by Lila Monroe
“Eep!” I shrieked as he scooped me up in his strong arms. “Dude, you are drunk, you are not supposed to be—I don’t know, doing things like operating heavy machinery—”
“You’re not heavy machinery,” he told me in that very serious way that slightly drunk people have. “You’re light machinery. Light, soft machinery with great boobs. More machinery should have boobs.”
“I hope for your sake you had a head start on me at the bar,” I told him. “Or I am mocking you for being a lightweight forever.”
“Guess I’ll have to find something else for that mouth of yours then,” he said with a grin, and oh, the images that flooded my mind. These panties were ruined forever.
He tossed me onto the bed and I shrieked as I bounced. “Asshole!”
But I was giggling.
He shed the remainder of his clothes, dropping to all fours on the bed in front of me, and then advanced, his eyes pinning me in place. He backed me up against the headboard and took my wrists, holding them over my head as he kissed me thoroughly, his tongue gleefully plundering my mouth before he began to nibble at my jawline and neck, my giggles dissolving back into moans as he traveled ever southward.
He shifted his hands so that just the left encircled both my wrists, his right joining his mouth as it closed over my breasts, sucking at them through the thin fabric of my shirt. I keened, squirming at the tantalizing touch and trying to bring the rest of my body into closer contact with his. As he chuckled the sound reverberated against my skin, and he began to unbutton my blouse, his hands and mouth hot against me. I leaned forward and bit at his shoulder, pressing my hips into his to urge him on.
“So perfect,” he murmured against my tender skin before sucking my left nipple into his mouth, and I cried out as he began to kiss my breasts in earnest, his other hand finally abandoning my wrist to dive down the front of my pants.
His knuckles bumped against my clit and I gasped, rubbing myself wantonly against him. He withdrew, teasing, and I slid my hands over his shoulders, savoring the feel of his smooth skin before digging my fingernails into his back in retaliation.
As he tugged my pants off, I took a moment to congratulate myself on my excellent decision-making skills. No matter what happened tomorrow, this was the most fun I’d ever had during a work trip, and I knew I’d be showing up to my presentation the next day with a little extra bounce in my step.
He tore my panties off and stood there, groaning appreciatively at the view as I spread my legs for him, and then he came at me and began to kiss and lick his way down my stomach, making me writhe in anticipation. He circled my belly button teasingly before trailing his tongue down there. The first touch of his mouth was electric, sparks shooting up my spine as he traced my wet opening before kissing me deeply, his tongue spearing straight and sure, deep inside.
“That’s it,” I panted, encouraging him. “Right there.”
“Is that what you like?” he growled.
That clever tongue flicked over me before plunging into me again and again, his thumbs tracing tantalizing circles on the sensitive skin of my thighs. I was whimpering, bucking upward against him, feeling the beautiful burn of his stubble against me, needing only a little more, only a little more—
He hummed in satisfaction as he tasted me thoroughly, and I felt the vibration of his mouth up through my entire body and down to the tips of my toes.
“So beautiful,” he whispered against me, lapping my wetness with long strokes of his tongue, and without another thought I came harder than a freight train crashing into a mountain, moaning blissfully as I rode out the waves of my orgasm.
When my brain was once again capable of receiving the images transmitted by my eyes, I saw him resting on his elbows beside me, a smug grin on his face with just a hint of shyness, as if he knew exactly how great a job he had done but wouldn’t mind a little confirmation.
A glance downward told me the best way for me to give him that validation.
I licked my lips, loving the way his pupils dilated as his eyes dropped to my tongue, and began to trail my hand down his sweaty, chiseled chest, taking my sweet time on the way to that long, hard cock. I was going to make this so good for him. I was going to stroke him and pump him gentle and slow, firmer and firmer. I was going to sink down and take him slowly into my mouth, teasing him with the promise of more as I drew spirals around his length with my tongue. I was going to take him deep into the back of my throat and—
His phone rang.
