by Artemis Hunt
To my surprise, she’s not resisting. In fact, her arms creep around my shoulders, and she’s kissing me back – just as savagely and fiercely as I’m kissing her. A surge of desire hardens my ready cock, and I’m reaching for the waistband of her jeans, and feeling for her buttons. I undo one, and another, before she places her palms on my chest and cries but one word:
“No!”
It takes every ounce of my willpower to rein myself back.
This time, I groan out loud.
I’m done for. I’m busted.
“Oh shit, shit, shit,” I burst out, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry. It’ll never happen again. I’ll go.”
Her sweet face is stricken, and her lips are swollen from my kisses. The sight of her stirs me so much that I have to look away lest I be tempted to devour her lips again.
I quickly open the door and let myself out. I slam it behind me, not quite trusting myself. Then I bolt for the stairs before I can lose myself again.
I can only hope I haven’t scared her off for good.
Fuck.
Maybe I’ll get her resignation the first thing on my desk tomorrow morning. I really screwed up big time.
BETH
My heart is racing from the kiss as I hear his footsteps pound rapidly away. My guts are churning and my belly is doing flip flops. I lean against the door with my fists bunched and the blood rushing to my cheeks.
What was I thinking of when I kissed him back?
But oh – that kiss! That amazing, overwhelming, all-consuming kiss that renders my knees still weak at their joints. I’ve never been kissed like that before – with that fervent, ravenous hunger that fires up every atom, every molecule inside me. Especially down there.
I have never felt real lust before, but I think I’m awash in it now. Why else would I be trembling and panting ever so slightly, and my face be that hot? Why do I feel that overpowering hollowness within my core, as though it’s in agony to be filled? He’s preternaturally, amazingly beautiful, and I close my eyes, thinking of that divine godlike face and that rock solid body – so tight and hard under my hands. I can look at him forever, and I tried hard not to when he was in the room, because I was so afraid I’d end up staring.
He’s bad news, Beth, my inner voice tells me. Stay away. Besides, he’s your boss.
I’m just so floored that he even kissed me, which means he must remotely find me desirable. But that means he can only want one thing from me.
Sex.
Sex without the trappings. Pure unadulterated sex that will leave me wanting more . . . and like Lisa, never receiving.
That’s not me. I just can’t have sex for the sake of sex. I can’t revel in physical joy without the emotional. I need more. My head and heart need to be fulfilled before what’s between my legs. Sex has got to have meaning for me.
From everything I hear about Chris Morton, he’s the last person to give meaning to sex.
So yes. I should stay away. No outcome with Chris Morton will ever be good.
Besides, he’s my boss.
My mother would keel over if she knows I just passionately kissed my handsome, multimillionaire CEO boss. She who raised me up to be a good girl with good, puritanical family values. I’m aware how much I’m emphasizing on being good. But I don’t feel good now. I feel bad all over, but it’s a good kind of bad, not a sleazy bad, if you know what I mean.
My skin tingles and my heart hasn’t stopped pounding my chest into flat piece of ribcage. I feel more alive than I ever have before.
What do I do now?
Can I ever face him again?
*
Next morning, I’m at my desk before he arrives. It’s seven fifteen and I’m one of the only people in the office. Chris usually arrives at seven forty five, and I want to be fresh and early with my computer started up for more Communicator message flow from my boss. Besides, I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned and curled myself silly with blazing dreams of Chris – his gorgeous, gorgeous face, that just-fucked-somebody hair, and that chiseled diamond hard body he must possess underneath his ritzy clothes.
He hasn’t even arrived, and already my body is sweaty and clammy with anticipation. What do I say to him? Pretend nothing happened last night? Would he pretend along with me?
Maybe it was all a mistake, and he realizes it now that the sun is shining and his senses have returned with the vengeance of reality.
He walks in at seven thirty, a good fifteen minutes before he’s due.
Oh shoot.
He’s as handsome as ever, so handsome that my breath stops in its tracks. No man should ever do this to me, I berate myself. Let alone my own boss.
He stops short too when he sees me.
“Good morning,” he says before I can say anything.
I curse myself for being tongue-tied, and I can feel my cheeks blushing furiously.
“Good morning, Chris.”
We stare at each other, both self-consciously and awkwardly. I swallow, the lump moving visibly in my throat.
“Do you have a moment, Elizabeth?” he finally says, gesturing to his office.
“Yes, sure.” My palpitations start up again, staccato and frenetic in their rhythm as I get up from my chair.
He waits for me and holds one of the double doors open as I compose myself enough to walk in without tripping. Once we are inside, he firmly closes the door.
“We have to talk,” he says.
“Yes.”
We are both standing and facing one another. I feel like shifting my feet – I’m that antsy. I raise my eyes to his, and am almost blown back by the scorching intensity of his gaze. Oh sweet mother of God, he’s so beautiful. How am I going to stand before him like this – like an errant schoolgirl – and wilt the way I’m doing now?
