by V. Theia
“Yes, you were busy being mister tough boss to notice.” My hair was purple last week, and blue the month before. I had a thing for change. Never satisfied, my momma would say.
Because I couldn’t help myself I trailed a fingertip up over those abs, traveled his torso and back down again before I had to wrench my greedy hand away, and pull out of his arms, taking that hand of his off my ass.
It was no biggie to Noah, he sauntered back around his desk, all the while I’m standing in the middle of his office with my skin on fire, with my vagina singing sonnets like a slutty siren calling out to sailors.
I’d known this man four years today and he still affected me in a raw, naked way.
I knew I shouldn’t.
But whoever listened to their own reasoning?
I padded bare feet back towards the door. I’d managed to pull on clothes when I rolled out of bed, but not shoes. I was only going down to the sixth floor anyway. Noah lived in the penthouse suite, he had the whole damn floor like a Sultan.
“Time to go and sweat.” I announced. Morning hot yoga, I must be mad. But I had energy to burn off and if the devil wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to him.
Noah wasn’t wrong, the instructor was so hot. Think Tom Hardy in fitted track pants. His classes were constantly booked months in advance, lucky for me I knew his sister. There’s a lot of things desperate, single and horny ladies will do at 9am to have a gorgeous man put his hands on your spine. “Happy Anniversary, Noah. Let’s have quick, mediocre sex tonight with the lights off, isn’t that what happens?” I asked in the doorway. All the while I was thinking; Sex, yes, please.
His mouth twitched. I added. “But you know, with other people, preferably with penises.”
He winked.
Didn’t I say, the love of my life was gay? Yep. Gayer than gay. All the way down gay alley. If there was a spokesperson for queerness I was looking at it.
“Are you coming to the club tonight?” He asked, distracted, tapping on the computer in front of him. Already in working mode.
It was a computer that brought us together.
“Maybe. The girls want to go dancing.”
“Okay, kitten. Have a good day corrupting the geeks. I’ll be at Frost if you need me.”
I always need him. I just smiled and headed out.
Impossible love sucked sometimes but I’d decided days ago it was time to move on.
Time to leave the love I felt for Noah Fierro in the past.
He was my best friend and that’s all he’d ever be.
One day he’d dance with me at my wedding all the while telling me I looked beautiful and threatening my faceless husband that if he ever hurt me Noah would find a shallow grave to bury him in.
We had an odd-ball relationship, so friends told me.
We’d never had many days apart since we’d met. We lived in the same building, thanks to him. He walked into my apartment like it was his, and the same went for his penthouse, even when either of us had overnight company or something long term we put each other first, that was probably why we were both still single. It wasn’t as though I was holding out hope, because Noah didn’t have a little bi in him, he’d never been with a woman, hadn’t wanted to, was never confused as a teen, as he told it he was chasing boys and kissing them when he was six.
Randy little shit.
Now men threw themselves at him, he was the elusive Noah Fierro, everyone in Manhattan knew who he was and wanted to be him or fuck him.
Only those with a tree hanging between his legs got that chance. Fuckers.
Letting myself out of the penthouse I went down in the elevator, getting out on the sixth floor. “Hello, Mrs, P.” I greeted the old lady getting in after me. She was around a century old, we couldn’t truly determine, and always had a scrappy little dog with her wherever she went. He was kind of an asshole. I made the mistake one time of trying to stroke the little beast only to have him snap. I looked at Lord Griffin Pendleton warily cradled in her arms. I suppose I’d be pissed all the time if I were forced to wear sparkle booties as he was. What an embarrassment for his race. Still an asshole.
“Good morning, dear. Have you been to see your young man?” My relationship with Noah was well known in our building. As I said; dysfunctional. “There will be wedding bells soon.” Poor sweet Mrs, Pemberton would probably faint if she knew Noah only wanted the D.
I smiled. “It’s our four-year anniversary. Keep your fingers crossed for a proposal tonight.” My face didn’t flicker. I should get an Oscar.
