by Amber Burns
I swallowed. My mind raced, desperate to find something witty to say, desperate to save myself from further embarrassing myself in front of this incredibly influential, impossibly handsome man. Even now, as he sat upon the flattened pillows of the love seat (a stance that would have been comically awkward for any other person, and should have been a laughable image for him to conjure, too) he carried with him an air of preposterous and overwhelming attraction. He seemed to exude sex appeal. The curving of his fingers over his muscular thighs, the gentle flick of his eyebrows as he stared deeply into my eyes, even the way his shoulders rolled slightly forward, popping the muscles of his back so that his suit jacket stretched over his fit form… it was all nearly too much to bear. I took a slow, steady breath in and fixed him with a solid stare. I had to defend myself. I had caught him appraising me, no doubt thinking that my physical appearance matched my passion for past times. He had probably come to the conclusion that I was dull, uncool, and unfit to work for him; and maybe I was. In fact, I absolutely was, but that did not mean I was about to let him believe it. So I stood there in that small lounge behind the stage, feathers catching on my heels, loud music causing the double locked door to shiver and my billionaire employer staring up at me with dark eyes set in an impossibly stone-jawed face.
Without anything else to lose, I tilted my chin upwards, parted my lips, and said: “You may believe that my penchant for crafting birdhouses makes me a person unfit for this position. And while I do believe that everyone has the right to their own, individual beliefs, I would have to say that you believing this particular thing about me would be a completely unjust thing. I will explain why because I do not think that making a statement without the proper and adequate explanation to back it up warrants the statement of any real weight. So here are my reasons why: you do not, as I stated before, understand what it takes to create a truly excellent bird house. Perhaps you think that sounds hilarious but in reality, it is a surprisingly difficult task to accomplish and so thereby requires a great amount of care. You must be well versed in craftsmanship and able to handle large saws without difficulty; which I can. And do exceptionally well, I might add. You must also have a knack for architecture, one that has been, preferably, learned, and developed, for to be naturally inclined toward designing birdhouse structures is one thing, but to do it properly, mathematically, well… that takes precision and intelligence that can only be achieved through hours of studious trial and error and much research and good, clean, hands-on labor. And finally, to possess the creativity to create various bird houses, all of different, ingenious feeding abilities, thoroughly convenient and effective feeding abilities, I might add. For, if the feeder does not draw the correct bird than it does not matter at all how architecturally lovely the feeder is. This requires an incredible depth of thought, ingenuity, and resourcefulness. So while you may be sitting there, upon those flattened pillows, sure as ever that I am completely wrong for this position because of my general ‘uncoolness’, I assure you, Mr. Cartwright, that being an adept if not exceptional bird house crafter might just make me better suited for this position than any other person. As I have stated: ingenuity, creativity, craftsmanship, wittiness, and so much more. Bird house construction reveals me to possess these qualities, and these qualities being integral to this position, I pose to you now that I am very well suited to this position.”
My breath having run out I choked the last few words out from between my lips and then stood there, gripping my fingers to my breasts, my thin pink lips pressing tightly against each other, my cheeks flushed pink with the adrenaline of speeding through that small speech. I had to speak it quickly, or else I would have undoubtedly lost my nerve. My chest was heaving up and down, and I fixed Mr. Cartwright with a somber, almost challenging stare.
He looked back at me for several moments, his face blank, his eyes blinking quickly. And then, after several long seconds, he brought his hands together and began to clap.
I watched him awkwardly, not sure as to whether my new employer was making fun of me or truly, genuinely offering me some sort of odd praise.
“Well said,” Mr. Cartwright said, finishing his applauding and placing his hands upon his knees. “Well said, indeed, Molly.” He then stared at me again, his eyes narrowing slightly as if a plan was concocting itself within the hidden confines of his mind.
A knock sounded on the door, and Mr. Cartwright’s head snapped toward the double locked entranceway.
“Yes?” he called, his voice sailing over my head.
“Yes, Mr. Cartwright, sir, it’s Jenna Havelock,” a high pitched voice slurred through the door. “And I was wondering if you might like to discuss a certain business opportunity with Paul and I before we get too drunk to remember any deals that might come to be made?”
Mr. Cartwright glanced at me quickly, and I could not read his eyes. He then looked back to the door and called out, “Yes, yes of course, Jenna, darling. Thank you for reminding me. I will be right with you.”
Mr. Cartwright ran his hands quickly through his hair, fixing the loose strands that had crept free of his careful styling during his rage against the loveseat pillows. He then straightened his bow tie and fixed the collar of his jacket. He then stood, crossed the room, and unlocked the chain lock, and then twisted the golden knob lock with his gentle fingers. His hand was upon the golden door knob, just beginning to twist it to open the door when I turned sharply and took a breath.
“I really am very well suited to this position,” I gasped.
Mr. Cartwright paused. He stood for a moment with his back to me. Then he half turned, and I could see that a wicked smile played over his face, making his dark eyes dance with some sort of black fire that made my stomach flip over.
