by Brock, V. L.
We chat lightly about Jessie’s plans for the day while I’m at work. Unsurprisingly, she is dedicating her afternoon to drooling over Matt, the music store guy…again. I can’t help but marvel why Jessie doesn’t take her own valued advice. I have never understood why sometimes, the best advice comes from people who wouldn’t necessarily attempt it themselves.
“Samantha, can I see you in my office.” Hayden summons me over the reception phone, his voice velvet and dripping with superiority. It’s beyond sexy. I blush as realization hits me full force in the face once again…I am fucking my boss.
Oh, my, my subconscious fans at her face and neck franticly while crossing her legs and squirming in her seat.
“Certainly, Mr. Wentworth,” I purr, setting the receiver back in its cradle. I feel the familiar daring knot form in the pit of my stomach, and it escalates with every step I take down the corridor to Hayden’s office.
Gingerly, I tap on the door, quickly smoothing over my dress and pushing my hair back behind my shoulders.
“Come,” his voice ricochets through the doorway to my ear. My insides dissolve as I push open the door, step into the office and close it securely behind me.
“Well, if you’re offering…” I purr with daring seductiveness, my legs crossed at the ankles while I rest my back against the barrier. With my eyes glimmering with mischievous intentions, I arch my brow, and winkle the bridge of my nose quickly and playfully in the way that Hayden loves.
“Do not tempt me, Miss Kennedy.” He pushes himself back into his leather chair behind his desk, goading me, inciting me solely by his demeanor, by demonstrating the degree of authority he holds behind his desk, in his office, at his law-firm. Damn it’s heady.
Striving for nonchalance, I knit my fingers together and hang them in front of my lower abdomen. With well measured control, I stride across the luxurious beige carpet to his desk––emphasizing the sway of my hips with every step I take.
“Temptation cannot exist without the agreement of desire and opportunity, Mr. Wentworth.”
“Words of truth, Miss Kennedy,” he smirks, grazing his tongue over his lips, and my heart instantly ceases in my chest.
Walking around the oversized, mahogany bureau, I lean against the right corner upon Hayden’s side. The coolness and robustness of the wood presses against my tailbone, my arms support my weight as I grasp at the framing of the wood at my sides. The view really is beautiful from his office.
Hayden pushes back further, sinking further into the leather. It cracks and squeaks beneath the shifting of his weight.
“For what reason do you summon me away from my work, Mr. Wentworth?” I purr, inclining my head to the right, eyes wide and ingenuous. My shoulders lift as I sink into the support of my arms, and I capture my lower lip between my teeth.
“Firstly…I love this dress.” He appraises me greedily, like a child desperate to open his Christmas present. With one elbow propped on the arm of the chair, he strokes the edge of his index finger across his bottom lip, while weaving his pen effortlessly between his expert fingers of his right hand.
“Stop undressing me with those greedy, lustful eyes,” I demand, and he twists his mouth with conceited pleasure, fully aware of the effect he has on my body when he stares at me in that way and damn proud of it––arrogant bastard.
I will make him pay for this…somehow.
“You haven’t forgotten about tonight, right?” I deviate from the topic. Hayden’s expression changes dramatically into one of utter confusion. Rolling my eyes, I sigh, making my annoyance evident.
“I’m joking, beautiful! Of course I haven’t forgotten. You and me, meal at your place––how could I forget?”
Yes, I definitely, need to make him pay, my subconscious flicks through her lover’s revenge manual in search for ideas.
Leaning forward, I pin him in his seat as I rest my left hand on the cold, leather-sheathed arm of his chair. My fingertips of my right hand trace the wrinkles lengthening from his eyes.
“Be careful; you’ll get crow’s feet,” I whisper, smoothing over the delicate, creasing skin.
He scowls.
Removing my fingers from his premature wrinkles, I fist my right hand through his hair, disguising his side parting as his floppy locks are pushed back, but soon the dividing returns, and his hair resumes its natural, sexy look.
