by Jamie Knight
We didn’t even have to confer with each other before deciding to sit out on the patio. Not least because of the gorgeous beach view beyond it. The tables were set six feet of part, but that was no big thing.
Seating ourselves on the nice wicker chairs, it seemed like things were going to be alright. Looks could be deceiving, though.
“Tuck? What the heck are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi, Aaron,” I said, trying not to spit in his face.
Aaron Harper was the company's other partner. He showed up to work even less than I did and had become more of a silent partner over the years, despite his ongoing and constant exploitation of company resources. Jack hated his guts, but I’d decided a while ago that living the sad, empty life he did was punishment enough.
“Of all the place I’d never thought I’d see you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I said, “I’m here for a vacation. We already had the reservations booked for New Year, a bit of a treat for our hardworking employees. Jack was going to come but couldn’t get health clearance.”
“But you know someone in the government, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Hello, and you are?” he asked, turning to Ana in a way that could only be considered creepy.
“Ana White,” she said, offering her hand to shake.
“I think I remember you,” Aaron said, taking her hand and almost caressing it, “we met at the general meeting, I’d never forget a face like that.”
“Thanks,” she said, though her face was turning red.
“She’s your secretary, right, Tuck?”
“Personal assistant,” I corrected. “And mind your manners around her.”
“Wow, touchy. You two aren’t boinkin’ or anything, are ya?”
We both remained silent but that was enough. Aaron had us and he knew it. The grin he gave would make the Cheshire Cat tell him to scale it back a bit.
“I wonder what would happen if that got out,” he said. “Jack wouldn’t be happy for damn sure. Oh, and think of the press! You might get through it okay but her? I shudder to think of the consequences.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” I asked, meaning it literally as a question.
“Oh, no, no of course not. Though, if you could look the other way in terms of my expenditures on the company account, that would be great. It would be so unfortunate for news of you two to somehow get back to the investors. A lot of them are pretty conservative, aren’t they? Anyway, I’ll let you two get back at it. Breakfast, and whatever else you’re doing together,” he said.
He gave a sleazy little wink and strode back to his table where the assistant manager of marketing was waiting for him. Apparently, he’d had the same idea to come here and avoid the lockdown.
Ana tried to be brave, but the facade was falling. With a sob, she buried her face in both hands.
“Hey,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I’m not very hungry anymore, what do you say we go back to the room?”
“O-okay,” Ana said, trying to get a hold of herself.
Aaron had made a fatal mistake. I was willing to let most of it go. It didn’t really concern me, and the company still had lots of money despite his skimming, but he had gone after Ana.
That one simple act raising a cold rage in me that I never knew was possible. I already knew what I was going to do. I just needed my laptop.
Epilogue - Tucker
“What are you doing?” Ana asked, coming out from a second shower she’d taken alone.
“Counter-attack. I’ve compiled a list of all the company’s systems for which only I have the passcodes, mostly because I was the one that built them. If he tells on us, Jack will probably have to fire me, not because he wants to, but because of pressure from some richer and more conservative investors.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
“For me, yes, for him, no, or so it would seem. He’s been overspending on company accounts for years, but I’m the only one who has noticed, Jack having bene too busy running things. If I’m gone, so is the greatest threat to Aaron’s position. At least, so he thinks, because if I’m gone, I can lock many vital systems and bring the whole place to a standstill, and he wouldn’t have a job either. Plus, the fallout to his reputation when people find out it happened because he was plotting against me to cover up corruption would be catastrophic. I’m simply reminding him of this. And the fact that I have his undoctored financial records for the past ten years or so and the IRS would be very interested in seeing them.”
Ana hugged me from behind, gently kissing my cheek. After sending a friendly reminder to Aaron about exactly how much I controlled and what I could do to him if he fucked with me, I composed and sent a company-wide email, announcing that Ana and I had gotten together and were very much in love.
“Really?” she asked, reading over my shoulder.
“We are together, aren't we?”
“Well, yes, I mean, I want to be. I’ve liked you for a while and the sex is great! But to already feel so much in love? I want to trust it but it’s so fast! I mean, do you feel it, too?”
I slid down off the chair and onto one knee in front of her as she stood before me in nothing but a towel.
“Anabella Matilda White, I love you. I’ve liked you since you started at the company, and it has only grown since then. Would you do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me?”
“As your wife?” she stammered, almost it tears.
“As whatever you’d like. I just want you with me my darling, always.”
“Come here,” she said, tossing the towel across the room.
I kissed her passionately, lifting her up and carrying her over to the bed. She had gotten wet and smelled superb. Unable to resist, I dropped to my knees and devoured her, running my tongue over and between her sweet, delicate lips, pausing every so often to flick the tip against her clit, making her squirm and moan every time.
