by Noelle Adams
“Thank God,” he growls, reaching down to snag the handle of my bag so he can hand it to me.
I dig into my bag quickly, unzipping an inner pocket so I can get my hands on a condom packet. I keep a couple with me all the time, although I’ve never used them for spontaneous sex. Not once. The only times I’ve had sex in the past were in the context of a relationship, and usually then they were always planned for the end of a date.
But I’m glad for whatever random forethought prompted me to be prepared for sexual emergencies. I hand him the packet, drop my bag back to the floor, and wait as he rips open the packet and rolls on the condom.
After that, nothing gets in our way. He gives me a brief, hard kiss and then murmurs thickly, “You sure about this, Polly?”
“Yes. I’m sure. More than sure.” I run my fingernails down his bare back in my eagerness. “Please.”
“You really want this?”
“Yes, I want it!” I’m getting impatient. Frustrated. My body is grinding against his, trying to feel him where I need to feel him. “Please. Just fuck me, Liam. Fuck me now!”
My raised voice must have gotten through to him because he repositions his weight onto his knees, pulls my legs apart, and raises my hips off the bed.
I gasp as he pulls my body toward his. He’s sitting on his knees and lining his erection up at my entrance. “We’re gonna do it like this?” I sound kind of silly, but it feels like my heart is pounding in my arousal.
“Yes.” He’s eyeing the place where he’s about to enter me, but his gaze shoots up to my face. “If that’s all right with you.”
I reach out to clutch at the sheet beneath me. “Oh yeah. It’s good. I just thought you’d go for missionary.”
He frowns and pauses. “You think I’m that predictable.”
“No. Well, I don’t know. Nothing wrong with missionary.”
“I know that. If you’d rather—”
“I wouldn’t rather! I want you to fuck me exactly like this. So please do so. Now.”
He huffs in what’s clearly amusement and begins a slow, skillful thrust. I’m hot and wet and ready for him, but the penetration still feels tight. I arch up and fist my fingers in the sheet.
“Okay, honey?” he asks breathlessly.
“Yeah. Oh yeah. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop until he’s inside me all the way. He’s holding my body in position. I can see the muscles in his arms clenching as he shifts slightly. My legs are dangling rather awkwardly. I feel helpless. At his mercy.
And so incredibly excited.
He’s gazing down at me in a hot daze, like he can barely process what he’s getting to do, like nothing in the world looks as good to him as I do.
It’s almost more than I can handle. The physical sensations and the way he’s looking at me like that. I whimper and try to roll my hips.
“Shh.” He’s closed his eyes. He’s so tense he’s almost shaking from it.
“Shh? Did you just shush me?” I’m not nearly as offended as I should be. The way he did it was actually kind of hot.
“No.” He opens his eyes with another dry huff. “Sorry. Wasn’t shushing you.”
“It sounded like a shush.”
“I was trying to focus.”
“Focus on what?”
“Focus on not losing it and completely embarrassing myself. Sorry.” He gives me an almost sheepish smile. “You can say or do anything you want.”
I giggle, and it shakes my body in a way that makes me gasp. “You think I need your permission?”
“Shit, I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”
“Not really.”
His expression changes. “You want me to pull out?”
“No! Don’t you dare. I’m mostly just joking. But no more shushes. Okay?”
“Deal.” He eases his hips back and makes a slow thrust, and it sends tingles of pleasure rippling through me.
I fumble against the sheet and toss my head back and forth. Then I do it again when he makes another thrust.
“Were you really about to lose it?” I ask in the space between thrusts.
“Yeah. Shit yeah.” His face twists slightly as his eyes move hungrily between my lips and the place where he’s moving in and out of me. “Been a long time for me.”
“Really? How long?” Maybe it’s a strange conversation to be having midsex, but it’s distracting me just enough from the pleasure so I don’t come in about two seconds flat.
The speed of his thrusts is accelerating. His hips are moving fast, hard, primal. My body is jiggling in response to his motion, and everything about it feels good, pushes me toward climax. “Long,” he grunts. “Way too long.”
I can see that’s all the answer he’s going to give me right now, and I don’t have the focus to push for more. I’m grabbing at the sheets to hold on as he fucks me so vigorously that the bed shakes, making a shameless squeaking sound.
I’m making a lot of embarrassing sounds too. Gasps and mews and loud, helpless bursts of noise when the pleasure builds sharply. Liam is grunting like an animal, his expression getting tighter and tighter and his eyes getting hotter and hotter.
“Oh fuck, Polly,” he rasps. “You better come soon.”
“I am. I am! Hold on.”
“I will. Oh fuck.” He jerks his head to the side, briefly pausing his motion.
“No, no. Don’t stop!” I moan in relief when he thrusts hard and fast again. “Liam. Liam.” My whole body arches up as the pleasure starts to crest.
“Yes. Yes, come.”
“Liam!” I’m right on the cusp. Almost there.
“Come now. Come now.”
