Vanguard Security

by S. J. Bishop

  I was burning from the inside. I wanted all of him. “Please, Burke,” I was begging, “please…”

  “Please what?” he murmured hotly against my ear.

  “Please, fuck me,” I gasped. I wanted him. I wanted all of him.

  “Oh, Yvette…” he murmured.

  I gasped, but there was no time to think, no time to back away for he was probing my entrance, stretching me impossibly. I whimpered at the uncomfortable fullness, but my body had a mind of its own, arching into him and he sank, inch by slow inch into me. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned into his pillow, his hands came up to grab mine, holding them near my head. He put his weight on them, trapping me, and then he began to move.

  He was so big, so incredibly big, that he hit every single nerve cell I had. One deep stroke, then another, and then another. I was crying beneath him, arching my hips so that every single stroke brought him deeper and brought me higher.

  He picked up speed, bearing down on me, seeming to sense my need. His hands left mine, and he reached down and grabbed my hips, surging against me, bringing me to meet him thrust for thrust.

  I shattered. My climax came on me so fast that I screamed with the power of the release. Above me, he slammed in deep and held me still. A slow shudder came over him as he spurted hotly inside me. He ground against me tighter, sending me into another sharp orgasm.

  “God. Oh my God,” he gasped into my ear. “Fuck.” He rolled over, pulling out of me, and pulled me with him, trapping me against his chest.

  “Fuck, baby. You’re so hot,” he said.

  I was still throbbing, still burning. And as I came back to myself, the room was spinning violently. “I’m going to be sick,” I said, and he let me go, his arm flopping heavily to the side. He murmured something, concerned, but if they were words, I couldn’t discern them. I rushed to his bathroom, just in time to puke my guts out.

  When I stumbled back to bed, Burke was dead asleep.

  I awoke the next morning with a vicious headache and no clear idea where I was. The wall I was staring at had an unfamiliar, abstract painting in blues and reds. Ugh. My mouth was sticky, my stomach was sour, and my head was throbbing in time with my heart. I was hungover. I sat up, trying to remember where I was and trying to figure out how I’d gotten here.

  Oh God.

  Beside me, Burke Tyler lay half-under, half-on-top-of the white duvet cover. The night came back to me in a graphic rush that made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I’d only ever blacked out a few times, and unfortunately, this wasn’t one of them. I remembered the whole thing. God, we’d kissed in front of half of his team, and everybody had seen us leave together.

  I looked down. The t-shirt that I was wearing was huge, and I had a vague recollection of finding it inside one of his drawers. Oh God. This was terrible. This was terrible.

  I had to get dressed and, of course, the only clothing I had was the teal dress I’d come up in the night before. Walk of shame. I was going to have to do a walk of shame.

  It took me a while, but I found my bra and underwear and slid back into my dress. I wanted to borrow one of Burke’s sweatshirts, but they’d have come down to my knees. In the end, I took his ruined blue silk shirt and tied it around myself, rolling up the sleeves… Oh, who was I kidding?

  I found my purse and checked to make sure I had my wallet and my phone. I didn’t want to be the worst asshole in the world, so I found a piece of paper and a pen and left him a note.

  Burke, I wrote, Sorry to leave before you were awake. Had a lot of work to do. I signed it S and beat a hasty retreat.

  I’d never been so grateful for Yvette’s crazy family. Her mother had appeared the night before in New York (Maman lived in the South of France, usually) and demanded Yvette show up and attend a gala with her. Yvette wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, which meant I had all day to nurse my hangover and regret every single decision I’d ever made in my life.

  Once back at my apartment, I’d slept until noon, and when I’d woken up, I was feeling even more miserable than when I’d gone to sleep. I knew that Burke and Yvette weren’t officially together. But that didn’t make me feel any better. He’d even called me Yvette.

  I tried to distract myself by working on my blog. I had at least two hundred new pictures from Italy to edit and a few new articles to write, and since I was effectively getting a day off, I should write them. Anything to take my mind off what a terrible person I was.

  Roz came in around noon but, mercifully, didn’t knock on my door. When my phone buzzed, I was afraid to look down, yet desperate to know if it was Burke. It wasn’t. It was Andrew. I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves, and picked up the phone.

  “Hey, lovely,” he said.

  “Hey.” I tried to sound cheery, but in obsessing over Burke, I’d forgotten about Andrew. “Are you back from Croatia?”

  “Got back a week ago and had to transition into a new project at work. But the good news is that the project is here in Boston for the next six months. Care to get dinner tonight? I’ll tell you all about my trip…”

  “I’m a bit busy tonight,” I lied. I wasn’t busy, but one heartache was all I could take in a day. And Andrew wasn’t an idiot. He’d be able to tell that I was upset, and he’d ask me about it, and what would I tell him...

  “How about tomorrow, then? I’d really like to see you.” Andrew’s voice was a warm and familiar anchor against the raging storm of my emotions.

  “Sure,” I said. “Tomorrow. Just text me.”

  “I can’t wait.” And Andrew hung up the phone.

  The phone rang again. I picked it up without looking, figuring that Andrew was calling me back. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sarah?” The voice was deep and rumbling. Burke. Warmth bloomed in the pit of my stomach, and my mind raced back to the night before - to one of the most mind blowing orgasm of my life.

  “Hi, Burke.”

  “Listen,” said Burke, sounding hesitant. “If this isn’t you, I feel like a total ass…”

  “If what isn’t me?” I asked.

  “Last night. I remember you were at The Sky Bar. I had a ton to drink, and the last thing I remember, really, was walking over to where you and Mclaughlin were chatting. You were there, right?”

  “Yah.”

  “So, this morning, it was clear that someone had stayed over last night, and someone named S left me a note. I…” he stopped. “Fuck. I haven’t blacked out in years. Did you stay over last night?”

  “Yah,” I said. The word hurt coming out, my throat was so tight.

  “Shit. Sarah, I’m sorry.” In his defense, he sounded really apologetic. “Did we… did we do anything…”

  “No.” The lie came to me quickly. It was simple. I regretted doing it, and he didn’t remember, so why not make it like it never happened? “No. You thought Mclaughlin might take advantage, so you stepped in. We went back to your place and passed out.”

  His sigh of relief cut me to the quick. “I’m sorry, Sarah, if I said anything or did anything...”

  “No,” I said. I could feel the tears streaming down my face. “No, you were great last night. You were really nice. I’m sorry I had to cut out early. I grabbed your shirt, too. I’ll make sure it gets back to you.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” I tried to make myself sound bright, but my heart was breaking in my chest. I hung up the phone.

  Well, I told myself, it could have been worse. At least I’d still have my job with Yvette. At least Burke doesn’t remember any of it and doesn’t have to regret it.

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  Copyright © 2017 S.J. Bishop, All rights reserved.

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