Man in Charge

by Teddy Hester

  That’s when it hits me.

  He isn’t kissing back.

  In fact, his mouth is closed.

  His arms are hanging at his sides.

  I open my eyes. He’s looking back at me.

  What the—

  Oh, my God, the woman at the concert. He’s in a committed relationship. I’ve just attacked another woman’s property. What was I thinking?

  “Sorry.” I step back and try to smooth his rumpled lapels.

  With his thumb and forefinger his captures my chin. “Do you want to be kissed, Cleo?” His voice is deep and gentle.

  I try to shake my head, but his hold tightens, keeping me exactly where he wants me. “Not by a man who belongs to somebody else.”

  “Look at me.” When I don’t respond the way he wants, he raises my chin until I do.

  His mouth hovers, ghosting mine, first one corner, then slowly dragging to the other, never actually touching me. I’m acutely aware of every inch of his body. The steady sound of his inhalations and exhalations. I need him to kiss me. Now.

  I throw my arms around his neck and surge to make contact, but he pinches my chin and holds me off. My moan is a mix of frustration and lust. His warm breath bathes my neck as he continues to tantalize me. I’m so excited, I may spontaneously combust.

  “Tony. Please, Tony.”

  Whose pathetic, whispery-thin voice said that?

  I yearn for him. Frantic to get to the next level. Writhing with need. His free hand grasps my waist to control my contact with his body.

  Ignoring my moans and pleas, he repeats the tease down the other side of my face and neck. His lower body begins to respond, and I take some satisfaction in knowing he’s torturing himself, too. It’s only fair.

  I can’t handle much more stimulation without consummation. He’s winding me up tighter than a cuckoo clock. I can’t maintain this level of tension. It’s becoming unbearable. If I don’t release this pressure soon, I’ll give myself a heart attack.

  My muscles sag, and I go limp against him.

  It galvanizes him. He catches me and dips his head to lick my collarbone. A pointed, tickling lick that sends me right out of my skin. I’m suddenly so close to an orgasm, I cling to him as a shiver runs down my entire body.

  He traps me against the table and pushes his lower body hard against me, letting me feel his erection. It’s all I need. My shiver turns into a shudder, and with a sob, I burrow into his neck and release my pent-up desire.

  His hand cups the back of my head, holding me through the aftermath.

  Then and only then, he finally tips my head and kisses me. A sweet, gentle kiss. A benediction.

  CHAPTER 5

  Her outrageous lips are soft and pliable now, as juicy as the fruity color still adorning them. I could take another taste. But, much as my body clamors for it, that’s not what this is about. I hold her against me with a hand at her nape. With the other, I trace soothing circles on her back while she recovers. Her head on my shoulder, my chin rests on her temple. I’m enjoying the peaceful moment.

  Control Lesson One went well, even better than I expected. I set out to calm her irritation, maybe slow her down, curb some of her impulsiveness. Help her control herself. Orgasm wasn’t on the agenda. But, like Vesuvius, build up enough pressure, there’s going to be an eruption.

  I adjust my dick. Pinning her to the table so I could thrust against her reminds me of dry-humping dates back in high school. Damn but this woman turns me inside out. She’s certainly responsive. If she can come just from ghost kisses, I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to have her come when I’m buried deep inside her.

  Did I say “when”?

  I didn’t think I’d ever see her again and had written her off after she didn’t acknowledge me in the coffee shop.

  But maybe that was because of Randy. No, Ronny? Shit, I can’t remember the guy’s name. Maybe she ignored me in the coffee shop because they’re in a serious relationship. Like she thinks Eleanor and I are.

  She stirs, and I wonder how she’s going to react. Embarrassment, probably.

  “Well, that was interesting.” Her mumble caresses my neck.

  “Enjoyable.”

  “Think so?” Her hand slides down and gropes my half-hard cock. “Kinda one-sided.”

  Evidently embarrassment isn’t part of her vocabulary. “I got what I needed for now.”