Shower. Coffee. Tom Hardy yoga. Work. And tonight, I’d blow the cobwebs off my vagina and get very, very laid.
TWO
In the survey of life, I’d fall somewhere between ‘average’ and ‘she’s part of the background’ now that’s not putting myself down. I like the background just fine. It lets me see the whole picture. People watching is kinda my thing. And I hate being center stage. Cringe. The thought of it is enough to bring me out in hives.
I’ve lived 25 ¾ years in the background sipping on my lemonade letting everyone else take center stage and that’s where I’m happiest. I’m not a spotlight kinda girl, not even when I’m doing a killer rendition of Dolly Parton at karaoke.
But I was going to stand out tonight, I was determined more than ever.
Get out of my way, Divas, Sena Janelle Black was coming through and I wanted that spotlight to get me a piece of the action.
My mind was on what little thing I’d wear while I worked on breaking through the trojan virus on a Dell bios ... hmm ... something that came off easy, so no jumpsuit. I wanted easy access, not something that would take a man a week to peel off me, hopping on one leg while a man got one side down was not sexy, trust, I knew this as fact.
“How’s it going?” The client hovered for more than an hour while I moved from system to system in the office block, what did he think I was going to do, install more porn on his computers? As it stood I didn’t think there was any more porn left in the world, they were all sitting on his row of computers.
I was an IT specialist with a computer science degree to my name, or as I liked to call myself; Tech doc. I worked mostly freelance, moving from one job to the next, and I loved it, it paid well, and I was never bored but what I hated more than bad vending machine coffee was being micromanaged. Just leave me to do my crap, I knew what I was doing.
Pasting on a smile I looked over my shoulder at the tall, thick-set man who managed the call center for gods knows what, I didn’t take any notice, maybe it was a utility company, maybe he was selling black market puppies, the details of the company name was never important.
I’d been in big, and I’d been in small, it was all down to what they needed from me. Sometimes it was new software installing, that was easy, other times it was to fix internal problems, like today, his entire system had gone down rendering his work force dumb as a rock, they were all currently in their break room waiting on me to wave my magic nerd wand.
“Nearly there. But you might want to put ad-blocks on certain sites, or you’ll keep getting viruses no matter what kind of security you have installed.”
His security was crap, a six-year-old genius could easily hack through it.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. You can do that today?”
Sure, I could. I was Tech doc! I needed a van with that sprayed on the side. Who you gonna call…. Tech doc! I could see the commercials now.
What Jeremy Steinburgh didn’t know was how much his staff were fucking around on company time and money, the number of apps I uninstalled on each computer was stupidly large, he was basically paying them to watch live porn streams and post on social media. They’d be embarrassed if they knew I’d been in all their accounts. Cybersex is alive and well, I can report.
“I’ll be another hour or so.” I told him hoping he’d slip back off to his office.
Only five computers from a sea of IT equipment were spared a virus, unbelievable. A company this size really shouldn’t be cut
ting corners on security. When I’d done what I could for the systems I made my way along to the mainframe office and rebooted from there, putting the malware and firewalls in place.
An hour after that, with a hefty payment paid directly into my bank account plus an on-call fee for any future needs, I left the sixteenth-floor building to grab a coffee on the corner while I planned my getting laid outfit.
Was I really planning a one-night stand that could potentially turn into the love of my life? Sure. While I didn’t hold out hope for the latter, I was a realist, after all, I had cobwebs to clear and an uncomfortable borderline agony crush to clean from my organs once and for all, because if I didn’t I feared my only other option was leaving Noah for good.
Or joining a nunnery.
And I had too many lace panties to give them up for God.
Leaving Noah? My blood ran cold. He was my best ... everything.
No, the only choice was to realize my crush was just that, and as soon as I had a taste of what I was missing it would fizzle out and leave behind just the love I had for a bestie and partner in crime.
Over coffee I made a note on my iPhone diary.
