by Maya Rose
Forcing it out of my mind, I get through my last two meetings, and watch the sun set outside my office window. I’m never in a hurry to go home, but it’s not by design. If I want to work, I work. If I’m feeling like it, I go find a woman I can waste a few hours on. And if I want to go home, I do. I’m never in this state of being on ice. My home, and I’m not sure if I’m welcome anymore. Scared stiff of seeing something I won’t be able to unsee, but wanting to see it anyway.
So when a rap sounds on my door well past the sky turning dark, I’m hoping it’s an emergency that keeps me here through the night. But it’s Selena’s assistant Nora, brandishing a folder towards me.
“Umm...did Selena already--”
My desk phone rings and I answer it.
“Eli, I added some more specifics for how often the amount and terms can be renegotiated.” Selena tells me over the phone, going to town on her keyboard simultaneously. “Ambiguity benefits the party that did not draft the contract--in this case, her. I didn’t want any loopholes. Read it and let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise we’re good to go.”
Why can’t I get past the shit feeling about this contract business? And fuck my ass. She hasn’t called me El a single time ever since the dainty little red-haired vixen called her out on it.
“Thanks—I’ll take a look.” I hang up before she can reboot grilling me over the morning again, and I take the goddamn contract from Nora.
I look up, questioning, when she lingers and doesn’t leave right away. “Is there something else?”
She tilts her neck, fingers sliding over my desk as she slowly walks towards me. “It’s my last day at Walton Hotels tomorrow, Eli.”
Her waist is barely an arm’s length away from my face, and I would be an idiot to not hear the seductive purr in her voice. That, and calling me Eli instead of Mr King.
“You don’t have to fight it anymore.” Nora half sits on the desk, widening her thighs apart.
Yeah okay, I’ve been flirting with her. I also may have made out with her a little at the fall party. And yeah, if she wasn’t working here, I would have already screwed her. And now I can. Just as soon as the thought of her bare skin on mine stops creeping me the fuck out. Damn it all to hell, I can do this. Even if it is breaking my rule of never fucking around in the office. But I have to prove this to myself. That the debacle with Selena was a fluke.
I push my chair back, creating enough space between me and the desk. “Get on your knees.”
“My pleasure.” She winks, draping her blonde hair over one shoulder, slithering down to the carpet. I smell a combination of cosmetics as she does. “Fuck Eli, you’re so hot.”
It is in that moment, when she skids her hands up my legs and thighs, eyeing me invitingly, that I first ask myself what the hell I’m doing. And then, when no answer is forthcoming, I truly, categorically, abhor myself. What’s your plan, Eli? What is my plan? Whore around until I’m too old to get it up? Yes. What’s wrong with that? Nothing...a little...so much….fucking everything. The aversion that hits me is neither subtle nor meek. It’s overpowering in its ferocity.
I roll my chair further behind, away from her, and get off it like it’s on fire.
She raises her face, her smile turning to a confused frown, as she squats in front of nothing. “What--”
“You should go.”
Ploddingly, she gets up. “Eli, what happened?”
Yesterday, today. “I’m late. I need to leave.”
“But I’m busy all day tomorrow with exit formalities. We won’t be able to...” She seems so surprised I’m not taking what she’s offering that she doesn’t complete it.
But all I can think is, thank Christ I don’t have to do this twice. “I’m sorry.” I stride to the door and open it.
Her face distorts. “What--you think she’s special? She’ll chew your goddamn head off and you won’t even know it.”
My heartbeat goes out of whack. How does she know--shit, Selena. She means Selena, you dumbass. I’m done with this conversation and with her. And what the hell did I apologize for? “Goodbye, Nora.”
She marches out fuming, her footsteps beating loud even on the padded floor.
I can’t believe I just did that. My fucking head’s ready to blow off with all the incoherence inside it. One day and one night, and I’m questioning how I live my life? Spasming like a fish out of water for a goddamn number?
Maybe Xavier senses my tenor, because he races my Panamera home like we’re contending for the Formula One championship.