The rough authority—with just a tinge of desperation—in his voice really does it for me. I sob out as the tension inside me breaks with deep waves of pleasure. I come hard and uninhibitedly, shaking through the spasms and yanking so hard on the sheet that it comes right up off the bed.
Then Liam is coming too with a long, low moan of pure satisfaction. I find the focus to open my eyes and watch him as his expression transforms with his release and his body jerks and shudders through his climax.
We freeze for just a minute at the end of it, both of us trapped in the undertow of the pleasure. Then he groans loudly and lowers my hips back to the bed. I stretch and gasp for breath and try to pull him down on top of me.
He won’t come. He leans down to give me a quick kiss, and then he gets up to take care of the condom.
That’s fine. That’s normal. Condoms are messy and kind of gross. No reason not to want to get rid of it quickly. But he’s gone for a while. I hear the toilet flush. The water in the sink. Then nothing for a minute or two.
“Liam?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything okay?”
I’m starting to get worried. Something feels weird.
Liam must have heard the slight break in my voice because he comes out immediately, reaching down to grab his underwear and pull them on before he gets back on the bed with me.
I’m pulling the sheet over my naked body, but he yanks it down before I can.
“Hey!” I frown at his pushy move.
“I’m not done looking at you.” He’s smiling. He looks relaxed and pleased with the world. Whatever was going on in the bathroom couldn’t have been too bad.
“Well, the least you could do is ask.”
He rolls his eyes and asks with exaggerated grudgingness, “May I please look at your body some more.”
I giggle helplessly. “Yes. I guess. If you must.”
“I must.” He gazes down at me, moving his eyes from my flushed face to my soft, bare breasts to my not-quite-flat belly to my groin to my legs. “Now can I kiss you some more?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my amusement fading into renewed excitement.
He kisses my lips gently. Then he starts to kiss his way down my neck until he’s teasing and suckling my breasts. I haven’t been expecting this. Foreplay after the main act is over. My bod
y responds quickly, and soon I’m moaning and squirming beneath him.
He takes his time, kissing and caressing me until I’m frantic. Then his face finally moves down past my belly and nuzzles between my legs.
“Oh God!” I’m clutching at his hair. His beard is tickling the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Oh God, what’s happening here?”
“I think you probably know.” He sounds thick. Amused. Like he’s really enjoying what he’s doing.
I feel his tongue on my clit and cry out. Of course I know what he’s doing, but I’d thought the sex was already over.
But it’s not.
He makes me come with his mouth. Then he fucks me with his fingers until I come again. By then, he’s aroused again, so he has me turn over on my hands and knees. Then he leans over and murmurs in my ear. “You better hold on to the headboard. You’re going to need extra support for this.”
I do need the extra support. He takes me from behind until I’m sobbing with the pleasure of it. I never knew I was capable of feeling this way. So completely out of control. Releasing all my normal reserve and composure in a flood of pure sensation.
After this round, Liam is as wiped out as I am, so we finally fall asleep naked and tangled together.
I’m sore. And completely sated. I sleep for hours without moving or waking.
I needed this. Not just my body but my heart. My soul. It’s like there has been something missing there I never realized before.
And now it’s not empty anymore.
Five
I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning when an alarm goes off.
It doesn’t sound like the alarm on my phone. I have no idea what it is. I’m so deeply asleep that I can barely pry my eyes open. I moan and stretch under the covers, surprised when my hand lands on something warm and firm and under the covers with me.
Liam.
My eyes pop open in a rush.
He’s reaching over toward the nightstand to turn the alarm off on his phone. Then he falls back onto the bed with a long exhale.
“Oh God,” I mumble. “Is it already time to get up?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. Then he hauls himself up to a sitting position with a muffled groan. “Shit.”
“I’m not sure I can move.” I’m sore all over—particularly between my legs. He definitely didn’t take it easy on me last night.
“Me either.” His hair and beard are rumpled. He rubs his face with both hands. “Shit.”
I don’t like the sound of that second “shit.” It sends a warning trigger shooting through me. I sit up too, my face twisting from the discomfort. I pull a sheet up to cover my bare breasts. “Last night was...”
“Yeah.” He looks over at me, and I see the torn expression in his eyes.
He did have a good night. Just like I did. I know he did.
But he’s questioning it this morning. He’s starting to regret it.
My chest aches with the realization. “It was amazing.” I’m pleased that I’m managing to keep my voice from wobbling. “Are you feeling weird about it?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a quick look. “Aren’t you?”
“No. Not really. I guess it’s kind of awkward though. With my job.”
“It’s more than awkward. What the hell was I thinking? You work for me. I can’t have sex with you. I can’t. I knew it. I knew it, and I did it anyway. Shit, shit, shit.” He’s staring down at the rumpled covers on the bed.
“Okay. Yeah. It’s... messy. But it’s not the end of the world, is it? Both of us wanted it. You didn’t pressure me or manipulate me or do anything wrong. I promise I wanted it.”
He searches my face almost urgently before he looks away again. “I still shouldn’t have done it.”