Get laid. Get very, very laid.
And I knew just who to call to help me.
My friend India was a self-confessed slut. She loved sex often and a lot and even though she was between long term boyfriends she was full of sex stories. She reminded me of a younger version of Sam from sex and the city. Indie had her life together, she was a gorgeous career bitch I was a little envious of. She’d grown up in the city, not like me, from a town that was no bigger than a postage stamp where everyone knew everything about everyone, it had been stifling living in Beaufort, South Carolina, so at the earliest possible moment I’d gotten myself onto a bus and then a plane, with my hard-earned savings, which was not a lot and headed for New York, never realizing I’d love it and be there four years later with no plans to ever leave. It was true what they said; once a New Yorker always a New Yorker.
Up against India I was a fish out of southern water and often I rejected her offers to fix me up on blind dates. I know a guy perfect for you, he has the biggest dick/a brand new Lamborghini/a stock portfolio to rival a Kennedy. She’d tell me every other Sunday when we met for a catch up over croissants and a coffee. I’d snort and tell her no way, he could be a serial killer, when in truth my rejection was about Noah.
If the man wasn’t Noah, then I wasn’t interested. Sad, sad, sad.
I was literally putting all my eggs in a gay basket and driving it down a one-way gay street blindfolded.
Sure, I’d had boyfriends and lovers since moving to Manhattan, I was not that proverbial nun I was threatening myself to become, but they’d been fleeting relationships, something to pass the time and almost from the get-go I knew they were going nowhere. I’d wanted more, and even if the men offered me more, showing signs of a real relationship with meeting parents and talking kids it was me who broke it off, because they weren’t who I wanted.
Enough. I couldn’t think like that any longer.
“Ind. You busy tonight?” I asked when my call connected. She worked in advertising and was constantly attached to her phone and social media accounts.
“Hey, my southern sunshine. When am I ever not busy? Do we have plans to get white girl wasted? It’s been four days, I’m ready for a fresh hangover.”
“I want to go out,” I paused. “To meet someone.”
And three… two…. “What? Am I hearing right?” She chuckled excitedly. I smiled taking a sip of coffee. I deserved her gloating, she’d been telling me for months I needed nothing more than a night of hot sex. (she’d said a good hard fuck) “My shy, little wallflower wants to get a doggy-style slam? I’m in, girl. Where shall we meet, at one of your hubby’s clubs?”
My belly lurched. She always called Noah my hubby, little did India realize how much it thrilled and gutted me.
“Yeah, how about Frost at 10pm?”
“Hell yes. My girl’s drought is ending, hallelujah praise the condom makers! Wear something subtly revealing and suggestive that show off your tits. Wait, I’ll email you pictures, don’t even think of wearing a cardigan you, southern bitch. I will burn it off you in a sacrifice to the gods of wine and impurity. You want to be someone’s reason to masturbate tonight, not have them wonder what church you’re collecting for.”
I breathed a laugh, she knew me well. All my defense walls usually locked into place if I were uncomfortable.
“I will be the biggest hoe there, next to you that is.”
We talked for another twenty minutes before she had to go initiate a conference call with Japan. With a promise, I would leave my underwear right there in the drawer tonight.
No panties and I was going to get laid with someone I hoped resembled Chris Hemsworth only his hammer would be bigger, much bigger.
Oh, crap.
I could do this.
~*~*~
On the way home, I messaged Noah. Call it my addiction, I was hooked and needed my little fixes even when I knew it was bad for me. Luckily, he was home, no point eating alone, right?
SouthernBelle: Pancakes? My treat.
It was a legitimate food group no matter the time of day.
KingOfManhattan: Give me thirty minutes to shower.
Exactly thirty-three minutes later I paced inside his penthouse waiting for his highness to be ready. We were only going to grab a pancake, he didn’t have to dress fancy.
“Hurry up, Noah. I’m ravenous.”
No reply.
