by Rana Raynes
I also can't help agonizing over reasons why she would want to return to him. Like soft, manicured hands, clean, uninjured. Gentle hands. You don't need them much in a high-paid office job.
I wonder what an attorney at a large law firm might make in a year. It's certainly nice for a woman to have that kind of security: a man with a stable income who doesn't get drawn into armed conflicts, who doesn't ride bikes risking life and limb every day. Someone who can pay the mortgage for a nice house and be a respectable father to your children, pay their tuition for some fancy private school. It may not have been peachy between the two of them but compared to the rocky start we had, their prospects might still look great.
Everything's just a matter of perspective.
I'm somewhat reassured when I hear them raising their voices, not quite loud enough for me to be able to make out words over the music but loud enough for me, and everyone else, to realize there's an argument going on. I look questioningly at Amber.
I must be as transparent as glass to her.
“Don't worry, Kat can handle herself,” she says. “She's perfectly able to do this without your help.”
Naturally that's exactly what I've been thinking about: if I could help her somehow. If I should help her. I don't like it that she's got to fight this battle alone. Not being at her side feels like neglecting a duty. But then, rationally, I also understand why she needs to do it by herself, so I just sit there and do nothing.
Despite our best intentions at one point curiosity gets the better of us though and we all turn around to look at the drama unfolding at the table. Kat is trying to stay calm but you can see how angry she is. There's this gleam in her eyes and the stiffness in her shoulders. I wish she'd let her self-control slip for a moment, just to see that idiot's reaction. Maybe he'd have more respect for her if she gave him her brutally honest opinion for once. I've seen guys like him before, their egos are so fragile, they crumble under the slightest bit of pressure. But Kat is sticking to the moral high ground, it's clear she doesn't want to give in to the urge to shout at him.
I keep watching her and eventually our eyes meet, only for a second or so. Long enough to feel the connection, the magnetic pull.
Hang in there, baby, I think. You can do this.
Perhaps it's magical thinking to believe she got the message, but she relaxes a little. A few more sentences, curt, clipped, matter-of-fact, and the conversation is over. Mike jumps to his feet, I can only see his back but he appears furious. I'm tense now, on the leap, in case he gets physical and I have to get between them, but all he does is turn around and stare daggers at me. For a second I'm convinced he's going to come over to have a word, or even to try to punch me, and god, I wish he did, but then he just leaves, storms out of the door and is gone.
I'm incredibly relieved, as if a nightmare has lifted.
I haven't lost her.
She hasn't left with him. She's still here.
This means I'm going to get her back, I know it, deep down in my gut I'm a hundred percent sure. All I have to do is be patient a tiny bit longer. Even though I may not have lost, so far I haven't won either, so I pull myself together not to walk over and hug her and kiss her. Instead I content myself with watching her, how she sits there in her chair. All aggression seems to have gone out of her, all tension vanished. She looks exhausted.
When she finally gets up her movements are slow, deliberate. For a moment I'm afraid she'll leave after all, and perhaps she does consider it for a moment because she seems to hesitate, but then decides against it and comes over.
My heart beat picks up pace when she slips between Leon and me to lean over the bar.
“So how did it go?” Amber asks.
“Could have been better, I suppose, but well enough.” Kat slides her empty glass across into Amber's direction who grabs it automatically. “I could use something a bit stronger now.”
“Coming right up.”
When Amber goes to fetch the liquor Kat turns towards me. A warm feeling spreads in my stomach as she looks up at me. God, she's so fucking cute, I want to hug her and kiss her and never let go.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she says. “They were lovely.”
“I'm glad you liked them.” I can feel an awkward pause coming on, so I add: “I wasn't sure you would. I was afraid I was crossing a line. It was Leon who convinced me it was okay to send them.”
Her hand on the top of the bar twitches into my direction as if she wants to reach out and touch my arm but she doesn't. There is still this invisible barrier between us, a break-up distance. It hurts to be so close to her and yet so far away.
“I'm sorry, you know...” she begins. “I was overreacting. It was all a little too much to handle, so I thought– no I didn't think. I didn't want to think. I felt I had to shut everything down, kill the noise in my head.”
“No, I am sorry, I should have realized what you were going through, what your misgivings were about me, about us... I don't even know where to start with all the things I could have done better to be honest.” I laugh, embarrassed. “You know, I could have taken a page out of Leon's book, and anticipate some of the problems. Like you thinking I'd kill someone out of jealousy.”
“You are pretty badass.” She winks but we both know it's only half a joke. I still choose to play along.
“I take that as a compliment?”
She grins. “Don't get cheeky.” She punches me gently, playfully, and I'm about give in to my urge to pull her into my arms when Amber interrupts with the drinks. She poured everyone of us a shot of tequila, so we can drink a toast to the happy occasion.
“Congrats to getting rid of that asshole once and for all,” she says. It's not mincing words but Kat doesn't seem to mind. She smiles and raises her glass.
“Cheers,” she says and we all drink to that, the end of the past and the beginning of a happier future.
