Indecent Proposal

by Jean Maxwell

  Thatcher looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I can be back in ten minutes with food. What would you like? Some soup, perhaps?”

  She shook her head and forced herself to her feet. “No, honestly. I think I just need to take a break. Excuse me.” She moved toward the door, expecting him to move aside. She stopped short when he didn’t. Instead, he reached his hand across to touch the other side of the doorframe, blocking her exit. She could smell his cologne. Very sexy.

  “I mean it. You really should eat something.” His voice lowered to what Carlin could only describe as bedroom tone. God. She had to get out of this office. It seemed to shrink around her as his presence expanded within it. Her stomach did a massive flip-flop, partly from her sickness but mostly from his nearness.

  “Maybe,” Carlin said in a weak voice, bowing her head in desperation. “But I need some air…excuse me, please.” She could feel her hands shaking now.

  Thatcher dropped his arm to his side and let her pass.

  She bolted for the front door.

  Chapter Three

  Carlin awoke the next morning, the drawn curtains of her bedroom leaking pale light from around their edges. She felt ultra-alert, like no other morning ever.

  She vaguely remembered driving home from the office and crawling up the stairs to her apartment before collapsing into bed. Now, she grabbed her phone that doubled as an alarm clock. Hell, it doubled, tripled, as everything…calendar, bank teller, browser, and TV. The time read 5:40 a.m.

  Christ, she’d slept solid. She felt a raw power surging to life within her. No trace of her illness remained, and a dreamless night disallowed any visions of the handsome Mr. Banks.

  Carlin showered, feeling the hot water cascading around her thighs as it raced to the drain. Christ, she wanted to fuck herself! No, not exactly. She wished Thatcher Banks would fuck her right here in the shower. Ugh. She wrenched the tap shut and squeezed water from her hair.

  All this energy shouldn’t go to waste; she’d have to go in to the office early and make up for lost time with the proposal. Perhaps Mr. Banks would be impressed…maybe take her to lunch? Worth a try.

  By 7:00 a.m., Starbucks in hand, Carlin and Martha exited the drive-thru and headed to the office. She’d chosen a rather revealing top to wear, but tempered it with a tailored navy blazer. A sparkling crystal pendant lay nestled just above the cleavage of her still-tanned chest. Mr. Banks would have no choice but to look there, she reasoned.

  Pulling into the parking lot, she noticed a single SUV that sat alone on the paved surface. It wasn’t Ray’s vehicle, she knew that for sure. Who else would be here at this early hour? Carlin swiped her cardkey in the reader. Entering the building, the pre-dawn quiet blanketed the interior, the low lighting imparting an eerie sense of calm.

  She flipped a switch, and the overhead lamps in her office burst to life with an audible snap. Removing her coat, she glanced at her desk. Stacked in a neat arrangement were rolls of antacid tablets, a bottle of Pepto Bismol, packets of Alka Seltzer, Advil gelcaps, a collection of herbal teas, and a box of multigrain crackers. All the remedies for an upset stomach known to man in one pile! Next to these sat a potted plant with a card tied to it with a pink ribbon.

  Carlin fingered the little tag, an insane hope rising at what name she might see on the signature. She’d barely read the first words, “Hoping at least one of these will cure what ails you…” when a prickling sensation began at the base of her neck. She pivoted, and there, like magic, stood Thatcher Banks.

  He leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded and ankles crossed, as though he’d been there forever. An amused grin creased his handsome face.

  “Good Morning, Miss Cates. You’re up and at ‘em early. You must have slept well?”

  Carlin stared at the man. Her lips seemed to have stopped working. With great effort, she found her voice. “Yes. I did.” His brown eyes transfixed her, glowing like pools of sunlit honey. She could not look away.

  “Well then, you won’t have need of any of my…remedies,” he said, nodding toward the desk, but his gaze never wavering from her.

  Carlin reminded herself to breathe, to stay focused, even as she felt imprisoned in the warm light of his eyes.

  “I…feel fine,” she heard a voice say, knowing it was her own yet hearing it as if from a distance. She forged a coy smile. “Thank you. For thinking of me.”

