by Amie DeVere
I hoped my voice did not betray the plea I felt. This was the way out I had conceived and envisioned when Simon threatened me. John Hawkins would join the firm and advance his career, and we could be together. I had played the part of an impresario, my best work yet, and the rest was up to him. I was vulnerable, more than with Simon, because I was not in control. I waited for him to respond. Nothing, not even the interminable wait for a jury to return with a verdict, had prepared me for the overwhelming agony, the need and the doubt.
“I’ll have to think about it.” The death-knell response. Think? This was not the time to think. It was the time to act. He caressed my cheek and looked into my eyes. “Is it what you really want?” he asked seeing through all, through me, through my designs, plans and plotting. I had not once questioned whether it was what I wanted or what it might mean, only that it had to be done like some challenging assignment, a puzzle solved.
“I thought so,” I said. “Do you not want to work for the defense?”
“It’s not that.”
“If it’s not that, then it’s me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, “but I have to get to court, now.” He took a sheet from a drawer in his desk and handed it to me. I took the résumé and he held me close, kissed me then left. All I could think was, be careful what you wish for.
Chapter Four
I was still in bed doing the crossword puzzle with the rest of the Sunday paper splayed over my comforter when the phone rang in the kitchen. Too curious to ignore it, I dug myself out and answered on the fourth or fifth ring. “Hello?” I said out of breath.
It was John. “Good morning. I have an offer you can’t refuse.”
“What? More extortion?”
“Let’s go to Salem for the day.” When I didn’t respond immediately, he continued. “It’s beautiful out. We can go to the Willows. I used to go there as a kid. There’s the beach, and we can hang out, and there won’t be anyone there we know.” He sounded excited, actually he sounded like this was one of the best ideas he’d ever had. I was just about to respond, when he added, “That is if you’re not going to church.”
He met me at the Salem train station in a worn T-shirt and jeans, looking like he had just sizzled off the cover of a romance novel, his enthusiasm for the adventure obvious and infectious. The Willows was a small, make that tiny, amusement park along the water consisting of two arcades, kiddie rides, and carnival food, strewn with large gangly willow trees, their branches swaying like hula skirts. The effect was magical. Okay, the company may have had something to do with it, or the fact that I beat his fine looking jean clad ass at skeeball, even though he had had all the practice.
“You’re competitive, aren’t you?” he asked above the screeching voices of children bouncing off the walls.
“You just noticed that now?” I said from the alley beside his. “Aren’t you?”
“I just like getting the ball in the hole.” He shrugged and rolled another ball. I laughed, watching it pop and arc into the slot.
We cashed in our tickets for trinkets and held hands as we strolled over to the carousel, echoing the contented leisure activity of generations. We watched the children on horses bob up and down and wave to their parents at each turn, both a greeting and farewell. After sampling the aromas from the strip of vendors and gorging on caramel popcorn and lemonade, we walked down to the beach. The sun hovered low and a breeze blew over the shimmering water. He stood behind me, and I nestled into him, enjoying his warmth. When he wrapped his arms around me, I put mine out to each side like Rose on the Titanic fully aware of, but not caring about, the absurdity. Rose had the right idea. With the wind pushing against me, it felt like flying. I closed my eyes.
He bent his head down, his breath tickling my neck. “I don’t want just sex,” he whispered in my ear.
“Neither do I…but sometimes that’s all I want.”
“I know. Me too.”
I turned to look at him, and this was part of the magical part. Amid the distant calliope sounds and the dizzying lights of the carousel in the dusk, he kissed me, his lips soft and tasting of caramel. If you had been in my place, you probably would have ended it there—the setting sun, the perfect kiss, the end. But, no, the sordid scenario with Simon had been nagging me all afternoon, a pesky dog nipping at my feet while I tried to kick it free.
I seized the moment. “Can I tell you something as an attorney? I mean, attorney-client privilege and everything?” He was still a DA after all and would have been duty bound to report my crime spree. The attorney-client privilege would prevent him from disclosing any confession involving past acts and would relieve him of any moral dilemma. It would also protect me, in case he didn’t entirely appreciate my methods.
“Now what?”
