by Wright,Lulu
The whole time the little old gentleman compares numbers on his receipt, Miss Brook is poised on her hands and knees, restocking the bottom drawer of the underwear fixture. Her rear end sticks straight up in the air; a perky, slappable ass. As I glance over at her, her hips wiggle, and I can’t help imagining myself positioned right behind her. Wrapping strong fingers around those delicate little hips, and pulling off those tight leggings she’s wearing.
Suddenly, I realize she’s staring over her shoulder at me. A smirk spreads across her face. Shit. She definitely caught me checking her out.
She slowly, deliberately, wriggles her ass again.
That tease is torturing me on purpose.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” I hear myself saying to the old man as I pass him my business card. “You can always contact me if you have another problem.”
As my customer ambles away, I drum my hands on the register and allow myself to indulge in some lusty thoughts. Miss Brook, when she’s not speaking or destroying expensive dress shirts, is a stunning woman. Her big eyes and proud chin give her face a classic shape like one of the Gibson Girls in the store’s murals. She’s curvy, but fit and I want to know if her skin is as soft as it seems. I bet those tits would bounce like crazy if I fucked her.
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. I roll mine back, but it’s too late. She’s turned her attention back to her fixture by getting back on her knees and opening another drawer. I watch as she stacks the underwear boxes by style in several foot-high piles on the floor.
It looks like she’s playing Jenga.
I run my hand through my hair, check my tie and straighten the line of my jacket, then I walk over to her work space and stand over her. I tap my pen on my clipboard to get her attention, but she doesn’t look up or say anything. I am being ignored and that irks me.
I have important items listed on my clipboard that need to be addressed before the end of the day, but it bothers me that she won’t engage me outside of letting her tee shirt slip off her shoulder. I should walk away, but can’t.
I have a sudden urge to play Jenga too.
With the toe of my shoe, I tap at a few of the stacks. “This is a tripping hazard.” Staring down at her, I tap the pile again until it tilts on its side and collapses. She watches with her mouth hanging open. “The Fire Inspector could hold the store in violation of the fire code.” I nudge the next stack with my toe, until it teeters.
God, I love calling her out.
She sits back on her feet and glares at me. If looks could kill, I would be a dead man. Her anger makes me want to smile, but I keep my mouth hard. I see her shirt has slipped down her arm yet again, revealing the top of her bra. “Pick the boxes up, Miss Brook.” I keep my voice low, but deep. “Don’t make a mess on my floor.”
Still glaring at me she bangs one underwear box on top of another until she has two tall piles. She squats and then lifts them up onto the counter. Her stare only breaks when she bends down to put a few boxes in the drawer. I can see all of her bra and the pinkness of her nipples through black lace. My blood has turned hot and suddenly I need to bolt to the stockroom before my zipper bursts.
Once in the privacy of my stockroom, I sit at my desk nursing a painfully rock-hard hard-on. I can’t just whip it out at work, unfortunately. So instead I pull some sales volume printouts off a stack and randomly stare at numbers. SPH. Stock rations. Sell through. Sku trends.
She’s a distraction. She has to go.
LY. TY. OH. OO. Focus on the numbers.
Slowly, the boredom and specificity of the stock details work their magic. My cock begins to deflate.
I hear the electric beeps of the door and I glance up, assuming it’s one of my lazy associates.
It’s not. It’s her. The energy in the stockroom electrifies. It’s stupid, but I suddenly feel more alive than ever. And what I want more than anything is a confrontation with her.
“Who do you think you are?” She’s breathless and her eyes are savage. It’s turning me on again, but I won’t let it.
“I am the department manager,” I reply coolly. “And I’m busy, so kindly see yourself out.” I shift some papers around to look industrious. The numbers on the page, previously so effective, all blur together now. I have no clue what I am looking at because she’s standing close to me. I am aware of her body heat on my arm and the sound of her breath. My heart slams so loud in my chest, I wonder if she can hear it too.
