No Excuses

by Nikky Kaye

  “There. Susan should notice that now. It’s the best I can do without a self-inking stamp.”

  “I’ll get a tattoo.” I was only half-joking. Her hair brushed against my lips as she continued to nip along my jawline.

  She rose up to kiss me. Her sigh was heavier than her weight on my chest. “Do you know how wrong I feel at times? You sign my paychecks and I’m practically dripping on your balls right now.”

  Her little contortions pushed me to the edge, then she until I was ready to bruise the shit out of my wrists in order to wrench my hands free and hold her hips until we both came screaming. Every part of my body was numb but for where her skin met mine. Pinpricks of sensation ran from her lips through my veins, engorging me with need.

  “You’re my boss,” she whispered against my mouth. My lips felt dry, and I knew that if I licked them I’d taste her.

  “I’m not your boss anymore, Maddie,” I said hoarsely.

  “Oh Gage. You don’t get it.” Her voice cracked. “Whether I’m in the office or not, you own me.”

  Suddenly I understood exactly why she’d quit, and exactly why it didn’t matter. She thought I owned her? It was more like the other way around. I belonged to her, and all I was getting was a month-by-month lease in return.

  “Madeline, let me see you. Please, baby.”

  She hesitated, her soft body quivering on top of mine. Then she moved back a little and before I knew it, she had her hand around my weeping dick and pulled the crotch of her panties aside to plunge down on me.

  “Ungh!”

  I almost bit my tongue as I felt the elastic band of her underwear tighten around the base of my cock. I was completely encased in her, trapped beneath her, struggling to control my reactions.

  “How does it feel?” She began undulating on me, her hands splayed over my chest. My neck ached as I thrashed my head from side to side. “How does it feel to know that someone else is holding your heart in their hand? That they could just squeeze—” Her walls clamped down on me, making me gasp.

  “Madeline, take off this motherfucking blindfold. Now.”

  Her knees squeezed my hips as she rose up. I felt the fumbling of her fingers at my temples, and I blinked black spots from my vision as she pushed the tie up and over my forehead. It took a few seconds for me to focus on her—the reddish curls hanging over one shoulder, almost touching one distended rosy nipple, her glowing cheeks and hooded eyes. She looked wanton and afraid all at the same time.

  And goddammit I wished I could touch her. My hips jerked up, trying to bring her back to me, but she hovered above me, just out of reach. I felt like my heart was about to burst out of my chest.

  “Maddie, please. I need you. All of you.”

  With a fierce expression, she drove down on me. The tightness of her entrance combined with the intensity of my emotions was too much for me to bear, and I spluttered helplessly into her. As I rode out the shock of my orgasm, she slid over me to chase her own.

  When her motions became choppy and she ground to a halt, her mouth opened and closed in silent words that I couldn’t make out. And I was too afraid of spooking her to say anything myself. My eyes closed as she stretched out over me, her hands clinging to my wrists as they dangled from the headboard.

  Neither of us could speak, but I sure as fuck had something to say. This was why I really needed a Communications assistant.

  But at least, I’d said “please.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MADDIE

  “Did you bring a purse? I might need to throw up into it.”

  I looked down at my handbag, then said to Bobbie, “I don’t think we’re good enough friends for that yet.”

  “Screw that,” she replied with a hiccup and a fist to her chest. “You’re the closest thing my brother has ever come to a committed relationship.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? I asked her as much.

  “I mean that it takes a strong woman to date Keyser Söze.” Bobbie eyed my handbag with a grim kind of covetousness. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re almost engaged.”

  “Don’t say that in front of him!” I whipped my head around reflexively, like he could actually hear us as we sat in a coffee shop a mile away from the office.

  “Why not? When he does something, he goes all in. You should know that by now.”

  I did, and it still scared the crap out of me. Every time we made love, it was like learning how to ride a unicycle—wobbly and unforgettable. I had to keep pedaling to retain my balance, but I kept thinking the ground was going to come up to meet my face.

  He was strict and passionate and strong and playful, and I was just trying to keep up. By some kind of tacit understanding we’d dialed back the intensity since the night I’d tied him up.

  However, I was still recuperating from the game of strip Mario Kart that we’d played the on the weekend.

  “You look, uh, good,” I said.

  She grimaced before taking a sip of something steaming from a cup that definitely wasn’t coffee. “Nice way to change the subject. I look fat.”

  “No you don’t!” She really didn’t. She glowed. Okay, she glowed like radioactive green slime, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  Bobbie methodically raised and lowered her teabag in her cup, like she was fishing for a cure to her morning sickness. “No, you’re right. I don’t look fat. I just feel fat.”

  “You’re only, what…?”

  “Four months. Rumor has it that the puking will stop soon. I’ve actually lost five pounds.” She rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, I am living on this ginger mint tea crap. I miss coffee. I miss sushi. I miss beer.” Her eyes shone with longing.

  “You’ll have it again someday, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. But I never understood some of those ‘rules.’” She made air quotes. “Don’t pregnant women in Japan eat sushi? Don’t French women eat gooey cheese? Bah!”