“Just humor me.”
“Okay,” he said. “The privilege is hereby invoked.”
“Scout’s honor?” I added, a belt and suspenders never having hurt anyone except in a fashion sense.
“Scout’s honor,” he repeated, signaling with his hand.
We walked along the water, and he listened to me unburden myself piecemeal, offering snippets, fully and frightfully aware of how crazy I sounded even though I tried to control the spin. He was silent, so I kept talking, filling the void with more details and justifications, glancing at him now and then to gauge his reaction, until my need for his response became greater than my need to continue. I stopped and confronted him.
“Is this some kind of interrogation technique? Say something.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that far. You should have told me at the time.”
“And what would you have done?” I challenged.
“Not what you did.”
“Obviously.” I paused while the mental image formed and made me laugh. He laughed, too. I took his hands from my shoulders, and we resumed walking. “I don’t want anything from you,” I continued. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“Good thinking about the privilege,” he said.
“It’s what I do.” We walked in silence, my mind debating the wisdom of my rash confession as I watched the water advance and retreat, mimicking my turmoil.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “Thank you for trusting me, even if you couldn’t then.” This time he stopped and faced me. “I want you to feel that you can confide in me and know that I have your back.”
“Well, you have all of me now,” I said.
Sweeping a strand of hair from my face, he kissed me, his lips at first brushing mine, before deepening, while my sense of relief also deepened to a satisfying calm, a contrast to the hurricane of the past weeks.
* * * *
Within the week John Hawkins had interviewed at the firm and been offered and accepted the position as Simon’s replacement with a caveat. My boss, like some Nostradamus with a twisted mind, decided to implement a new policy of banning intra-office relationships. I did not know where he came up with this brilliant idea, but thought Simon may have had some part in it. I ventured an innocent inquiry on the constitutionality of the policy only to be rebuffed with “It may not be constitutional, but it’s the law” which meant a challenge would not be expedient.
Now I understood the expression ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’, although I didn’t reckon it would be so literal. Instead of keeping temptation across the street at a bearable simmer, I had managed to bring it home to blaze beside me. For the two weeks it took John Hawkins to give notice and start at the firm I tried to think of an escape, but like an author with writer’s block I got nothing.
So it happened John Hawkins came to work at the firm and readily adapted to the life of a defense attorney with such aplomb, I wondered if he had played me to get his position in some Machiavellian plan worthy of, well, me. For several days we had no time alone and were civil. On the fourth day I stayed late preparing for a trial, and I thought I was alone until he walked into my office and stood at my desk.
“What?” I asked, looking up.
“We’re alone.” He walked around to my side, close to me. I could feel the heat from his body. “Are you sure you don’t want anything from me?”
I stood up, pushing back my chair and grazing my body against his. He embraced me, his lips found mine, enticing my smothered passion to the surface. Reaching my hand around his neck, I rose to meet him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth and devouring his lips, wanting the taste and the scent of him. I pulled off his tie, opened his shirt, and rested my head against his breast, listening to his heart’s rapid beat while my fingers roamed over his chest.
“We could get fired,” I said.
“I know. That’s why I suggested the policy.”
“What?” I asked pulling away from him. “You? Why on earth would you do that?”
“Because you got what you wanted, and I didn’t want you to lose interest,” he said smiling.
Have I mentioned the man can see me and see through me? Eve did not crave an apple. She wanted the fruit, and it tasted sweeter, because it was forbidden. I kissed and licked down his chest and knelt before him, squeezing and releasing the firm muscles of his ass to unzip his pants. Closing his eyes, he let me do as I pleased and rested his hand on my head. Freeing his hard cock, I moved my hand along the shaft and over the knob, caressing its length and thickness. My other hand stroked his balls. I kissed the head, sucking at it and licking, while his hand urged me to continue. Taking the tip into my mouth, I rolled my tongue under the head. He pushed his cock into my mouth, giving me its length to the back of my throat. Holding the root with my hand, I pulled back sucking and pressing my tongue underneath.
