by Anna Joung
Mark paused at the receptionist's desk. He was carrying three drinks in a beverage carrier and he lifted one of them out to hand to Melinda. Melinda simpered her thanks and Mark gestured for me to follow him. Ignoring the curious look from Melinda, I slipped past her and met Mark in the hall.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and quiet.
“Good morning, Mr. Harris,” I responded. “Can I help you with those?”
He handed me the coffee carrier. “You can, actually. This one,” he indicated one of the coffees, “Is for you.”
“Oh, is it-“
“Just cream, no sugar.”
Just how I took my coffee. I quirked an eyebrow and he gestured for me to follow him, where he led me into his office, pausing to unlock the door. Once inside, he set his briefcase on his desktop turned to face me, easing back to sit on the desk.
“You know my coffee order,” I said to him.
“I do.”
I considered the cup in my hand. “I can’t tell if that’s sweet or creepy.”
He smiles and, god, I swear I almost feel my knees going week. I stare at him for a moment, dazzled by his teeth, the lopsidedness, the tiny scar, waiting for a response. It takes me a moment to realize I must be holding his coffee, too. I took a few steps closer to him and offer the cup.
“Are the two so mutually exclusive?” He asked, taking the cup and setting it beside him.
“Well, shouldn’t they be?”
“If it’s creepy to notice you and notice how you take your coffee, then I’m a creep,” he said, still smiling. “I would like to point out that it is a small office.”
We’re a foot away, max. I can smell his cologne and something muskier, heavier, hotter beneath that. Sandalwood, teakwood, mahogany. He worked out in the mornings, I knew it. He worked out in the morning, to work up a nice musk, and then he came into the firm to torture me.
I’m suddenly aware that I’m inches from his face.
And oh, my god, I put myself there.
Before I could take a step back, his hand is there, holding my bare arm. His fingertips graze my elbow before trailing down where he takes my hand, the same hand he kissed the night before. His eyes are such a deep, chocolate brown, and staring into them, I realized that I wanted whatever he was opening up his mouth to ask me.
“Dinner tonight?”
“Yes.” I was breathless. He squeezed my hand in his fingers and we held each other’s gaze for a moment before I let go of his hand and stepped away.
“I’ll pick you up after work,” he told me and I nodded.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime.”
I left his office and shut the door behind me. What was wrong with me? Phoebe’s voice sounded in my head. I think you need to enjoy something passionate. Maybe I did.
True to his word, Mark walked out of his office shortly after Melinda left for the day and walked me out of the building. As we walked to the parking garage, he placed a hand on my lower back and guided me to his car, a surprisingly modest little sedan. He held the door open for me and waiting as I situated myself on the leather seats. He shut the door with a snap and crossed to the other side.
“I hope you enjoy fish,” he told me as he started the engine.
“I like fish,” I told him. We pulled out of the parking lot and entered into traffic. “Where are we going?”
He flashed me a side smile that was just as dizzying head-on as it was from the profile.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
As Mark navigated us through rush hour traffic, I tried guessing the destination with no luck. He was a confident driver who navigated the streets smoothly. When we finally slowed down, it was in front of a high-rise building that I was unfamiliar with, and he began driving through a long tunnel of the parking garage until he’d reached the uppermost level. He pulled into a space and quickly got out of the car before I could say anything. Seconds later, he was at my side, opening the door and taking my hand to help me stand.
“Where are we?” I asked again as he began leading me from his car. My hand was still in his and I left it there.
“You’ll see,” he said again. His deep voice echoed in the parking garage warmly. “Best place in town.”
“Oh, is there a good vending machine on one of the levels?” I asked. We stopped in front of a corridor for elevators and he pressed the button. We were soon rushing upward, quickly. The doors to the elevator were so reflective, we could see our reflection perfectly. Tall, broad Mark who looked like he’d fallen straight from an Italian suit catalog and me beside him, significantly shorter, fuller-bodied. I tossed my hair and drew my gaze to his face, to find him staring back at me, the lopsided grin on his face.
“The best vending machine in the building,” he said as the elevator stopped and pinged open for us, “Just happens to located in my apartment.”
CHAPTER 6
Mark
Her fingers were still clenched between my own as I led her down the plushily carpeted hallway to a lone door at the very end. Her hand was warm and soft in my own. I fished the keys from my pocket and unlocked my door.
“Welcome to my place,” I told her, pushing the door inward. I heard the audible gasp behind me and I turned to look at her face as I flicked on the dim, overhead lighting of the foyer that opened up to the dining room and living room combined. Large floor to ceiling windows lined the walls, filling the space with amber-colored sunset. I dropped the keys on the table lining the wall by the door.
“Hopefully better than a vending machine,” I said, turning to face her once more.
She wasn’t looking at the space, but at me. In the dim lights from above, her golden hair shined like a glowing halo around her head and her eyes, caught by the deep yellow of the sun, were pools of water, deep, and so blue. The foyer was spacious, but we were standing close, our fingers still intertwined and I tugged her against me, gently, so her breasts were just skimming my chest. I leaned my face down close to hers and murmured, “I have something for you.”