  Thatcher cocked his head to one side. “Ah, well. Such is my luck. A fair young lady to rescue. Only I find she has rescued herself. Pity.” He unfolded his stance and stood straight, placing his hands behind his back. “Might there be some other assistance I can render?”

  Carlin gave herself a mental shake. What did he mean by that? She touched her fingertips to the desktop, to stabilize the trembling in her hands. “I thought I was here to help you, not the other way around.”

  Thatcher shrugged and took a measured, deliberate step into her office. “You’ve already been that,” he said. “Why not help each other?” A protracted silence followed, and though his body remained in place, Carlin felt him moving closer in a crazy, magnetic way that had no basis in reality. Her own body felt abuzz with electricity. “And it was my pleasure to be thinking of you,” he continued.

  Her mouth opened in response, when the card reader at the entrance beeped. She glanced toward the sound. She could hear the swish-click of the front door opening and the familiar stomp-stomp ritual that her boss habitually performed upon entering the building, whether winter or summer. Raymond had arrived.

  “But I suppose duty calls,” Thatcher said, his voice lightening. “Let’s get to it.” He smiled, a full and playful smile meant only for her, before turning away and leaving the room. “Hello, Raymond!”

  Carlin blinked. His intent seemed unmistakable. Thatcher Banks was about to proposition her.

  “Banks! Aren’t you the early bird,” she heard Raymond say.

  “Sometimes I’m just the worm, my friend.”

  Worm? She pictured herself as a bird, tugging a helpless worm from the ground with her beak. Better yet…she pictured wrapping her lips around Thatcher’s cock and giving it a tug, right here in the office. She felt certain he would have a magnificent one. Would he let her do it? Would she actually do it if he let her?

  Hiding a naughty grin, she moved the collection of gifts aside to begin work. She liked to impress people with her speed and effectiveness on the job. Yet the longer she took, the longer she could keep Thatcher Banks on hand. Did that constitute a conflict? Didn’t matter. The proposal had to be filed by four o’clock. Carlin fired up her laptop and launched her mail program. A long parade of messages loaded, bearing attachments and comments.

  Carlin filtered through each and saved the pertinent files. The blanks in the RFP filled rapidly with each new piece of information. Completion wasn’t far off, she realized. She may not have Mr. Banks around much longer. She sighed while sending documents to print, and as she stood to retrieve them from the printer tray, an email notification flashed.

  Miss Cates, you’ve been working very hard. Would you care to join me in the coffee room for a short break? Thatcher.

  She sat down and considered the words on her screen for a moment. Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they flew to the keyboard.

  Yes I would. Be right there. Send.

  Rational thought evaporated, and though Carlin knew she might be stepping into a giant cow pie of inappropriateness, she couldn’t care less. Printouts forgotten, she made a beeline for the coffee room.

  Although public, the coffee room’s small size didn’t lend itself as a gathering place for employees, so the chances of it being occupied were slim. As predicted, the space appeared empty as she stepped inside. The door eased shut behind her.

  “Do you take yours with cream?”

  Carlin closed her eyes and smiled in both relief and wonderment at the familiar and sexy voice that spoke the question. Would something crazy happen here?

  Thatcher�
��s arms slipped around her waist, and his body drew close to hers from behind. “I hope I’m not being too forward,” he whispered in her ear. “But I sense we have some strong feelings toward each other, no?”

  “No. I mean yes,” she stammered.

  “Yes what?” His hands began to glide upward.

  “Yes, I have strong feelings.” She drew in a ragged breath as his palms reached the underside of her breasts and squeezed them.

  “I do like this shirt you have on. Very sexy. Did you wear it for my benefit?” He nuzzled her neck beneath one ear. The hands kept moving…cupping both breasts in earnest and squeezing harder.

  “I think I wore it…for my benefit,” Carlin said, her voice a breathy whisper. Dear God, her tits hadn’t been touched in months. Her nipples budded hard beneath her bra. Could he feel them from the outside? Her body shivered.

