Impulses

by Brock, V. L.

  His eyes are brimming with contentment as he regards me, politely waiting for me to converse. Stop imagining him naked, concentrate on his words. He is more than a sexual source.

  I really wish my subconscious would stop taking the moral high ground with her self-righteous bullshit, and leave me to gaze and drool over this gorgeous, hypnotic, fine sample of a man––who also happens to be my Boss.

  HAYDEN

  “Miss Kennedy, if you will follow me. I’ll give you a quick tour of the firm.” My voice sounds just as confident as normal, but this woman is making me feel like Jell-O. She appears anxious; could I possibly be channeling her anxiety?

  You’re the one with the sixth sense now are you, Hayden? My subconscious mocks.

  I am not calling it a sixth sense––I subconsciously roll my eyes––but more the feeling of empathy toward this woman. The last time I felt this way was with, Her. NO. Do not go there. Keep that thought in the box that you have thrown the key away for.

  Miss Kennedy walks beside me radiating apprehension, as we retreat from the spaciousness of the reception area, and down the bottom of the reversed L-shaped corridor. Making our way to the office kitchen, I risk a peek down upon her slim body. She smoothes the black, fitted pencil skirt over her hips, and offers a nervous smile before sinking her teeth into her lower lip. The sight of her in those killer heels causes my blood heat immensely. I give way to an insubordinate thought and imagine them wrapped around my waist, the heels digging into the flesh of my buttocks…

  “This is the office kitchen.” I stand aside, just on the threshold of the room and usher her in gently. “I have to warn you, Miss Kennedy, I consume a lot of coffee while I am working, so you will probably find most of your time in here making it, or in my office delivering it.” I cannot kerb the grin that creeps across my face.

  She can deliver anything she wants to my office. I wouldn’t complain with that body leaning over my desk to collect paperwork.

  She smiles awkwardly then hangs her head. Peeking down at the ground, she tucks a tendril of shiny, auburn hair behind her right ear, before peering back up at me. Damn, those eyes, mesmerizing crystal blue eyes, like the sun reflecting off the surface of the Mediterranean Sea, they’re breathtaking. She shifts her weight from each leg.

  I quickly recover my equilibrium and lead her down the long corridor. “My office is just through here.”

  Strolling toward the end of the hallway, we pass the offices of Victor Jackson, the eldest lawyer here at the firm, and defiantly not someone who you make a fool of. He is an old-fashioned guy, with old-fashioned values and was a dear friend of my grandfather. And the office of Alexander Wells; a man who, if you befriend him, you have a friend for life, if a task is within his power, he will make damn sure that he succeeds. A man you can turn to, a man you can trust if you need advice.

  Pushing open my office door, I hold my arm out invitingly to direct her inside. Her bemused expression immediately disarms me.

  I don’t bite, Miss Kennedy.

  “I just need to go over a few things that the agency sent in your résumé, Miss Kennedy. If we can do that now, then it is all over and done with.” Could my explanation possibly sound anymore feeble? What is wrong with me? Why am I so nervous? It’s not my first day.

  What is it about this attractive, auburn haired, blue eyed woman? This attraction; I don’t understand. I inwardly shake my head and sigh. God, this is embarrassing.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Wentworth. Would you like me to fetch you a cup of coffee before we begin?” I delight in the warm tone of her voice; so sweet, so luring and now so confident, as she flutters her long lashes. The contrast between the woman who stuttered her way through her sentence outside and this self-assured, riveting woman in front of me is unmistakable. And I soon realize that those three little words will be revolving in my head all day, before we begin.

  My emotions are rife. My thoughts and the way my body is screaming out for her, craving to be alone with her. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

  “Yes please, Miss Kennedy. Black––no sugar,” I mutter with approval.

  She nods and murmurs with a friendly smile, “Mr. Wentworth, please…call me, Sam.”

