by Hollis Wynn
“That. Was. Amazing,” I spit out. Then I pull him back up to me to meet his shit eating grin. His face is streaked with my smeared lipstick and the juices of my body.
“You’re amazing.”
“You aren’t just saying that because we’re about to have sex, are you?” Damn it. Why does my insecurity have to come out right now?
“Nope.” He pops the P and I try not to giggle. “We could be done right now, and I’d still think you’re amazing.” He licks his lips again and my heart swells with pride.
Boldly, I slide my hand down the powerful planes of his chest, through the dusting of dark hair, and grab ahold of his cock.
“Even if we stop now?” I cock my eyebrow at him before drawing my hand up and his body seizes in pleasure.
He kisses me and bucks his hips toward me, growling. “Even. Now . . . Fuck.”
I keep pumping his cock, feeling it grow even thicker in my hand and his moisture drips from the tip. “I’m so ready for you.” I sigh. Dirty talk isn’t something I usually do, but I can’t stop myself now.
Baker bites his lip before dipping down and kissing mine instead. Immediately his tongue slides into my mouth and he deepens the kiss. It’s so good. His kisses are drugging, and I can’t think straight. When he releases me, I let go of his cock—eliciting a groan from him—to grab a condom from my nightstand.
I giggle and he presses his chin into my shoulder. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m glad I bought the extra-large ones.” I laugh because when I bought them it was only wishful thinking.
Taking the condom from me, he rolls onto his back and puts it on. I watch raptly thinking how the hell will that fit inside me? I’ve ogled him enough to know he fills out his suits impressively, but this is the first time I’ve been up close and personal with his cock. Suddenly I get the urge to taste him. I’ve never been a fan of going down on a man, but with Baker, my mouth waters with anticipation.
Baker kisses my shoulder as he settles back between my legs. Taking one thigh, he hitches it over his shoulder, kissing the crook of my knee. He rocks back, setting his cock at my throbbing entrance, and pushes in only the tip.
I moan loudly at the feeling of him. It’s amazing—pure bliss. Then he pushes in a bit more and more. I widen my legs and his hips graze my clit as he pushes forward more and more. Clutching his shoulders, my head lolls back in pleasure.
The feeling is so intense. It feels right, like we should never stop.
“You want me to fuck you, Red?” Baker’s eyes light up and he pushes forward slightly.
“Yes,” I breathe out. Of course, I want him to pound me. All the way.
His brows draw together, and I watch his face contort in pleasure as he picks up the pace. This gorgeous man is in my bed. With his XL condom on. The pinch inside of me is short lived and I meet him thrust for thrust.
He goes deep, so very deep and fast. The nerves all over my body are screaming. My breasts bob with every thrust, every touch of his cock to my g-spot causes me to cry out. My moans turn into shrieks, then squeals . . . he feels so fucking good. It’s never been this good, ever.
“Oh god, yes—Baker, yes. Don’t stop!” I screech.
He has the energy of a stallion and he pummels me into another orgasm. Another eruption of desire I can’t contain. I clench even harder around his cock and he grunts out in response, going harder and harder.
“Fuck, Red. Holy hell,” he says and takes hold of my hips, pressing forward making my legs stretch apart even more and he goes deeper and deeper until he freezes. Then he comes hard as a loud, sexy growl explodes from him.
The veins of his body come out, roadmaps on his arms, up his biceps and neck. His lips part with another heavy groan as he collapses on top of me, leaving me with one more hard kiss before his head drops into the crook of my neck.
I fist my fingers in his hair, holding him close as he begins to slightly soften inside me. I can’t help but clench around him a couple more times and breathe deep as he immediately grows harder again. He pulls back to look at me, then discards the condom in the trashcan next to my nightstand and rummages through the drawer for another one.
I lay languidly, watching him. “What are you . . .” I begin to ask before he rolls on another condom.
He laughs and rolls onto his back as I look at him like he’s crazy. I mean, he is, right? I can barely feel my legs. I’m counting three orgasms so far and he wants more?
“Come ride me, Red.” He lazily lays his hands back under his head, looking sexy as ever. It’s not like I can say no.
Numb legs be damned.
I straddle him and wiggle to get the right angle and he slides in easily. I’m still wet, so it doesn’t take much for him to find the deepest spot he can. Then I find a rhythm. Up. Down. Twist and repeat. Spreading my legs as wide as they will go, I steady my hands on his shoulders, pushing my breasts toward his mouth and go at it.
His hot and wet tongue flicks them each time they get close enough, setting my whole body on fire. I roll and circle my hips around his cock as it hits just the right spot. Raking my nails down his chest, I no doubt leave marks as I lean down to suckle his neck, just above his clavicle.
“You marking me?” I feel him smile and I nod against him.
He grasps my hips tighter, and he drives so hard into my body, I explode and go slack in his embrace. Seconds later he comes right behind me. I’m full of soul fulling orgasms.
I lie on the bed as he disposes of the condom and lies back down pulling me into him and we pass out in each other’s arms.
Twenty-Four
I awake and the first thing I notice is Baker is still in bed beside me. This beautiful naked man is a ball of fire and has kept me nice and toasty all night. Now I’m sweating and in disbelief about not only what happened, but that he stayed all night.