It’s ten thirty when I get back, and the living room is empty and quiet. What is that smell though? Pasta? He ordered in today. Of course he did. All this time and I never wondered if my brother has moves.
I find myself outside her door again, like it’s a portal to some mystical dimension that has all the answers I need. Is he in there with her? How often am I going to be in this position? Did she think of me during the day? Damn it, this is my turf. I have a right to be here. I knock harder than is necessary, finding satisfaction in the hit on my knuckles. If she’s sleeping, I want her to wake up. I count some seconds, and raise my hand again, but the door cracks open and her strangely muffled voice flows out.
“Ok fine! I did take the last one--”
And then abruptly pauses, all ease from her demeanor gone, like I’m the last person she expected to see, as she grazes a quick glance over my shoulder.
God in heaven.
It’s unnatural--the exhilaration in my chest at seeing and hearing her again, her eyes lapping me up and sucking me in as we square off.
Maybe I should get her a tarp or something. Or a burlap sack. Any-goddamn-thing to cover her other than the clothes she chooses. Right now, it’s sleep shorts, and a sleeveless tank top with a round neck that somehow knows exactly where to stop above her breasts so I’m still able to breathe. And now I know she doesn’t wear padded bras. Light reflects off of her hair, creating an auburn halo. An unwrapped half-eaten Twix is raised to her lips, and there’s a smudge of chocolate mocking me at the corner of her lower lip.
She swallows the bite in her mouth and straightens. “What’s up, Mr King?”
My cock perks up in answer. Just get her number and lock yourself in your room before you get arrested, fuckhead. But my hand doesn’t cooperate. It raises up, excommunicated from the rest of my body, my thumb reaching for the smear near her lip. She goes absurdly still, her gaze trickling to where my pad meets her soft skin, and trailing up ever so slowly from my arm to my eyes.
Then her lips move and her eyes glaze. “I thought we were keeping our hands to ourselves.”
That’s your cue. Remove your damn limb from her lip. I do, only to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear--damn if it isn’t the silkiest thing I’ve ever touched. My fingers spread at the back of her neck, my thumb back at her lip, rubbing the spot that I just cleaned. It was either that or licking my own finger to get a taste of her. “We are. So stop me.”
It comes out angry, like she’s making me do this. Making me forget everything but the need to touch her. As if to prove me right, she brings her own hand up, lightly dragging her warm fingertips over my knuckles and then the skin below them, causing zaps of current everywhere she touches.
“Stop touching me.” She says with a hitch of her breath, putting zero meaning into it, stop translating into don’t stop, and now I’m wondering how those fingers will feel wrapped around my shaft, stroking it to bliss.
“Say it like you fucking mean it.” I make a waspish appeal.
“Touch me like you don’t then.” She breathes back.
Hot damn. “Careful, Ms Jenning. Or I’ll think you missed me.”
My hands squeeze around her throat, and she grants me a gasp, arching in instead of pushing away, eyes hooding vulnerably for an instant, before reverting to their usual fiery hazel. Meeting mine like she has nothing to hide.
“Careful, Mr King. Or I’ll think you’re seducing me.”
Chri
st, is she really talking that breathy or is it in my head? And what in the name of hell are we doing? Why do I want to continue doing it? This full-bodied desire spreading through me won’t let me stop. “Trust me sweetheart, you’ll know when I’m seducing you.”
“Yeah? How?” Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes shine with untainted attraction.
Fuck. I’ve had women coming on to me my whole life. I turned one away less than sixty minutes ago. But this--it’s a whole other level. Makes me think I’ll say jump and she’ll do it without asking how high, even while she hates me. Why is she like this? No artifice, no bullshitting, no prevarication. How are men not bowing in front of her, throwing themselves at her? Or maybe they are, and I’m about to be one of them. Slavishly trying to keep up with her moods. My dick’s getting a goddamn whiplash between the morning, when she couldn’t even look at me, and now...Jesus, is she looking.
“Not a morning person, are you Ms Jenning?”