We have several more and the mood is getting relaxed, cheerful, finally exuberant. The liquor is time travel fuel, a fast forward, away from the doubts and the heartache. It's like catching a glimpse of a life where we already know each other intimately. Where we trust each other. I want that. I hope Kat wants it too. She must feel the same irresistible pull, the distance between us is getting closer and closer, mentally but also physically.
Theoretically there's enough room at the bar, it isn't crowed, there's no need to be so close but we are, close enough to touch, her arm against my arm, her leg against my leg. But we simply can't resist the attraction. If you ask me this is a much nicer way of clearing the air – being pressed together, whispering apologies into each other's ear.
“Amber said you were concerned about my... uhm... transaction with Danny,” she says, several tequilas down the road. “I only wanted a bit of weed to relax after work, I don't think you gotta be worried. I'm not planning to develop a habit.”
Another attempt at a joke that scratches at our fragile peace treaty. I rub my hand over my face. “It's not like you plan these things, they just happen.”
Kat immediately picks up on my discomfort. “I meant, I'm old enough not to be easily influenced,” she explains. “I worked in bars for years, do you think this was first contact with illegal substances? I'm a big girl, I can handle myself.”
“No but... you know.” I just can't help the feeling. The guilt is eating me up. I couldn't stand history repeating itself and Kat can see it, judging from her expression. She puts her hand on my forearm.
“I get it, Jay, I really do. You blame yourself for what happened with Crystal. But it wasn't your fault. People make their own choices. Just try not to worry, okay?”
She reaches out and touches my cheek, so so gently, and if we needed a last hint that we're way beyond the lines of mere friendliness, that gesture certainly leaves no doubts anymore.
“Maybe we shouldn't do this,” I say just before we kiss.
“Maybe,” she says and gets on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine and my brain just shuts off.<
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In search of some privacy, kissing each other with increasing passion and impatience, we somehow end up in Linda's little back office, tugging at each other's clothes. There's no doubt about where we headed and I don't want her to stop but I don't want her to regret this either.
“I'm still not sure we should do this,” I say again when she pulls my shirt over my head.
“I know.” Her hands glide over my chest, down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. “But I am sure.” She pauses, her fingers only inches from where my erection is straining against the denim, and looks up at me. “Is that enough for you?”
“I suppose so,” I frown a little as if I have to actually think about it. “Yes, yes, I think I can live with that.”
“Oh you,” she says and tugs playfully at my belt. “Are you really ready to trust my judgement.”
“One hundred percent, ma'am.”
“Oh, so formal.” She pulls on my pants with more purpose now.
Obediently I follow the movement and take another half-step towards her. I lean down a little, lowering my voice to a whisper: “Do you like it when I'm formal?”
“Very,” she admits.
Interesting. But hey, why not? Playing around is fun. I can be all she wants me to be. I raise my hand to cup her jaw. “Would you allow me to kiss you then, ma'am?”
She giggles a little but her voice sounds rough when she says: ““Sure. Go ahead” and I don't miss the small excited exhale when I brush my lips against hers. I'm keenly aware of the self-restraint this game demands of me. I want to shove her up against the wall, trap her with my body against the stone and kiss her hungrily while I rip the clothes off her. I want to have her, take her, fuck her, rough and fast and passionate. But I agreed to a different set of rules. There will be enough time for that later, now I've committed myself to worshipping her, reverently, so that is what I do.
Almost chastely my lips glide over her neck until they're stopped by the fabric of her shirt. I tug at it so she takes it off, and her bra too, while she's at it. The garments land in a heap on the floor and I move her gently backwards until I have her leaning against the wall. I brace myself, palm flat against the rough brick, to go lower, kiss her collarbone, her breasts, her nipples. She inhales sharply when I nip at one of those rosy little buds, suck it into my mouth, coax it to full hardness with my tongue. I could do this for hours, play with her until we're both mindless but Kat isn't that patient either. Her hands come up to touch my head, tentative at first, then she combs her finger into my hair, pulls a little. I break away from her.
“What is it?” I'm inclined to ask but one look at her is enough. Her pupils are wide with arousal, her teeth dug deep into her bottom lip. “More?” I say instead, and she nods.
I drop to my knees before her. Reverently I touch her ankles, the curve of her calves. I let my hands slide up her legs, beneath her skirt. I lift it up so I can kiss the insides of her thighs, place open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. Soon she's growing restless, her fingers tighten in my hair.
“May I?” I whisper in accordance with the rules, my breath hot against her crotch.
Her yes is hardly more than a gasp. I lean forward and press my lips against her panties, tear at them with my teeth, press my tongue against the fabric, teasing her until she finally tells me to get the damn thing off her already, and of course I gladly oblige.
I can't help noticing the difference to previous times we had sex. There's is a new bond of trust between us. She is letting her guard down, opens up to me. We had a lot of fun before but now the meaning has changed, it's not just fucking, it's expressing our need for each other. I eat her out like a starving man because I'm actually starving for her – I want to devour her, swallow her whole, make her mine.
I write this truth with my tongue on her clit, spell it out, lick by lick, and she's so, so close when her grip in my hair tells me to stop.
“Not like this,” she says, pushing me away.