The rush of red to her cheeks was immediate. She glanced down, then up, and said, “Oh? What’s that?”
Hand on her lower back, I led her to the table where I had set up a canvas on the dining room table. It was small, a foot and a half by a foot and a half, and Emily stiffened beside me when she saw it. I rubbed my thumb in a small circle on her back and felt the curves of her spine through the fabric of her dress as I guided her in front of it.
“I’d like you to paint me something,” I told her. I took place behind her and dipped my head down to whisper in her ear. “Anything.”
She leaned her head back against me and I caught a whiff of that scent clinging to her hair, that sweet smell that I couldn’t place, that reminded me of something from years ago. I slipped my hands on either side of her waist and gave her a nudge to the canvas.
“I don’t know what to paint,” she admitted, looking back at me over her shoulder.
“Paint what you feel,” I instructed. “Paint anything while I cook dinner for us.”
I handed her one of my old shirts to act as coveralls and indicated the bathroom through a small door behind her. “Paint what makes you happy,” I told her before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and disappearing into the kitchen.
A few moments later, when I came out with a glass of wine in my hand for her, she was just coming out of the bathroom in the shirt, her dress slung over her arm. The bottom tugged upwards around her hips, billowed a bit at the waist, and the top few buttons were undone to accommodate her breasts, pushed up with the outline of a black bra. She tossed her hair again, still in its ponytail, and sauntered up to me. She took the glass from my hands and laid her dress along the back of one of the dining room chairs.
“Thank you,” she said, almost shyly.
“You’re welcome,” I responded. “Now. Paint. Dinner should be ready in thirty.”
CHAPTER 7
Emily
Instead, I was painting. For the first time in, well, months.
Mark had picked out some different colors for me, acrylic, as I told him at the bar the previous night. One of the colors very closely resembled the blue dress I’d complimented. I used this first and the most.
I wasn’t sure what to paint, not until I started dragging the brush across the surface, stippling a bit down one side. It morphed into something soft and soon and soon, I was stippling yellow dots on the other side, like a calm beach. Then he began to take form. Using a smaller brush, I sketched the outline of him, his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, and long legs, walking towards me, down the beach. With oranges and a touch of purple, I painted the sunset over the water. A delicious scent was drifting from the kitchen. The wine was sweet on my tongue and a weight lifted from my chest as the painting took form before me. Mark’s escape, I titled it in my head. It was a soft painting, very basic, but it was beautiful and I leaned away from it, brush in my hand.
“All finished?”
I jumped and spun to see Mark standing a few feet from me. His jacket and shirt discarded to show a white tank top that displayed the chiseled muscles of his shoulders, his biceps, even the long lines of his forearms. God, I wanted to be in those arms.
I nodded and set the brush down. “I think so, but, wait-“ I held up a palm as he advanced, a curious look on his face. “I only had thirty minutes and working with acrylic takes more time so it’s not the greatest-“
My words stopped as he took his place beside me to examine the painting. He smelled of cooking, of that tantalizing musky scent that makes my mouth water, and I almost, almost, forgot that he was looking at one of my paintings.
“That’s me,” he says after a moment and I nod.
“I painted what makes me happy,” I told him.
“It’s amazing,” he said. He turned to me, taking my arms in his hands and turning me with me. “You’re amazing,” he murmured.
“Mr. Harris-“
His lips stop the words in my mouth, halting them on my tongue. I could taste the wine on his lips and he kissed me firmly, taking the back of my head in his hands. His fingers tangled into my hair and I became aware of our height difference for the first time. His head was dipped down, angled towards mine, and I wrapped my arm around his waist, pulling him against me. He trailed his lips down my jawline, pausing at my ear lobe to nip the area with his teeth. My feet curled with pleasure and I ran my hand up the back of his neck. Against my thigh, his member was growing hard, pushing through his pants. His lips were at my neck, trailing downward, downward, and I gasped as he kissed my collarbone.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he told me, his words hot against my skin. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to show you how beautiful you are.”
“Yes.” I was breathless. It was hard to think straight, but oh, how I wanted him to continue. I didn’t ever want this to stop. “Please.”
He reached around and I felt his hands on the back of my thighs. He lifted me in one smooth motion and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His cock pushed against me and I moan softly at the sensation, my underwear becoming wet.
My rear hit the table as he sat me down on the surface and his fingers worked away the buttons of his shirt. They snapped open at his touch, freeing my breasts still clad in the black lace bra. The too-big shoulders of his shirt slid down my arms and pooled around my hands. His mouth found my neck again and his fingers deftly unhooked my bra in one motion, freeing my breasts completely, which he found with his tongue. His hot tongue flicked against my nipples, hardening them, and I moaned again as he eased me back onto the surface of the table.