It’s as if I’ve broken a spell. Shattered that tiny moment that was just about this insane chemistry between us. Her eyes cloud on our attached hands, her face storms, and she bats my hand away, withdrawing with her legs and her mind. What did I say? What the fuck did I say?
Her tits heave and fall in slow motion with every breath she takes. “What do you want?”
To fuck you into next week. You, no one else. Shit. Holy fucking hell. What has she done to me? She’s good. Oh she’s good. And I need to remember it. “I need nothing from you, little one. Your father’s calling the shots here, or have you forgotten?”
She tenses, choking her palm around the Twix. “Is that what this is? Him pimping me out to you?”
A red hot flash of rage surges in me. For myself. For Warren. For her. What does she think she is? “Shut your goddamn mouth.”
Seemingly startled at my vehemence, her tight expression loosens into almost contrition. “Fine. Good night.”
She starts to close the door, but I stay it with my hand. To fuck with asking. I hike inside, scanning the room for what I want. I spot it on the opposite end of the king sized bed, but when I draw nearer and pick it up, I’m bewildered. It’s the plainest, simplest looking mobile device I’ve seen on the market. The vagary makes me look at the room again, and I see barely 4 or 5 shopping bags spread on top of the cabinet desk.
“Where’s the rest of the stuff you bought?” Leaves my mouth before I can shut it down. “Did you already put it in the closet?”
Her eyes meet mine wary. “Rest of what?”
Hang on. She had a free pass with the company credit card and… “That’s what you got?” I thumb towards the bags. “That’s all of it? And from Target and Walmart? That, and…” I look down at the phone that I truly didn’t know people still bought. “...this?”
She’s even more bemused. “I had email coupons. What’s your problem?”
I...can’t even. When I look up at her, she twists her arms behind her back, joins her fingers, and chews on her lip. She hasn’t budged from where she was standing, in that little corner next to the door, or uttered a word about my invading her space like this. So the door is closed, I’m alone with her and there’s a bed. And she’s fine with this? Why is she so infuriating?!
“Why are you not asking me to get the fuck out, Ms Jenning? No--why did you let me come the fuck in?”
“It’s your house.”
It’s not a retort. It’s a reply. I hate that I can tell the difference. “And this is your room. No one comes in without your permission--am I understood?” I wanted to take her down a peg last night--so now why is the thought of making her feel powerless, infinitely unappealing?
She regards me like I’ve said something anomalous. Her lips part, but there are no immediate words. Not even a nod. Until, “That applies to you too?”
“That applies to everything that fucking breathes. Do you get that?”
Her eyes dwell on me for the longest seconds of my life. Then she fists the edge of her top. “Did you have sex with her last night?”
Did I what? ……..Holy fuck. That’s what this morning was about? Selena? Second time today someone made an assumption about me and her. This time I can’t help the smirk. “What’s it to you, Ms Jenning? What are you—jealous?”
“Yes. I wanted to ram my fist down her throat. Did you sleep with her, Eli?”
Mother of God, the charge that passes through me at her admission. My breath stalls. And Eli? Goddamn I want to hear her say my name all night. Over and over. Screaming it, panting it, begging me to do whatever I want with that pussy. My chest hurts. When was my last physical? “I don’t see how that’s your business.” I snap.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” She asks, sharpening her gaze. “We’re free to sleep with other people while we live together?”
We? Did she just say we? I’m hard as a rock, and jealous enough to contemplate castrating any man she so much as looks at. She won’t, not if I cross the scant distance between us, dip my cock into the wet tight heat of her pussy, and ruin her for every man that came before me and every one that will come after. I start towards her without a game plan except to put my hands and mouth on her, when the door flings open, and then I’m looking at my brother’s stricken face.
“Ah...I didn’t know you were home.” He says belatedly to me. Then he catches her at his left. “Did I interrupt something?”
Yes. Yes he did. Wait. Why didn’t he knock? Why the fuck did he not knock?
“I…” She lags in answering.
So I do it. “Why are you here?” I ask him sharply.
His eyes close in with his usual shuttered expression, and he turns to Ariel without replying to me. “Do you still want to watch it?”
