by LP Lovell
His eyes flick briefly to mine, and that’s when I see it, the indecision. His fingers twitch, reminding me that his hands are still on my waist, reminding me that they shouldn’t be. I try and find the willpower to move away from his hard body at the exact same time that I see the resolve harden in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and then one hand is in my hair as he slams his lips over mine. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. His lips are violent, demanding and teasing at the same time.
I try to remember why this is wrong, but his mouth feels so good on mine. His grip on my hair tightens, and I gasp, allowing him to slide his tongue inside my mouth. My fingers are clinging to handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer? Pushing him away? I don’t even know. His tongue lashes against mine and his teeth nip at my bottom lip.
He releases my hair, and both hands span my waist, lifting me and tossing me roughly on the desk before he steps between my legs, forcing the material of my dress to creep up my thighs. The soft caress of his suit trousers brushes against the inside of my thighs, and it makes me falter for a second, but it’s long enough for doubt to creep in. I tear my lips from his, and press my hand into the centre of his chest, keeping my fingers closed in a tight fist, as though touching him too much is dangerous, and honestly, it is. My head falls forward. I refuse to open my eyes and look at him, because holy shit, I just kissed my fucking boss. His fingers wrap around my wrist, holding my hand to his chest. I can feel his hot breath blowing across my scalp as I try to catch my breath.
“Shit.” I breathe. Shit, shit, shit. This changes everything. Every-fucking-thing. I yank my hand away from his grasp and drag it through my hair. “Fucking shit.” I say with more strength in my voice. I push off the desk and try to move around him, but he moves and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes lock with mine, a frown marring his features as his nostrils flare. I wait for him to say something, but instead he simply releases me, trailing his fingers over my neck as he drops his hand back to his side.
I force myself to turn away and walk out, because whatever just happened is bad, really bad, but it could be worse. I need to walk away while all my clothes are still on.
I meet Quinn at the little hole in the wall bar a few streets over from her offices. It’s quiet at this time, with only the odd customer dotted around the tables.
Quinn already has a Cosmopolitan in front of her. A Martini sits on the table waiting for me. She stands up and steps in close, kissing my cheek quickly. I pull out the chair across from her and take a seat.
“So, emergency meeting? Colour me intrigued.” She says, picking up her glass and bringing it to her lips.
I shake my head and take the olive out of my martini, popping it into my mouth and twirling the cocktail stick between my fingers as I chew. “I did something stupid.” I say.
She cocks one perfect eyebrow. “Landon Banks stupid?”
I groan and drop my head into my hands. “Maybe.”
She grabs my wrist, yanking my hand away from my face. “Are you serious?” Her face is painted with concern.
God, I wish I could say no, that there is no way I would be that stupid, but I came here for advice. “We kissed.” I drop my eyes to the glass in front of me, pick it up, and down half of it in one gulp.
When I look up, her lips are pressed together in a firm line. “You kissed?” I nod. “Landon Banks?” I nod again. “What happened to the pact?”
“I don’t fucking know. We were fine; it was fine. And then I go to his office, and he crept up on me. It was a surprise stealth attack.”
She leans forward, bracing her palms flat against the table top and looking me in the eye. “Okay, but you didn’t fuck him?”
“No.” I flinch away from her gaze, shame crawling over me. She tilts her head to the side, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips. “It got…heated.” Her eyes pop wide. “But I stopped it!” I defend. God, when did I become that bitch?
She picks up her drink and takes a sip. “He looks at you like he’s seen your pussy.”
“Helpful.”
She shrugs. “So, when are you handing in your notice?”
How was I so stupid? If I leave Banks and Redford now, it’ll look shit on my so far glowing CV. Fuck.
“No.” I shake my head. “I think I can fix it, maybe.” I mean, he made a pact with me didn’t he? Granted he broke it, but he must have a certain degree of willingness not to fuck me over in every way.
She sighs. “Well shit, George. You don’t make things easy on yourself.”
“I know.”
She drags a hand through her long dark hair and leans back in her seat. “Look, I know you. It must have taken a lot for you to break rank, so…”
“So what?” I snap, this entire situation making me agitated. I pick up my martini and take another heavy gulp.
“I think you should fuck him.”
I inhale sharply and choke on a lungful of vodka. “What the hell, Quinn?!” I cough violently and smack my hand against my chest.
She holds her hand up. “I’ve seen you together for all of five seconds in your so called ‘professional’ mode, and I needed a fucking cigarette just watching. If you can’t control yourself enough not to kiss him, then it’s only a matter of time before he has you bent over his desk.”
I shake my head. “No, never. There’s a big arse line between kissing him and fucking him.”
“There’s a big arse line between your boss and his tongue!” She says, attempting to keep her voice low.
I groan and swipe my hand over my face. “Okay then, genius, tell me how you would get out of this—preferably without sleeping with him.”
She shrugs. “Fuck him or quit.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “You want me to end up as a bloody cashier on twenty grand a year.” I say, throwing my hands up. “You’re a terrible friend.”
She leans forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Look, I guarantee, one way or the other, you are going to do it. You can let him control the where, when and how, or you can.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You want me to invite him back to my apartment and just go to town on him?”
