by Clara James
As it happened though, Mr. Joice’s testimony wasn’t actually called for.
“If it makes you uncomfortable to address me by my first name, I’ll accept that,” he continued smoothly. “But you were happy to call me ‘Alex’ before you knew who I was.”
That was a rationale I could not argue with. When I thought he was just another employee of Mr. Race’s, I would have been content to be on first-name terms. So what was my problem; some kind of inverted snobbery? No, it wasn’t that. But at Blue Rock, I had always called senior members of staff Mr. or Ms. so-and-so. It was embedded in the company culture and seemed disrespectful to do anything else.
“So,” he softly sighed, when several seconds swept past without my reply. “What’s it going to be, Ms. Cannagh or Melissa?”
“Melissa is fine,” I offered quietly, nodding. I wasn’t comfortable, but if it was the way he preferred things, I’d just have to get used to it.
Thankfully, the rest of my first day went much more smoothly. The plane flew from Teterboro Airport to Chicago, where Alex Race and some of his board members had a meeting with a company they were in merger talks with. The flight took a little under two hours, and I was simply on hand to provide snacks and make cups of coffee. The five men and two women discussed business matters openly, but I tried to make myself as discreet as possible, drifting in and out and making a conscious effort not to listen to the details of their discussions.
I also tried not to stare too often at Alex, who was an incredibly attractive man. At a little over six feet and muscular without being too bulked up, he was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. It became apparent as I got to know him better, that he was more than just physically attractive. He was polite to everyone and endearingly lacked an ego for someone of his success level; he was also intelligent and humorous.
Trying to deny that I was attracted to him would have been ridiculous, but I did repeatedly attempt to push the feelings aside. Nevertheless, I’d find myself blushing when I caught him looking at me from the other end of the plane, and I felt painfully shy when he was flying alone and would ask me to come and sit with him.
I did try to make conversation. “Is that a Nathan Altman in the bedroom?” I asked, standing even though he’d asked me to take a seat in one of the large lounge-style chairs near the front of the cabin.
“Yes,” he smiled, loosening his tie and leaning back into his own seat. “Are you a fan of his?”
“Umm,” I responded hesitantly. “Yeah,” I shrugged. “He’s produced some interesting work. I like some of his early Cubist stuff.”
His eyes lighting up, he nodded. “You studied art?”
“Only for a year in college,” I dismissed. “I enjoyed it, but my parents didn’t think it would lead to a proper career. Of course, they weren’t happy with the career I ended up in, either,” I added with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Financial services, right?” he asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.
“Yeah,” I replied, realizing that I’d done exactly what I’d sworn not to do and begun to talk about myself. “Anyway,” I quickly added, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that. Can I get you another coffee?”
“No, I’m fine,” he responded. “Please, sit down. We’ve got another hour until we land and I don’t want to sit here talking to myself.”
“Shouldn’t I be working?” I suggested, pointing to the rear of the cabin.
“There’s nothing to do,” he shrugged.
Relenting, I sat down in the chair opposite him and, as he carefully steered the subject back to art, we began to talk.
***
As the days turned to weeks, our conversations became more frequent. Alex was often flying alone and he’d usually ask me to sit with him on both the outbound and return journey. Perhaps inevitably, conversation did turn to private matters and I found myself telling him about my experiences at an all-girls’ school and my time at college.
He, in turn, told me about the boarding school his parents sent him to. And then, suddenly, our chat took an unexpected turn. As we were sitting next to each other on the couch, his body slightly turned toward mine and elbow propped on the back of the seat. “I met my wife when we were both freshmen in college,” he sighed.
“Oh,” I blurted, unable to disguise my surprise. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“I’m not any more,” he explained. “We’re divorced,” he breathed, his eyes drifting to the floor in thought.
“I’m sorry,” I offered, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s okay,” he responded, forcing a smile. “These things happen. And I don’t suppose we were really well-suited in the first place. My parents wanted me to marry her and…” he drifted to a stop, before shaking his head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I do miss Fin, though.”
“Fin?” I repeated.
“My son,” he explained, smiling as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it, he offered it to me and I gently took it between my finger and thumb. The little boy in the picture must have been about three; he was a miniature version of his father, with big brown eyes and dark hair that was a little messy.
“He looks lovely,” I said, giving the wallet back to him.
“Thanks,” he grinned. “He’s not always that sweet,” he added laughing. “But…umm, I miss the little guy anyway.”
“You don’t get to see him much?”
“No, not as much as I’d like,” he softly announced. “Things between me and my ex are strained, so she makes it as tough as she can for me to see him.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sincerely.
Looking up, his eyes met mine and remained there for a long moment. “Thank you for sitting here and listening to me,” Alex murmured softly. “I umm…” he began, his right hand moving forward and settling on my knee.
It wasn’t an advance, it wasn’t a remotely sexual touch, but the very fact that he’d touched me caused me to jump as though I’d been hit by lightning.
Snatching his hand back, he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry,” he stated. “I didn’t mean to…I mean, I…”
“It’s all right,” I responded getting up. “It wasn’t your fault, I was just startled.”