“Oh, Molly, my dear,” he said, his lips dancing into a near snarl as his tongue curled around the shape of my name. “You are very well suited... to this position, yes. And to another position, I think, as well.” And with those words, he turned, walked across the room, and grabbed me in his arms.
He pressed his lips against my own and kissed me tenderly, explosively. His muscular arms held me in an embrace that was both rough and sweet, all at once. His tongue flicked over mine, and his fingers slid up and down my back. I felt goose bumps leaping up across my flesh; my stomach flipped, and a warmth began to spread from my lips and down to my hips. I felt myself pulling in towards him. My fingers reached and wrapped around his neck, and suddenly they were combing through his hair, dragging him closer, and even closer to me. The next thing I knew, we were falling together, down and onto the floor, into the puddles of feathers; white downy snowflakes flying up and around us as we tumbled to the floor boards and my fingers were working through his hair and I could not believe how beautiful he was. His arms were impossibly chiseled, as if he was a statue of a god come to life, and touching me, embracing me. Our lips colliding urgently, fervently; my glasses falling down my nose as he kissed me again and then again, his fingers tracing the outline of my nipples growing hard and poking through my dress.
His hand slid up my leg, caressing my thigh, sliding the hem of my skirt up higher and higher, inch my inch. My spine curved in anticipation; I could feel myself getting wet. Mr. Cartwright’s fingers inched up my inner thigh, and then he was there. He slid the skirt of my dress up and looked at me full on, his eyes on my eyes, and he fed me a wicked, wicked gaze of copper magic; and then he dove down and began to kiss my pussy. My lips parted in pleasure and my shoulders arched.
“Oh my god,” I said, completely overwhelmed by the way my body shivered and shook whenever his lips and tongue touched my skin.
His tongue began to work around my clit, and I thought I might pass out from pure pleasure right then and there. Somehow, I held on, and the pleasure continued. He made me feel better than I had ever felt before, and I found myself reaching down subconsciously and gripping his hair in my fists. I tugged his lips against my pussy, begging him for more, forcing him to give me more. And then suddenl
y, his fingers were sliding into me, too, and I cried out.
“What! Oh, my fucking…”
I had never before ever in my life had someone inside of me; not in any way, shape or form. Mr. Cartwright sensed something was off and immediately pulled his fingers out of me. He tilted his head up towards mine.
“Are you okay?” he asked, a single eyebrow sliding up his forehead.
I looked down at him, Nikko Cartwright, the man of the moment, the man I had recently seen on Time magazine, was looking up at me; his lips grazing my clit as he spoke. I shivered and smiled.
“I’m very okay,” I managed.
Mr. Cartwright grinned that ever seductive half-smile and looked at me with wide, earnest eyes.
“Well that’s good, Molly, my dear,” he grinned. He glanced down at my pussy and bit his lips. “Mm. That’s very, very, good,” he smiled, and then his arms reaching up behind me and pulling me upwards, towards him.
Our bodies pressed together, and his fingers wound through my hair and pulling my face against his, so that, again, he drove his mouth against my own. He was kissing me, deeply, passionately, and there was fire all over the insides of my body, fireworks, moons, and stars exploding.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
“Nikko! What are you doing in there? Seriously, my darling, I am going to be far too wasted to make any deals soon. So, I suggest you hurry up!”
Mr. Cartwright pulled his face away from my own. I stood there, my breasts rising and falling with the adrenaline of kissing him, of his body pressing so closely against my flesh, of his fingers curling around my nipples and tracing paths over the curves of my body. I could still feel his lips kissing my clit, his tongue playing with my pussy. I shoved my glasses up my nose as he stood there, still gripping at my hips with his strong hands, simply standing still, looking just as perfectly composed as he had been before. He had leaned in and kissed me… me!
“I’m coming,” he called, his eyes still pouring into mine.
Then he dropped his hands from my hips and took a step back. He stood there for one moment more, simply looking at me. Then he said, “Very suited to another position, indeed.” And with that, he threw open the door and walked back out onto the crowded, writhing dance floor.
I stood staring at the door for some time, my heels piercing through the discarded white fluffy feathers, my fingers gripping at each other. My thoughts were whizzing and whirring as I tried to make sense of what had just happened in this small, marbled lounge room. My brain ran over the words that had fallen from both his lips and from my own, the way I had spoken so passionately about bird feeders. I sighed and a short chuckle escaped my lips as I recalled my zealous speech about a topic so quirky and bizarre. I ran my hands through my hair and tried to shake off the bout of trembles that had suddenly possessed me.
“Oh, fuck, Molly,” I said, laughing at myself. “What the hell did you just do?”
I remembered the way Mr. Cartwright had looked at me after I had finished my stupid speech about the bird feeders; not to mention the way he had looked at me before I had even begun to speak… The way he had dragged his eyes over the entirety of my body, all of its curves, every last inch of flesh. He had been appraising my true worth as an employee or in fact appraising my worth as… as a lover.
“Oh my God, Molly, as if,” I heard myself say out loud.
