Love Bytes

by Dahlia Dewinters

  “Nope,” she said. “You got it covered.”

  “All right, folks,” he spoke to the table at large. “Let’s get to work.”

  The staff, consisting of the three programmers, five beta testers, Francis and her, gathered the remnants of their half-eaten breakfasts and began to clear the room. One of the beta testers buttonholed Francis. Lowering her head, she pretended to write, praying that none of them would ask her anything.

  Alyssa, the only female programmer, nudged her.

  “Vee, I’m excited. I’m so looking forward to winning. I think we’ve got a great chance.”

  Violet smiled. Alyssa understood her, keeping up a conversation no matter how tongue-tied Violet felt. “What are you going to do with your bonus money?”

  The young woman glowed with enthusiasm. “I’ve already planned my European trip,” she said in breathless tones. She lowered her voice. “I want to catch a husband, or at least a lover.”

  Violet fought to keep from blowing out an exasperated sigh. Again, with the lovey-dovey stuff. “You don’t have to go to Europe to do that, Alyssa.”

  “Good point. Love can pop up in unexpected places.” Alyssa cast a glance over where Pete, another programmer, and Francis were now engaged in conversation. “You never know.” She shimmied in her seat excited about the possibilities.

  “Send me an e-mail,” Francis said to Pete, ending the conversation. “I’ve got to take a phone call.”

  “I bet you’ll enjoy Europe,” Violet said, standing up. “Fingers crossed that we’ll win.” She grabbed her messenger bag from under the table and left the room.

  As usual, the cafeteria had little to offer and she wondered when the coffee shop in the lobby would open to save her from the terrible food selection. When they won the competition, she would use part of the money to get a brand new food service company.

  On her way upstairs, a cup of yogurt clutched in her hand, Violet turned the most recent news over in her mind. They were pretty much done and ahead of schedule. Things were looking good.

  ****

  “You’re late.”

  Violet closed the door, locked it, and leaned against it for a moment. The blinds over the windows that faced the parking lot were still drawn, which meant nothing. Francis never opened the blinds, saying it cast too much glare on his monitor. The truth was he liked sitting in a gloomy office.

  Francis had his back to her, preparing their morning cups of coffee. Violet never understood the sense behind making two cups of coffee at a time when you could make a whole pot in half the time, but Francis loved his little gadgets, so who was she to rain on his parade?

  She crossed to her desk and dropped her messenger bag.

  “What a rude greeting.” She sat down in her chair and pushed the button to boot up her desktop. “Traffic and yogurt is why I’m late.” He turned around, a cup of coffee in each hand. “I don’t expect you to be late to my meetings. Didn’t I send you a text last night?”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  “Liar.” He placed a cup of coffee on her desk. “Voila. Coffee.”

  She could smell the coffee, its heady promise of a caffeine jolt making her ears buzz in anticipation, but the proximity of the bearer of said coffee made the rest of her buzz at a higher frequency.

  He stood very close to her, a welcome invasion to her personal space. The fragrance of his understated forest-y scent was a complement to the smell of the dark roast coffee. Violet stared at her out-of-date blotter calendar, her heartbeat accelerating. When it came to Francis, her body always betrayed her.

  “Hey, Violet.” His voice was quiet, but forceful. “Look at me.”

  After a moment of hesitation, she lifted her chin and met his eyes, the color of which never failed to fascinate her. Behind the glasses, they were a cool, vivid green with a slight bluish undertone that were both knowing and calculating.

  “What do you want?” She waved her hands at him. “Go to your desk and drink your coffee.”

  “You were late.”

  “So?”

  He shook his head once, breaking their eye contact. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

  She was. Her chest felt tight and constricted as one hand clasped at the other. “No,” she said. Yes.

  “Yes, you are.”

  She was. Violet lifted and lowered her shoulders but said nothing, waiting.

  He leaned closer. “We both know what you want.” His voice was softer now, the tone coaxing. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Violet closed her eyes and then opened them. “If you already know, Francis, then why do I have to tell you?”

  “Say it, Violet, and it’s yours.”

  She took a deep breath and squeezed her hands into fists, both loving and hating the game they played. Urgent warmth grew between her legs even as she tried to resist it, desire curling in the base of her belly. “I want you to spank me.” The words came out in a whisper. Saying them sent a rush of arousal over her, loosening her tension that had tightened her muscles since last night. She lifted her head and looked at him, noticing how he, too, had changed, his eyes hot and gleaming with desire.

  “Then we’ll get started. Take off your pants. Leave your underwear on,” he said. He waited, hands in pockets as she kicked off her sneakers and shed her jeans, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. Quick breaths puffed between her parted lips, and her whole body shook in anticipation.

  Francis waved his hand. “Go around to the front of your desk. Place your hands there.”

  After wiping her sweaty palms on her T-shirt, she did as she was asked, placing her hands on her calendar blotter which held nothing but swirly doodles and pen patterns. Behind her, Francis removed his watch—a Christmas gift from her. The metallic clicking sounds loud in the quiet office. He placed the heavy silver timepiece on the blotter where she could see it.

