know? “Two.”
“Did they even get inside your apartment?”
Shaking my head, I run my hands through my hair. It was embarrassing. “No, never made it out of the bar. None of that matters, Trey. I can’t do this. I can’t be what you need me to be.”
“This isn’t about me, and since you aren’t ready for it to be about you, then we’ll do it the way you need it be for now. Shh, Kate, don’t. We’re just going to go day by day. Don’t try and argue, because it doesn’t work when you cream your fucking panties without me being inside you. I thought the tie and tying you up was as kinky as I had a desire to go, but I’m beginning to understand the appeal of a ball gag. Then again, I love the way you moan my name. Behave, because I don’t want to have stop hearing that. My cherries are ripe for me again.”
His mouth is hot and wet on my breasts as he lavishes attention on first one heavy breast and then the other. “That’s it, Kate. My name is the only thing I want to hear come out of your mouth. Last time was for you, my sweet, but now I’ll allow my cock down your mouth. Condom, or do you want everything?”
“No condom. I want all of you. Please, Trey, fuck my mouth.”
His cock slides up between my breasts and I’m greedy, voracious. Forcing myself to slow down, licking the sweet slit at the tip of his cock as his pre-come weeps out copiously I’m in heaven at last being able to touch him and taste him. He’s so thick it isn’t easy to take him down the first time. I haven’t given head in years, haven’t wanted or cared enough to. But long ago I was trained to take cock deep down my throat, and I want to do it for Trey.
“Slow down, Kate. That’s it, slow. Your mouth is wonderful and I don’t want to come too soon. Nice, you can squeeze my balls a little harder, perfect. So damn perfect.”
His hands are in my hair; little by little he’s deeper, and I take him until he slips into my throat and moan at the feel of him there. My moan causes an answering groan from Trey. He fucks my mouth as slowly as I allow. When he tries to slow down too much, I moan and whimper, and I know the sensation is what causes him to hiss my name with a curse. It’s heady, the feeling of power over this big, beautiful stand-in for a Nordic god. S
o tall and musclebound, vanity is expected, yet it isn’t there. His nose is the only slight imperfection on his face, and his long, hooked nose makes him more appealing somehow. Allowing him to take over, I run my hands over his hips and slide around to his ass. I wanted to run my hands over it the moment I saw it. I’m in lust with this perfectly shaped, muscled part of him. I can feel a little indent at the top and as I tease him, he begins to move faster. Not wanting it to end so soon, I allow my hands to wander down his thighs. Fuck, muscles are everywhere on him. How long does he spend in the gym? I have always disdained gym rats, now I’m wondering if I’ve been wrong.
He’s moving faster, and I know he’s about to come. His cock is getting thicker, and I start sucking harder and moaning, urging him on. I don’t want him to come down my throat, though. I want to taste him. Slowly, a tight squeeze to the base of his cock gives me the time I need to pull him almost completely out. Now only the sweet tip of his cock is in my mouth, and I suck and twirl my tongue and am rewarded with the thick and tangy saltiness of his come. There’s so much, though, it’s hard to swallow it all, and a little seeps out of my mouth. Groaning at the loss, I wanted to take him all, but I swallow and still he is filing me up. I remember the mess of him dripping out of the condom when I was on top. At last he’s empty, and he’s murmuring soft words of approval as his hands run through my hair. Gently, he tugs me up and into his arms.
A warm feeling of contentment fills me at the sound of his heart still beating fast below my ear. My fingers trace over the muscles of his chest. Each one is outlined perfectly below the light blond hair. A question slips out before I have time to think about it. “How in the world are you so buff when you seem unlike all the other gym rats I’ve encountered?”
His hand covers my roaming one. He shrugs then sighs. The minute it comes out of him, I know I’m not going to like the answer, and I’m right. “I didn’t use to be. I was actually a runner in high school and college. Then my wife died and that changed.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Me too. She deserved better than what she got. She never believed it, though, and that’s what makes it the saddest thing of all. When she died, she deserved to have someone who loved her at her side. It was breast cancer. I was sure she was young and strong enough to fight it. Only she didn’t want to fight. It was as if it was a welcome end. She even stopped doing chemo after only a few months, nothing I or anyone said seemed to get through to her. Dignity was her excuse, but it was painful, damned painful. Only seven months in, it spread to her liver and she was dead two months later. By the time she died, I was so damned relieved.
In the beginning, I cared about her, I did. I thought she was kind, a good person, and she had a nice smile. Those were the only things I could think of when I tried to write the damn eulogy. Three years I thought I knew the woman, married for four years, and all I could come up with was ‘kind and nice smile’ because there was nothing else I could say.
What made it worse was the way everyone else believed it was a great love story for the ages, cut too short. I took to spending all my time in the office, because I couldn’t stand to be at home. Her stuff was everywhere, and I felt it was too soon to get rid of it. You are a very good study of human beings. I went to my yearly physical and my doctor was concerned. My numbers weren’t good. I didn’t have a gut yet, but if I didn’t get moving I would from all the takeout and stuff I ate on the run.
So I laced up my shoes and went for a jog, it made things worse. My mind now had more time to think about all the wrongs I had done and the shit I had fucked up and, to be completely honest, my resentment of her. I figure a change of scene would be good and head to a gym, a television, people-watching, but it doesn’t help. Then I noticed the gym rats, as you call them. Their focus was intense. They have to count and hold; their mind wasn’t allowed to wander or they could fuck something up. I wandered over and a trainer on staff followed me, knowing I had no idea what I was doing. He talked me through it, and it was exactly what I needed. I’ve been at it ever since.”