  “Probably. How are you feeling about things in general?”

  “Well, I’m still on leave from the lodge. Vacation but with no pay. I haven’t been there long enough, but they’re being really understanding.” She sat back, sighing. “I’m living with Aaron and we’re trying not to kill each other. And I spend a lot of time with my head in the toilet—which, if that idiot doesn’t start aiming his dick at a little better, I will drown him in.”

  My mouth fell open a little.

  Bobbie leaned forward again and wrapped her hands around her mug. “And now it’s almost Christmas and I’m still trying to decide if having this baby is a good idea.”

  “Um…”

  “I mean, of course I'm having it. But I’m still not sure if I should keep it.”

  Wow. I pretended to look for something in my little handbag, busying myself so I didn’t have to look at her. I found a tissue and some lip balm, but no helpful platitudes. What did one say to something like that?

  “Uh, have you talked to Aaron about it?”

  Bobbie looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. “No. I’m too embarrassed. What if he’s just staying with me because I’m pregnant? What if he thinks I’m an unfit mother and wants to take it away from me? What if I lose my job again?”

  What if you’re an insecure whackadoo with a fuck-hot big brother?

  I shook my head. I was being incredibly unfair and judgmental. Maybe I was letting Gage’s worries get to me. Then again, he had years of knowledge and experience with her. I had a grand total of six coffee dates to define our relationship.

  “I was adopted, you know.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened, and I felt like I was under a microscope.

  “It doesn’t leave a mark, Bobbie.”

  She flushed and looked down. “Sorry.”

  Actually, it had left a mark—inside. “That’s okay. It kind of sucked, to be honest. But I was in the system for a long time. It’s not like I was a cute little baby who went to my forever home from the hospital. My biological father died, and when
my mother, uh, went to prison for dealing I went into foster care. I guess there wasn’t anybody else to take me.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” That was a succinct way to sum it up. “It wasn’t so bad. I stayed under the radar, and most people just did their best. But the kicker is that my birth mother decided to give up her parental rights while she was in.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “How old were you?”

  It was my turn to stare into my latte, uncomfortable with the pity in her eyes. “Uh, I was four when she went in, and I guess about seven when she gave me up.”

  “So how did you get adopted?”

  “One of the families I ended up with asked me to stay.” I shook my head at the memory. “They must have been desperate for a moody teenager to hang out with,” I joked.

  “How old were you then?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you hate your mother?” Bobbie’s forehead creased in worry.

  I’d thought about it a lot, but that didn’t stop me from pausing before answering. The sounds of the coffee shop rose and fell around us, the whine of steam building and beans grinding like white noise muffling my inner thoughts.

  “No,” I said slowly. “I don’t hate her. I don’t understand why. But I don’t have any kids, and she went through a lot of shit that I can’t imagine. I’m not sure I should judge her.” Even I knew it sounded like bullshit.

  Bobbie sipped her tea thoughtfully. “But you still do,” she finally said.

  I slumped a little. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m sure she had her reasons, for doing what she did, though.”

  “But were they reasons or excuses?”

  “Now you’re sounding like your brother.” And she was right; I was making excuses for her.

  Bobbie stared out the window at the busy street. Her hands tightened around her mug. “I don’t want my kid to wonder why I didn’t want them.”

  I felt a telltale prickle in my nose. Sometimes I hated that I was still sensitive about this. My mom—my gotcha mom—was great. They loved me. But sometimes I wondered if they would have loved me more if I’d found them sooner, when I was younger or cuter. It was ridiculous; I knew that.

  “What would you say to her if you saw her again?” Bobbie asked me. The question threw me for a loop. For all that I’d been sort of looking for her, it hadn’t really occurred to me what I would do or say if I found her.

  “Hmmm.” How honest should I be? The forced nonchalance in my shrug felt heavy on my shoulders. “Why didn’t you want me?” What did I do wrong?

  Bobbie sipped her tea silently, watching me, but I didn’t add anything. Finally, she told me off. “You know that’s bullshit, right?”

  Another heavy shrug.

  “It sounds like the woman who gave birth to you had issues. I doubt they were your fault, any more than my mom’s problems are my fault.” Self-conscious worry still clouded her expression, though.

  “I know.”

  She leveled a disbelieving look at me. “I’m sure you do. But you shouldn’t let your own insecurity ruin your chance for happiness, especially when you didn’t have any control over it in the first place.”

  Then, as if she just heard herself speak, she sat back and smiled at me. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t return it.

  “Hi.”

  Gage looked up at me, surprise relaxing the groove etched between his eyebrows. Despite having two—no wait, three—laptops open on his desk, he focused completely on me. The warmth in his gaze made my heart jump, then dive into my stomach.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to get something back.”

  His hand went protectively to the bottom drawer in his desk. Despite the tension vibrating in me, a tight smile escaped me.

  He looked so serious guarding my panties. I was pretty sure he’d collected a small stash at his house, too, in the previous few weeks. Soon I would have to repatriate them, or else lose a Saturday afternoon to a lingerie shopping expedition. It might just be easier to just go commando all the time but, well, ew. I didn’t understand how women did that.