  “Time is very important, Violet.” He trailed his fingers over her lower back, where her T-shirt had ridden up when she bent over. “A precious commodity.”

  That bare trace of contact sensitized her skin and she closed her eyes, the rich, dark smell of the coffee cooling inches away and the inexorable ticking of his watch just about too much for her to bear. The muscles in her legs shook.

  Francis pushed her T-shirt up to her bra strap, his fingers tripping over the bumps of her vertebrae. “You shouldn’t waste it.”

  The first slap took her by surprise and she lurched forward before she stiffened her arms to brace herself. Following the initial sting was a lush, syrupy sensation that warmed her pussy with the intensity of a branding iron. She took a deep shuddering breath and pinched her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Would you like another?” The tone of his voice was polite, distant. He could have been asking her the time of day.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He leaned close, his lips brushed the curve of her ear. “Ask for it.”

  “I would like another.”

  She jumped when he touched her. A touch, not the slap she craved.

  “Be a good girl and ask properly.”

  “I would like another, please, Francis.”

  The second slap was harder and she cried out, the already tender skin igniting anew. The initial sting faded, leaving behind a delicious after burn that weakened her legs. She closed her eyes, relishing the pleasure of the moment.

  If she strained her ears, she could hear the everyday noises of people outside the walls, talking, telephones ringing, toilets flushing. Daily life in an office building. Reality rolled on as she took spankings from her business partner and loved every minute of it.

  “Another, Violet?”

  “I would like another, please, Francis.”

  He responded at once, and she didn’t move this time, the only indication that she had been touched was the sound of skin against skin and her muffled exclamation. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her shaky arms threatened to drop her face first on her desk, where her coffee was
getting cold and Francis’ watch ticked off the seconds in her right ear. Her excitement was agonizing in its intensity and she bit down on a balled fist to contain the feverish desire. Every nerve ending was alive with longing.

  “Another?” He palmed her behind, patted it. “Or was the third time the charm?”

  Violet would have laughed if her swirling brain weren’t focused on the fiery longing between her legs. “No, thank you.” She took another deep breath. A different type of tension had taken over, one that made her pussy flutter and ache with desire.

  His hand was warm on the small of her back and he stroked her skin, running his fingers along the waistband of her panties. “Is there something else you need, Violet?” He hooked his fingers in the elastic and tugged, sending a jolt of pleasure up her spine.

  Violet smiled down at the blotter. From the sound of his voice, he was as eager as she was, maybe more. “Yes.” Her voice was low, muffled by the desk.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Ask me.”

  “Please fuck me, Francis.”

  The muted jingle of his belt buckle and the metallic rasp of the zipper ramped up her excitement higher, the desire mounting to an almost physical pain, a string pulled into a tight knot. Violet forced herself to remain still, drawing on a deep reservoir of self-control to keep from begging.

  Francis eased her underwear down her legs and the cool air caressed the hot skin of her spanked bottom. The crackle of the condom wrapper made her breath come even faster, her fingernails scratching against the paper blotter. She chewed at her lower lip with keen impatience.

  He nudged her legs farther apart, positioned himself at her entrance. Violet stiffened, keeping herself from wiggling her bottom in anticipation. She could hear him breathing, and it excited her even more to imagine him, poised behind her, gauging the right time, the right angle.

  Before she could think further, letting her mind wander away, he slid into her with a gentle slide, steadying her hips with a firm hold on her waist. Violet sucked in a breath and moaned, bracing her palms against the desk, the heavy invasion welcome after a weekend of longing frustration. His thrusts were controlled, an inexorable steady rhythm that made her gasp for more.

  “Francis, please—”

  “Shh.” He pressed his body into hers, drawing back, then pressed forward again. “Thought about you all weekend…spanking you…fucking you. Do you like it? Tell me you like it. Tell me to fuck you.”

  Violet pressed the side of her face to the desk, the blotter sliding back and forth with the force of his thrusts. The coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup, the dark liquid staining the white paper. Her mind screamed, Yes, fuck me, like that, like that, like THAT! But her mouth refused to form the words he wanted, the buildup of tension paralyzing her vocal cords.

  She grasped at the desk, trying to find purchase to brace herself, but her palms slipped against the smooth surface. Heat radiated outward, from her cheeks, her belly and from the pounding flesh between her legs, spiraling up like a balloon until it popped, sending wild, jagged sensations through her. Violet struggled for breath, making tiny cries of pleasure that seemed to drive him over the edge, his thrusts becoming faster, the grip on her waist tighter. Her flesh tightened around him and he exploded, his climax pushing the air out of his lungs in one long gasp.

  In the moment after, she rested, eyes closed, muscles loose and light, reality returning. When she opened her eyes, Francis’ watch was gone.

  “Violet.” Hands on her shoulders, he helped her up. He examined her, ducking his head to look into her face. “Are you okay?” He kissed her forehead, then her lips.

  “Yes,” she nodded, though she felt a little dizzy. It was like this every time they were away from each other. Any separation increased the craving to the point where when she was able to have him, she disappeared for those moments. “I’m fine.”