She laughs. “Maybe, or invite him to Masque?”
I freeze as the thought that shouldn’t even be a thought begins to take hold. I hate the idea of fucking him, of being that person, but when I imagine it, the act, not the reasoning, just the physical act of fucking Landon, I have to clench my thighs together. My stomach tightens and my heart rate speeds as I think about the possibility of having Landon between my legs, driving into me, something that I haven’t allowed myself to think about until now. I swipe my sweaty palms over the skirt of my dress, the skirt that a few hours ago was shoved up around my thighs. Shit. The idea both scares and excites me. I play by a set of rules for a reason, to succeed. I have lived and breathed those rules for years, always striving to be the best, and now…now I’m faced with the forbidden fruit, my boss, my hot boss. My rules were broken the second his lips touched mine, and even in my denial, I know I’m screwed either way.
They say that rules were made to be broken, but what about bent? No one said anything about that.
I have gone backwards and forwards in my mind, rationalising every which way there is. This shouldn’t be something that I have to rationalise. This should be simple, but it’s not because it’s Landon.
The thing is, no matter how accomplished we are, no matter how intelligent, or seemingly rational, beneath it all, we’re just animals. Our decisions are governed by instinct, by primal reactions.
When I’m near Landon, I feel crazy, like my hormones and my brain are fighting it out. My heart beats a little faster; my stomach tightens in anticipation.
Attraction. Animal attraction. A natural lure, a lust so strong it trumps rational. It trumps almost everything. It can make you do things you never thought you would because that kind of all-consuming chemistry is life's natural high, a spike of adrenaline in the mediocrity of life.
I have fucked countless men and met many more, but only one has had the ability to make me want him with this debilitating need. That is why I’m here, because when someone as powerful as Landon Banks walks into your life, it’s not rational. It’s barely human.
So what do I do? I try my best to cage the beast, to control it and manipulate it. Am I likely to get bitten in the process? Of course.
I go to the office early with one task in mind. There are only a couple of people on my floor, and I move between the cubicles that are spread wall to wall, making my way to my office. Eva isn’t in yet, because of course, I’m not even usually in at this time.
I drop my handbag on my desk and pace in front of it, watching the sun creep between the London sky scrapers, reflecting off the glass and painting the sky in hues of orange and peach.
I open my bag and take out my purse, sliding a simple black card out, and glancing over the gold leaf writing. I take a steadying breath. If I do this, there is no going back, my intentions have been made clear.
Fuck it. I’ve always taken anything I’ve wanted, and as much as I try to pretend otherwise, I want Landon Banks. I want to know what it feels like to have him fuck me. I want his tongue, his mouth, his touch, everything. I like to think of myself as an intelligent person, but in this situation, I think I’m barely more evolved than an animal because my hormones are over-riding everything.
I print off the daily report and leave my office. I head for the lift, pressing the button and waiting anxiously for it to arrive. When it does, the doors slide open, and a few suit-clad brokers exit without paying me any attention. I keep my head down as if they’ll know what I’m doing if I make eye contact with them. I get in and go up one floor, to Landon and Angus’ office. The secretary, Susan is here as always, excluding the one time when my boss decided to facially assault me of course.
“They’re not in yet, dear.” She says, looking up from her desk.
“I’ll just leave this for them.” I say, holding the morning print out up to show her before opening the office door.
The sun pours through the glass walls, making the room look like some kind of palace.
I pop the card on his desk and then pause, staring at the innocent little black and gold rectangle for a second. Masque is emblazoned across the front with a small logo of a masquerade mask and a web address, while on the back, embedded into the thick card is the gold lettering with the password: Tiger Shark.
Last chance, all or nothing. I’m in, or I’m out, there’s no in between, no get out clause on this shit. At the moment, I have plausible deniability. I didn’t want him to kiss me. It was a mistake; the list is endless, but the second I leave this card for him, there is no more denying this crazy sexual attraction between us.
I know this is a farce. Why don’t I just fuck him like a normal person? Ask him out, or hell, just fuck him in the office? Because there’s breaking the rules and there’s manipulating them. Blatantly fucking your boss in the office, well, I might as well just apply for that cashier’s job right now. All sorts of people go to Masque. For all I know, Apollo could be a CEO, a client, anyone. That’s the beauty of anonymity. Yes, I’m inviting Landon to a club so I can fuck him, but once there, he could be anyone. I have plausible deniability, even if it is just the excuse I need. After all, while we’re in those walls, we aren’t Landon and Georgia, employer and employee, we are simply two consenting adults. The tiger and her prey. I’ll fuck whatever this is out of my system and then it’s done, and I can go on with my life pretending it never happened.
Okay. Done. I turn and walk out of his office, flashing a smile at Susan as I pass. I press the button for the lift, and wait, inspecting a chip in my nail polish. The doors ping open, and I start to step forward before I lift my eyes and come face to face with Landon. We really need to stop meeting like this. He steps out of the lift, bringing himself far too close to me to be professional.