“Melissa,” he urged. “The thing is,” he added, his head dropping for a second before returning to me. “I’m not going to pretend that I don’t like you,” he said, “because I do, and if we’d met under different circumstances, I think that…” He didn’t complete the thought. Instead, he changed tact. “I don’t ever date people that I work with, it just makes things messy.”
“Absolutely,” I concurred, nodding. “I agree.”
“I know you need this job, so I promise from now on, I will behave more professionally,” he concluded.
I won’t pretend that I wasn’t disappointed, but I was grateful. We’d reached an agreement, and despite the fact an attraction remained between us, knowing we’d agreed not to act upon it eased my mind…somewhat.
The truth was, I thought about him all the time when I wasn’t at work. When we flew alone together, I found myself focused on minuscule things; like the way his hands wrapped around a coffee mug, the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the handful of hairs that strayed from his side parting and crept onto his forehead, and the way his fingers tapped lightly on the keyboard of his laptop when he was focused on his work.
Sometimes, I would feel the heat of his gaze and wondered if he was looking at small aspects of my movement. It was impossible to say, because he never let me catch him.
What was most difficult about that period was that in order to help retain a professional distance, Alex had stopped asking me to sit and chat with him. His friendship was something I quickly came to miss. I’d been able to talk to him in a way that I couldn’t talk to anyone else in my life - I’d never been able to talk to anyone as I had him.
Looking back, I think that it was a mistake to try t
o avoid each other. The only purpose it served was to create a tension between us that gradually ballooned, until one day the inevitable happened: it burst.
Chapter Three
We were on our way back from Los Angeles where Alex had been attending a conference. During the journey, he’d remained in the front of the cabin and I’d been tucked away behind the bar, finding pointless jobs to do. About two hours from landing, he called me over.
“Melissa,” he said, rising from his seat. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the awkwardness between us lately.”
“No need to apologize,” I said, smiling and turning in the hope that would be all he had to say.
However, he quickly grasped my wrist to prevent me from leaving. “Please don’t go,” he said. “I…” he glanced down at the fingers he held firmly, but not roughly, around my wrist and gradually withdrew them. When his focus moved back to my face, his eyes were filled with something I could not define.
Then, unexpectedly, his head moved toward mine, not in a sudden rush; but a measured, deliberately slow pace. I had plenty of time to step away from him, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Even though a part of me knew that the consequences could be disastrous both professionally and personally, the larger part disregarded all thoughts of next week, tomorrow, or even an hour from that moment.
It felt like an eternity. His warmth gradually closing in on me, the sandalwood scent of his cologne growing stronger, and his presence becoming more powerful. Then, gently, oh so gently, he melded his soft lips to mine.
I stood there, my hands by my sides, unsure of what to do with them. My eyes dropped heavily and I moved my lips beneath his, pursing and molding them gently until our two mouths seemed to fit perfectly.
Until that moment, I’d never experienced a kiss quite as delicious and sweet as his. He hummed contentedly and the low rumble in his chest vibrated against my breasts. I hadn’t even realized he’d stepped forward and that the lengths of our bodies were pressed together just like our lips.
He was firm, rigid, reliable and strong. All of those things ignited a sudden fiery passion that I didn’t know was held inside of me. It was no longer enough to feel his muscular frame against me. All of the fantasies I’d had about him; the dreams I’d woken from feeling hot, restless, and yearning, paled in comparison to the reality of me having him.
Both of my hands moved quickly to his chest, running up the silky surface of his shirt and exploring the curves of his hard pecs until I reached his broad, sturdy shoulders. Lacing my fingers around his neck, I pulled him hungrily closer, while my lips parted in a moan of delight.
His right arm seemed to instinctively loop around my waist and he tugged me to him with the same degree of desire. His tongue swept into my mouth, the tip drawing tenderly in and out, coaxing mine into a strange, slow, sensual wrestle.
I whimpered, my lower half moving unbidden in small rhythmic thrusts against his hard hip bone. My heart was racing, blood pounding raw heat and lust throughout my body. My head swam with nothing but pure need until I felt the dampness spreading in the crotch of my panties.
Alex moved a couple of steps back and pulled me with him. Not that I needed any encouragement, he would have had to pry me off him. My fingers were trying desperately to grasp his hair, and my lips moved frantically, clasping and unclasping between hurried pants for breath.
His legs unexpectedly struck the couch and he let his body fall heavily into the seat. I stumbled forward with him, not expecting the sudden loss of his tall and strong frame. Our mouths parted and I gave a cry of surprise, as I found myself falling forward. But he had me. His hands were securely on my waist and he guided me onto his lap.
My knees landed on either side of his thighs and no more than a second later, I found myself shuffling closer. I was taller than him now, and it was he now who looked up to me, awaiting a kiss. For a moment, I simply looked at him. With the back of my hand I caressed the line of his cheekbone and upper jaw. “Alex,” I whispered, my voice thick and hoarse.
As his fingers moved from my waist, his touch slid down to my thighs. He rubbed them gently before moving back up and around to my buttocks, which he cupped in his possessive masculine hands.