  The lacquered nail tracing a button on my vest stills. “Meaning you think you controlled me?”

  If I shrug, I’ll dislodge her. “No need to label it.”

  “If you say so.” This time her hand slides up the back of my thigh and comes to rest on my backside. “Don’t get used to it,” she whispers, right before she gives my ass a hard pinch.

  I pinch hers in return, then leave my hand covering one of her sweater-covered cheeks.

  “Hey! Watch yourself, money-man.”

  “I thought we were playing grab-ass. My mistake.” I rub her bottom. Both sides.

  She pushes out of my grasp and moves so that a chair is between us, standing by the table. “I was conducting research.”

  I snort. “Do I want to know what for?”

  The sparkle’s back in her eyes. “Probably not.”

  Now I’m itching to know what research she’s talking about, but I won’t give her satisfaction by asking. “So, tell me about the man you were with at the concert. Is it serious?”

  She bends to retrieve the items that rolled out of her bag when she dropped it earlier. “On-again, off-again. What about Jade?”

  “Jade?”

  “The woman you were with. She wore a jade necklace.”

  I scuff the toe of my shoe on the carpet. “No.”

  She stops to look up at me through narrowed eyes. “Did you give her that necklace?”

  “What gives you that idea?” It was a last-minute birthday present last year. How’d she guess?

  Chuckling, she goes back to her task. “Never mind. Your non-denial denial answers the question. It looked expensive. Not a casual gift. Does she know you go around giving orgasms to other women?”

  Dammit. That’s hitting a little too close to home. “There’s nothing to know.”

  She stands and faces me, brows raised and eyelashes batting, daring me to contradict.

  “I didn’t touch you. You gave yourself an orgasm.”

  Now her gorgeous eyes roll at me, and she hefts her bag onto one shoulder. “Convenient. I’m sure Jade will see it that way, when you explain it to her.”

  I open my mouth, and she holds up a hand.

  “Sorry, I forgot. There’s nothing to explain.” She studies the ceiling a moment, a finger tapping her chin. “Hmm…speaking of that, wonder what I should tell Juliette when she asks about this meeting?”

  “Tell her the truth, that I warned you not to spend our client into foreclosure.”

  Even scowling, Ms. Waiteberry is a beauty. I step over to where she’s glowering at me, lean in and whisper, “Tell her how good it felt to surrender your control in my arms.”

  I didn’t know hummingbirds could growl.

  “What was that you said?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

  She grabs her coat and heads to the door. Her hand on the latch, she says, “Boxers.”

  “Prize fighters,” I reply, trailing after her.

  Her face displays smug certainty. “My research. Boxers or briefs. You wear boxers.”

  “We never seem to be playing the same game.” My mouth spreads into a wide grin as I open the door to let her out. Little devil.

  She steps through the doorway and tosses me a triumphant gloat, sure she has the last word. “Tell me I’m right.”

  I smirk and mouth the words “laundry day” before I close the office door.

  Oh, he’s good. I’ll say that for him. The man is quick. And slippery as an eel.

  Well, so are silk boxers. And if he can go commando under a two-thousand dollar suit, then he can certainly model shi-shi-foo-foo underwear
in front of a camera.

  “He actually told you he was naked under his suit?” Janelle asks, joining me for lunch at my desk with her small, blue, plastic container and a sack of raw vegetables. She clears a space in the piles of drawings I’ve been making before I meet with Juliette, and sits, one leg pulled up underneath her. With her messy mid-brown bun and oversized glasses, she looks like she’s still in college.

  “No, he told me it was laundry day. I deduced the rest.”

  I banish the image of a naked Tony from my mind, like I repeatedly did all weekend. The memory of his hard cock pressed against me keeps surfacing. Sort of like a cock-roach. I can’t seem to kill it, no matter how hard I try. In fact, the harder I try, the more real the image becomes.

  Deviled eggs and celery sticks stuffed with pimento cheese are in my sack today. I pull two egg halves apart and munch on one while organizing brainstorms into a list of the types of ads we’ll need for the theater.