He stayed at my breasts for a moment, rubbing and biting them with his teeth until I gasped for air, until my panties were soaked through from him teasing me. Trailing his tongue down my stomach, he hooked his fingers around my underwear and tugged them down my legs, freeing my sopping womanhood for him. I gasped as cool air swirls around my legs, and I felt him chuckle at the sound. He leaned back and pulled off his shirt, exposing his perfect chest, the hard lines of his abs.
"God, your body is perfect," he murmured, running a hand up my thigh.
I pushed against my forearms and sat up to appreciate him. That stubborn piece of hair had fallen over his eyes again and he did nothing to push it back. We looked at each other for a moment, our eyes scanning the others, and I pushed myself further from the table and stood up before sinking to my knees before him. My knees hit the hardwood floors and I worked his belt open with my hands, followed by the zipper of his pants. I had to taste him.
His member was hard beneath my hands, waiting for me. I kissed the tip, looking up at him as he reached down to smooth my hair from my face. I slowly drew my lips around him, tasted him with my tongue but the sensation lasted only a moment, because he had pulled away. He reached down and scooped me into his arms and replaced me on the table. His shirt was still clinging to my wrists and he tugged me free, casting it to the ground with the rest of his clothing.
He moved between my legs, spreading them wide, and I felt the tip of his cock just barely push against me.
“I would rather taste you, right now,” he murmured, his hands on either side of my face, holding me there. His lips ghosted mine and shivers ran down my spine. He kissed me again, this time harder, hungrier and I’m back on the table, with his head buried between my legs and oh, god, what is he doing down there. His tongue worked magic against my womanhood, and I can feel me getting wetter and wetter and I can’t stand it. I’m aching for him to be inside me.
He tugs me down the length of the table and lifts my legs. His member pushes against me slowly, pushing his way into my tight space and I moan softly until he’s buried himself completely. He bends over me, still inside, and nestles his head against my neck. He begins rhythmically moving in and out, pulsing, murmuring something against my neck, but I’m too preoccupied to hear it. I tangle my fingers in his hair, drag my nails down his neck and shoulders. I want more and when I tell him so, he complies gladly.
He thrusts harder and harder, gaining momentum and intensity. His fingers grab my hair and he tugs so I arch my back against the table, tightening around him. He grunts in response and I clench even tighter around his cock. His voice is thick against my neck and I moan. He thrusts faster and we climax together, waves of pleasure washing over my body. He’s still murmuring something against my neck and it takes me a moment to realize it’s my name.
We lay for a moment, panting on the table, my arm around his shoulder, his hands on my hip and leg. He pulls back after a moment and looks at me with hazy eyes.
“Be mine, Emily” he asks me.
I surprise both of us when I say yes.
After eating a delicious dinner together mostly nude, Mark drove me back to the office, where my car was still parked, and I left for home to prepare for the next day. I felt nervous, my stomach was winding and unwinding itself in knots, in a giddy, excited way. I felt like a kid again with her first crush. Only her first crush liked her back.
Her first crush also fucked her on his dining room table, but that’s beside the point.
At the office, Melinda was already standing behind the desk, sifting through some files and paperwork. She looked up as I walked in and pushed her glasses up her nose. I took that as a greeting.
“Morning, Melinda,” I said, cheerily.
“Good morning,” she said, her tone frosty. “Mr. Harris would like to see you in his office.”
I paused in front of the desk and frowned at her. Mark? Here this early? Melinda continued.
“To be clear,
Mr. Harris senior would like to see you.”
“Oh.” My stomach fell. Did he know already? Was I going to lose my job? Oh, god, why did he want to see me? He never wanted to see me. “Do you know why?”
Melinda shook her head and adjusted her suit jacket over her slacks. “He didn’t share. He only asked that you be sent to him when you got in.”
I refrained from asking her what his body language was like. Instead, I dropped my purse on the desk, smoothed my hair around my face and headed down the hallway. Mark’s door was closed when I passed it, just as Mr. Harris’s was at the end of the hall. I rapped my knuckles against the wooden surface. It’s quiet on the other side for a moment before I heard the raspy, low voice of Mr. Harris telling me to enter. He looked up from his computer when I opened the door and poked my head in.
“You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Harris?”
“Miss Haines, yes. Come in, have a seat. Shut the door behind you.”
I swallowed around the lump that’s collected in my throat and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind me. The leather of the chair before his desk is cold, the temperature seeping through my clothes, giving me a chill. He typed at his computer for a moment longer and I studied his face. He’s an older version of Mark, truly, and he has retained his strong jaw and high cheekbones despite his age, but his eyes possess none of the warmth of Mark. When Mr. Harris finally looked at me, my heart clenched, nervous.
“Miss Haines,” he began, leaning forward to interlace his fingers over a file. “You’ve been with the firm now for three months now, correct?”
“Yes sir, that’s correct.” My voice felt small in my throat.
“Since you began, you’ve done will here. Melinda is very happy with your performance. You being here has allowed her to focus on her work as our assistant to the cases.”