I lose myself in his commendable, smouldering glare and feel that familiar tightening of my muscles calling out for Hayden’s ability to satisfy the swelling ache. I breathe him in deeply, how I yearn to taste him, to run my tongue against his jaw, his neck, his…
Gliding his hand down the side of my face, he whispers. “What time tonight, beautiful?”
“7:00 p.m.?” I reply after a beat. He brushes his thumb across my mouth, I gasp and my lips part slightly with desperate need.
“7:00 p.m. it is then,” he answers, his salacious smirk filled with promise leaves me wanting, and having to kerb the throbbing between my legs for another three hours. I eagerly begin to countdown the minutes until I can savor Hayden’s naked body working to alleviate my inaccessible itch.
I have irrefutably had my self-control tried for the last three hours, since Hayden had called upon me. No matter how many phone calls I take, or how much I check, photocopy, and file, I cannot get my mind out of the metaphorical gutter. Every single, innocent remark that caresses my ears has the devil on my shoulder tainting it into something sexual, hot and sinful. I blame Hayden. Yes––damn you, Hayden Wentworth––you yield far too much power over me…over my body.
“Are you coming, Sam?” Chloe inquires, gathering her purse and checking its contents.
“I have something I need to do before I go.” I reply, having concocted a plan to get under Hayden’s skin and teach him a lesson for his earlier inappropriate, remarks and stares.
“Okay then, well, I hope you enjoy the rock-climbing, and I want to hear everything about it on Monday, okay.” She strides to the double, frosted glass doors.
“I will do. Bye, Chloe, have a good weekend.”
She uplifts her hand in the air and offers a departing wave.
Left alone and unsupervised––a dangerous combination for, Samantha Kennedy––I pull free the top right draw behind my desk. Pulling a single envelope free from the pile bound with an elastic band, I quickly scribble a note on the front:
Hayden, the power you deem over me is unacceptable and unfair.
Well, two can play at that game, now we are even…OPEN ME.
“Are you sure I look okay, Jess?” I ask for the millionth time.
“Sweetie, you look drop-dead gorgeous.” My diminishing ego is reassured by her words and her inability to keep her jaw closed.
I glance down at the black jumpsuit that shields my body. The draping neckline exposes the right amount of cleavage, while the crossed backing bares a very generous amount of flesh. My deeply waved locks tumbles down the middle of my spine, and my eyes are coated with a smoky seductive eye makeup––just the way Hayden likes them.
I peer down at my watch. With only twenty minutes left, I begin to politely kick Jessie out of the apartment. She shrugs on her small, faded denim jacket and stands at the front door. Raising her hands, she holds me at arm’s length.
“You may think this is silly, but don’t feel embarrassed about celebrating your one month anniversary.”
“Women our age aren’t supposed to celebrate such a trivial stage in a relationship, Jess,” I grimace.
Releasing my shoulders, she holds my head firmly in her clutch while she looks into my eyes. I’m overpowered by her intensity. “You can celebrate whatever relationship milestone you feel like celebrating, sweetie, and do you know why?” I shake my head faintly. “Because each day you stay in this relationship, is a milestone for you.”
I surrender to a timid, tightlipped grin. “Where would I be without you? Thank you, Jessie,” I murmur as I bury my face into the crook of her neck.
“You
are more than welcome, sweetie.” She rubs her hand soothingly up and down my back, before we free each other. “Now, enjoy yourselves…that is an order.”
I’ve dressed the dining-table with a white linen tablecloth and adorned it with a red satin table runner and a single, tall, thin white candle. Deciding to cook the only dish that is impossible to fuck-up, the aroma of my traditional, homemade Bolognese is wafting through the apartment as it simmers nicely. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.
I peek down at my watch again, 7:00 p.m. I lift my head as the knock on the door reverberates through the apartment. I heave a sigh…finally. Drawing in a lungful of air, I smooth my hands over my hips and open the door.
Hayden rests against the doorway looking his usual, sexy self in his cobalt shirt and black suit. It’s impossible to stand so close to someone, who’s so irresistible, without breathing in their amazing, muscle-clenching scent. Hayden’s scent––not only is it my own aphrodisiac––its home.
