Now and Forever

by Maxwell, Megan

  I walk up to him, ignore his angry look, and straddle him. That’s when he seems to realize I’m not wearing pants. His eyes tell me he doesn’t want this kind of contact, but I do. I kiss him on the lips. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t return the kiss. He’s punishing me. My cold Iceman is an iceberg, but I’ve decided to melt him with my Spanish fury. I kiss him again, and when I feel he’s not cooperating, I whisper, “I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to do it because you’re mine.”

  He seems surprised and blinks. I kiss him again. His tongue is more receptive this time, but he still doesn’t want to play along. I kiss his lower lip, pull on it, and, looking him right in the eye, let it go. I entangle my fingers in his hair and twist on his lap.

  “I want you, lover, and you’re going to fulfill my fantasies.”

  “Jude . . . you’re drunk.”

  I laugh and agree. “Oh yes! I’ve been drinking some mojitos, my love, that were to die for. But listen, I know exactly what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, and to whom I’m doing it, OK?”

  He won’t talk. He just looks at me. I get up from his lap. I’m about to do what they do in the movies, throw everything off the desk to the floor, but I think better of it. That would only make him madder. Instead, I push the laptop aside and sit on the desk. Eric watches me. The cat’s got his tongue, but I’m determined to get what I want. I take one of his hands and bring it to my panties. I’m wet, and I can feel him having trouble swallowing.

  “I want you to ravage me. I’m dying for your tongue inside me and for you to make me scream, because my pleasure is your pleasure, and we’re both masters of our bodies.”

  Now he’s having a hard time breathing. I am determined to drive him even crazier, and I pull off my shirt.

  “Touch me. Come on, Iceman. You want it as much as I do.”

  My Iceman melts by the second. Good! He brings his mouth to my right breast, and, in fractions of a second, he’s on my nipple.

  Oh yes!

  His eyes, once cold, are now wild and daring. He’s still mad, but the desire he feels for me is now up to par for what I feel for him. When he abandons my breast, he leans back in his chair. He’s in it now.

  “Get up and turn around,” he whispers.

  I do as he says. I drop to the floor, wearing only my thong. I turn around. He pushes the chair back, gets up, and brings his erection to my ass as his hands fly to my waist and he squeezes me against him. I gasp. He slaps my ass. It stings. He slaps me again, and, when I’m about to protest, he brings his mouth to my ear.

  “You’ve been a very bad girl, and, at the very least, you deserve a spanking.”

  I mean . . . if he wants to play, let’s play!

  I turn around, and, not taking my eyes off his, I shove my hand in his pants and grab his testicles.

  “Do you want me to show you what I do to bad boys? You too were bad this morning, my love. Very . . . very bad.”

  That paralyzes him. Apparently, he’s not particularly amused that I have his balls in my hand.

  “Jude . . .”

  I jerk off his pants and his briefs, and his colossal erection radiates before me. I shove him, and he drops into the chair. I straddle him again. “Rip off my panties.”

  Said and done. Eric pulls on it, and my wetness rests right on his unyielding erection. I don’t give him time to think: I raise my body and trap him inside me. I’m so wet . . . so aroused . . . that his entire erection disappears inside me easily.

  “Look at me,” I say. Our bodies fit together.

  He does. God, this is so kinky!

  “Just like this . . . This is how I want you. This way, we’re always in agreement.”

  My hips move, and my vagina tightens around him. He drops his pants to the floor. Eric gasps when I move and kiss him again. This time he kisses me back and begs me to keep going. I stop. We don’t move. We’re just here, enjoying the sensation, fitted together. The titillation is at its max. And then my German stands up with me still fixed to him, and he carries me to the ladder on the bookshelves and deposits me there.

  “Hold on to my neck.”

  Without hesitation, I do as he says. He grabs one of the steps above me; then he buries himself completely in me, and I scream.

  My Iceman makes me his as I make him mine. We gasp and pant. We belong to each other.