  Janelle shakes her head and drags a carrot stick through her hummus. “I can’t believe you asked him what kind of underwear he wears.”

  I have no intention of telling her how that came about. “I can’t believe people really eat that shit. It looks awful and smells worse.”

  A grape tomato follows the carrot into her mouth. She shrugs. “It’s the garlic. But these are my favorite pants. I can’t afford to outgrow them.”

  They’re black and stretchy and do fit her small frame well. “I hope you brought mouthwash. By the way, did you know carrots contain the most sugar of all vegetables, and tomatoes are really a fruit, loaded with carbs, mostly from a sugar called fructose?”

  She stares a moment at the second tomato in her fingers, then exchanges it for a broccoli floret. “Killjoy.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think you need to worry about a few tomatoes.”

  “It adds up.”

  “You can take a longer walk after work.”

  “Who has the energy? And now you’re taking on this Regal reno, too?”

  My stomach cries for attention, so I give it some stuffed celery. “Maybe. I’m spending the rest of the afternoon in a planning session with Jules. Can you hold down the fort?”

  “Sure. I just wish I knew why you’re doing this.”

  I pop up a finger as I go down my list. “One, It’ll be a feather in the agency’s cap.”

  “Which means if it doesn’t go well, the agency will lose reputation as well as its financial security.”

  She gets the evil eye for that one. I pop up another finger. “Two, being high-profile, it’ll bring in new business.”

  “I’m already stretched too thin. It’s time to talk about bringing in another admin to handle Scanties. I know somebody for the job.”

  “Let me look at the books tonight. We currently have plenty of income from Avant-Garde clients to keep the agency going. The kids’ underwear line is generating enough cash to cover all Scanties’ expenses and bank some. When the men’s line takes off, there’ll be even more money. You’ll get to be full-time photographer, and we’ll both need new admins.”

  “Which brings me back to my earlier question—why are you taking on the Regal?”

  A third finger joins the other two. “Jules asked me to.” Up goes a fourth finger. “And it’ll be fun working together.”

  “Besides,” my whole hand goes up, all five fingers waving, “how else am I going to rope Tony DePaul into posing for the boxer campaign?”

  *****

  “Were they ready?” Juliette asks me in the DePaul Investments parking lot.

  The hatch pops on my bright blue Infiniti QX30 Sport. “They sure were, and they look great. Come see.”

  She steps around to the back of my SUV and peers in. “Oh, Janelle did an excellent job! She caught the theater at such a good time of day. It glows!”

  “And look at what Alice made for us.” I pull out the four-foot square photo of the current Regal and prop it at my feet.

  Juliette nods at the image still in the car. “It’s just as we envisioned! A perfect before-and-after duo.”

  I pull it out, too, and close the cargo door. “The guys are going to love ‘em. You take one and let’s get up to the meeting.”

  With their dimensions, it’s an awkward trip to Tony’s office, but once there, other hands take over. Before greetings are done, Tom grabs the framed photo from me and props it up against the picture window, then adds the painted version, in its matching frame, beside it.

  “I’m thinking they’d look good together over there,” I say, pointing to the wall beside the entry door.

  Tom’s a wreck. He actually has tears in his eyes, too choked up to say anything.

  Tony, in another delicious three-piece suit, sidles up to me. “Surely you’ve noticed there’s art already on that wall, Ms. Waiteberry?”

  We all turn to stare at what Tony’s calling “art.” A long rectangle of bare trees in winter hangs over the brown leather sofa.

  I finally break the uncomfortable silence. “Are you allergic to color?”

  His quick, sidelong glare makes me want to laugh. “I like to minimize distractions.”

  Mr. Calm and Collected is so easy to rile. “That’s a crock. Art isn’t a distraction, it’s beauty. And it personalizes the workplace.” I turn from him to grab my bag. “I brought a hammer and nails. Jules, hold me steady when I get up on that couch?” I dig around and come up with the tools.