Baker. The one I’ve been pining over, trying to decipher if he was flirting or being friendly, and I no longer have to worry about it. My cheeks heat at the memory of last night. I lost count of the number of rounds we went and how many orgasms I had. The only thing I know this morning is my body hasn’t been used this well in an extremely long time.
Maybe it’s because we held our feelings in so long and kept our attraction to each other inside that we connected so well. Now, I don’t know where we go from here. Part of me is prepared to delete my profile and try to be with Baker alone. The other part of me wants the blanket of security that online dating provides. It doesn’t mean I have to go out with anyone, just that I have the option if I want it.
I know that there isn’t a written policy on workplace romance, but I also know that my father has a habit of letting people go “just because.” I don’t want to be the reason that Baker loses his job, or I get thrown out on my ass. This would add one more reason is the strikes column as to why my father hates me.
These things race through my mind as I come down from the high of last night—sex, cuddling, more sex. I crawl out of bed and get ready for work like any other Friday morning. Baker is fast asleep after my shower. I pad into my closet wrapped in nothing but a towel. I search the closet for something to wear and drop the towel while pulling up my favorite black lace panties and bra. I decide on a navy shirt dress that’s belted at the waist with a green belt. I pull my favorite green peep toes from the box on the top shelf and slide into them.
He sleeps so soundly, his body half under the sheets with his back exposed and his rhythmic breathing. He doesn’t snore at all which is great considering I’m a light sleeper and any noise will wake me up.
I tear up as I put my makeup on and pull my hair up. I decide to leave him sleeping and set an extra key with a note on top of my pillow and head for the office. To wallow in my guilt and self-inflicted sadness, I stop at Brewed for an extra-large cup of coffee and a muffin.
Even at this early hour, I have a dozen emails waiting, three files to be reviewed and Charles from IT waiting to talk to me.
The busy work is short lived, and I take a break in the women’s locker room, calling Wren so she can help me work through all these feelings. I haven’t seen Baker all morning and I hope that he’s not avoiding me.
I know Chari is probably looking for me, but I’m not ready to talk to her yet.
“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do now.” My voice is somewhat high pitched and whiny today. Thankfully, Wren doesn’t care.
“But you like him, right? It’s the guy from work.” She’s questioning her memory because I’ve bombarded her with all the crap from the online dating in the last couple months.
I giggle because she’s correct. “Yep, the same one. And I do like him—a lot. I’m pretty sure he likes me too, but I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t get it. Is it because of the other guys? Just call them off.” Her voice echoes and I know she’s hiding in the closet away from the kids.
“It’s not the other guys.” I sigh. “It’s my dad.”
“You mean the one cheating on your mother and dating a child? That father?”
I laugh and half growl in frustration. “Yeah, that one. But no matter what he does, he’s still the owner and my boss. I don’t want him to know about this. Us. And I don’t want Baker to be stuck in the middle.”
We’re both quiet for a moment before she speaks up. “There are always risks, honey. Both in life and love. You have two options. You can allow fear to rule the way you love, or you can let go, say a prayer and stop trying to plan every aspect of your life.”
I rub my face in frustration. I’d like to say she’s wrong, but she’s not. Things aren’t that bad, and the risks of loving Baker outweigh the bad on all fronts. I wish this relationship didn’t come with risks—obvious ones I mean because all relationships have risk, no matter what kind they are.
“I know you’re right. I just hope . . .”
She sighs with me. “Stop worrying about it. Give yourself a break—and him too. Allow whatever is going to happen to happen. I know you’re a Capricorn and that’s hard for you. But your life will be considerably better if you just LET IT GO!”
Then she sings, “Let it go . . . let it go,” from the movie Frozen and we both bust a gut laughing.
“One more thing before I have to go check on the kids. Talk to him about how you feel. Let him know that you want to take a chance, but you’re scared.”
“You’re right. Again,” I say.
“I know, I know.” I’m so thankful to have a friend like Wren. She not only keeps me grounded but feeds into my dramatics when I need it.
“Now, I need to go, but don’t think you’re getting out of telling me all the details. I’ll call you tonight after the kids are in bed.”
I laugh because I knew she wouldn’t let me get away without spilling the beans. “Thanks, girl. I appreciate you.”
I get sick of looking for Baker and leave the office a little early. It’s not as though I’ll get in trouble over it, I just try to keep regular hours like everyone else. I need to get out of the office where I can figure out what I’m feeling and how to approach it with him, when I see him next.
Once I’m out on the street, I hail a cab and direct him to Bloomingdales. Retail therapy is a thing—a real thing. It helps me to get out of my head and I decide a new pair of shoes will be the remedy for my confused heart.
I walk through rows and rows of shoes, trying to decide on a pair. The salesman brings me all the ones I show him, and I spend an hour looking for the right pair. I end up with a pair of T-strapped heels with patchwork all over them. They’re vibrant colors and they will go with so much.
I don’t even look at the price tag, just hand my card over when I get to the register. I carry my purchase out the door and look around. It doesn’t take me long to walk over to Jim’s for a burger and fries. They’re not busy when I get there so I take a place at the bar ordering a Tito’s and lime with a bacon cheeseburger and buffalo fries.