  I stare audaciously as the sexiest receptionist I have ever hired exits my doorway, tempting me with the rhythmic swaying of her hips, her slim figure, her long legs that seem to go on forever; it’s such a rewarding sight. But to see, and feel what the clothes are concealing; skin on skin, would be beyond gratifying. My subconscious chooses now, when the alluring, Miss Kennedy has exited my office to pipe up with some leering comment. I wave a dismissive hand at him, my mouth curving as delicious images are given life in my mind’s eye. And with that, I stride toward my desk and lower myself into the plush leather of my chair.

  While I wait patiently for my coffee I vaguely contemplate on how to address my errant considerations? Do I push them aside? Just disregard them? Do I retract the position offered to her, because of them? Do I tell her the exact reason why? What would she think? No––I can’t broadcast that I want her bent over my desk with her skirt rolled up to her hips. Or that I want to run my hands all over her body; that I want her to bring me more than just coffee and paperwork––I want her to bring me pure pleasure and ceaseless passion, the butterflies that you experience when––with all your will, your body screams out for a touch, even just the slightest of contact.

  Why am I even feeling this way? My body never reacts this way to a random woman. I just don’t understand.

  I can already feel the magnetic pull that she unknowingly holds over me, the spark that I long ago abandoned––forfeited, in an attempt to save myself from making the same mistake again. The feeling is bewildering. I’ve made a considerable amount of psychological changes during the prior eight months and so enduring feelings such as this, is something that I have to ratify. Dissect and analyze, so to speak.

  I will not allow history to repeat itself.

  I reach over my desk and recover her résumé. Beginning my perusal, I strive to seek something––anything that I could utilize to build a stable foundation between Miss Kennedy and myself, a common interest even.

  Could you possibly be any more desperate? A familiar small voice croaks at me with disdain.

  With the scornful statement hanging like a thick blanket in the air, I’m prompted back to reality, to where I now have to compete in this complex obstacle course to reel in this woman––the woman who I only just met less than thirty minutes ago. Would she even be interested?

  Of course she wouldn’t…why would someone like her be interested in you?

  But in that moment, something whispers faintly in the back of my mind, slowly prevailing over the neglected, deserted part of my psyche that I have discounted. I got to get her in my life and not just my work life either.

  A faint double tap against the surface of my office door pulls me from my current, slightly unnerving task at hand. I peek up over the white sheet of paper that I grasp between my fingers. A smile steals its way across my face immediately when I see her all-white, confident, flirtatious smile enter my office. My God, she is a sight for sore eyes.

  “Mr. Wentworth, your coffee.”

  She strides through my office and stands to my left behind the oversize mahogany desk. Bending down to place the mug on my coaster, I inhale her scent, so sweet, so enticing, like candy and marshmallows. In a transient moment, I find myself wanting nothing more than to taste her flesh, wanting my tongue to glide freely with ravenous, sensual licks. God, she is so seductive, and I feel like a testosterone enraged teen.

  Her breast scrapes my bicep and my entire body tingles as sparks fire, sending shivers down my spine. The surge of the passing contact affects me like a drug taker experiencing his very first fix, heedless to the fact that he will soon succumb to the addiction. I gaze into her eyes, aware that I have just indulged in my first dose of the delectable, Miss Kennedy, and secretly determined to do something I have n
ever done, and jump in feet first…if she is willing.

  “Black––”she murmurs, “no sugar.”

  Finding it increasingly challenging to maintain an innocuous thought around this woman, I ponder over finding a solution to this, quite frankly, frustrating state of affairs that I have landed myself in. She offers a small gratified smile, and before I know it, she is sinking into the leather chair that resides in front of my desk––the desk that I envision clearing in one fluid sweep of my hand and claiming her on, right now.

  I stand and stroll over the open area and close my office door, before retracing my steps and resting against the left corner of the desk. With my legs crossed at the ankles and the parchment in hand, I take an attentive sip of my coffee. This moment is not going to last forever, Hayden. I need to slowly peel back the layers and find a mutual topic, or something.