  Thatcher chuckled low in her ear. “Has it been that long, dear? We must fix that. Someone as lovely as you shouldn’t go unattended.”

  With that, he dropped his hands and swatted her on the behind. “Coffee break’s over. May we continue after four? I’ll let you know where.”

  Carlin whirled an about face and glared at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? What sort of game are you playing, Mr. Banks? I’ll tell you when and where I’m going to be at any given moment.”

  He returned her stare, a disarming smile on his face. “Call me Thatch.” He backed toward the door, reaching for the handle to exit the room. “I never play games. And I know exactly where you are going to be at four p.m. As will you.” He swung the door open, stepping aside to let her exit first. “After you.”

  Carlin couldn’t decide if she felt angry, insulted, foolish, or in love. Maybe all four. In any case, her eyes flashed daggers at him as she strode from the room. She kept her steps casual and unhurried.

  No one could know about this. Danger signs lurked everywhere. But Carlin knew she would heed none of them.

  Chapter Four

  Carlin continued her relaxed pace all the way to her office, her brain shifting into overdrive as it analyzed the situation.

  I’ve just been groped in the office. And I walked straight into it. Willingly!

  What power did this stranger have over her that she acted without question?

  She sank into her chair and stared at the wall. As shallow and shameful as the encounter seemed, a low rumble in her gut told her she wanted more. More of him, more of his touch. And the most exciting part? He wanted more of her, too. This thought thrilled her down to her toes; to have this total turn-on be reciprocal seemed too good to be true. Four o’clock could not come soon enough.

  “Earth to Carlin.”

  The words startled her to attention. “What?” Ray stood in her doorway. How long had she been staring into space?

  Ray chuckled. “Is the proposal done already?” he asked.

  Carlin turned to her computer. “Not quite.” She began typing furiously. “But close. It will get there on time.”

  “Good,” Ray replied. “Because I’m taking us all out for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh?” Carlin looked up. “Who is ‘all of us’?”

  Raymond smiled. “You, me, Thatcher. The whole team. About five-thirty, right?” He turned away and started down the hall, neither requiring nor asking for her agreement.

  Five-thirty? Yikes. What would things be like by then? She pictured herself sitting down to dinner with her just-fucked hair sticking our every which way, her shirt buttons crooked, and her lipstick smeared.

  She shuddered and let out a self-deprecating laugh. Perhaps her imagination far exceeded the reality of what might transpire later today. At any rate, it wasn’t even noon yet.

  Carlin buried herself in the work. She kept her mind averted from thinking about Thatcher; she’d go insane otherwise. Emails kept coming; phones kept ringing. At ten after twelve, she glanced up from her laptop. It seemed curiously quiet, even for lunch hour.

  She locked down her computer screen and strolled out into the reception area. Not a soul in sight. Odd…the front desk always had someone in place, the administrative staff staggering their lunch breaks to cover each other. She stepped to the glass doors of the entrance and peered out into the parking lot. Clouds had gathered overhead, and the same dark SUV from earlier this morning pulled away onto the main street.

  Carlin felt strangely abandoned. She shook her head to dismiss the childish thought. Thatcher Banks could come and go as he pleased…and so could she. Folding her arms, she stalked back to her office to retrieve her purse. She and Martha would have lunch together alone once again.

  * * * *

  By three-thirty, neither Thatcher nor Raymond had returned. The proposal lay ready, except for the covering letter that required their signatures. They had better turn up soon, or their two days of toil would be for nothing. She paced the office from one end to the other. What were these guys up to? How dare they pull a disappearing act!

  Worst of all, no word had come regarding the four o’clock meeting. This bothered her more than anything, and that realization made her sick.

  At three forty-five, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Opening the screen, the text message icon lit up. What now? Raymond rarely texted; he either called or sent an email. Carlin punched the icon with a fingernail.

  Hello Carlin. It’s Thatcher. Pls leave proposal docs on Raymond’s desk, be there to sign shortly. PS there is situation requiring your attention in supply rm at 4pm.