Digging around in the bottom of my purse, I pull out my phone and look at the screen. No messages. Humph. Maybe this drink will pull me out of my funk. Instead of staring at my phone, I watch the televisions behind the bar and eat my burger. By the time I finish, I’m feeling better and head home for my sweats and some bad television.
I put the shoes up in my closet and change into a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. I wash my face and grab my kindle from my nightstand when I see the note.
Thank you for last night. I’m sorry I won’t be at the office today. I’ll see you on Monday.
Well, that explains so much. Monday then, I’ll see him on Monday.
Twenty-Five
“Wear the sexiest office dress you have, or you’ll let everyone down.”
“I don’t think that’s accurate in any way, Wren.”
“Pft. Maybe not. Or maybe so,” she says.
“You are relentless at this hour.”
“It is an awful hour, after all. But Todd had shit to do, so I’m up early, praying the kids sleep a bit longer. Besides, it’s his fault I can never pee in peace and my nipples are corroded, which is what I tell him every time he begs me to get up early with him.” She yawns and I should let her go so she can go back to bed.
I laugh out loud despite the early hour. When she called me at six-thirty, I was shocked. I prop the phone up on the counter so I can continue to put my makeup on and fix my hair while I talk to her.
“Oh my. I don’t think motherhood is for me. I have performance anxiety and can’t pee if someone is watching.”
“You still have that complex?” she asks me.
“Of course, I do.” I roll my eyes. I hate public bathrooms and abstain from them at all costs. I decided a long time ago that the bathroom at work was safe because there are only four of us who use it. So, it’s basically like sharing with roommates.
“Whatever,” she says, and I know she’s rolling her eyes at me this time. “How are you doing your hair today?”
“I’m just pulling it into a bun. There’s a staff meeting today and I tend to keep my makeup light and fresh and my hair out of my face. You know . . .” I say, stopping to pluck a stray eyebrow hair. “My father is damn lucky I couldn’t sleep because he sent me an email at five demanding my attendance at said staff meeting today. Can you believe it? As if I wouldn’t be there normally.”
She knows that is a rhetorical question because my father is a grade A asshole every day and we’d both be shocked if he didn’t pull something like this.
“Oh, so you don’t want to be a distraction for the assholes?” She doesn’t miss a beat before continuing, “Ya know, I don’t miss working at all. Yes, sometimes I’d like adult conversation and to do something other than pick up toys and take care of kids, but not at the expense of my sanity. My kids are kinder than any of the guys I worked with—even on their worst days.”
“I only pull out the stops when we’re trying to woo a new client. On days like this, it’s ultra conservative Sutton at the office.”
“What about Baker? Will he be at this meeting?”
I stop mid stroke on my foundation. Half my face is flawless, and the other half looks like I feel. I sigh heavily and continue.
“He will. Yes. And I haven’t talked to him since Friday. He texted, but I didn’t reply right away because I didn’t know what to say. And now . . .” Wren does some shifting on the other end of the phone and she’s probably headed to the kitchen for coffee.
“It’s only Monday, girl. Don’t be so dramatic. He told you he would see you today, so keep an open heart and mind and rock this day.”
“I will, I promise.” It’s all I can say. I will try.
“How long is the meeting?” I can hear her opening the fridge for the creamer as the coffee brews.
“Not too long. It’s usually around two hours of taking notes and listening to my dad mumble in between each group giving their report and the old guys asking a ton of questions.” I feel queasy at the reminder. Some of them can be
so annoying and gross. They smell like a combination of Old Spice, greasy hair, and farts.
“Make sure you touch up your lipstick before going in there. No doubt he’s going to be drawn to your lips after he spent all those hours kissing them.”
“Ha ha.” We both laugh at my sad attempt at a joke. I look at the clock and realize I need to hurry, or I’ll be late. “Wren, I’ve got to go. I still need to dry my hair and fix it, and I don’t want to be late.”
“If you don’t see him before, make some time to talk to him after. You’ll feel so much better after that. I promise.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to him. But I really have to go.” I’m starting to panic at the time on the clock. “Love you,” I holler as I press the end button with one hand and turn on the hair dryer with the other.
Regretfully, I decide to go with Wren’s idea and wear something modestly hot. The pale pink dress is short-sleeved, with a boat neck collar and hits at the top of my knees. It’s not super fitted but has enough shape to show my curves. I throw on a pair of flats because I my nude shoes were in my locker the day I twisted my ankle and I keep forgetting to bring them home.
I glance at my reflection one more time before I sprint out the door.
Stepping out of the cab in flats has me stumbling over my own feet. I swear flats make me more prone to tripping because I’ve worn heels for so many years. I make it into the building, drop my bag in the locker room and change out shoes.
A fresh cup of coffee greets me at my desk. The smell is amazing, and one sip tells me it’s a latte. My name is written on the side in small but neat handwriting that I’d recognize anywhere. I smile immediately with a sting of tears in my eyes. My heart is swelling at his kindness. I know how busy Mondays are for him, yet he went out and got me coffee.