He begins in an earnest voice, “I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again, you can be assured of that. I want us to continue to work together, and I promise you I won’t do that to you ever again – ”
He pauses to gauge my reaction.
I don’t know what my expression must be like to him, but inside, my conflicting emotions are roiling in a maelstrom. I won’t do that to you ever again. A stab of disappointment (disappointment! I know . . . I’m amazed and shocked at myself too) so piercing that it’s almost visceral assaults me. Even now, the vivid memory of his hot melting kisses and the feel of his warm flesh against mine swarms in a prickly wave across my consciousness.
A tide of what I now recognize as desire bubbles in my core to encompass my entire torso, up my breasts to my cheeks. From the look in his intense hazel eyes, I think he sees it too.
Oh dear God.
He repeats, “I won’t do that to you ever again . . . unless – ”
Yes? I will him to say it.
“Unless . . . you want me to.” He lets it trail, his expression hopeful.
What do I want?
That’s the trouble. I don’t know what I want. I want him to kiss me again, to hold me, to explore me, to make me feel desired and wanted and a million other wonderful things that a man can do to a woman. But at the same time, I want him to fall in love with me while he’s doing all that – something I don’t believe he’s capable of.
I want us to start a normal relationship. I want to be the one. His one.
But I don’t think he’s capable of that either. I would be merely one of his ‘friends with fringe benefits’. Adult dating, that’s what he calls it. Sex that is purely physical – the hollow and vacant form that fulfills the Id but not the soul.
He says, “Do you want me to?”
His face is guarded. He knows he’s treading on dangerous territory, crossing into the boundaries of boss-employee relationships. One false move on his part, and I can construe it to be sexual harassment.
I swallow.
“I need to know something,” I say.
“Yes. Anything.”
> “Your PA before me. The one with the red hair. What happened between the two of you?” I know I’m getting bolder in asking this, but I need to know.
He doesn’t flinch. “We were friends too. Well, at least in my definition. I never coerced her or anything. It was consensual. Then she wanted more . . . and I couldn’t give that to her either.”
Yes, I suspected as much. My heart is sinking.
I say, “And so she went away.”
“Yes. She went away. Put in her resignation and stayed because her contract required her to until I got a replacement.”
I digest this.
Do I really want to be the next PA – in a long line of previous PAs – to give themselves to him, only to succumb by falling in love with him without the hope of him ever reciprocating?
Maybe I’m thinking too hard with my head. Every fiber of me aches to have him hold me, to ravage my mouth as he has ravaged it before. How can such an overpowering desire be so wrong, even if it’s destined to end up in disappointment?
He takes one step closer to me. My feet are rooted to the spot.
“Elizabeth,” he says urgently, “I want you. And I know you want me too. We have something real between us here and we owe it to each other to give ourselves up to explore it. Just do one thing for me.”
“What?” I say, trembling.
“Kiss me. Kiss me, and then tell me if you don’t feel something. If you don’t feel anything, I’ll walk away and leave you alone forever. We can go back to being employer and employee and we’ll forget anything ever happened.”
He takes another step closer, and he’s so near now that I can feel his radiating body warmth. I can’t take my eyes off his magnificent features – his chiseled blade of a nose, his marvelous bone structure, his lush full lips and those melted chocolate hazel eyes that are so warm and crystalline, drawing me into their very pools.
I make a decision.
It is not with my head.
I’m the first to move into his space. My lips crush against his, and he responds hungrily. There’s nothing tender or sweet about our pure unadulterated passion. It’s lust – brutal and naked and raw. I’m drawn into it. No, sucked is a better word. He opens his mouth and his tongue prizes my lips open.
I’ve never been kissed this way before. Never.
His arms creep around my back, as do mine around his shoulders. His kiss escalates in intensity, and he’s devouring my mouth now, twisting his neck to press his lips and tongue onto me in every angle possible. I’m drowning in him – drowning in that kiss and his ardent touch, and I can’t help but be swept away by his incredible fervor.
Ohhh.
He wants me. He really, really wants me. The thought of this virile, handsome man desiring me is combustive and exhilarating.
He comes up for air. His face is flushed and his chest rises and falls with effort.
“So,” he says in a low drawl, “do you feel something?”
Do I feel something? That is understatement. Define ‘feel’. Is it physical or emotional? Does the sudden moistness between my legs constitute feeling something?
“I do feel something,” I murmur.
He visibly relaxes.
“Then come home with me. Let me make love to you.”
I feel his animal magnetism pulling me in. He has not taken his arms away from around me, and I luxuriate in his closeness and scent – a musky eau d’toilette that makes me think of coupling beasts.
I whisper, “I can’t. I’m a virgin.”
There. The cat is out of the bag.
He leans his head to one side in a quizzical manner. “Seriously?” The corners of his mouth are beginning to crinkle.
My cheeks start to burn.
“I’m saving it for someone special.” Like on my wedding night, I don’t want to say.
“And I’m not special?”