  He rams into me over and over until he hears the cry that lets him know I’ve come, and he lets himself go in one final and powerful drive inside me.

  For a few seconds, the two of us stay like that, up against the ladder, pressed together, and then he lets go and picks me up, and we go back to the chair. When he sits down, still inside me, he kisses me.

  “I’m still mad at you,” he assures me.

  That makes me laugh. “Good!”

  “Good?” he asks, surprised.

  I kiss him. I wink at him.

  “Mmm. Your anger just means we’ll be having an interesting night ahead of us.”

  21

  Three days later, a pickup truck comes from the airport with the things from my small Madrid apartment.

  Only twenty boxes, but I’m ecstatic. The rest is still back home, because you never know.

  Having my things is very important, and I spend several days distributing them throughout the house. Eric and I are good. After that splendorous night of sex we had the day we argued, we can’t stop kissing. I surprised him. I tempted him and drove him crazy. As soon as we see each other, we want to touch. Whenever we’re alone, we disrobe with an intense passion.

  The phone rings one morning. Simona picks it up. It’s my father.

  “Papá!” I exclaim, so happy to hear from him.

  “Hello, sweetheart! How are you?”

  “Good, but missing you so much.”

  We talk for a little while, and I tell him about the problem I’m having with Flyn.

  “Be patient, sweetheart,” he says. “That boy needs patience and human warmth. Watch him and try to surprise him. I’m sure once you surprise him, he will adore you.”

  “The only way to surprise him is by leaving, believe me, Papá. This boy is . . .”

  “A boy, sweetheart. He’s a nine-year-old boy.”

  I sigh.

  “Papá, Flyn is a premature old man. He’s nothing like our Luz. He complains about everything. He hates me. I’m like a pimple on a butt to him. You should see how he looks at me.”

  “Sweetheart . . . that little boy, considering how young he is, has suffered a great deal. He’s lost his mother, and even though his uncle takes care of him, I’m sure he feels lost.”

  “I agree with you. I try to get close to him, but he doesn’t let me. The only time he seems happy is when he’s playing Wii or PlayStation, alone or with his uncle.”

  My father laughs.

  “That’s because he doesn’t know you yet. I’m sure as soon as he gets to know my sweetheart, he won’t be able to live without you.”

  When I hang up, I feel better. My father is the best. There’s no one like him to help with my self-esteem and encourage me in every way.

  It’s Sunday, and Eric suggests I go with him to the shooting range. Flyn and I both go. He introduces me to all his friends.

  I see right away Eric is still a very sure shooter, and that surprises me. Given his vision problem, I would have never imagined he could continue to practice a sport like this. I don’t like firearms. I’ve never liked them, and when Eric suggests I shoot, I say no.

  “Eric, I already told you I don’t like them.”

  He gives me a kiss on the lips. “Try it,” he whispers. “You might be surprised.”

  “I said no. If you like it, great. I’m not going to deny you that pleasure. But I’m not going to do it. In fact, I don’t even think it’s acceptable that Flyn is around them with such ease. Firearms are dangerous, even if they’re Olympic.”

  “At home, they’re under lock and key. He doesn’t touch them. He knows they’re off-limits,” he says, defending
himself.

  “Having them under lock and key is the least you can do.”

  He’s getting to know me, and he knows if I say no, it’s no, so he lets it go.

  A few more days go by, and I decide the house needs some cheering up. I take Simona shopping with me. She’s delighted to go, and she laughs when she sees the pistachio-colored curtains I’ve bought for the living room as well as the white lace curtains. According to her, Eric won’t like them, but, according to me, he has to like them. Yes or yes. I try fruitlessly to get Norbert and Simona to call me “Judith,” but it’s impossible. “Miss” always precedes my first name, and I finally surrender.

  For days on end, we buy everything I want. Eric is happy to see me so motivated, and he gives a green light to everything I want to do in the house. He wants me to feel at home, and I am grateful.

