by Ami Snow
“Have a good night, Mr. Sharpe,” I said, and I turned to walk back to my house, not waiting for him to comment on my use of his last name.
The next week he scheduled two meetings, one after work on Wednesday, and one on Saturday afternoon. There was a big client being courted by the firm, I knew that—my boss had been on pins and needles all week, and uncharacteristically terse with me. By Friday afternoon, I was more than ready to leave the office. My Wednesday meeting with Ethan had been brief, less than an hour, but he’d explained the client and the process behind beginning conversation with a new client, and how they would move forward to secure the account.
I’d given up dressing excessively conservatively. I still made sure to look professional, but the turtleneck—which I hated wearing and had considered giving up many times—went back into the drawer. I wore dark jeans and a soft cranberry sweater to our Saturday meeting, with knee-high riding boots and my ruby earrings, my hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. I was used to the look of appreciation in his eyes whenever he saw me by now, and I merely pulled up my chair, accepted the cup of coffee that was waiting for me, and dove right into the conversation.
I’d noticed that Ethan talked to me more like a colleague than an intern. I’d never had a mentor before, so I didn’t really know how the conversation would go, but it seemed that he asked me for my opinions as often as he told me how things ought to go. He discussed the client with me at some length, explaining how Monday’s meeting would be the clincher, and showed me a copy of the contract.
Before we knew it, it was getting dark outside. Ethan slid the contract into his folder and looked at the window, at the lights turning on along the street. “Well, Elizabeth, I’m hungry. What do you think about grabbing something to eat?”
“I should probably be getting back,” I said.
“Is it your night to make dinner?” His tone was teasing.
I shook my head. “No, the girls will probably be going out tonight. I’ll just have leftovers probably.”
“Elizabeth, come get dinner with me. Strictly professional, I swear.” He held up a hand jokingly, and I sighed. My stomach was growling, and I couldn’t think of a really good reason to say no…aside from the fact that I didn’t want to urge anymore familiarity between us. But I knew he would say it was just a dinner between colleagues. Maybe it was, I tried to convince myself. We could go have dinner, as coworkers.
The CEO of the company and an intern, I thought. Yeah right. Coworkers.
I said yes anyway, though, and he looked positively delighted. It was hard to turn down a man who seemed to enjoy my company so much. I followed him out to the curb where his car was waiting, and the minute the door closed, all I could think about was the last time I had ridden in this car with him.
I kept my hands folded firmly in my lap—no chance of making contact with him this time. He sat stiffly on his side, and I wondered if the same thoughts were running through his head.
He’d pulled me into his lap, his hands firmly on my ass, his tongue pressing between my lips and sliding into my mouth. I’d arched my back, my hips rocking down into him, and I’d felt how hard he was, hard as stone between my thighs. If I’d been wearing a skirt I’d have fucked him right then, three inches away from the driver, and not cared one bit that we could be heard…maybe even seen.
I bit my lip, turning my head to look out the window. This had been a mistake. I should go home. I should ask him to have the car turn around and drop me off at my house. But that would mean losing face—admitting that I couldn’t control my desire for him. That I couldn’t maintain the professionalism I’d been demanding. So I sat silently all the way to the restaurant, pretending as if the tension wasn’t slowly building a thick wall between us in the car.
He had the driver stop at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from my house. I knew the name immediately, my boss had asked me to make a reservation for her and her husband there a few nights before. It was insanely expensive, and I felt grateful yet again for the credit card that my mother had given to me.
***
Chapter 3
Ethan
The tension in the car on the ride to the restaurant was intense. I kept glancing at Elizabeth on the way over, hoping she would look at me. But she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the window, as if the passing streetlights and pedestrians of D.C. were the most interesting things she’d ever seen.
Can she really resent me taking her to dinner that much? If only she’d picked any other company in D.C. to intern with. That was the only problem here. Not our ages, not our backgrounds, not our interests. She was smart and witty and funny and beautiful, and I enjoyed her company. I could tell that she enjoyed mine. We could have been any couple in the city out on a Saturday night, if only she didn’t work for me.
We walked into the restaurant and the hostess, recognizing me, took us to a table near the back of the restaurant immediately. I saw the expression on Elizabeth’s face, and I knew she was impressed. A table at this restaurant without a reservation was an impossibility for anyone else.
“Do you mind if I choose the wine?” I asked, smirking slightly, as soon as we were seated. “Or is that too high-handed of me?”
She shrugged. “By all means, choose away. I’m sure you’ve been to Italy, you must know the best.”
“I have, as a matter of fact.” I didn’t bother looking at the wine list, only waved over the sommelier, who appeared at our table in a flash. “Mr. Sharpe,” he said, inclining his head.
“Will you be having a bottle of your usual?” the sommelier asked, and I shook my head, naming a bottle that had the sommelier raising an eyebrow. “Excellent choice, sir!” he said.
Elizabeth had an expression on her face that I couldn’t quite read, although I suspected it had something to do with the price of the wine I had just ordered. Clearly she didn’t come from money, and it made me respect her position on our relationship a little bit more. She’d had to work for the success she’d had so far. It would explain why she was so concerned about anyone thinking that her future success might ride on an affair with me.