My cheeks instantly burned that familiar crimson and I shook my head. “Wow. AS IF you would even allow yourself to think that. Him? Into YOU? That is about as ridiculous as the fact that you just gave a speech on bird feeder design to one of the richest men in the world. He is drunk, no doubt. That is the only reason this happened. And the fact that you allowed it to happen, encouraged it to happen, that is pretty damn despicable, Molly.” I took a deep breath and let the air rush out of my mouth. “Don’t let yourself think that will happen again,” I said quietly, sternly, to myself as I pushed at my glasses and quickly straightening my hair. I pressed my hands against my dress and straightened the hem, swiped madly at the fabric of the skirt, trying my best to flatten out the newly minted creases. “It’s not going to happen again. It shouldn’t have even happened now, no matter how fucking gorgeous he is…” The instant I said the words I slapped a hand over my mouth. What was I doing, even allowing myself to think of my employer that way? Even in light of what had just happened, I could not afford to think of him that way.
“He has a reputation,” I told myself, reminded myself. My breath finally began to slow again, my temperature inched back down to its normal level. “And this,” I said, yanking a feather from my hair and throwing it down towards the floor. “Is precisely why. He gets brilliantly drunk, kisses girls he shouldn’t, and then people write about it. That is what just happened, and that is why you are now going to forget that it did happen, never think about it again, ever. And certainly don’t think about the fact that you really, really, fucking enjoyed it. So there. It’s done. We forget all about this; right… now.”
I shook my head, and took a step forward, causing a flurry of white feathers to dance up into the air and cascade down upon my gray dress. I stood there, very still for just a moment, checking to make sure that all of my body systems had returned to normal. When I was sure I had again composed myself and was in control of all my emotional faculties, I ran my hands through my hair one last time, ensuring my physical appearance matched my controlled mental state. Then I sighed and bent down and began to collect the feathers in my hand. Someone had to tidy the mess up, and seeing as there was no one else around, that someone looked like it was going to be me. After all, so far my only real duty as personal assistant to one of the world’s most successful CEOs had been picking up discarded and damaged objects off of the floor.
As I set to work catching a fistful of feathers from the air, I tried to focus my attention on my plans for the weekend: a nice bath, a good book, and a warm cup of freshly made tea. Yet try as I might to focus on these comforting thoughts, I could just not succeed in getting the image of Mr. Cartwright out of my head. All I could see was him, standing at the door, his fingers twisting open the golden door knob. His lips were twitching with some unknown mysteriousness, all dark lightning, and impossible attraction.
“You are very well suited. To this position, and to another position, as well,” he had snarled.
What could that mean? What could that possibly mean? Aside from… I blinked rapidly and violently shook my head. I had promised myself I would not dwell upon such thoughts. I would not be the girl who fell for a man who would never even take serious notice of her. I would not be that girl. Instead, I would be the professional woman who was cool, removed, and exceptional at her job. I turned my attention back to the feathers.
I tried not to picture it, tried to focus my energy upon the catching of feathers and the imagining of comforts such as baths and teas. But all I could think of, as I grabbed at feather after endless feather, was his muscular form sliding out of the doorway, offering me that subtle, parting wink.
6
Nikko
“... and that is why I think, well, we both think,” Jenna Havelock added, casting tipsy eyes towards the man that stood constantly nodding beside her, his fingers gripping a glass of whiskey. “That now is the best time in the history for you to invest. With or without the backing of your company,” she threw in, glancing side to side and narrowing her eyes suggestively.
I forced a smile across my face and pretended to consider the words of the heavily made up woman that stood before me. Or rather, she leaned before me. She was already so tipsy that she was relying upon the arm of the unnamed man who stood beside her in order to maintain her balance upon her very high heels. Even with the assistance of his arm, she teetered slightly, swaying back and forth as she grinned at me through filler enhanced lips, her white and blue painted eyes blinking heavily, expectantly.
“That is a proposition,” I said, but in reality, I had not retained a single thing the woman had said.
&nb
sp; All I had been able to think of was Molly and the way she had reacted when my lips had touched her own. She had blossomed; I had not been expecting that. One kiss and the bookish, mousey assistant had transformed from a closed legged librarian to some sort of passionate minx. As I nodded along to Jenna Havelock’s half drunken ramblings, I could still feel the ghosts of Molly’s fingers playing through my hair and forcefully grabbing at my collar as she pulled me even closer against her body. I felt a warmth rising in my neck and poured the remainders of my drink down my throat in order to quiet the thundering of my pulse. Why was I suddenly so uncomfortable? I had kissed her while the stupid white feathers flew through the air madly around us, as passionate and frenzied as our tangle across the floor. Our arms ran over each other’s bodies, while my fingers shoved the hem of her skirt up her leg, towards her hips. Knowing what she wanted from the look in her eyes, I dropped down and tasted the sweet wetness between her legs and plunged my fingers deep into her sex. But then something happened, the mood suddenly changed.
I shook my head and tried to picture Molly as anything but the covered up, straight-laced, completely conservative appearing girl she so clearly was. She was definitely not my type, but she was exactly what I was supposed to be looking for to satisfy Mr. Offerton and the investors. I sighed and glanced across the room as a woman clad in a skin tight latex dress bent over slowly, giggling at something the man standing to her left had said.