I kissed and licked his thighs to his balls, taking one then the other into my mouth, flicking my tongue around them. Leaving them to take in his cock back inside my mouth, I fondle his balls with my fingers. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at me as he groaned and thrust his hips, gently stroking into my mouth and holding my head. When he pulled back, I pressed my lips around his shaft and sucked at the length, twirling my tongue around the head, my hands on his ass, pulling him to me. Circling his hole briefly, the tip of my finger found the way inside. His motions quickened until he grunted and came in my mouth. Still thrusting, his semen gushed to the back of my throat as I swallowed. When he stilled, I licked his cock clean.
Helping me up, his stare bore through me, inflaming my desire. He unbuttoned my blouse and peeled the silky fabric from my shoulders. Unclasping my bra, he revealed my breasts and bent to kiss me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. Cupping my breasts, he teased the stiff nipples with his fingers, before licking and sucking them and stroking his hand down the small of my back over my ass. He slowly kissed down my body as I had done to his. Unzipping my pants, he pulled them and my panties down to the floor. In one movement he swept aside books and papers, and lifted me onto the desk before him.
Weaving my fingers through his hair, I pulled him to me again, eager for his kiss. Standing between my legs, he eased me down, placing my blouse beneath my head before he kissed the length of my body. Holding my legs, he set my feet on the edge of the desk opening me to him. He knelt and kissed the lips of my cunt as he had my mouth, thrusting his tongue into my opening. Plunging his hands beneath my ass, he licked me and the juices flowing from me, his hot breath breezing against my thighs. Letting my knees drop to each side, I grabbed my feet with my hands opening wider and giving him access to my being. My lips swelled and my cunt pulsed. He moved his mouth to my clit and licked and sucked as I had done to his cock, taking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it.
I moaned in agony and delight, pushing my hips to meet him. Releasing a hand from my ass, he teased my clit, twirling his tongue around the edge of my opening before piercing within. His touch became insistent and unbearable. I came hard to the rhythm of his licks running up the length of my slit with the width of his tongue.
Before my orgasm subsided, I whispered, “Fuck me,” with urgency and measured breaths. While I watched on raised elbows, he reached down to his pants crumpled at his feet, removed a condom from the pocket, and ripped the packet open with his teeth.
“Oh, God, don’t make me wait,” I cried.
He smiled while he stroked his cock already stiff and slid on the thin membrane. Smiling still he drove his cock into my cunt, renewing my spasms. Cupping his hands around the top of my thighs, he pulled me closer, pushing with his hips. He filled me, grinding his hips, his balls slapping against my ass. Thrusting within me, alternating his strokes, long, slow, faster, short, hard, grinding, he pumped me again and again, the sounds of our fucking shattering the quiet night. Stepping back, he pulled out, his cock glistening with my moisture.
I sighed insensible and begged. “Fuck me.”
Holding his cock, he rubbed the head between my lips and clit before pushing slowly within me, penetrating me until our hairs mingled. Sheathed within me, he stopped, leaning over me to kiss me. I took his tongue in my mouth, his cock throbbing in my cunt. Buried deep, he straightened and watched me, not moving.
“You’re teasing me,” I accused.
“What? You don’t like to be teased?”
The sound of his voice flowed over me, his cock stirred within me, and his thumb circled my clit. With his renewed thrusts, my body ached with building tension and the strain of my want. He quickened his movements until we both came and release surged through my body, making us one.
Panting with his arms on either side of me, he stayed within me long enough to catch his breath before pulling out. Grabbing my right arm, he drew me up before him, smoothed my hair, kissed me, and held me against him. Still breathing heavily, his sweat on my skin, I embraced him in return, burrowing my face into his neck and inhaling his scent.
That’s the whole truth or most of it, anyway. We’ve been working together ever since that night. To everyone, but him, and now you, I remain an invisible girl with a secret life.
*THE END*
About the Author
I write contemporary erotica and other such stuff. My stories mash-up romance, erotica, work and life in a roller-coaster of realization that’s as close to truth as I can make it. . . as long as you remember that truth is stranger than fiction. I'm always looking for the next good story to write or read. I live in Massachusetts. You can find me at www.amiedevere.com.
Secret Cravings Publishing
www.secretcravingspublishing.com