“So the next doctor’s appointment went much better.” I’m desperate to lighten the mood.
Shaking his head, his laugh is dark. “Actually, it went worse. My workaholic ways were so bad the man called my damn father. He’s been our family doctor for over twenty years, so damn privacy rules. My father talks to my mother and she knows the buttons to push. So now I’m pulling back on work and I was thinking I didn’t have to hit the gym so hard, but if you like it so much, then I would hate to disappoint you.”
I laugh. I like knowing his mother is important enough to him that he’s willing to change for her concern. “Don’t do anything on my account. Your body is beautiful. Even losing some muscle you would be impressive, and you know it. I remember looking at you thinking no way, too beautiful, too into his looks, he’ll be a disaster in bed. I’m glad I was wrong.”
“Hmm, considering that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had, then it’s good to know I don’t disappoint. Now it’s my turn to taste you. The scent of you makes me fucking nuts. Before I wear you out again tonight, do you have to work tomorrow?”
“No, I’m off tomorrow and the day after.”
“Good to know. I wanted an early day tomorrow. I’ll keep my schedule clear.”
I ignore the voice that wants to protest this will never work. Yet at the idea of never feeling again the way he makes me feel I know it it’s something I don’t want to give up. And that’s the only thing that really matters. For years I’ve locked away the part of me that felt anything for anyone, because it was safer. How I have managed to feel anything for Trey, besides sexual hunger, should be scary, but it isn’t. I’m not even sure exactly what is I feel. I just know being in his arms makes feel safe and happy in a way I’ve never known before. Hearing his voice is soothing, and the feel of him against my body makes me tremble. For now I can’t explain why he makes me the way I do and I probably wouldn’t know the words anyway. Day by day. Just take it day by day. When he lifts me up and positions me over his mouth, I sink down and close my eyes as he takes me to heaven all over again.
Chapter Six
The next day, I’m picking up my dry cleaning when Trey calls me. “Hi.”
“Hey, I’m cutting out very early. Have you had lunch yet?”
“No, I had a bowl of cereal hours ago, so lunch sounds good now.”
“Good. There are quite a few places around you. What sounds good to you?”
“Hmm, there’s a good Italian place a few blocks up from me on Broadway. I’ll drop off my dry cleaning and head over and get us a table.”
“I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
Slipping my phone in my purse, I tell myself to wipe the grin off my face, I can’t. I love he took the time to call me. Texting has always annoyed me. He knows because last night he looked through my phone, brazenly checking to see if I had started to write him a text. I saw I hadn’t, but had called his number twice before chickening out and ending it before it had connected. I got a reward for that, a very long and enthusiastic reward.
He called me when he left this morning, grumbling he had the hardest time leaving me without waking me up. Laughing, I thanked him, considering how late he’d kept me up last night. I promised him a reward, and he warned me that he was going to hold me to it.
It was a relief that last night he kept the conversation light, but he was adamant about keeping a conversation going. His questions were almost constant, all the common questions of favorite color, flower, and food. Then he noticed the books everywhere and made me tell him my top ten and why. He asked me about my favorite places in the city, and he shared his favorites, and we shared more than a few, which was nice to know. He was a people watcher too, and his mimicking of people was hilarious. Last night was nice, but I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll let the conversations remain light. Even though my stomach flips at the idea of talking more about my past, it’s an automatic response, mainly just fr
om about thinking about it. I have no fear Trey will push me away or be grossed out by me or my past. He wouldn’t have stayed the first night if it bothered him.
I hang up my clothes and look down at the jeans and light top I’m wearing, and decide to change into a pair of black capris. Instead of sandals, I dress up the outfit with black ballet flats. While it’s a late July day, it rained yesterday and it’s nice outside. This morning, I put my hair up in a bun, and now all I do is let it down and puff it out a little, and it curls nicely down my back. Adding a light lipstick the face in the mirror glows with excitement. Am I really having a lunch date? are the words floating around in my head, over and over. I haven’t been on a date in over seven years, since I figured out I wasn’t built for a relationship and didn’t really want one. After that it was vibrators, and then the pickups started. There was never a part of me that thought I was missing anything, and even though I don’t regret it, it is nice to feel the buzz of excitement at the thought of being out with Trey.
I’m at the restaurant before him, and the hostess seats me immediately and hands me a menu. Thanking her, I take it but don’t look through it. I already know what I want. They make the best mushroom risotto in the city.
Watching the door, I see Trey come through it, and I’m not the only woman who notices him. Women are looking at him like he’s an ice cream cone on a hot July day, he ignores them all. His eyes meet mine and hold. He smiles, wide and open, not hiding his pleasure at seeing me. My chest is tight at the sight of openness, knowing soon he’ll want the same thing from me. Then he’s beside me, and he leans down and kisses me as if he didn’t just leave me less than six hours ago, as if it’s been months.
His kiss is demanding, and I don’t dare refuse him the response he wants. I’m breathless before he lets me go, and it takes a moment for the haze of desire to wear off. When I look up, he’s smug and smiling. My hand is in his and his grip is tight. “I’m trying to remember you’re hungry for food, because seeing you only makes me hungry for the taste of your sweet—”