We both froze, and for a moment, looking into those lust-darkened eyes, I thought he was going to let it go to voicemail, and we would spend the rest of the evening learning every inch of each other’s bodies.
Then he made a disappointed but resigned sound in the back of his throat, and pulled away from me. “Sorry. This is probably important.”
“Sure,” I said. Maybe it wouldn’t be, though. Maybe it would be some unimportant thing he could immediately resolve without leaving the room, and I could get back to the important business of finding out exactly how he tasted and whether I liked it better than bourbon. Maybe I could find out exactly what noise he would make when—
He rolled out of bed, giving me a great view of that cute ass as he bent over to search the pockets of his discarded clothes for his phone. He pulled it out and cut off the ringing with a stab of his finger, running a distracted hand through his hair.
“Yeah? Yeah, it’s me. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of—no. No. No, I see what you mean. Yeah, that’s—of course I take this seriously!” The volume of his voice rose, and I could see his jaw clench and his Adam’s apple bob as he visibly struggled to maintain control. “Yes. Yes, of course. No, I understand. I’ll be right over. Yes. Goodbye.”
He snapped the phone shut as if he were imagining snapping the neck of the person who had called him, and began to pull his underwear and jeans back on.
I struggled to keep my disappointment from showing. “Gotta run?” I asked, and immediately wanted to slap myself. Of course he had to run. Hadn’t I just heard him say that? What, did I think that if I just asked out loud, the universe would magically turn back time so that that conversation hadn’t happened?
Damn, but that would improve my sex life.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, glancing up from his zipper to shoot me a rueful smile. “It’s an emergency.”
“No one hurt, I hope?” I asked.
He had looked back down to hunt for his socks, and now his head shot back up, surprised. “No, no, not that kind of emergency. Just…” He did drunk-person-trying-to-gesture-like-they’re-sober gesturing. “Boring stuff. It’s a very boring emergency.”
I tried to smile. “Well, you certainly put a new spin on wham, bam, thank-you ma’am.” I let my gaze trail down his muscular chest and the still-tented front of his blue jeans, the way my hand had been set to only moments before. “Was really looking forward to returning the favor.”
A faint blush lit his cheeks, and oh, this was only a one-night stand, that gentlemanly blush shouldn’t be making my heart go pitter-pat.
“Not half as much as I was looking forward to it,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ll see you around…”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying,” I said. “Work stuff. But I…well, you never know. I wouldn’t mind it.” Yep. Playing it cool.
He finished buttoning his shirt and leaned forward, pressing a chaste yet passionate kiss to my cheek. “I hope you have a wonderful time while you’re here.”
“I already have,” I confessed, and the way he grinned, I almost thought he was about to throw off his clothes again, and stay.
But he just kissed my other cheek, and left.
I flopped back on the hotel bed and sighed, staring at the ceiling.
“Well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles,” I told myself. “And there’s no use crying over spilled milk.” Maybe if I just kept reciting clichés, I’d start to feel better.
It wasn’t the end of the wor
ld. It was just a hot guy, who I didn’t get to spend as much time with as I wanted to.
I tried to run through my presentation in my head as I drifted off to sleep, but nothing could keep my mind from replaying the scene with mystery man over and over. Those eyes, that mouth…that damn phone call. I’ll probably never see him again, I told myself, so it’s best to let it go. That’s just how the world works.
TWO
“Oh my god, Sandra, I’m so sorry, but I completely blanked on that, can you say it again?”
I cradled my phone against my ear as I swiped my badge at the door to the company offices. Thankfully I didn’t need my full brain to navigate, even though I’d never been there before—corporate structured all these places the same, right down to the brain-deadening beige of the carpet and the mass-produced inspirational posters on the walls. The whole place had a completely predictable layout and color scheme, all gleaming sterile neutral tones and easily disassembled cubicle partitions, all traces of individuality scrupulously erased from the workspaces except for the odd golf trophy.