  Exuding sensuality, Miss Kennedy sweeps her right leg across her left knee in a relatively inviting fashion and every modicum of my attention automatically falls upon them; toned like a dancer, and traveling like a spire up to the blissful curves of her figured hips.

  I twist marginally and place my coffee back on the coaster just behind me. When I turn back to face her again, her skirt has risen substantially, exposing the halfway-point of her thigh. I detect a small, tan-coloured beauty-spot on her right thigh, which is followed by a tightening in my crotch.

  “This is a great coffee, Sam.” I wonder what other skills she has, my subconscious smirks suggestively with an arch of his eyebrow. I subtly shake my head, agitated with how brusquely my considerations are spiraling out of control. It’s unacceptable to evaluate an innocuous statement against such a licentious act, but Heaven help me, I cannot thwart my errant notions.

  Enticingly swinging her upper crossed leg back-and-forth, a sexy smirk claims her pale, oval face. Her guileless, blue eyes narrow and creases form at their corners. It’s as though she’s burning a hole in my mind––interpreting exactly what I am thinking, and giving me permission to come and uncover the answers to my unspoken, unruly questions, while the testosterone that courses through me is pleading me to play the game of kinky cat and mouse.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wentworth,” her voice is soft and encased with a promising although alluding tone as she twists and pulls a pendant along the chain of her necklace, effectively drawing my attention away from those interminable legs that I itch to have bound around my waist, to her agile fingers.

  I brush my tongue over my lips and force myself to swallow. The image of her undoing my shirt and peeling it off my body with those nimble fingers causes all my breath to leave my body. I sigh inwardly as she places the pendant back to its rightful position, hanging decadently between her breasts.

  Want and need floods unremittingly and inveigling through my veins. The one thing I have been certain about this past year is my failings and the derisive voice of my scornful demons. But, Miss Kennedy…I feel as though I have been in a stifling room for months, and she is the breath of fresh air that I have needed, that I have been craving.

  For some inexplicable reason, I am drawn to her, even though I shouldn’t be. But I can’t and won’t quit, until I know why.

  TWO

  ---------------------

  SAMANTHA

  He looks so deliciously hot right now; half sat, half resting against the exquisitely crafted desk, with the panoramic floor-to-ceiling window behind him, the backdrop of San Francisco there at his beck and call, to offer solace whenever needed. He looks so in control, so confident but his eyes say a hundred unspoken words. I wish I could read his mind right now, would his thoughts reflect mine?

  Hmm…one can only wonder.

  I observe his eyes deepening and his lips parting as his attention falls upon my deliberately exposed legs. Oh, what I would give to be stood in between his thighs, looking down into those hypnotic, suggestive, dangerously darkening eyes. Unraveling his navy woven tie and pulling it leisurely through his collar. I’d slowly and eagerly work at undoing the buttons of his powder blue shirt then peel it over his broad shoulders.

  Don’t you ever stop, Samantha? I wave a flippant hand at my subconscious and place a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorjamb of my erotic daydream.

  The want to divest him of his clothing gradually to savor the sensuality of the process, yet wanting to give in to the animalistic desire, the carnal need to have him stripped naked without delay, and explore each other’s bodies with wandering hands and roving mouths; all taste and touch and heated urges.

  “Well, Miss Kennedy…? Samantha?” his soft, meaningful voice, quite rudely interrupts my reverie.

  He’s gazing at me with a lopsided grin; a glimmer of amusement brightens his penetrating eyes. Oh, no. I have no idea how long I have been slowly undressing him with my eyes––relishing the visual of our hands and mouths on one another. My mouth is bone-dry. That is because of all the drooling you have been doing since you laid eyes on this gorgeous, sexy, hunky man, my subconscious offers her premise into my rather humiliating situation, while sitting back in the middle of her white leather couch, legs crossed, arms outstretched running along the back rest. Yeah, enjoy the show.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wentworth, I didn’t quite catch that.” Because I am more curious about how it would feel, having your body shake uncontrollably beneath mine. I offer a shy, flirtatious smile as I squirm in the burgundy, soft leather chair. Furtively raising my leg a fraction higher, hauling it in closer to my body in a feeble attempt to place a pinpoint of pressure against my sex to ease the sensitivity, the slow gripping sensation that calls to me on an intimate level.