  Ever the gentleman, Francis scooped up her jeans and her underwear and handed her the bundle of clothes. He brushed his hand through his hair, his expression anxious.

  “Violet, I’ve been thinking…”

  “Remember the rules, Francis,” she spoke without expression. “We’ve done pretty well so far. Please, don’t fuck it up.”

  He said nothing else and she continued to the bathroom. Once inside, she closed and locked the door, leaned against the cool tile wall, gathering her thoughts. Emotions were so sloppy. She liked Francis, liked having sex with him, and he was one of the best programmers she knew. Couldn’t they leave it at that? Anything further would be unneeded trouble.

  Violet washed up and re-fluffed her hair without examining herself in the mirror. When she emerged from the bathroom, ready to begin her day by lighting a fire under the programmers’ collective behinds, Francis was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Violet sat at the conference table in their office, two laptops open in front of her. Her gaze darted from one screen to the other, a container of yogurt at her elbow, forgotten. “Rogers seems to be doing a good job leading the programmers’ team. They like him.”

  “I’d trust Rogers with anything.” Francis reached over and scooped up a spoonful of her yogurt.

  She moved the yogurt out of his reach. “Get your own.”

  “I’m not going to eat that much.”

  “You’ll eat more than your share. You’re greedy. Get your own.”

  “Only greedy about some things,” he said.

  The insinuation made her blush and she changed the subject. “Did you see the shop downstairs? The Valentine’s decorations? Whoever owns that shop seems like a real weirdo.”

  “I don’t know.” Francis raised his shoulders in a quick shrug, his eyes thoughtful behind his glasses. “Maybe the owner likes the holiday, wants to put people in the spirit.”

  “We’re barely out of January.” Violet huffed, scraping the bottom of the yogurt container. “It’s too soon for all that hoopla.”

  “At least it will be another tenant in the building. It was rather depressing walking past that empty shop every morning.”

  “Everything is ‘rather depressing’ to you, Francis.” She tossed the empty container in the trash receptacle. “You spend too much time in dark rooms.”

  “I’m ignoring that.” Francis leaned back in the chair, stretched his long legs in front of him, and crossed his arms. “I’m too busy thinking.”

  She leaned her face in the palm of her hand and watched him. He was quite good looking, better looking than most of the men in the local software industry. His hair was thick, cut close on the sides and back, longer on top where it stood in stiff waves. Its light brown color was almost a match for his tan skin, which reminded her of the beach on a summer’s day. A straight, refined nose gave him a look of arrogance while his full lower lip softened his overall appearance, and was a delight to nibble on.

  And he was smart too. Forget Rogers, Francis was the best programmer she knew, which was why she tapped him to help her co-found the company after meeting him at a conference years back.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “How long is it going to take for us to work out these glitches. Calculating the time it’s going to take before the deadline.”

  Violet shook her head. Though she was expert at programming and was one of the top coders in the industry, she’d left that behind. The whole process gave her headaches which is why she hired programmers. “You told them in the meeting that they would be able to handle the issues with the software.”

  “That was confidence building.”

  “I call it lying.”

  Francis shook his head back and forth, a half-smile on his face. “This is why I’m glad you let me run the meetings.”

  Violet made a face and turned back to the laptop screen. “You’re wonderful, Francis. Absolutely fabulous.” Her tone was heavy with sarcasm, but she knew the words were true. “So can we make the fixes or not? No BS confidence building,
please.”

  “We can.”

  “Hear anything about Avarix?”

  “No.” He blew out a breath. “But I’ll keep my ear to the ground.” He glanced at her. “Are you nervous?”

  Using one finger, she pushed one of the laptops forward, trying to appear nonchalant. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “It means a lot of money, Francis.” She allowed her gaze to meet his. “A lot.”

  “Worry not, Violet.” He reached over and patted the back of her hand where it was curled on the table. “We’ve got the best programmers. They work hard. If they can’t do it…heck, we can do it ourselves.”

  Chapter Five

  As Violet entered the lobby that morning, the rich fragrance of brewed coffee and the vanilla odor of something sweet baking enticed her through the open door of the shop, the words “Grand Opening” above the door. It was a scent that reminded her of her friend Penelope who was always baking up something tasty at her bakery. The heady fragrance was so intoxicating that she crossed the threshold against her will. She glanced at her watch and realized that the shop wasn’t yet open despite the man behind the counter with his back to her. How embarrassing. Why hadn’t she bothered to look at the hours on the door?

  Changing directions, she knocked against a metal garbage can, startling herself. The man behind the counter turned around, a look of suspicion on his face, which vanished when he saw her.

  “Morning,” he said, dropping a white cloth on the stainless steel counter.

  Violet backed up, making a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, I…I didn’t realize it was so early. You’re not open. I didn’t mean to—”

  He pointed at her as he came from behind the counter. “Violet, right? Violet Connelly? Second floor, NorthStar Tech?”

  She flushed, feeling too warm inside her wool coat. “Yes, I’m Violet. Well, people…people call me Vee.”

  “Joe Costello.” He extended his hand and she took two steps forward to shake it. Tall, black-haired and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He didn’t have any problem filling out the gray thermal shirt he wore.