I trotted down the hall, avoiding the curious gazes of the men in expensive suits, the younger ones looking at me like I was the dessert option on the menu, and the older ones looking at me like I must have taken a wrong turn on my way to the kitchen.
I tried not to fumble my phone in my suddenly sweaty hands. There was no reason to be nervous. No reason to be nervous. No reason.
Maybe if I repeated that enough times, I’d actually believe it.
“‘A warm color scheme,’” Sandra repeated as per my earlier instruction. “Lots of rich carmines and golden browns, think hunting lodge meets the red carpet.”
“Got it,” I said. I most definitely did not have a hangover, not even a tiny little bit, but this headache I’d woken up with was really starting to get on my last nerve, and the coffee and ibuprofen I’d had for breakfast weren’t working their magic just yet.
“I’m sorry to make you memorize all my crap,” Sandra apologized, before her voice went slightly tinny and further away. “James! Icky! Icky icky no no!” Her voice returned to its normal timbre. “Sorry about that, he was trying to get into the cat food again.”
“Tell the little monster hi for me,” I said with a grin. I just couldn’t be annoyed at that little moppet with his big brown eyes and mess of dark curls, not even if he was keeping the best art partner I’d ever had stuck back in Washington, D.C. “Has he figured out how to dismantle the DVD player yet?”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Sandra ordered. “Really, though, I swear, I am going to strangle that babysitter; I let her know I would need her three months in advance and she swore that she would be available and then at the last minute—”
“Don’t sweat it,” I told her. “I got this, just go over some of this stuff with me and I’m golden.”
“Sure thing—James! Mommy’s credit card is not a snack!”
Once Sandra managed to wrest her wallet away from her son’s sticky, adorable fingers, we went over the preliminary art concepts she’d created for my pitch today, Sandra repeating the necessary buzzwords until I was sure they were drilled into my brain and unlikely to come jarred loose by anything less than a tank.
I could feel my confidence level rising I as I trotted down the hall towards the elevators. This was it. This was my big chance. There was nothing that—
“Did you see the hooters on that chick I banged last night? Like frigging planets or some shit.”
“Aw bro, don’t tell me you thought those were real!”
“Like I care? She wanted the D so bad, I swear, I barely got back to the Caddy before she was on her knees—”
My mood deflated like a rapidly punctured balloon as the gang of tanned young men rounded the corner, all pastel polos and hundred dollar haircuts and acrid cologne that filled the air almost as stiflingly as their entitlement.
“Sorry, got to go,” I told Sandra.
Her voice went tense. “Let me guess, the Testosterone Squad has arrived?”
“Giving them that nickname is an insult to testosterone everywhere,” I muttered quietly enough that they couldn’t hear me, ducking my head in the hope that they would take a second to see me through the fog of their own arrogance.
“And ‘Douchebros’ is better? Honey, I don’t want to even think about them anywhere near my vagina.”
I snickered. “And that’s why it’s perfect,” I told her. “Because they act like they’re God’s gift to women, but they’re actually harmful and gross.”
“Yo, Ally!”
Oh no. I had been sighted. I sighed, reluctantly turning to face Harry, Supreme Douchebro In Charge. “Hello.”
“Making an appointment for a spa day?” Harry said with a smirk that made it clear he thought that was the wittiest one-liner since Bob Hope. “You know, to console yourself after we sweep this meeting? Tell you what, I’ll buy you some chocolates and throw in a back massage, just for you.” He leered, his eyes traveling downward to a part of my anatomy that was definitely not my back.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; they’d just take that as evidence of how emotional and unprofessional I was, as if leering and broadcasting exaggerated stories of sexual prowess were somehow Business Conduct 101. “I’ve got to go, Sandra, talk to you later.”
“Let me know how it goes—James! No! Not the hair dryer!”
