by R. R. Banks
“Is that man following you?” Mrs. Banks asks quietly.
“Unfortunately,” I reply.
A mischievous grin touches her lips. “And you're ignoring him… why exactly?”
I chuckle. “Because he’s annoyingly persistent,” I reply. “I've already told him no about a thousand times already. We won’t work out.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do,” I say. “The two of us are from completely different walks of life. We have opposite values and personalities.”
She glances back at him again, then turns to me. “Oh, I don't know about that,” she says. “Miles Churchill is a complicated man. He's got a lot of layers to him. But, if you strip him down to his bare bones, I think you'd be surprised by what you find. I don't think you two are quite as different as you seem to think.”
“You know him?” I ask.
She nods. “Not intimately, of course,” she says. “But he represented my Artie in a case against a former employer and he was the nicest man ever.”
“Lawyers can put up a good act, Mrs. Banks,” I say dryly.
She shrugs. “True, but you can also see through the BS if you look and listen closely enough,” she says. “If you pay attention, you can spot the phonies from the real deal.”
“And you think Miles is the real deal?”
“I know he is, dear,” she says. “He took such good care of us – even when he didn't have to.”
It's interesting. My initial read on Miles was that he was a good guy who put up a front. But I had nothing to base it on, it was just a gut feeling. To have Mrs. Banks – someone I think is very sharp and a good judge of character – vouch for him is interesting.
Of course, her experience with him was in a professional capacity. I absolutely believe he isn't the cold, heartless machine simply counting up wins and losses that he makes himself out to be. I know there's a lot more to Miles than that.
Dealing with him in a romantic capacity is something entirely different. Or at least, it would be, if I ever gave him the chance – something I'm still not sure I should do. Even with Mrs. Banks' endorsement, I don't know that I can risk letting my guard down. I just don't know that I can trust him with my heart.
“What does he want?” she asks.
“He wants to take me out to dinner.”
“You should take him up on his offer, dear,” she says. “He's one of the good ones. Take my word for it.”
If only I could. Mrs. Banks gives me a smile, then peels off and heads back toward the front desk. I look back at Miles who just gives me a wave in reply. I roll my eyes and continue doing my job.
Half an hour later, I'm finished shelving all the books and am pushing the trolley back into the library's storage rooms and warehouse. It's a restricted area, so I'm glad to have the reprieve from my shadow. It'll give me a chance to breathe and a few minutes to clear my head.
I wheel the trolley back to the designated area we keep them in, then turn back and nearly jump out of my skin for the second time that day. Standing there, leaning casually against one of the large racks of books, is Miles. He's got his arms folded over his chest, and one ankle crossed over the other.
He gives me a Cheshire Cat grin. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.”
“You're not supposed to be back here,” I say. “This area is for employees.”
He shrugs. “Mrs. Banks let me back here. Forgot I represented her husband a few years back. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“You're impossible.”
“I'm actually not,” he replies. “I'm just asking for an answer to the question – or for you to agree to have dinner with me tonight. Is that really so bad?”
I huff and turn around, walking into one of the storage rooms. His footsteps echo off the floor as he walks in and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. I move among the big racks of books, trying to keep out of his sight. He’s too damn tempting to be around right now.
His footsteps draw near, so I turn and walk down another aisle, keeping one of the tall racks between us. I'm moving as lightly as I can, doing my best to keep my heels from clicking against the concrete floor and giving away my position. I stop to listen – and hear nothing.
I strain my ears, listening for furtive footsteps or the scrape of his shoes against the floor but don't hear anything but the sound of my own shallow breathing. He's obviously playing a cat and mouse game with me.
It's silly, but I have to suppress a giggle as I silently walk down one of the aisles between the racks. I have an idea to double back to the door that will lead me out to the main warehouse and leave him in here alone. That should teach him to leave me alone when I tell him to.
As I round the corner to head back toward the door, I let out a cry when I find Miles standing there casually, a devilish grin on his face.
“Gotcha,” he says.
I try to slow my heart and get my breathing back under control. Putting on the sternest face I can manage, I glare at him.
“I wasn't playing a game,” I say.
He shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”
“Clearly,” I say. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”
As I move to walk past him, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me against the wall near the end of the tall rack. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes are wide, locked onto his. He's looking back at me and I can see the lust and desire burning in his eyes. He looks me up and down and licks his lips.
The way he's looking at me – like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world – makes my heart stutter in my chest. Every nerve ending feels like it's crackling with electricity and I feel myself growing wet. God, the effect this man has on me is unreal. That he can turn me on with nothing more than a look drives me crazy.
He's standing so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. I can smell the faint traces of his aftershave and feel the sexual energy passing between us. I try to contain these feelings and stuff them down and lock them away. But with Miles standing so close to me, it's an exercise in futility.
“Have I ever told you about my naughty librarian fantasies?” he asks.