She peeks over my shoulder. “Those numbers are three weeks old.”
I smooth the top page with my hand and clear my throat. “Every number has value. The clearance sell-thru is fascinating. I have always wanted to add a larger sign to the markdown table …”
“Dream big.” She rolls her eyes.
I pick up my pen and circle random figures. “This is very important.”
She says nothing as I circle more numbers and turn over the page to continue my pointless exercise. She is tapping her foot now. Her anger energizes me even more and my blood surges through my veins.
“That was really rude, you know.”
I feel the sting of panic and wonder what she means. Knocking over stacks of underwear? Or is she talking about my throbbing erection on the sales floor? “I’m not sure what you mean.” I shuffle some more papers around and pretend to find a revelation and draw a star next to a clearance number.
“You’re a jerk. I am just trying to make my fixtures look better. You know, so Flash Fit will sell more, like you keep telling me needs to happen. Then you storm in and knock over my stacks.”
I let out a small exhale of relief, but keep my frown on for her sake. “You’re missing the point.” I recap my pen and set it beside my old printout. “Miss Brook, you have to
understand …” I stand up and face her, and for a second I forget what I was about to say. She’s biting her red, pouty mouth. I want to devour that mouth whole.
“Understand what?” she practically spits.
“I can’t have you throwing boxes all over my selling floor as you sort your fixtures. You need to be safer about it. How would you feel if an elderly person slipped on a box or a person in a wheelchair couldn’t get through?”
She presses her lips together, a physical concession to my point. “Fine.” She sighs in defeat, but the fire returns to her eyes in a flash. “It’s just that before I got here, my fixtures were the worst I have ever seen. And every time I leave, it seems like someone is purposefully ignoring them. They’re never maintained or stocked, not like the rest of the store.”
I step closer to her. It’s too close—I can smell her, practically taste her on my tongue— but I don’t retreat. “Your company has contracted with Hamilton to provide service for your brand. Merchandising and restocking is on you and you alone.”
She shifts her body closer to me. We are almost touching. “I am doing everything I can to get my floor in shape.”
“Everything?” I cast my eyes all over her face like I am drinking it in. Because I am. “Well. I suppose that’s your excuse for displaying your buttocks like a baboon and flashing your breasts all over the store.”
She folds her arms across her chest. It enhances her cleavage, and she’s glaring now. “I have done no such thing.”
“Oh, please.” I say. “I’ve seen you out there in action.”
She raises an eyebrow at me, then glances, very pointedly, down at my crotch. Where my telltale boner has begun to tent my work pants. Dammit. “Oh have you, Jack.”
Smart ass. “You are inappropriate,” I lower my voice to a growl. “Completely inappropriate.”
“As you just pointed out, I don’t work for the store. I work for Flash Fit. And that department looks better now than it has in months. If you weren’t so busy checking out my tits and ass, you would see that.”
That stings because it’s true. The department does look great. Almost as good as she does. I shake my head, but my eyes fall to her creamy tits as she tightens her crossed arms. I swear
they’re standing straight at attention right now. She’s trying to control me with her tits, so I look her dead in the eyes. “You will do what I say. You will follow the rules.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will discipline you.”
“You’re going to write me up?” She laughs. “I’m not your employee. You know you can’t.”
I shake my head again. “There are other ways.” A curt email to her boss, for example.
But that’s not where her mind goes. Her eyes drift straight to the returned belts hanging on my wall, waiting for me to sort them by quality and return any that are still usable to the show floor. She raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, spank me?”
“I think you would enjoy that too much, Miss Brook.”
She smirks. “Maybe. But it’s not like I need to worry. You don’t have the guts, Jack.”
That does it. I tug a thick black Levi’s belt off its peg and dangle it in front of her. “What do you think of this one?” Fisting the buckle, I wrap the strap tight around my hand. “It’s got a certain … heft to it, don’t you think?”
She twirls a loose strand of hair with her fingers. She’s blushing and she is avoiding my stare. But she’s also grinning, just a little bit. “You can’t be serious.”