“Georgia.” He says, his voice low and deep, caressing my name like it’s foreplay. His eyes narrow, flicking over my face as he smooth’s his hand down his royal blue tie and unfastens his jacket.
“Landon.” I reply with false confidence. I edge around him, putting a little more space between us. My heart stutters in my chest, my body reacting to him involuntarily, as though the taste of his lips has opened the floodgates. My stomach flutters nervously, and I want to slap myself for being so fucking pathetic. “I left the latest figures on your desk,” I say quickly before stepping into the lift.
He stands there radiating power and easy sexuality, and I find myself clenching my thighs together in an attempt to relieve the sudden pressure. Damn him and his fuck me eyes. No matter how much I want to fuck him, though, I still hate him because he’s reduced me to this. I allow my eyes to sweep over his body just before the doors glide shut. Damn, he makes that suit look so good. He makes everything look good. I know he wants me. Every time I see him, the promise of filthy things is always thick in the air, and yet, he’s constantly surrounded by this calm, unwavering patience, like he knows I’ll come to him eventually. And I guess I just did, masked and unwilling to acknowledge him.
As soon as I get into my office, I slam the door and press my back against it. Fuck. Fuck! What is wrong with me? He’s probably typing the website address into his computer right now, reading the cryptic invitation that can only be accessed via the website and a password which is unique to each member. One spare pass. Each member gets one extra pass to use in a year, and I just gave mine to him. The invitation outlines a specific date and time along with the address of the club and the dress code.
I bounce back and forth between wanting this and wanting to call it off. We can’t keep going like this, though. The sexual tension is killing me. I have tried, I really have. I’ve ignored him. Remained professional. Even fucked Apollo whilst imagining it’s him I’m ploughing through. My vibrator has had three battery changes in the last two weeks for Christ sake! He’s here for another four weeks. I can’t. I have never given up or admitted defeat in my entire life, but I am officially holding up the white flag.
I’ll meet him at the club just once. Technically he could be anyone as could I. I’ll get him out of my system, maybe we’ll just hate fuck the shit out of each other, and then I’ll be able to survive the remaining four weeks. He’ll leave and all will go back to normal.
The taxi pulls up outside Masque, and I hand the driver some money before sliding out and slamming the door behind me.
I approach the entrance of the London town house and take out my mask, tying it into place and fluffing my hair over the delicate ribbons. My hand pauses, hovering over the huge brass knocker that adorns the glossy black wood door. My heart pounds against my ribs so hard it feels as though it’s going to jump right out of my chest.
I knock and the guy in the suit answers, glancing at the membership card in my outstretched hand and gesturing me inside.
The club has its usual vibe, rock music mixed with surroundings that would make even the wealthiest here green with envy. The bartender smiles at me as I approach the bar and begins making me a martini before I’ve even asked. He doesn’t know me, of course he doesn’t, but I’m the girl in the tiger mask and that’s enough. He slides the drink in front of me, and I remove the little cocktail stick, popping the olive in my mouth. My eyes flick around the room as I perch on the bar stool. It’s almost midnight, and the club is in full swing. I watch as a girl lies on her back on one of the leather chesterfield sofas, gripping the thighs of another girl who is riding her face, her head thrown back and her mouth open in a silent scream as she moves. A couple of guys are watching, one simply appraising them as if they’re a fascinating piece of art, and the other with his cock in his hand. Some might think that this is sleazy, but I think it’s liberating.
My gaze shifts past the girls to the other side of the room where a figure has just walked in, his posture strong and confident. The upper half of his face is covered by a black mask. From what I
can make of his expression, it looks impassive. Landon Banks is his own entity. The second he steps into a room he fills it with an overwhelming energy. The way he moves, simply the way he stands oozes power, a power that cannot possibly be disguised. That mask is doing absolutely nothing to hide his identity.
His eyes lock with mine, and I hold his gaze for a few seconds before turning away and picking up my drink, downing half of it to calm my nerves. I feel when he moves up beside me and slowly turn my gaze towards him.
“Whisky.” He tells the waiting bartender.
The silence hangs in the air between us before he twists his face towards me. “You surprise me.”
I shrug one shoulder. “You underestimate me. It’s not the same.”
He smirks and takes the whisky from the bartender and puts it to his lips, swallowing heavily. I watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the stubble covered skin of his throat and have to force myself to tear my eyes away. I almost jump when I feel his chest brush against my arm. “Georgia.” He says, his voice laced with a threat of…something.
I turn towards him, and our faces are so close that I can feel his whisky tinged breath on my lips. “No names.”
“Is that why you wanted me to come?” He asks, trailing his fingers up my arm. “So you could become a woman with no name?” My breath hitches.
I take a deep breath. “I invited you here because I want to fuck you, and you want to fuck me. Here there are no names, no complications. Just sex. This is a one-time thing, no questions asked. And once we’re done here, nothing changes.” I cock a brow as my eyes flick to his lips, and instinct screams at me to stop, but of course, the rules no longer apply. I broke them the second I placed that card on his desk, and now he’s here. I might as well have already fucked him because the damage is done. My boss knows I want to fuck him. Shit, I invited him to a sex club for fucks sake. And he came. There is no turning back from this now.