I watched her take a sip of the wine. “Good?” I asked.
She looked at me. “I think you know the answer to that.”
I laughed. “I’ve always had an interest in wine. I’ve got a fantastic cellar in my summer home.”
She glared at me over the rim of her glass. “Now you’re just bragging.”
“Maybe a little.”
The waiter came to our table and I ordered bruschetta, and she ordered a small plate of the calamari to start. “Good choice,” I said, and she gave me a look that clearly said that she didn’t need my approval for her appetizer choices. It made me like her more—her stubborn need for independence was actually quite endearing.
I could tell the wine was going to her head—she was getting quite giggly. She laughed at all of my jokes, even the ones that I knew weren’t all that funny. It would have been easy to forget that this wasn’t a date. If it had been a date, I would have leaned across and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the wine on her lips. But I couldn’t do that.
The waiter came to clear our plates. “Charged to the company account, sir?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Her eyes widened, and I knew she was about to protest. “I can pay for my own dinner,” she insisted.
“This is a business dinner, remember?” I enjoyed being able to push her own argument back onto her. “Our company has an account here for dinners and client meetings.” I smiled. “This was a business dinner, right?”
I could tell she was seething.
We didn’t say a word to each other as the car pulled away from the curb and began the slow drive back to her house. I could feel the tension, still there, shimmering between us. I glanced over at her a few times, but she was staring fixedly out of the window again, ignoring my presence. I sighed in frustration, but if she heard it, she said nothing.
The car pulled up
parallel to her house, and she grabbed the handle, not waiting for the driver to come around and let me out. I opened my door as well, hurrying around the car, not sure why I was doing this and knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself. “Elizabeth,” I said, and stopped, unsure how to continue.
“We’ve had too much wine,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I should go inside.”
I didn’t move, but neither did she. I could think of nothing more than how much I wanted to kiss her, and I stepped towards her, drawn as if by a magnet. I touched her upper arms, and she leaned towards me. It was all the encouragement I needed, and I bent, pressing my mouth to hers.
The air was freezing and her lips were hot, burning against mine. Her body radiated warmth as I pulled her into me, and she gasped, her body melting against mine. I wanted her, ached for her. My hands gripped her arms, her head tilting back as my tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned softly, and it was all I could do not to beg her to let me come upstairs.
It took every ounce of resolve I had to pull away, and step back. The wind whipped down the sidewalk suddenly, and I felt the cold in my bones, freezing me as I separated myself from Elizabeth’s warmth.
“Let me come up, Elizabeth,” I said, his voice low and desperate. “I need...I want you.”
She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “Ethan, we can’t do this. We have to be professional, remember? I can’t risk my job.”
“I would never let anything bad happen to you, Elizabeth. Hell, I can give you a job.”
She bit her lip. “That’s exactly the point, Ethan. I need to earn that job. Not have it because I’m sleeping with the boss.” She shook her head and turned away. “Good night, Ethan.”
I waited for her to stop, to turn back, to say that she’d changed her mind. She didn’t. She walked up the stairs, firm in her resolve, and not until the door had shut behind her did I go back to the car and lean back into the seat, aching with frustration.
***
Elizabeth
The next evening, Caroline and Billie had gone out again, despite it being a Sunday night. I couldn’t understand where their energy came from. I would have been dead at work if I stayed out as late as they often did on Sunday nights. About seven in the evening, I bundled up in my coat and scarf to walk down to the liquor store down the street for a bottle of wine. I was sure it wouldn’t compare to what I’d had at the restaurant the night before, but maybe some cheap red wine would help plant my feet firmly back on the floor where they needed to be.
I wandered through the aisles for a few minutes before settling on a $10 bottle I’d had before—nothing fancy, but tasty enough. To my surprise, as I approached the checkout counter, I saw Brian standing there. Without thinking, I blurted out: “Hi!”
He turned, startled. He looked more handsome than I remembered. He’d trimmed his beard, so it was shorter, and he was wearing dark jeans and a plaid flannel button-down with a heavy leather aviator jacket over it. “Hi,” he said, and I could tell he was struggling for my name.
“Elizabeth,” I said, laughing. “The bar that night? You were there with Eddie and Tom.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t remember your name.”
I shrugged, setting my wine down on the counter. “It’s okay. I kind of ditched you guys that night. I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
He laughed. “No worries. Was it worth it?”
The carpet rough on my knees as I sank down on them in front of Ethan, taking him into my mouth, hearing him groan with pleasure above me.
His teeth in my shoulder as he came, the hot water pounding down on my back, my whole body convulsing as I came too…
I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t.”
I paid for my wine and stepped back while he swiped his card for his six-pack of beer. I’m not sure why I didn’t just head outside and back to my house. We hadn’t been having much of a conversation. But we stepped outside together, and he seemed to be walking in the same direction I was. We chatted amicably the four blocks that it took us to get to my house, and we stopped in front of the steps.
“Well, this is me,” I said. “It was nice to see you.”
To my utter shock and amazement, Brian took a step forward, put his hand on my waist, and kissed me.