My mouth is dry, and my powers of speech seem to have evaporated. All I can do is stand there, looking at him, and shaking my head. He gives me a gentle, hesitant smile before leaning down and pressing his mouth to mine. My lips part instantly, permitting him to slip his tongue into my mouth. His kiss steals my breath away and practically stops my heart. I feel like a fire is smoldering between my thighs and all I can think about – all I want – is to have him inside of me.
“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I can't seem to get you out of my head, Sasha.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.”
He kisses me again with unbridled passion. I moan softly against his mouth, my entire body quivering as he runs his hands up and down my back. This is crazy. Insane. We could be caught at any minute. Mrs. Banks or any of the other employees could walk in here and find us. My brain knows this, but my body doesn't seem to care.
“We have to be fast,” I say softly, my voice breathy.
Miles nods and I squeal with excitement as he picks me up. He turns around and carries me over to a workbench, setting me down on top of it, cupping my breasts through my white button-down, circling my stiff nipples with his thumbs as he kisses me. I throw my head back and moan softly as he pinches my nipples, squeezing them between his fingers.
“I need you,” I whisper. “I need to feel you inside of me.”
I promised myself I wouldn't do this again – not with Miles. I promised myself that things between the two of us were over and that I would move on and forget all about him. But as I reach down and grip his stiff cock through his slacks, all the promises I made to myself fly straight out the window. I'm nothing more than a quivering ball of sensation and lust at this point.
Miles runs his hands up my thig
hs, his fingertips rough – even through the silky fabric of my stocking. He pushes my skirt up around my waist, his mouth never leaving mine. I whimper against his lips as he touches me through my panties. When he pulls them to the side and slips a finger deep inside my depths, I cry out instinctively.
Reaching down, I start tugging at his belt, frantically trying to get it off of him. Miles helps me with his pants, and soon enough, I have the belt undone. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and fishes out a condom as I unzip his pants and reach inside, gripping his cock with my right hand. He growls, closing his, clearly enjoying the sensation as I start to stroke him.
He takes my hands off him and rolls the condom down the length of his cock. He's ready. I scoot myself to the edge of the workbench and part my thighs a little wider for him. Miles steps forward, never taking his eyes off me. He grips his cock and runs it around my swollen, sensitive lips, slipping the head between my velvety folds.
I thrust my pelvis toward him, impatient to have his cock inside of me. Miles pulls back, a playful smirk upon his lips.
“So, does this mean you'll have dinner with me tonight?”
“Maybe.”
He teases my clit with his finger, his cock still tantalizingly out of reach. “Maybe?”
I'm shaking so hard the workbench vibrates beneath me. My entire body is aching, and I need to feel him inside of me.
“Yes, I'll have dinner with you tonight,” I say. “Now, shut up and fuck me.”
Miles has a satisfied smile on his face, but doesn't say a word. Instead, he steps forward and sinks his cock as deep into me as he can. My eyes open wide and my mouth falls open as a stuttering gasp escapes me. He's sheathed inside of me deeper than ever before, and my entire body is locked up as wave after wave of sensation – slight pricks of pain, followed by large doses of pleasure – combine to overwhelm me.
I bite the side of my hand hard enough to leave deep marks and to keep from crying out too loudly. Miles starts to drive his hips forward, sinking his thick cock into me, hitting that spot deep within me and threatening to push me over the edge.
I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into him as he fucks me. I lean forward and kiss him, my tongue exploring his mouth as bolts of lightning shoot along my skin, sending me hurtling toward the brink of the most powerful orgasm I've ever had.
“Mm, Miles,” I gasp. “Oh, yes. Just like that. Yes.”
I look up and see Miles staring back at me, his eyes locked onto mine. His jaw is clenched, and his face is flushed. He reaches behind me and cups my ass, squeezing the soft flesh for a minute before he pulls me forward at the same time he plunges even deeper. He hits that spot again, harder this time, and that's it for me.
He draws in a sharp breath as I dig my nails into his shoulders. If he didn’t have a shirt on, I probably would have drawn blood. Miles drives himself into me one last time and I cry out, my voice echoing around the storage room as my body trembles and shakes. It feels like every muscle in my body constricts for a moment as my orgasm crashes down over me like a tidal wave. My insides turn to jelly as I quiver and shake.
“Jesus,” I moan softly, my pussy still twitching like crazy. “That was fucking amazing.”
Miles presses his lips to mine, his cock throbbing inside of me. I squeeze him with the muscles inside of me, gripping him as tight as I can. He gasps as I milk his cock with my muscles, a look of pure bliss crossing his face.
“My turn,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.
Miles starts to pump his hips again, driving himself into me. It's a slow, smooth rhythm at first, but it's not long before he's picked up the pace. Soon enough, his jaw is clenched, and his entire body is tight as he pounds himself into me. I'm groaning along with him; my body being inundated by sensations as he fucks me.
It's not long before he has me at that pinnacle again and when he finally grunts, a slow moan crossing his lips. He's lost his rhythm entirely, his thrusting into me becoming wild and desperate. He throws his head back and growls as I feel his cock pulsing. As Miles bursts inside the condom, he touches off another flood of pleasure inside of me. I cling to him tightly, our bodies shaking, our breath coming out in labored gasps.