  This man hasn’t even touched me, and my hormones are wreaking havoc upon my body. I’m a slave to the power he holds…this is a very disconcerting notion, indeed.

  Mr. Wentworth rewards me with a shrewd smirk while I secretly admonish my traitorous body for acceding and being so highly attracted to this beautifully, tempting man.

  “I said that, I presume we will have no problems with late starts, as you’re residing at Fillmore Point Apartments,” he kindly repeats himself. His voice is husky and deep with a tinge of mirth. His eyes bore into me, as though he is searching for an answer––and not to the question that he just asked either…something different.

  Sam, if you want to make this work, you have to get a grip, and not on him.

  “Absolutely not, sir,” I answer firmly with confidence.

  His chocolate eyes are blazing. A ghost of a smile materializes across his designer stubble. A floppy lock rests peacefully on his forehead. How I want to brush that lock back, and gaze longingly into his deep pooled eyes…before pouncing on him that is.

  “Good to hear and good to know,” he adds coldly, professionally. Still, his opposing sweet smile triggers a shiver that slowly paths up my spine. I’m powerless to command myself to do anything other than reciprocate the same dazzlingly, sweet smile that holds a cavern of sexual promises. I contemplate the things I could do with him given an hour of privacy.

  Since when does, Samantha Kennedy care about privacy?

  My musing is cut short due to the freight train that collides with––and annihilates––my dawdling thought train, knocking me off my feet, and withdrawing all breath from my lungs.

  Samantha Kennedy’s rule number two: do not let anyone who you have sexual encounters with, find out your real address. At least not after what happened with Dominic, I couldn’t stand history repeating itself. I shudder. Shit, of course he would have my fucking address. Where does this leave me? I mean us now?

  Maybe he didn’t want you in that way anyway. He wouldn’t if he knew where you had been. My paranoia ridicules me, scowling at me in unalloyed disgust. My confidence beats the swelling sense of undesirability that my paranoia now radiates, preventing it from running through my mind at high speed with sneakers firmly in place.

  You know you are desired––he can’t take his eyes off you.

/>   I need to find a solution to my rule number two––a loophole if you will. Oh, I hope so, because all I want is to have Mr. Wentworth––my boss moving rhythmically on top of my naked body, pounding me into oblivion while my legs bind around his hips. Groaning, moaning, and passionate kisses as we surrender to silent frustrations, and shadowed by the relief of having that form of sexual contact to obliterated any further need.

  All I ask for is to experience it with him just once. One time is all I’ll need.

  HAYDEN

  Stop staring at her; you are going to make her self-conscious.

  Samantha looks confounded by something. Her entire facial expression transformed in a blink of an eye. First she was looking all seductive with an eye glinting smile; but now, replacing the glint in her eyes is the look of sheer desperation, hope and bemusement. It’s as if I have just pounced like a predatory animal and blurted the assortment of lecherous conceptions that I have endured this whole time while in her presence.

  Miss Kennedy, I have an unwelcome feeling that I will soon become very familiar with that expression.

  Looking down at my Rolex, I am astonished by how much time we have wasted. And still no progress made, Hayden. You’re a lawyer. Whatever happened to being honest and upfront?

  “So, Miss Kennedy, the range of duties that you will be expected to perform are obvious: answering phone calls, routing calls, routing mail. Ordering supplies, scanning, photocopying, filling documents and last but not least, serving tea and coffee.” Taking another sip of coffee, I take precious little time to gauge her expression again. She looks overwhelmed, uncomfortable even.

  I rest the mug against my thigh.

  “Any questions you would like to ask before we start?” I murmur gently, as if to reassure a frightened, timid animal, cajoling her into expressing what is in that head of hers. What I would give to have her head between my hands, pulling her into my embrace, my lips meeting hers, tongues dancing, and exploring.