I’m silent for a minute. I have no idea what to say. What to do. He’s obviously serious about this. He thinks he did something wrong. And it apparently doesn’t matter how good we were together. Nothing matters but the fact that I work for him.
I’m certainly not going to beg him to have sex with me again. Yes, it feels like we might have potential, but if he doesn’t feel the same way, then I’ll have to live with it.
There’s a heavy pit in my gut as I say lightly, “Okay. I’d offer to quit to make it easier, but I really need this job.”
“Of course you shouldn’t have to quit. I’m not going to make you suffer for my mistake. But I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” He groans and rubs his face again. “I really blew it.”
“Okay.” I take a quick ragged breath. “Okay. I don’t want to quit, but we obviously can’t make this any messier than it is right now. Why don’t we say that nothing more can happen between us while I’m in this position? Would that help? Would that work?”
I hate the sound of it, but it’s better than any other options I can think of. I peer at him anxiously.
He gives a slow nod. “Would you be comfortable with that?”
“Of course I would. I’m an adult. I made a decision too. I can live with the consequences. I’d just rather keep the job if I can.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll go back to a working relationship and try to pretend this never happened. We’ll see if that works.”
I don’t actually want to pretend it never happened. To me, it was mind-blowing, and there’s no way I can ever forget.
But we’ve got to somehow get through this, and right now this is the best option for doing so.
“Okay. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Let’s not stress about it too much. It was great sex, but we’re adults. I’m sure we can manage to get through this.”
I have absolutely no way of believing the words I’m saying, but at least I sound convincing.
Maybe we can manage.
And maybe after I’m no longer working for him, he’ll want to have sex with me again.
THE HARDEST THING IS riding back to Milford with him that afternoon.
Despite our long night and emotionally messy morning, Liam does a great job at the meeting. The content of the presentations and discussion isn’t all that interesting to me, but I like to watch him in action. He’s really smart and articulate. Really quick at thinking through problems and responding to challenges. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and I like to see him so intelligent and skillful.
I’m feeling okay about things as we finish up at lunchtime and check out. Not great but like I can make it through this with my heart and my composure intact.
But Liam doesn’t talk at all on the ride home, and it’s terrible.
It would be better if he tried to work the whole time like he did on the way there. That might be frustrating and headachy, but at least it would feel normal and natural. This doesn’t feel natural at all. It feels wrong. Liam sits as cold and silent as a marble statue, staring only out at the road in front of him as he drives.
I hate it, and I hate it even more as the minutes turn to hours and nothing changes.
“I could really use a bathroom stop,” I say after an hour and a half. I don’t really need to pee that badly. I might even be able to hold it. But I can’t stand the tense silence anymore, and this is the only thing I can think of to say.
He still doesn’t respond in words. He just gives a terse nod and takes the next exit without even turning his head in my direction.
I roll my eyes and bite back my annoyed comment.
He waits in the car as I run into a gas station to pee and buy a bottle of sweet tea. He doesn’t say anything as I slip back into the passenger seat and buckle up.
When he doesn’t immediately put the car into reverse, I look over. “I’m ready.”
His eyes move to my face for the first time in what feels like forever. For just a moment I catch a glimpse of something in his gaze. Something torn. Emotional. But it’s gone before I can process or identify it.
He’s backing out of his parking place and pulling back onto the interstate.
After another half hour of silence, I’ve had enough. I burst out without warning—ei
ther to him or to myself—“So are you never going to talk to me again?”
He blinks and turns to look at me. “What?”
I hear what I just said and realize how stupid it sounds. How immature. How much it reveals about how invested I am in what was probably just a one-night thing. “Nothing,” I mumble.
“You think I don’t want to talk to you?” His tone is gravelly. Slightly confused.
“Well, you haven’t. Not the whole drive. And I know things got messy last night, but ignoring me isn’t going to make it better.”
“I’m not ignoring you.” The words come out as almost a groan. His face twists, and he rubs his beard, distracted. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”
“Well, we can talk about it more if you want. Or we can talk about other things.”
“I’m no good at multitasking. I can’t talk about other things when my mind is full of...”
I can’t let him trail off like that. Not when I desperately want to hear how he’ll finish the sentence. “Full of what?”
He sighs. “Of how guilty I feel.”
This isn’t what I expected, and it isn’t what I want to hear. I push back the disappointment—since it’s a sign of how silly I am—and ask, “Guilty? You feel guilty? Why?”
“Why do you think? You work for me. That means you’re completely off-limits. What I did was wrong.”
“I don’t think it was—”
“It was wrong.” The words are curt. Brooking no argument.
I jerk back slightly at what feels like a blow.
He shoots me a few little looks, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Finally he mumbles, “I didn’t mean that as a... It was good. Really good. Better than good.” He clears his throat and glances away. “But I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Okay. I get it.” I feel like crying, but I don’t. My voice breaks only once as I continue, “I think it’s maybe more complicated than that. The reason this kind of thing is morally gray is because the lines can be so fuzzy about consent. If someone is in authority over another person, it’s hard to know whether that other person really wants to—”