  * * * *

  The supply room’s fluorescent lights seemed to vibrate overhead. Carlin stood in the center of the tiny space that barely measured ten feet across. Steel shelving took up another eighteen inches of depth on two walls. She took in the smells of boxed printer paper, pencil leads, liquid soap, and Windex among other vague, undefined aromas. Her heart thumped in her chest. Insanity, she scolded herself. Hiding out in a dingy, concrete bunker no bigger than a closet, waiting for a man she barely knew. Yet here she stood.

  The door to the room opened without a sound. Thatcher’s limber body slipped inside, his black jeans doing little to hide his impressive erection. He closed the door behind him, twisting the deadbolt into locking position.

  “Hi,” he whispered. “Thank you for coming. You look delicious.” Tiny topaz-glints of color reflected in his brown eyes as the overhead light cast a shadow from his brow. He moved toward her. “You did a great job. We signed off the package and it’s on its way. Congratulations.”

  “We haven’t won it yet,” Carlin reminded him in an equally hushed voice. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his; they mesmerized her somehow. She felt hyper-aware of his advance as he closed the distance between them in a few soft steps.

  “Still,” he said, placing his hands on her waist. “A very nice piece of work.” He leaned in and kissed her. His mouth felt warm and soft, his kiss gentle yet insistent.

  She melted into him, eyes closed. Carlin could not recall a sweeter kiss in her entire life.

  His hands roved upward, stroking the contours of her breasts. “Very nice indeed.”

  Carlin’s breathing accelerated. Her nipples peaked rigid as pebbles beneath his touch, and her genitals contorted in a needful spasm. As good as they felt on her tits, she wanted his hands down there, too. Her pussy went wet.

  “I presume you mean the proposal,” she replied. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, that was a compliment,” he confirmed. His hands returned to her waist and began to turn her around, to face away from him. She found herself staring straight into a stack of ballpoint pens. “On all counts.”

  He took hold of her hands and raised them to shoulder height. “Put your hands here,” he said, pressing her palms against the metal uprights of the shelving in front of her. “And move your hips back a bit.” He nudged her backside toward him as he stood behind her. Her upper body tilted forward, and her arms lay spread against the metal in a crucifix position. “That’s it. Good girl.”

  She could feel a blush
rising in her cheeks at this comment. What was she, a prized puppy? Her indignation lasted only a millisecond as his lips began kissing the back of her neck in a series of gentle touchdowns. One hand strayed down her belly and over her beltline. It settled against her crotch and began to squeeze. With his body tight against her back, he ground his pelvis against her buttocks.

  God, she could feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing against her ass, again and again. Her excitement climbed higher. He could probably feel the dampness between her legs right through the material of her slacks.

  As this thought flitted through her mind, his hands went to her belt and began to undo the buckle. Dear Lord, would he actually fuck her right here? The idea seemed unthinkable yet wildly erotic…and at that moment, Carlin knew she didn’t care what he did to her. She wanted it, no matter what.

  “I think I need to be inside this tight little pussy,” he whispered close to her ear. “Would pussy like that?”

  Carlin’s breath came in labored pants. “Yes, oh yes.” She gripped the cold metal of the shelf unit. Pussy would indeed like that.

  Her slacks came down, resting just above her knees. Her panties followed as Thatcher’s fingers slid beneath the elastic and slipped them downward. He stroked her naked buttocks with a few slow, sensuous passes of his hand. “What pussy wants, then.”

  Fingers slid in between her legs, finding her aching clit between swollen wet folds of flesh. Touching. Exploring. Caressing. God, she wanted more of this! He began a steady pulsing against her, stroking forward and back; Christ, she hadn’t reached orgasm in such a long time, she felt ready to explode. She let out a little moan of sweet agony.

  “That’s it, little one. Let me make you feel good.”

  Yes, oh yes, make me feel good. Don’t stop.

  His hand pulled away.

  Oh not now, so close, so close!

  Carlin could hear him undoing his belt and zipper. Wow, he really was going to fuck her standing up! Her abandoned clit twitched with the anticipation of what would follow. She clung to the metal uprights in a death grip.