I pushed open the bathroom door and was hit in the face by masculine scented steam. Whatever shower gel Noah used it smelled like sex and more sex.
I inhaled hard. “Hurry up, pretty boy! I'm starving here.”
A grunt. “Go away, Sena.” Another grunt from the stall with its five waterfall showerheads.
I wrapped knuckles on the door. “Pancakes wait for no metrosexual diva grooming himself.” Wait ... a thought occurred to me, making my belly all slick and warm. I cursed the frosted glass of the shower walls that I could only see the skin outline of him, his back to me, head bent and ... shit.
“Are you wanking?” My voice squeaked.
He was. He was. Oh, god, he was.
“Yes. Fuck. Quit talking British, Sena.” He issued on a rumble and then gritted out. “Go away for a minute.”
I swear the devil placed his sinning hand to the base of my back and pushed making my feet move deeper into the room. I swear it was him and not my own doing. “Do you need a hand?”
Oh, Balls.
What did I just say?
Silence. Like the kind of silence, you get in awkward situations when you accidentally tell your new boyfriend's mom she should be proud her son is a good lover.
Yeah, that really happened to me. So, I know my awkward situations.
Silence.
Silence.
What on earth had I said that for?
Of course, a gay man wanted me to help him jack off.
Epic eye roll.
And then I heard that sexy grunt again with the claws of sound that reached into my belly and stroked me until I was in danger of joining him in moaning.
I made my escape like my ass was on fire.
And I kept going.
Forget pancakes for dinner, I was going to go away and bury myself in shame.
I was in the lobby a few minutes later waiting for a cab when my cell phone chimed. Shit.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Oh, me? I'm here, where are you?”
“Upstairs in my apartment wondering where the fuck you've gone to since you were in such a big rush for your carbs.”
When he joined me, there was no mention of what I’d walked in on. My cheeks were rosy the entire meal. And my hormones barked like a dog. He cupped the back of my head at one point. My insides exploded with feelings. It was a simple gentle, intimate gesture.
One I was re
ading too much into.
It was so unfair how I wanted him, and he preferred his right hand.
THREE
As luck would have it I didn’t need to buy a new dress.
I found the perfect one in the back of my closet still with the tags on.
Recalled buying it months ago from a little boutique in the village I’d never had a place to wear it. Too fancy, too dressy, too all around sexy for me it was an impulse buy I’d regretted and placed it in the back for the right occasion.
Getting laid after months’ worth of drought seemed the perfect time to display that beautiful baby, I thought. Two thin straps held it up over my bare boobs, the blend of whites and reds merged together into the waterfall silk material that was higher in the front than it was in the back, landing somewhere mid-thigh, I was lucky enough that when I didn’t wear a bra my bust didn’t drag on the floor.
My momma told me early on to take care of my boobs, she always gave great advice.
Boobs and homemade jams.
Now if I were the cooking type I would rock the frick out of preserves. As it was I preferred peanut butter and that came from a store as God intended all food stuff. I mean, I can cook, it’s just not up there with my all-time favorite things to do.
“Not bad, Sena. I’d sleep with me.” I told my reflection, turning to the left then the right to get a better look at my bottom.
I’d liberally coated on fake tan two nights ago so now I had the perfect optimum glow all over, the back of my legs looked like I’d been sunning on a beach in Saint-Tropez for a month.
While I busied myself primping and fluffing, I thought back to the last hook-up I had months ago, and I should have known meeting a guy at the market would turn out disastrous, he didn’t have one vegetable in his basket; it was all beer and beef jerky, absolutely no substance to the man.
No good comes from Wholefoods hook-ups.
But he was cute with stubble and a chin dimple and it had been a long bout between kissing anyone and I’d thought what the hell when he’d asked for my number. At the time, I didn’t know it was just a booty call situation, I thought maybe a few dates, see how things went. I really am a relationship kind of a girl, if given the choice between airing out my glands with some fast sex and a year-long relationship with an okay-man I’d go with the relationship.