My eyes snapped shut and I jerked at the sudden, sexy aggressiveness. “Ahh,” I mewled.
He said nothing as he increased his grip slightly and pulled me closer to him.
My pubic bone struck his with a sharp bump, but I didn’t have an opportunity to dwell on that. Instead, my senses were focused on the large, hard swell that was pushing against my aroused, swollen outer lips. “Alex,” I panted, eyes widened in shock at the scorching heat that permeated his pants. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” I blurted.
“You want to stop?” he said, his face dipping forward to the hint of cleavage that was visible between the sides of my blouse. As he kissed his way up the curve of one breast, my chest began to heave with breathless excitement and my nipples strained at the lacy fabric of my bra.
“Oh, God,” I gasped, lunging my hips forward.
Leaving my right breast, he moved his attention to the right, mumbling against my skin. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I whimpered, one hand moving in small circles over the back of his head and neck. “No,” I repeated.
Once his mouth had explored every inch of skin available to him, he lifted his head and his hands unfurled from around me. His intense eyes had grown darker with lust and he fixed them intently on my face. His fingers then gently untied the knotted scarf around my neck. Sweeping the silk away from my skin, his lips immediately descended on this newly exposed flesh. Setting every inch of my body aflame, he nibbled and licked his way from my collarbone to my earlobe. Meanwhile, his hands were occupied with the buttons of my blouse and were soon edging the cotton off my shoulders.
I quickly released my hold of him to shed the shirt, before wrapping my arms tighter than ever around his neck. “Oh Alex,” I whispered, bending my face to his ear and taking the rim gently between my teeth.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “I need you.” His fingers were at my back, unhooking my bra. With deft, warm hands, he rapidly tugged the material from me, baring my breasts to him.
One nipple was soon enveloped by his hot mouth. His teeth teased the tight distended nub and his tongue tracing it almost reverently.
The need to feel the warmth of his flesh overwhelmed me. Once he released my arms to allow my bra to drop to the floor, I then grasped feverishly at the front of his shirt. With his mouth still intent at my bosom, it was difficult to reach his buttons. With struggled and frustrated groans, I yanked gracelessly at the material.
Eventually, with a chuckle, Alex lifted his face. “Would you like some help?” he asked, his hands smoothing up my torso and caressing the outer edges of my breasts.
Squirming as chills shot down the length of my spine, I exhaled a shaky breath. “I can do it,” I eventually said, recovering myself just enough to refocus my attentions on his shirt. Able to see now, I moved smoothly and unfastened three buttons before placing my palm on the toned chest I’d uncovered. It was just as firm and powerful as it had seemed clothed. The warmth and softness was contrasted with rugged dark hair, which was fine and short, and covered much of his upper torso. The rest of the shirt and his tie were still in my way and with a frenzy of movement, I tugged at the tie, slipping the shorter end through the knot and chucking the black silk over my shoulder. Surprising myself, I then pushed the white shirt off his shoulders, dipping my head to kiss his collarbone.
In all my previous sexual encounters, I had been passive. I’d been willing enough, but was too nervous and unsure to make any kind of advance. I’d never even had the nerve to be on top. Sitting astride Alex was, in and of itself, a first. But somehow, with him, nervousness and fear took a backseat. I was driven by desire, the like of which I’d never known. Suddenly, I understood what it was to want someone sexually, to need them so desperately that nothing else in the world
mattered; not my parents’ expectations or the religious dogma. If the priests and nuns were right and I was going to hell, what a way to go!
Alex leaned forward so he could yank the shirt from his arms, and I instantly threw my hands around his back, pushing my breasts against his solid chest. He glanced up and I brought my face down to his, kissing him passionately as I enjoyed the pressure and warmth of his body against my taut nipples.
As I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, his fingers gripped the hem of my skirt and began to hike it upward. There was purpose and hunger in his actions, but he managed to move with grace and a control that I found very sexy.
Bundling my skirt at my waist, he trailed gentle fingers over the edge of my panties. In response, my hips rocked and pushed my inflamed sex to his engorged penis. With a groan, he removed his lips from mine and looked directly into my eyes. “You are so beautiful,” he mumbled, as one hand lifted to my face and scooped a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The fingers of his other hand were slipping down into my panties.
I froze, every muscle in my body tensing with dread. I hadn’t prepared for this. If I’d allowed myself to think that it could actually happen, maybe I would have waxed for him; that’s what most men like, I thought to myself. As it was, my hair was trimmed and shaved into a neat triangle, but what if he didn’t like it? What if he was used to hairless women, and found me unattractive or even disgusting?
The tips of his fingers moved inextricably lower, meeting the hair that began at my pubic bone. He didn’t pause; there was no surprise, no reaction of any kind. Instead, his hand continued to smooth lower, eventually reaching my distended lips and drawing his forefinger between them.
I watched his face closely, searching for any sign of disappointment with my body. He was still looking up at me, his features fervid and open. As Alex’s moistened finger slid up to my clitoris, my jaw fell open in a silent moan of pleasure. I was no longer able to keep my eyes on his. Instead, they drifted closed and my head dropped back.