I can’t help but almost grin myself. I want to know how far she’ll take this. Or how far I will. We’re deep in this game of chicken now, and neither of us seem the type to back down. “Well, like you said, you aren’t technically an employee … So what else can a department manager do to keep his naughtiest merchandiser in line?”
She eyes the belt in my hand and then casts those deep brown eyes on me. Her smile turns devilish. “I dare you,” she whispers.
Challenge accepted.
I hold my hand out to my desk. “Bend over, Miss Brook. It’s time to receive your punishment.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, but they are wild. Her mouth hangs open and she licks her red lips. Smiling, she moves to the desk and bends over, presenting her curvy ass to me. I can make out the outline of her thong through her tight, sexy black yoga pants. I would love to yank them off and …
No. That would be going too far.
I am about to back down, apologize for the joke, but then she shakes her ass at me.
“I should’ve guessed. Turns out he’s all talk and no action.”
I tighten my grip on the belt. “Last chance, Miss Brook. Are you going to follow my rules?”
“Nope.” She smirks.
Arousal and anger wage a war in my body. Sweat gathers on my brow and my heart is beating fast. “I am really going to do this, Miss Brook.”
She laughs again. “Sure you are.”
Without another word, I whip the belt around. It lands on her ass with a deafening smack. It wasn’t hard, but it was hard enough. She pops up from my desk and stares at me in shock, massaging the offended ass cheek. “Oh, my god. I can’t believe you did that!”
I can’t believe I did that either.
I can’t believe how hard her nipples are.
Her breath comes in shallow pants. Her stare is like a homing beam drawing me to her red mouth. I lean toward her, and she leans in too. That mouth is mine. I’m going to claim it, run my hands all over those huge tits, pinch those hard little nipples, and—
The electronic beeps at the door ping.
I toss the belt across the stockroom in shock. It slithers off a pile of sweaters, the buckle snagging on yarn. Quick as a snake, I lean against my desk and yank Miss Brook next to me to get her to stop rubbing her ass. I place my clipboard over my hard cock just in time to disguise it as the door swings open.
“Crystal!”
I sound fake. I never say her name with joy and Crystal knows this.
She raises an eyebrow at us. “Am I interrupting, Jack?”
Miss Brook says no at the same time I say yes.
“We were just discussing sales figures from three weeks ago.” Miss Brook hops away from my desk. Her face is flushed, her eyes dazed. She looks like she just got fucked. “I’m Lily, the new Flash Fit rep.” She offers her hand and I pray that only I notice it’s trembling.
Crystal elbows Miss Brook’s hovering hand away as she walks toward me. She plops next to me on my desk. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Crystal. Jack’s girlfriend.” She combs my hair with her fingers, her fingers scratching my scalp. It’s a display of ownership. This is her way of peeing a circle around me and I hate it.
Miss Brook glares at me, but only for a split second before she recovers. “Nice to meet you, Crystal. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the floor.” She storms out of the stockroom and slams the door behind her a little harder than strictly necessary.
Crystal opens her mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when I turn my glare on her. “Get out, Crystal.”
“But I …”
“Out.”
She wears the same cold, furious expression as Lily Brook when she storms out of my office. This time, she slams the door with such force that the Levi’s belt is knocked free from the sweater. The buckle hits the floor with a clang.
3
Lily
I can’t believe what just happened.
I am a tingly, panting mess of emotional roulette. I am aroused. I am frustrated. I am shocked. I am pissed. I am embarrassed. I am more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. I am everything all at once and it’s overwhelming.
I jog across the men’s floor to the safety of my fixtures. I can’t control myself and I can’t control Jack, but I can control my manties. I pull out a drawer and just flip around underwear boxes I have already organized. This is a waste of time, but I need to focus on something to calm down.
Bad choice.