Slowly, the sensations fade, and we're left with our foreheads pressed together, reveling in the afterglow. Miles' cock deflates, and he takes it out, slipping the condom off and dropping it into the trash beside the workbench.
He steps back and helps me down, then without a word, we both quickly pull ourselves back together, straightening and smoothing our clothes, and doing everything in our power to not look like two people who just banged each other in the storage room like a bunch of horny teens.
We give each other the once over and a nod of approval before we head back out onto the floor. Once back out, I look around nervously and am relieved that nobody seems to be paying us any mind at all. Miles turns to me and gives me a cocky, arrogant smile.
“Pick you up around six-thirty?” he asks.
My mind is screaming at me to stop while my body is screaming for me to go. I vowed that this was done, that once I was back in L.A., I wasn't going to see Miles – let alone screw him again. And yet, here we are.
He looks at me with a cocky smile and a glitter in his vibrant green eyes and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the need to have him again. This time, I want to see him naked – completely naked. The few times we've been together, it's been in awkward, semi-public places. It's exciting, I'm not going to lie. The thrill of fucking in places we could be caught adds a little extra spice. But, as I look at him standing there, all stylish and sexy, I know I need to see him without a stitch of clothing on.
“Six-thirty,” I say.
His smile is dazzling and nearly knocks me off my feet right then and there – not difficult to do, since my head is still spinning from the sex we'd just had.
We walk beside each other toward the front desk. I've been gone for a little while and know I need to get back to work. He gives me a wink as he heads back to the front doors while I slip behind the desk and start to organize some piles of books. Christmas music booms from the small sound system a little louder than normal and from the corner of my eye, I catch Mrs. Banks looking at me, a knowing grin on her face. My cheeks are already burning bright when I turn to her.
“Yes, I agreed to have dinner with him,” I say and laugh.
“Oh, I thought you might,” she says.
I cock my head and look at her, trying to figure out the enigmatic smile on her face.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
“Oh nothing,” she says. “But, if Mr. Churchill stops by again, you might want to – conference – with him in storage room thirteen. Its ventilation system doesn't back up to the front desk and affords a little more privacy.”
She points to the ventilation grate on the back wall behind the front desk and the full meaning becomes crystal clear in that instant.
“Oh no,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's heard in her life and all I can do is stand there wishing the earth would swallow me whole, or a bolt of lightning would streak down and turn me into a pile of ash. I have never been so humiliated in all my life. But Mrs. Banks puts a gentle hand on my arm and smiles.
“You know, I was young once too,” she says. “How do you think I know storage room thirteen is best for – conferences?”
Mrs. Banks gives me a wink and a laugh as she turns and walks away, leaving me there feeling absolutely mortified. As I watch her go though, I laugh softly to myself. There's a lot more to that woman than she lets on.
Chapter Nineteen
“Well, I have to say, I expected something fancier from you,” she says.
“Too casual?”
Sasha shakes her head and smiles. “Actually, this is pretty perfect,” she says. “I just didn't think somebody like you went to places that don't use silverware made from gold.”
“Again, with the swee
ping generalizations,” I say, giving her a smile. “You saw my family home. Did you see one gold toilet there?”
“No,” she says. “But then again, I didn't check every bathroom, either.”
I laugh. “Touché.”
We're sitting at a seafood place across the street from the Santa Monica pier. It's upscale, but not the ritziest place around. if there's one thing I've learned about Sasha, it's that she's not impressed by money. Oh, she enjoys some of the nicer things, sure, but she's a lot more down to earth than most, and would choose happiness over money any day of the week.
Knowing that is also why I'd agonized over what to wear for nearly an hour. I must have tried on half a dozen different suits before I came to the realization that a nice suit wasn’t going to win her over. So, to that end, I pulled on a pair of dark jeans, a blue button-down shirt, grabbed a dark sports coat, and called it good.
Still stylish, but casual.
Sasha dressed to impress though. She's wearing a white floral vintage-style dress with short sleeves and a heart-shaped neckline. She makes the dress look fantastic. Her hair is up, and she is barely wearing any makeup, letting her natural beauty shine through. Just looking at her, with those blue eyes that sparkle and her red, pouty lips, nearly takes my breath away.
Sasha is easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen – yet, she doesn't even seem to realize it.
“So, are you going home for Christmas?” I ask.
“I've been trying to avoid thinking about it,” she replies.
I look around the restaurant, noting the tall, ornately decorated Christmas tree in the lobby, as well as the over-the-top display of decorations around the restaurant and chuckle to myself. Old Christmas standards sung by everybody from Frank Sinatra to Mariah Carey play on the restaurant's sound system, further shoving the holiday season down our throats.
“Kind of hard to avoid thinking about it when everywhere you go, it feels like you walked into Santa's demented workshop,” I remark.
She laughs and nods. “I see you hold the holidays with as much esteem as I do.”