  “C’mere.”

  I tossed my purse on the couch and walked slowly to him, keeping my coat on. When I rounded his desk, I let him pull me into his lap. A shiver raced up my spine as he pressed his lips to my neck.

  “You’re freezing!”

  “My jacket is cold; I’m not. It’s below freezing out there, Gage.”

  He peered out the window. This close to the winter solstice, the sky darkened before quitting time at the office. Not that time ever really mattered to Brian Gage. He didn’t quit anything. It was one of the things that weighed on my shoulders on the walk to his office after seeing Bobbie.

  The dozen blocks or so between the coffeehouse and his office turned into two dozen as I circled aimlessly, lost in contemplation. It was Thursday afternoon, and with only a couple of weeks until Christmas, people were crowding the sidewalks even at three in the afternoon. I’d almost forgotten about it until Bobbie mentioned it. Unable to decide on anything to give the few people in my life, I usually did all my shopping online at the last minute and paid through the nose for wrapping and rush delivery.

  For an hour, I’d sidled through the crowds of shoppers in a daze, trying to come up with a way forward where I could have it all. I couldn’t think of one. But it wasn’t until my nose turned numb that I gathered my courage.

  I slid off his knee, avoiding his questioning look. He let out a quiet sigh and reached out to shut two of the laptops. Leaning against his desk, I faced him and the twilight encroaching through the massive window behind him.

  “What did you come for?” he asked.

  “I want to ask you for my job back—sir,” I added.

  His eyes lit up at first, then dimmed as he saw that I didn’t share his excitement about coming back to work for Apptitude.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, tilting back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his flat belly. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

  That he was too handsome for his own good, and too determined for mine.

  “I can’t find a job,” I began then paused. “No, wait, that’s not quite right. I can find a job, but nothing that makes me feel like I can really do something.”

  “I know. We talked about this. But Maddie, if you want—”

  My hand went up. This was hard enough without his interruptions. “I never thought I’d say this, about anything. It didn’t matter to me before. But I regret quitting.”

  Again, satisfaction transformed his face. Oh Gage, I’m so sorry. He’d probably thought he’d finally got me to realize the importance of commitment, and he had. That was the problem.

  “If you want to come back, then you know where your desk is. I, uh, never really emptied it.”

  Oh boy. He wasn’t going to take this very well at all.

  “Thanks,” I said dully. “The thing is, if I come back, then I don’t think—well, I think we should take a break.”

  “I don’t get it. The office will be closed for Christmas in about a week. You want to go on vacation or something?” His bewilderment almost derailed me.

  “No.” It was time to rip the bandage off my bleeding heart. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. On a personal level,” I added, just in case he really didn’t get it.

  “What? Madeline—”

  He reached out for me, but I skidded across the edge of his desk to the other side. If he touched me, I might not be able to do this. As it was, the prospect of working on the other side of his office door without sharing lunches or inappropriate groping made me want to cry.

  “You said it yourself—I’m not great with commitment. I can’t even brush my teeth every night before bed consistently. But this job, this talent you think I have… it means something to me.”

  “And I don’t?” He was hurt. Of course, he was hurt. My hea
rt squeezed.

  “You do. But I’ve spent my whole life flying by the seat of my pants. I owe it to myself to make something work.”

  “And that something is this job. Not me.”

  I turned to the couch, unable to face his disappointment. My arms wrapped around my waist in my wool coat, the buttons in front bunching up under my breasts. Now that I was out of the winter wind, I felt hot and stuffy, almost suffocating inside.

  “I’m not saying we can’t be friends, or be, uh, close,” I tried. “But it’s important to me to try to commit to this job.” Beyond my own feeling of accomplishment, I needed the financial security.

  “And you can’t commit to me as well? You can’t do both?”

  I flinched at the growing disdain in his voice behind me.

  “I don’t know.”

  There was the crux of my problem. I’ve never committed to anything before, much less two things at once. Could I be happy with doing a good job but not doing him? Or was the job just an excuse to be around him? If I believed what he said about my skills, and I began to believe in myself, then continuing to date him could cloud my judgment.

  Then ultimately, would he want to be with me because of the job I did for him, because I was convenient, or for me? Or did he only want to give me my job back because of the relationship we’d begun? I was so confused, and I needed to break free a little in order to sort it out in my own head.

  I had always told myself that I wouldn’t be like my birth mother, and lose myself over a man who might disappear anyhow. My logical brain told me that at this point in my life it was more important to learn how to commit myself to a career instead of a man. My heart wanted to tell my brain to go fuck itself.

  “Madeline, please don’t do this. You can excel at both; I know you can.”

  I stared at the couch. Either way I looked at it, I was losing something. I just didn’t want to lose myself. For the first time in my life, I wanted to try having a goal.

  “But I don’t want to ‘excel’ at being your girlfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  My hands twisted together, as though I could wring some kind of clarity out of them. “I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well—”