The half-naked men on my boxes aren’t helping my heartbeat slow down. Now I am just picturing Jack in our underwear and I want his package to be packaged in Flash Fit. I stare at the box of briefs in my hand. Yeah, he could fill that out well, if the size of his bulge in the office earlier was anything to judge by.
Shit.
I slam the drawer shut and pull open the drawer that holds boxed Henley tops. Better. Much better. These guys are clothed, covered neck to wrist like Mormons. Good project to pick because customers have pulled the goods out of the boxes and stuffed them back in with abandon. I can get lost in refolding them for hours. I grab a folding cart from the register and roll it over. The first box I attack looks pregnant from the balled up Henley that has been shoved into it. I remove it from the box and smooth it out on the cart. Folding it onto itself like origami, the act relaxes me.
Wipes my mind clean. Calms me.
My ass still stings a little. It’s not painful, just a reminder. I’m dying to know if he left a mark on me, and it shocks me how much I actually hope he did. I want his marks all over my body. His hands all over my ass, my tits …
No. He has a girlfriend.
Besides, nothing happened. It was a joke we took too far. That’s all.
I pull another crinkled shirt out of a box and smooth it out on the folding cart.
My entire body feels like it’s on fire. I swear to god, every time I shift my legs, I can feel my pussy rub against my pants like it weighs a hundred pounds. Can girls get blue balls? If so, I imagine it would feel something like this. I’m so bad that I’m almost tempted to hump the cart.
Jack didn’t even touch me and I’m a hot mess. Connor couldn’t get that kind of response even if he were touching my entire body with 50 vibrators.
God, I hate Jack. And I hate myself for wanting him.
He’s so gorgeous. Sexy. Tall. And he smells amazing. And he has the balls to spank my ass, even if I’m pretty sure he’d get in huge trouble for it.
I also wish he would spank me again. Harder. Longer.
I want to play with him. I want to explore his body and commit every muscle, every inch of flesh to memory. I want him to kiss me. I want to devour his mouth. His cock, too.
But, ugh, I
wish I could give him a personality transplant first.
Alas, even as my hands work the henleys, which should distract me, my mind drifts back to the stockroom. In my imagination, my ass receives more playful belt whacks, but this time I am naked. I delight in the sweet stings until I hear the belt drop to the floor. I imagine Jack grabbing my waist with one hand, my shoulder with the other. I imagine him thrusting deep inside me. My entire being hums with vibration. “Fuck me back,” he commands as he kneads my breasts in just the right way.
“Shut up,” I say, but I do exactly that and rotate against him. He grinds harder and harder and with each pound I melt and pulse and …
“You are such a good stock girl.” Crystal’s bright pink lips are pressed into a smile, her words bringing me back to earth. She’s arching a penciled-in eyebrow and her blue shadowed eyes are trained on me with the precision of a sniper. She drifts toward me in a cloud of perfume and bitchiness and my fantasy evaporates into this dank reality.
I tuck a refolded henley in a box. “Actually, I’m a merchandiser.”
She takes a compact out of her bag and checks her face in its mirror. “Stock girl, merchandiser. Same thing, isn’t it?”
Ugh. Those are fightin’ words. But I will not engage her. I will rise above. Jack and his obnoxious girlfriend are meant for each other, personality-wise. I take a henley out of a box and flap it over the cart. She lingers for a few moments, then snaps her compact shut and slinks off in silence.
I don’t need the headache of a confidence challenged cosmetic chick right now. Though I can’t help but wonder, was she listening outside the stockroom door? Did Jack say something to her about what happened between us?
What did happen between us?
I can’t do this right now. I have too many henleys to refold.
“Hey, girl.” It’s Ricky, my best gay. With all the day’s drama and epic refolding session, I forgot we made a lunch date. He works in sales on the 5th floor, and he’s ecstatic to have me working in the same place as him, if only temporarily.
Ricky is much more than your standard foppish sales boy.
Well, he is that, but he’s also the Lord God of designer evening wear. Every socialite in the city has his contact info in their phone and the buying office doesn’t make a move without consulting Ricky first.