  After long consideration, and without saying anything to anyone, I bring Susto into the garage. It’s very cold, and his hacking worries me. The garage is enormous, and the poor thing won’t be so cold. I change his scarf for a blue one, and he looks adorable. When she sees him, Simona protests. She’s so agitated, she brings her hands to her head. “Mr. Zimmerman will be so angry. He’s never wanted animals at home.” I tell her not to worry. That I’ll take care of Mr. Zimmerman. I know I’m going to hear about it when he finds out, but there’s no going back now.

  Susto is so good. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t do anything except sleep on the clean dry blanket I’ve put out for him in a discreet spot of the garage. In fact, when Eric comes home in the car, I’m delighted when I see Susto is so clever that he knows he shouldn’t move. With Simona’s help, we lead him out so he can take care of his needs, and, a few days later, Simona loves that dog as much or more than I do.

  One morning after breakfast, Eric finally suggests I go to the office with him. Thrilled, I wear a dark suit and a white blouse, ready to present myself as a professional. I want my boyfriend’s employees to have a good impression of me.

  I’m very nervous when we arrive at Müller. An enormous building and two annexes make up the central offices in Munich. Eric looks incredibly handsome in his blue executive coat and his dark suit. It’s always such a pleasure to look at him. He radiates sensuality and authority. The latter is what gets me going. When we enter the impressive hall, the blonde receptionist stares at us, and the security guards greet the big boss. That’s my guy! They look at me with curiosity, and when I turn to go through the turnstile, they stop me. Quickly, in a commanding voice, Eric tells them I’m his girlfriend, and they let me go without one of those little badges marked “V” for visitor.

  I grin. Eric is very serious. Professional. In the elevator, we encounter a handsome brunette. Eric says hello, and she says hello back. I discreetly watch how she looks at him, and I can tell, by the look in her eyes, that she wants him. I’m about to stomp on one of her feet, but I control myself. When we get off the elevator at the presidential suite, I can’t help myself and exclaim, “Oh!” These offices are nothing like those in the branch in Madrid. Black carpet. Gray walls. White desks. Absolute modernity. As I walk at my Iceman’s side, I realize how very serious everyone is.

  I’m somewhat intimidated. There are too many eyes and too many serious faces looking at me. We stop in front of a desk occupied by a very elegant and attractive blonde.

  “Good morning, Leslie. I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Judith,” says Eric. “Please, step into my office and give me an update.”

  The young woman, surprised, greets me.

  “Delighted, Miss Judith. I’m Mr. Zimmerman’s secretary. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Thank you, Leslie,” I respond, smiling.

  I follow them into Eric’s impressive office. As might be expected, it’s like the rest of the building, modern and minimalist. My mouth agape, I sit in the chair he’s indicated and listen to their conversation for a good while.

  Eric signs several documents Leslie brings him, and, when we’re finally alone in the office, he asks, “How do you like the offices?”

  “Amazing. They’re gorgeous compared to those in the branch in Spain.”

  Eric smiles and, moving his chair, whispers, “I like the offices there better. There’s no archive room here.”

  That makes me laugh. I stand up. I come closer to him and whisper, “That’s good. If I’m not here, I’d rather you not have an archive room.”

  We’re laughing and playful when Eric sits me on his lap. I try to get up, but he holds me down firmly. “No one will come in without warning. It’s an incredibly important rule here.”

  I laugh and kiss him, but then I furrow my brow.

  “Incredibly important, since when?” I want to know.

  “Always.”

  Knock . . . knock . . . jealousy calling!

  “Yes, Jude, what you’re thinking is true,” Eric says before I can even ask. “I’ve had a few affairs in this office. But that was a long time ago. Now, I desire only you.”

  He tries to kiss me. I pull back.

  “Did you just pull the cobra on me?” he asks in a teasing fashion.

  I nod. I’m jealous. Very jealous.