“I know I said 7:00 p.m. Hayden, but you were cutting it fine.”
He pulls his left arm from behind his back and presents me with a beautiful arrangement of pink, blossoming roses. He pouts and flashes his big, innocent, puppy-dog eyes at me. I could never be mad at this man.
I smile widely. “You’re forgiven.” I hold my hands out to recover the bouquet, burying my nose at their center as soon as he hands them to me. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” I wave him in from the doorway, and waltz over to place my roses on the breakfast bar.
“And thank you for my gift, Miss Kennedy,” he hums as he closes the door behind himself.
A shiver paves its way up my spine and my body gives in to a shameless shudder. I turn to face him, the appreciative smile I was wearing a moment ago, now a smug grin.
Out of his inner breast pocket he retrieves––and teasingly sways––the tiny, dark blue, laced thong I stuffed into the envelope before leaving the office.
“Well you see, Mr. Wentworth, this is a two way street. If you are going to torture me all day by eye fucking me, then I think it’s only fair for me to offer the same courtesy,” I utter candidly and suggestive, as I saunter over to his alluring form. His left hand rests in his pants pocket, his right clutching at the floral lace material.
I stand before him; even with my heels on he still towers over me. I press myself against the warmth and firmness of his body, tipping my head back to meet his dangerously irresistible, dark, enthralling eyes. He parts his lips as his regard roves from my eyes down to my lips. His authoritative posture, his confidence glowing, he’s so damn fine. He makes no attempt to touch me, and the hankering my body sustains at this proximity is excessive, boundless.
Beginning my journey, I set my hands on his chest before gliding them down his torso feeling the fullness and the definition of his body which is hidden beneath his clothing. Brushing my tongue over my lips I rid myself of the drying, cracking flesh then retract it with agonizing tardiness.
Hayden repeats my gesture and I focus intently on the tip of his tongue as he sweeps it over his lips. The image of areas in which his satin-like tongue has explored over my body invades my mind, causing me to clamp down on the right side of my lower lip. I hear him force a swallow, and see his throat move and tense to assist his reaction––it makes me throb, it makes me slick, it makes me desperate to have him on me, under me, behind me, I don’t care, I just want and need him in me.
“I think we are even,” I breathe, before reaching up to kiss him.
While the majority of the room is drowned in darkness, the golden glow of the candlelight flickers between us, setting a romantic ambiance that only a few weeks ago, would have had me running for the hills.
“A toast…” Hayden announces as we lift the wineglasses of full-bodied Shiraz. “To us and our one month anniversary,” he beams.
I’m momentarily stunned by him honoring our time together––regardless of how long it has been. I smile gloriously at the man opposite me with ill-disguised elation of his edict, and tap the glasses together in assent, before returning to our meal.
I snigger with profound happiness while staring at Hayden’s empty seat, as I wait for him to return from the restroom. This feels so surreal. I cannot believe that I am actually here at this point in my life. Somewhere that I gave up imagining I could ever possibly be.
Four weeks ago…that’s it, in four weeks I have grown so close to Hayden, we laugh, we’re passionate, and the craving for him is stronger than ever. I haven’t grown bored or anxious. I have achieved so much…changed immensely. Having Hayden in my life with his patience and understanding, his want to make me happy and his need to make me feel secure about myself––I am overawed with every emotion that I had abandoned and rewired over the years. But most of all…I can trust him––I do trust him.
Three short buzzes of Hayden’s phone, which rests on the table beside his place mat, disrupts my musing. Influenced by my curiosity, I glance over my shoulder and down the corridor that leads to my bedroom. Hayden is still in the bathroom.
Seizing the window of opportunity, I recover the touchscreen Smartphone, the white backing light illuminating a text message notification. The faint word of the small voice in my head tells me that in doing this, I am invading his privacy, but it’s easy to ignore, so I choose to ignore it.
Gently touching the envelope on the screen the message opens.
*** Received: Friday 19th October 2012 @ 8:22 p.m. ***
Hayden, don’t forget about tomorrow.
It will be nice to see you again.
I will meet you at noon.