  Eldon takes them from me. “How about I do this?”

  I beam at him. “Thank you!”

  He pulls a tape measure out of his back pocket and checks the back of the pictures I brought. “Okay with you, Mr. DePaul?”

  “By all means, proceed. I need a moment with Cleo.”

  I turn things over to the others and walk with Tony to his desk on the far side of the room.

  “We gotta stop having these little private tête-à-têtes,” I murmur when we’re out of earshot.

  His face is stony. “What are you doing?”

  I shrug. “Killing a few birds with one stone.”

  Nothing about him moves as he studies me. “Explain.”

  “We need a picture of the finished product—the refurbished theater—to show donors. Juliette and I met with the architect to get the gist of where things might be taken. We passed off our drawings to an artist I frequently work with and will use during the campaign, and she came up with the painting. One of the items I wanted for flyers and Internet posts is a sequence of before-and-after photos and drawings as the project progresses. This is a first set.”

  He gazes out his picture window. The ocean sparkles in the sunlight. “All right. Why bring them here?”

  Yeah, that’s the tricky part. “Juliette and I knew Tom would want to see them, and we wanted to share the pictures with everyone. We’ll probably be meeting here a lot, coming in and out a lot.”

  He waits for me to continue.

  Why sugar coat it? “Your office needs sprucing up, Tony. Brown depresses me. I can’t work without color and life. So I brought you some. See how pretty it is?” My hand extends with a Vanna White flourish to the entry wall, where two pictures now hang, side-by-side.

  They do look good. The photo was taken at sunset, its sky a swirl of rose, purple, and gold. The painting shows the theater at dusk, an arched marquee outlined with bare bulbs glowing white-hot in the near-dark, above the wide entry. Red pennants flap in an imaginary breeze, tall lamps projecting from the three-story masonry light each corner of the roof, which contains a massive glass dome radiating a rich, golden glow.

  “Now your leather sofa looks as expensive as I’m sure it is. And I can breathe, because your office is no longer such a mausoleum.”

  A muscle in his jaw works at that pronouncement. “It would have been polite to ask first.”

  I snort. “And have you say no before you even saw them? I think you’re a man who works better with surprises.”

  “I actually hate surprises.”

  Big shocker. Tha
t’s half of why I did it. And I’ll do it again. The man’s got to be desensitized before I approach him with silk boxers. “So, you like the pictures?”

  He sighs. “I’m sure I’ll get used to them. Shall we join the others?”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Linda, what the hell is with this jungle?”

  My secretary slides the glasses off her nose and lets the cord around her neck catch them. “Ms. Waiteberry stopped by earlier.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “Of course.” When I open them again, I see Linda through a leafy haze. She looks right at home, her desk banked in some sort of greenery. “What are we supposed to do with them? Did she leave a note?”

  “No note. She thought they’d perk up the space.”

  “They probably have bugs.”

  Linda hustles around to join me, and we inspect a fern. “Oh, no, Tony, I don’t think so. But she left a card for weekly plant service. If there are ever any bugs, they’ll take care of it.”

  “Do you like these plants? If not, you have my permission to chuck the whole garden.”

  She picks up a small container of something bushy and green from her desk and smiles almost tenderly at it. “I love them. But if you don’t, then she’ll be back for the meeting this afternoon, and you can tell her.”

  Linda has always been briskly professional, the perfect guard at my office door. I’m not sure what to make of Jolly Green Admin making goo-goo eyes at a piece of shrubbery.

  Is Cleo right? Are my surrounding too spartan? “It isn’t a little overwhelming?”

  She chuckles. “Well, of course. It is Cleo, after all. But I do think it makes things look cozier and more inviting.”

  Cozy and inviting are probably appropriate for a waiting area. “If you’re good with it, I guess I am, too. Let me know if it gets to be too much, though, and we’ll prune.”

  A hand on my door handle, I notice my winter trees picture hung over a low table dotted with five potted plants. Even it seems more at home in its new environment.