She came hard, her pussy vibrating against my mouth as she did. When she had settled, I helped her back up into a sitting position, and she started taking off my pants. Stripping down in a second flat, I gave her my cock, Ana taking directly into her mouth. Massaging her soft lips around the length of my hard shaft, she swirled her tongue around the head when she got there.
She got her hands involved as well, pumping my cock and massaging my balls as she sucked me off, nursing a massive load from my balls which she happily accepted.
“Want to try it from behind?” I asked her.
“Sure!”
She flipped over onto all fours and approximated a doggy position. Adjusting her position slightly, so that she would be more comfortable, I stroked the head of my cock against her beautiful pussy before easing it in.
Almost before I could take her hips and start to pump, Ana started to move herself, rocking back and forth on my cock, sliding it up and down the length of my shaft.
I took her by the hips and mostly just tried to keep up as Ana threw herself on my cock, moaning and smiling as she did so. We came together, Ana getting even tighter around my cock as I came inside her. Pulling gently out of her, we lay down beside each other, both of us wonderfully winded.
Rallying ourselves when came together in an enthusiastic embrace, we were snuggling and kissing even as we were still catching our breath.
“So, what if I’m pregnant?” she asked, philosophically.
“That would be wonderful. I’ve always wanted to be a dad. True, it might have some impact on your position as an executive at R&D but-”
“Say that again?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a dad?”
“After that.”
“Your position at R&D?”
“Yeah, I don’t work as an executive at R&D.”
“You do now, assuming you want the job, of course.”
“Damn straight, ya daft wallaby!” I said, my inner Bogan making an appearance.
�
�Right then, so that’s settled. We can get you a test later on if you like. Just make sure.”
“It’s a date.”
We kissed and snuggled, not getting out of bed again until the first of the fireworks started to streak across the clear, black sky, bringing in the New Year.
As the ball in Times Square dropped on TV, we kissed and clinked glasses. We were under the countdown together, of a new year and a new life. I also hoped the pandemic would end soon, but no matter what life brought our way, I knew that Ana and I would handle it together.
THE END
Under Cupid’s Contract
Quarantined with My Boss on Valentine’s Day
Love Under Lockdown, Book 25
A series of standalone quarantine romance books.
Copyright © 2021 Jamie Knight Romance.
All rights reserved.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
Chapter One - Vega
Even for a perpetual optimist, someone who always looks on the bright side of things, it was still important to know when you were beat. The sleek German device grinned at me, mocking me thoroughly as I removed the filter and dumped it in the trash. I sighed and yanked the plug from the wall in annoyance, feeling a little surge of bitter satisfaction as its lights went out.
I may have been outsmarted by my new coffee maker, but unplugging the beast and stuffing it back into the box made me feel like maybe I won the war.
After packing up the machine, I carefully closed the bag of overpriced coffee. I’d only used a bit from the top and the bag could be resealed, so no one would ever know it had been opened. Which was only right considering how much the small black bag of home-roast had cost, even online. The general expense was the primary reason I couldn’t have nice things.
If nothing else, I’d have a present for my best friend Maya. No way she would let some complex coffee-making machine bedevil her. My culinary training was of a more traditional sort. Printed instructions, in both English and German, not required.
The caffeine gift would have to wait until around next Christmas, though, considering her birthday fell on December 24th. Not that one would know that the season had well and truly passed. The holly was still very much jolly on large portions of my street.
It was reaching a point where it was downright comical to still be seeing all the twinkling lights and snowmen, but some Californians were gung-ho. Even with the kick-off of the festive season creeping threateningly close to Halloween, some just didn’t seem to be able to let go of the holiday season. I’d be the first to admit that egg nog was among the top ten inventions ever, but I just got a case lot and froze it. None of the other Yuletide trappings required, come January 10th. Maybe it was some kind of strange compensation for the total lack of snow.
In spite of my defeat, I tried to put on a brave face. Stowing the recycled bag of trend back in the coffee cupboard, I accepted my terrible fate and brought the jumbo jug of instant coffee crystals to the counter. The steam flew like a white flag as the stove top kettle blew. I consoled myself with the fact that instant coffee was better than no coffee at all.
Once the caffeine had perked me up enough to function, I headed for my closet. The clothes inside stood like soldiers awaiting inspection. Not identical, but near enough that it was hard to tell them apart on first sight. Simple, subdued, black and white. Selecting the most sensible suit I could spy, I shook out of my P.J.s and slithered into the silk-lined wool.
It only took spilling coffee on a white shirt once for me to want to take every precaution, so it didn’t happen again. Even if it did feel a bit silly. I’d been working from home for nearly a year. Yet, I’d kept up my old routine, like I still had an office job. Which, sadly, hadn’t been the case for about three months.
It wasn’t a case of old habits dying hard, though they absolutely did, as much as mindset. Attitude wasn’t everything, but it could make a difference. Act like you have a job, and you won’t feel unemployed. Even if an unemployment check was the only real income you saw.