I’m baffled, tomorrow is Saturday. Hayden and I are supposed to be going rock-climbing, he organized it as soon as we came back home last weekend. My heart rate quickens, I feel my pulse through my fingertips, my ears ringing as blood and adrenaline overthrows my system and logic.
Marveling who the message was from, I scroll down.
I fight with all the strength I have to keep my meal from being expelled over the dining-table.
Who the fuck is Cassandra?
SAMANTHA
REVIVING TRANSGRESSIONS
Other than the gut-wrenching sensation of someone punching me in the stomach, I’m totally disconnected, feeling like an observer, watching events unfold in a dream-like trance. I hold the handset in my grasp, and it’s as though it has electrocuted me, sending a sharp volt through my body that makes me feel both nauseated and enraged. Canceling off the message screen, I return it to its previous position with an irritated swiftness.
I continue to stare at the phone while the hollowness of my perception deepens.
Who the fuck is Cassandra? And why the fuck is he meeting her? Maybe it is a harmless meeting between old friends? He did have a life before you, you know, my subconscious acts as the voice of reason. Meeting at noon? My stomach roils and a bubble swells in my lower abdomen. Hayden was going to cancel our plans––blow me off––for her? For someone who I don’t even know?
With my elbows upheld on the edge of the table, I position my forehead onto the tips of my fingers. I shake my head, feeling an upwelling of despondency acquainting itself with my emotions. Nonetheless, I silently question my judgement.
How can someone feel so secure one minute and totally insecure the next?
I sense Hayden returning from the hallway behind me. I daren’t turn around for I know I will lose my strength and say things that I shouldn’t probably say when I am this pissed off…this suspicious.
Suspicious? My subconscious sneers, what the fuck? The proof is right there, on that fucking phone that he is meeting another woman, there is no suspicion involved. He’s a lawyer, he deals with fact––and that, my subconscious point to the device on the table in derision, is a fucking fact!
Hayden closes behind me. I’m aware of his stare as it bores into my back. In an act brimming with sensuality, he sweeps my locks over my left shoulder, his fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of my neck and sends frissons
up my spine. He bows down and trails three impassioned kisses over the nape of my neck and I close my eyes, absorbing the warmth of his breath and the gentle placing of his soft, full lips on my body. I love him, but I hate that he’s keeping a secret from me, hating that he isn’t being honest with me. It would be easier if I didn’t love him, but right now…I just hate that I love him so Goddamn much.
He’s a liar…he’s playing you…he’s bored of you already. That must be a record, even for you, Samantha…your man spends four weeks with you, and he is already searching and lining up other women. I attempt to brush my paranoia aside, but I still cannot help but wonder, is she right? Surely Hayden has contacts, he’s bound to have uncovered something about me? Is that what he is doing? Playing me at the game I once played?
I recoil away from the aesthetic, yet irritating feeling of his mouth upon me. I can’t even begin to think about having him touch me like that right now. Not after that message. Not after, Cassandra.
“Hey, beautiful…what’s the matter?” he questions with what sounds like genuine concern, but fuck…do I really know this man one iota?
He returns to his seat opposite me, reaches over the table and grasps my left hand in his.
Anger and frustration boils deep in my chest and belly. I’m a spring being pushed down and held tightly, being contained by the secret fact, that I invaded his privacy to even check the fucking message in the first place.
His eyes wrinkle and are tarnished with unease.
I swallow my pride, along with my trepidation and offer a small smile.
“Dessert?” I offer as means of distraction. I slip my hand from underneath his. Then reach over the table and gather our empty plates.
What are you doing, Samantha?
Hayden’s mouth locks into a promising smirk; one that would usually have me panting and tensing, writhing as the yearning for his naked body pushing me to find my release overpowers body and mind. But all I want to do at this precise moment is allow my spring to uncoil, release the indignation that I am endeavoring to keep restrained; shout at him, tell him I know he’s a lying bastard just like the rest of them, and that I cannot believe that he could be so malicious and vindictive. Even I wouldn’t stoop as low as to keep one foot on the dock and the other on the ship, until there’s a certainty of safe boarding.