“How then?” My voice is coarse with want. I get to my feet, lean in to kiss her and she kisses me back, sucks her own taste off my tongue. She hooks her fingers into my belt loops to pull me flush against her. My erection is squeezed between our bodies and I groan involuntary. The pressure is so good, so perfect.
“I want you inside me,” she whispers.
My dick gives an excited little twitch and I can sense how arousal is beginning to cloud my ability to think. I kiss her again and somehow we make it over to the desk. I shove the paperwork aside without a second thought. She sits on the edge and wraps her legs around me, fumbling with my belt buckle. Finally my cock springs free and she closes her finger around it.
Oh fuck.
It feels so fucking good.
She strokes me while I fumble a condom from my pocket, tear open the wrapper. She lets me roll it onto myself and then-
Chapter 18
Kat
He looks at me as with this softness in his eyes that fills me with a different kind of longing than just physical desire, it's a spiritual yearning that pulls me towards him. The need to feel him, to be closer, completely connected, grows stronger with every passing second. I want us to be one. My hands glide over his arms upwards to his shoulders to the back of his neck. The skin is warm under my fingertips, soft over the hard muscles beneath.
He stands between my spread legs but the angle is not right yet. I lean back a little and he follows, and then the head of his cock is brushing against me, smooth and blunt. Not quite where I want it yet. I wiggle beneath him, and Jay ducks his head and quickly touches his mouth to mine. I realize he's still waiting for my okay, so I let my hands travel down his back to his butt – god that firm, pretty ass – to pull him closer.
“Do it,” I whisper.
“Yes, ma'am,” he whispers back and then he moves.
I'm inclined to laugh about his determination to stay in character, even now, but instead I gasp as he slides inside me. He feels so large, so wonderful. The intimacy of it is stunning.
It takes us a moment to get used to the sensation, we stay still, listen to the sound of breathing filling the room. I hold on to him, my fingers digging into his skin, and he clutches at me in return. He strokes my hair, gently. Everything is perfect. This is right, more true than anything.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I can only nod, I'm too overwhelmed with emotions to speak but I don't have to. Jay is studying my face, then he kisses me again. It's a slow, loving kiss, mostly lips at first, then his tongue slips into my mouth. I can still taste myself on him and realize I've almost got used to the natural, unguarded sort of reverence he treats me with. I finally can allow myself to believe that Jay enjoys eating me out, that he enjoys every facet of me. That he truly wants me.
He rocks against me, into me, in just the right way. It seems so easy for him to get me close. I always thought I was uptight or repressed because I rarely climaxed during sex but now I see it's only a matter of the right technique. Jay never forgets to stimulate my clit and suddenly I have no difficulties coming anymore. I'm there almost too fast, the pleasure is unbearable, my thighs are numb with tension.
“Don't wait for me,” Jay murmurs, the sound of his voice – low, breathless, rough – nearly enough to undo me but it takes another couple of slow, deep thrusts, the friction of his body grinding against mine, stroking me in all the right places.
I feel like flying, the bird-shivers of approaching orgasm in my thighs – I'm hovering above ground – then the tight pull of climax. My inner muscles are clutching at him, greedy, I don't want to let go, ever.
He stills against me while my shudders subside, he holds me through my crisis, his hands soothing in my hair. I'm gasping for breath, wet, desperate sounds, strange in my own ears. I still feel detached from myself but Jay anchors me. He's still inside me, stretching me, filling me. My pussy is fluttering around him and he groans. He kisses me again and then he moves, gently at first, slowly. He waits until my oversensitivity has passed befo
re he resumes his rhythm, goes faster and deeper and harder. There's something frantic about the way our bodies move against each other, desperate, as if we had to convince ourselves that this is real.
It doesn't take long until I come again and this time Jay follows suit. Afterwards we lie entangled for a while, touching idly. There's nothing sexual in our caresses anymore, it's just gentleness and affection and would stay like that forever but the desk is uncomfortable and the more I'm sobering up the more it occurs to me where we are – Linda's office, dim, cool, paperwork on the desk, a clock ticking in the background. There's a sofa but it's too small for two people and overall the room is not really inviting to linger. Perhaps if I had a lot more to drink?
And then it's the fact it is Linda's office; Jay's her nephew and VP of the club so he probably knows what he's doing here (he has dragged me here, it's on him, at least mostly), but we're sort of trespassing.
“We should go,” I whisper.
“Your place or mine?” he asks.
I hesitate. So far we always went to his place to spend the night together and for good reason – he's got the whole house to himself, there's no one who could overhear us and if we feel like making out on the kitchen counter there's no one to catch us there in the act. But there was also the unacknowledged fact that staying at his house always gave me the opportunity to retreat if I wanted; I could simply get up and leave and that was a freedom I suspect he gave me intentionally.
But Jay mistakes my hesitance as something else. “We don't have to spend the night together at all, if you feel like it's too early, I didn't-”
I interrupt him at once. “Oh no, I was just literally thinking about your question. And,” I pause to listen to my gut for reassurance. “I think you should come over and stay at my place. It's about time.”