The angels sang, the room filling with light as laptop came to life. Bluetooth headphones filling my skull with music, I set about the labors of the day, hopeful in heart but steely in determination.
Scrolling through the want ads felt a little like some sort of digital treadmill, each of the listings scrolling by, most unnoticed, until they all became part of the same repeated blur. My finger on the scroll wheel was getting quite the workout. It sadly reminded me of the last time I’d tried online dating in a desperate attempt to break my lengthy dry spell.
I knew I wasn’t the hottest fox on the planet, but it wasn’t like mirrors shattered when I passed or anything. I had a pretty enough face, and while I’d never been happy with the size of my waist, it was accompanied by a decently sized bust and hips.
Yet, alone I remained. It felt a little pathetic to still be not just single, but a virgin, two weeks shy of my 25th birthday.
It felt very much like I’d left no stone unturned in my relentless search, for either love or for a new job. Except that there was always another stone.
A growing sense of pessimism gnawed inside my skull, threatening to greatly darken my mood. A change could be as good as a break, so I switched gears, and windows, over to my email. Hoping for a distraction, but never suspecting what I would actually find there that fateful morning.
It wasn’t the first time. If it was, I doubted I would have recognized the type so readily. Still, there was no mistaking the top message in my inbox.
The response was from Boucher Books. The biggest small press publisher on the west coast. What they lacked in print runs they made up for in mystique. There was never a book that their company released that didn’t garner instant critical acclaim.
That kind of hype, combined with the scarcity of copies, ensured the company sold out of every book they chose to print. Numbers which looked very good for their overall standing. Like filmmakers who booked the smallest screening room at Cannes so they could boast their showing sold-out.
While based on a template, the missive was surprisingly personal. Unlike any form letter I’d ever seen.
But in spite of that piquing my intrigue, the most interesting part of the email came in the later stages. Particularly the bit about wanting me to start immediately. As in that day, that instant. The exact wording was ‘at your convenience,’ but I’d been around long enough to know that basically meant ‘as soon as you’re able.’
The second most interesting part, at least to me, was that the letter appeared to have been composed by Hugo Boucher himself. It could sometimes be hard to tell with electronic communications. The signatures were just the same kind of text as the rest of the message. Anyone could have filled in the name. Except there were little quirks. A odd sentence structure here, speaking of someone for whom English was not their first language, and a typo there, that spoke of human intention.
I was able, and almost frighteningly willing, getting onto the company website within seconds and signing up for every group, mailing list and assignment they currently had on offer, before the minutes on the clock hand changed twice
It didn’t mean I would get every project I signed up for. It was mostly likely a candidate system. Everyone in that department who was interested signing up and then, whoever was in charge of the project, picking who they thought was best. It was a system I knew well, and tended to cope with, by way of the shotgun approach. It was a decent way of statistically raising my chances of get at least something that I might want.
Curiosity tugged. As I waited to hear back about which projects, if any, I’d been assigned, my mind drifted to the inciting email. I’d only managed to get my hands on one of Boucher’s books, and an electronic version at that. I was happy to get anything of course, but his seemed the kind of work to be held and experienced viscerally.
There were print copies. Mostly on eBay, posted by the lucky sod
s who had snagged them when they were still new. All for prices well outside what I could afford, even if I ate only rice, with nothing but dreams of anything beyond instant coffee. I’d already been a student once.
But the words from that digital copy of his work came back to me. Line by line, phrase by phrase. Those simple letters arranged in a way that left me glad to be alive. No matter how bad life got. The literary equivalent of the sentiment ‘any day above ground is a good day.’
Boucher spoke to me though those backlit pages. Mostly read in the dark to get the effect. I also didn’t want anything else to be able to distract me from the experience. Like how people often turn the lights off before a movie, even when they’re at home.
The projector of my mind hummed as his beautiful words created images. I’d never really understood the near animosity between literature and visual art. They might have different ways of going about it, but were ultimately united in their goals.
I couldn’t draw, or even really paint. Nor was I really much of a writer, myself. I would never be published, but my career, such as it was at that point, had been in publishing, and I loved it. I loved to read.
Hugo Boucher was on another level, though. He was absolutely beautiful, in body as well as in print. Although I didn’t have too much reference to go on as far as the former. Photographs were scarce, much like his treasured output.
There were rumors of art, paintings that no one had seen. Not to mention another book he’d been working on for over five years. I stared at the single photograph of him on the company website and it almost felt like he looked at me across space and time. Rendered in a stoic black and white, doing little justice to his true Norman features. His full lips held a cigarette. A risky move in the days of health cartels and easy offense. Though, in his defense, the image had been captured over ten years ago, its subject an obstinate youth of 25.