  “My love . . . ,” Eric whispers, “will you please stop thinking such silly things?”

  I take his hands off me. I walk to the other side of the desk.

  “With Betta, right?”

  An instant after I mention her name, I realize I shouldn’t have. Goddamn it!

  But Eric responds honestly. “Yes.”

  There’s an uncomfortable silence.

  “Have you been with Leslie, your secretary?”

  Eric squirms in his chair and sighs. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  But stung by jealousy, I insist. My neck begins to itch, and I scratch.

  “And what about the brunette who came up with us in the elevator?”

  Eric has to think. “No.”

  “What about the blonde receptionist?”

  “No. And don’t touch your neck, or the rash will get worse.”

  But I don’t pay any attention to him, and I can’t stop scratching.

  Eric gets up and comes over to me.

  “But you just said—”

  “Let’s see here,” he says, cutting me off and taking my hand from my neck. “I haven’t been a monk, and I’ve had sex with women who work for my company and with women who don’t. Yes, love, I’m not going to deny it. But, ‘play around,’ what you and I call play—I haven’t played with anyone in this office with the exception of Betta and Amanda.”

  “Of course . . . Amanda. Ms. Fisher.”

  “Who, by the way,” says Eric as he blows on my neck, “has been transferred to London to develop Müller there.”

  That makes me feel better. Having her far away is good, and Eric, having fun with my questions, hugs me and kisses me on the forehead.

  “Today, for me, the only woman in the world is you, sweetheart. Trust, my love. Remember, between us there are no secrets or doubts.”

  We stare at each other, challenge in our eyes.

  Finally, Eric comes close to my mouth. “If I try to kiss you, are you going to pull the cobra on me again?”

  I don’t respond to his question.

  “Do you trust me?” I ask.

  “Completely,” he responds. “I know you’re not hiding anything.”

  I nod, but the truth is, I’m hiding a lot of things. I’m overwhelmed with guilt. Not about anything to do with sex, but I’m hiding things, including a dog in his house, my motocross riding with Jurgen, and his mother and Marta’s skydiving classes.

  Eric looks at me. I smile and, finally, sigh and whisper, “Look at what you’ve done to my neck!”

  Eric laughs and squeezes me in his arms.

  “I think I’m going to have an archive room built in my office for when you come visit.”

  I laugh, kiss him, and, forgetting my guilt and my jealou
sy, whisper, “That’s an excellent idea, Mr. Zimmerman.”

  22

  On weekends, I manage to peel the little grump and Mr. Moody off the couch. Otherwise, they’d spend the entire day glued to the Wii and the TV. Those two! We go to the movies, the theater, to have a burger, and I see that they have a good time. Why is it so hard for them to leave the house? Every now and again, Eric surprises me, inviting me out to eat at a restaurant. Afterward, he’ll take me to an impressive club, and we’ll have fun drinking, kissing, and talking.

  He hasn’t said anything more about our sexual supplement. When we make love at home, we whisper hot fantasies to each other that get our motor running, but, for the moment, we haven’t had sex with anybody else. Does he want me for himself that much?

  One Sunday, I manage to get them to go out for a stroll. We park the car and walk to the English Garden, this marvelous place in central Munich. Flyn doesn’t talk to me, but I participate in the conversation nonetheless. This clearly irritates him, but, in the end, he has no choice but to accept it.

  In the afternoon, I make them go to the Bayern soccer field in Munich. The idea horrifies them. They’re more into basketball. The place is enormous, grand, and, I explain, this is the team that has won the most in the Bundesliga. They listen to me, nod, but they don’t care. I smile when I see their bored faces, and, at around seven thirty, they suggest going out for dinner.

  They take me to a local restaurant, and I try different kinds of beer. Pilsen is blond, Weissbier is white, and Rauchbier is smoky. Eric waits for my reaction after I taste them.

  “But none is as good as Mahou Five Stars!”

  They laugh.