It was nothing like Ethan’s kiss. Every time Ethan had kissed me, it had felt desperate and passionate, as if it might be the only time we kissed. Brian’s lips were soft and unassuming, gentle against mine. I found myself responding, leaning into the kiss. My lips stayed closed, and he didn’t press the point. I could feel the hunger beneath the kiss though, the sense of restraint that he had. I found myself wondering what it would be like if he let it go.
He pulled away after a moment. “I wanted to do that the first night I met you,” he confessed.
I had a sudden thought. Maybe it wasn’t wine that I needed to get my feet back on solid ground. Maybe it was something else altogether.
“Do you want to come upstairs?” I asked.
He looked surprised, but he wasn’t about to turn down the invitation. He nodded.
I smiled and fished in my pocket for my key, walking up the stairs. I set my bottle of wine on the counter in the kitchen, and Brian set down his six-pack. He followed me into the bedroom without a word, and I shut the door firmly behind us.
He might not be as wildly passionate as Ethan, but I could tell he wanted me. His hands were firm on my waist as he pulled me towards him, and he kissed me again, more eagerly this time. I leaned into him, feeling my skin heat as his hands slid up my sides, his fingers curving around my back. I gasped softly as his fingers skirted up the back of my neck, sliding into my hair, and his tongue slipped into my mouth.
He was a good kisser, gentle and slow. The kisses built in intensity, until suddenly I was pressed up against him, and I could feel him hard against my thigh as his mouth moved against mine, his breath coming faster. We stumbled backwards into my bed, tumbling onto the mattress as my fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them as he slid my sweater over my head. He was undoing my bra as I slipped his shirt off of his shoulders, my hands gripping his arms.
He was different from Ethan in every way. Ethan was lean, elegant and refined, every bit the polished gentleman. Brian was earthier, somehow, grittier. His arms bulged with muscle, his shoulders broad and thick. There was a smattering of hair across his chest, dark and curly, and I tangled my fingers through it. He breathed in sharply, his mouth coming away from mine for a moment. “That feels good,” he muttered, and his voice was deeper than it had been before.
I moved back on the mattress then, and he kneeled above me, reaching for the fly of his jeans. I reached for my own, pushing down the zipper and wiggling out of them as he tossed his aside, along with his boxers. He was naked, his broad, muscular chest narrowing down to tapered hips and strong thighs, and between them, his thick cock jutting out proudly. I reached for it without thinking, my fingers curling around the shaft, and his eyes fluttered closed as I stroked my hand over him, my thumb skimming over the tip.
I rose up then, my hands on his chest, pushing him down onto his back on the mattress. I kissed him, kneeling between his legs, feeling the tip of his cock brush my stomach as I kissed his neck, my tongue flicking out over his collarbone, my lips brushing over the thicket of hair on his chest, tracing the trail of it on his abdomen. He was panting already, his eyes closed as my lips swept over the ridge of one hipbone, and then I grasped him firmly in my hand and slid my mouth over the tip of his cock.
His hips arched up, and my mouth slid down. He moaned as I went all the way down his cock, my tongue running down the underside of it and then I came back up. I liked the feel of him in my mouth, and I wondered why I had always disliked it before. Maybe it was because all the other men I had slept with had almost demanded I do it. I liked the power of choosing to do it, of watching the man I was in bed with shudder as I treated him to the pleasure
of it.
I slid my hand between his legs, ran my fingers over his balls as I bobbed my head up and down slowly, exploring the texture and taste of him. I went on like this for a few moments, and then I moved up, straddling him, balancing just over him. I could feel him brushing between my legs, and I ached to slide down and envelop him, but I was enjoying the sense of power.
“Don’t you want me to…?” Brian started to say, but I shook my head.
I didn’t. As much as I was trying to forget about Ethan, I didn’t want Brian to go down on me. The memory of Ethan’s mouth between my thighs, his hands pinning me down as he made me writhe and moan on the carpet was too strong. I couldn’t bring myself to replace it.
So instead I sank down on Brian, inch by inch, sighing with pleasure as I felt him slide into me. I rocked my hips gently, rolling my pelvis against his, feeling my clit grind against the bone. The sensation was exquisite, and I gasped, leaning forward, my breasts brushing against his chest.
His hands came up, molding my breasts, his fingers sliding over the nipples and squeezing them, and my breath came faster. He leaned up, his lips on mine, and I plunged my tongue into his mouth, my hips grinding into him faster now. I could feel my orgasm coming, and I arched my back, pressing my breasts into his hands. His hips were arching up, rolling with mine, and suddenly I felt it hit me and I ground down onto him hard, my hands clutching his shoulders as I came, my body quivering and shaking with the force of it, my hips bucking against him.
The moment he felt it recede, he leaned up, turning me onto my back in one effortless motion and pinning me on the mattress, my legs splayed apart for him as he plunged into me. His mouth was on mine, his hands locked with my hands, and I met each of his thrusts as he picked up speed, harder and harder. My legs wrapped around his waist, and one of his hands slid down to my hip. I grabbed his ass, fingers sinking into the flexing muscle, pulling him more deeply into me. I was going to come again, I could feel it, and I tried to hold off, tried to wait for him.