Harry was still leering, his collar popped up high like he thought he was still a frat boy. “Nice outfit, but you really should’ve gone with something that emphasizes your body more. Only way to distract the client from your incompetence.”
“Charming,” I said dryly, refusing to engage despite the rage boiling in my gut.
“We’ve got this locked up,” Douchebro #2, also known as Greg, chimed in, shoving his hands in his pockets as he took his place next to #3, Chad. “Why’d you even bother showing up? It’s a joke, getting a chick to pitch a dude brand like this. What’re you even going to do, stick a pink label on it?”
“What a brilliant idea,” I said flatly. “I don’t know how I didn’t think of it.” I gave them a smile that probably looked like I was preparing for the dentist to extract all my molars, and got into the elevator, trying to ignore how blatantly they checked out my ass as they followed me in.
They didn’t matter. Nothing they did mattered. The only thing that mattered was that I had gotten my boss to agree to let me pitch after them today, and I wasn’t going to mess it up. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by. It was my first chance to really show everybody what I was capable of.
It was time to step up. Time to show them what I was made of. Time to fight back.
I clenched my fists at my side as the elevator began its slow ascent.
And may the best woman win.
This would have been a very inspirational moment, but then my phone rang. And the ringtone was ‘All the Single Ladies.’
I made the mistake of glancing at the Caller ID before jabbing the power button. Great, my mom. Answering this call was the last thing I wanted to do in front of the Douchebros, up to and including stripping down to a string bikini and dancing the cha-cha, but if I didn’t pick up now, my mom would go into an anxiety spiral and by the time I called her back an hour later, would have convinced herself that I’d been kidnapped, taken overseas, and held for ransom on a modern day pirate ship.
I chose the lesser of two evils, and answered. “Hey, Mom.”
Chad smirked, and I shot him a glare.
“Ooooh, watch out, I think she’s on her period,” he stage-whispered, and the other guys snorted and gave him high-fives.
“Daaaaarling,” my mom said in my ear, skipping straight past ‘hello’ and any sort of perfunctory inquiry into how my life was going. “I’m ordering the champagne this very instant, and you haven’t respondez s’il vous plait’ed to dinner yet.”
“I always come to Friday dinner, Mom,” I said. I tried to say this like a reasonable adult stating a fact
, which, technically, I was. Only somehow, it came out as a whine.
Family: it’s fucking magical.
There was a heavy sigh, as if I had just single-handedly brought about the fall of Western civilization. “It is called etiquette, dear. It exists for a reason.”
Is that reason to give you something to nitpick about other people, all of the time? I very nearly said, but avoided voicing out loud since I didn’t want to be the first person to cause spontaneous human nuclear explosion.
“I’m coming, Mom. Put me down for a plate.”
“If you’d simply responded to the letter, dear—”
Yep, that’s right. My mom sends gilt-edged paper invitations through the U.S. Postal Service for the weekly family dinner. And then expects you to respond in kind. Sometimes I stop and think about how much free time she must have, to think of all these tiny, pointless things to fill it. And then I eat an entire carton of ice cream to try to stop being depressed.
The elevator reached our floor, and the Douchebros and I made our way to the conference room as my mom rattled on despite my best efforts to tune her out. “And try to wear something appropriate this time, dear, I know more and more women think slacks are appropriate attire these days, but they’re just so unfeminine, and really a skirt is much more flattering for our body type. Why, I remember when your father first started courting me—”
This was what happened when you made your whole life about a man.
I wasn’t going to let it happen to me.
I took my seat at the conference table, and saw the elevator button light up. That had to be the Knoxes! And I’d barely had time to go over Sandra’s tips!
“Gotta go, Mom!”
“Allison Brierly Beignet Bartlett, is that any way for a proper young lady to—”
“Probably not, love you, bye!”
I jammed my finger down on the power button, killing my cell with only a weak buzz as its death throes, before unceremoniously stuffing it into my purse. I was going to pay for that later, in spades, but there was no point in dwelling on that now.