“You know what I mean.” I suddenly feel like a doofus. A small town girl with unnatural and archaic values in front of a big city sophisticate.
“You don’t think I’ll be someone special,” he says softly. He nods, commiserating. “I get it.”
It seems to hit him harder than I thought. My chest winces.
He says, “I have a proposition.”
I hold my breath. It’s uncomfortable being pressed against him, because he’s so damned supernaturally attractive and I just want to lose myself in his kiss again.
He continues, “Why don’t you try being with me . . . for seven days?”
At first, I don’t think I’m hearing right. “Being with you?”
“Yes. Give me a try.”
“You mean sleep with you?”
He pauses. “You’re really hung up on saving it for someone special, aren’t you? OK. I respect that. Yes. Be with me . . . for seven days. I’ll make love to you . . . but there’ll be no intercourse . . . unless you want it.”
I don’t believe we’re having this conversation.
I back off, and he releases me from his arms, looking dismayed.
“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” he says. “I meant what I said. We’ll take it as far as you want to go – on your terms. Anytime you tell me stop, we stop. And there’ll no penetration, so you get to keep your virginity.”
“What’s in it for you?” My head is reeling.
“Me?” He laughs. “Are you kidding? I get to be with you. Maybe for once and for all, I get to satisfy this thing I have about you that drives me crazy. Do you know that I dream about being with you every night since I first laid eyes on you?”
I find myself shaking my head. “Coming from anyone else, I would have loved to hear that. But you don’t want a real lover, as in my definition. You want another friend . . . with benefits.”
“Yes. I’ll admit I really want you as a friend.”
“So what’s this seven days trial for? For you to try me out?” I’m getting really peevish here, and more than a little mad.
“No, it’s for you to try me out. To see if you want to be my lover.” He nods convincingly.
This is all going wrong. My cheeks are burning. There’s something wrong with the way he sees women.
“A lover without love. That’s not the way I am.”
I back away even further. I know I’m subconsciously backing away from his ideals, and not him. Are you kidding me? Every fiber of my body wants him physically. It’s just his world vision I can’t abide.
“I know. But that’s the way I am.” He reaches for a tendril of my hair and brushes it lovingly from my forehead. If I hadn’t known he was incapable of love, I’d have thought it a loving gesture. “Just seven days, I beg of you. Just try me out . . . and if you don’t want to be my friend, I’ll be OK. We’ll go back to this.” He waves his hand around his office.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel. The tornado of emotions churns in my head – desire, lust, anger, futility.
“Elizabeth,” he says, “you know you want me. You know I want you. What can be so terrible about two people wanting each other desperately? For once in your life, don’t think about it. Just go with what your body tells you to.”
BETH
I don’t believe I said yes.
I think the entity that said “yes” in that small but precariously wanton voice wasn’t me. It was some other vampiric person who hides by daylight and comes out only when her special buttons are pressed.
No one has ever pressed them before.
Until now.
I told myself – what do I have to lose? It’s not as if he’s technically taking away my virginity. I will be in control. I can stop him anytime I want. I’ll never be as powerful as I feel today.
At least, that’s what I’m convincing myself.
Liar.
You said ‘yes’ because you want him to touch you all over and make you melt again.
Day One has officially started today. I feel like there are two ‘me’s’. One that is checking out my work timeline since the day I was h
ired. The other is marking this particular subset on my calendar.
The work day proceeds as normal. People come, people go. Meetings happen, meetings end. And through it all, he’s cordial, smiling, polite – every inch the boss that he is.
Finally, at six o’clock in the evening, a message on my Communicator pops up.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I type back.
“You ready to go on our date?”
A date. Is that what he calls it?
I write: “Shouldn’t I go home and change first?”
“No need. I’m cooking you dinner tonight.”
“You can cook?” Color me incredulous.
“My housekeeper left us something. But she’s a great cook. Meet me downstairs at my parking space. Don’t want people to see us walking out together, do you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good. C U.”
“OK.” I hesitate, then I type. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“If we’re going to be doing this, please call me Beth.”
My fingers ache from the frantic keyboarding, and my pulse is a wild rush at my neck. Why does he do this to me, even when he’s not in the room?
We’re going to be doing this.
Yeah, I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to be doing.
I’m the first to leave. I walk out to the elevators, and who should I bump into but Mr. Sully from HR? Shoot. Can he see how flushed I am?
“Hi, Elizabeth,” he says pleasantly.
“Hi, Mr. Sully.”
“Steve, please. We are all on first name basis here. Chris’s orders.”
“OK, Steve.” My heart pitti-pats in my chest cavity, and I wonder if these experienced HR types can see through your body language. They are experts, right, to pick up body cues and stuff that says not everything is going right with an employee?
“Going straight home, Elizabeth?”
“Please call me Beth.” My voice is squeaky. “No, I think I’ll go for drinks with some friends.”
“It’s nice to see you making friends here.” He smiles. “Who are you going out with?”
Oh crap crap crap. I’m not a good liar. Never was.