Watch what?
She glances towards me, seeking my eyes. Say no. Whatever it is, say no, I hear the screaming inside my head.
“You wanted to tell me something, Mr King?” She asks me, and I know what I want to say.
No I didn’t fuck Selena. And no, I don’t want to. So stay. Stay to fight me, princess. To vex me. Push me to the goddamn edge of reason. And then what? Where can this possibly go if not to abject disappointment? I want to kill that internal soundless voice. And I want no part of this havoc going on in my chest and my head. This rawness, like my insides are being wrung dry.
“No. We’re done here.” I tell her, my voice surprisingly calm.
Fuck that let down look in her eyes.
Turning away from me, she says softly to Scotty, “Yeah. Yeah I want to watch it.”
“My room?” He asks. “Living room might be loud if Eli wants to work there.“
“No--your room’s fine.” She agrees.
He holds the door open for her, and she steps out without a backward look.
“I knew you stole the last one.” I hear Scotty chuckle and say.
“It was right there on the floor of the car--finders keepers, dude.” She replies and then they’re out of my earshot and vision, and I’m still holding this travesty of a phone.
I did the right thing, I tell myself, giving my phone a ring from hers. Because this is temporary. This thirst to be near her. Around her. With her. Inside her. Eventually, it’ll pass. It always does. I never want to feel like that again. Swindled. Cheated. Deserted. The way I did when I saw Molly with Carter. Or when mom just up and left, without so much as a note. When dad decided that not even I was worth sticking around for. When Scotty blatantly rejects me every chance he gets. Lust is transient. So are feelings. So is loyalty. Ten billion isn’t.
I contemplate going to Selena’s, but what’s the point? My dick has decided to be out of circulation. I try to work in my room, but in a long time, maybe the first time, it’s not sufficient. Nothing takes my mind off it. Her. Them. Together. I’m like that, until it’s 1 am and I’ve been reading the same damn paragraph on a document for the last hour, and the words are waltzing all jumbled on the screen, when a tap comes at my bedroom door.
My motoring pulse goes in over
drive when I open it. Then I just look. Because I can’t fucking not look. Everything seems to fade around her. Or maybe I need glasses. Or a CT scan--
“Did you eat?” She queries, soft and quick, like she wants to say it before she loses her nerve.
I’m flummoxed. “What?”
“Dinner. Did you eat dinner?” Her voice is hesitantly mellow in the dead of the night. And apparently my cock has a thing for it.
“I don’t under--”
“Oh for the love of God.” She grits out. Then pulls out something from behind her and shoves it at me. “Here.”
I hold it reactively, and blink at it. This glass container, filled with hot food. With a fork on top. I haven’t, I answer in my head. I haven’t had dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast. Or dinner last night. She brought me food? Nobody—bar none—ever since I can remember, has checked with me if I’m fed. It feels...foreign. And warm and fuzzy and like something’s cracking, but I can’t decide if the hurt feels good or bad yet, and I want it to both stop and go on. I look up at her, stupefied, but she’s already turning to go. NO. She’s here--inconceivably, despite how I acted, and despite what she thinks I did...I have to prolong this moment. I grab one forearm and pull her to face me.
Jostling back, she glances at my fingers on her arm, before her amber eyes grace mine. “Don’t touch me.”
This time she means it and Christ, does it pinch. I release her arm and ask her in the same breath. “Stay.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because it’s 1 am and you’re delivering food at my door.”
My modicum of lucidity threatens to melt when her face flurries red again, and she avoids looking at me. She takes a peep at my bed, then at my mouth, and then rounds it off with a lick at her lips. Her legs press together as an added measure. Then she swallows. “I’m not coming in there.”
That’s not a no, is all my ears hear. I step out of my room, closing the door. “Kitchen.”
A pause ensues. Then, “Fine.” And she follows me silently.
It’s peculiar at the dinner table. In my defense, I haven’t had a meal with someone except for or at work. But I take the first bite and fuck, this lasagna is good. And I’m famished.
