by Amy Brent
In the dark, I started feeling around for my clothes.
“You’re not going to come inside my place?” Eric asked, sounding disappointed.
“Check the time,” I said in an amused voice.
Silence, followed by the sound of scuffling while Eric felt around for his phone, then a groan when he saw what time it was.
“How is it that we managed to spend so much time fucking each other?” he asked, genuine befuddlement in his voice.
“I guess we’re like most people,” I said, doing up my bra. “We spend a lot of time on things we enjoy doing.”
“That sounds about right to me,” Eric said, watching me as I pulled my dress back on. “Be that as it may, why can’t you stay a bit longer?”
“Work,” I said, making my voice as weary as I could. “But we can meet up as soon as you want,” I told him in a conciliatory tone.
“Fine,” Eric said, tossing me one of my high heels. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride home, though?”
I shook my head.
“Your place is only a ten-minute walk from mine, remember?”
“Fine,” he said in a petulant, displeased voice. “Just make sure that you don’t make too many plans next week.”
I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes, boss.”
As I turned to go, Eric gave me a resounding spank on the ass.
“That’s my girl.”
I hurried out of the car, the effects of the slap on my ass still thrumming through me. I wiped the stupid smile off my face. Just what did I think I was doing? Was it really necessary to get so into the sex with him? And how much closer was this really bringing me to the truth?
Making a silent promise to myself, I vowed to dig further the next time I saw him.
As I walked down the street, passing darkened coffee shops and office buildings, I frowned. My answer to Eric as to why I had had to go wasn’t a complete lie. I’d made an appointment to talk with Sgt. Williams, and I was already about ten minutes late. After his clearly worried message on my phone a few hours ago, I had figured it was the least I could do.
But what was I going to use as my excuse for being late to talk to him? The answer came to my lips with a grim smile: work.
Chapter 6
Eric
What exactly were you supposed to take to get a girl out of your head?
Glumly, I scanned the row of pill bottles in the washroom of my private office. This weekend was supposed to have been nice. It was one I’d been looking forward to for weeks. I had gone golfing with Mark, even taking time off for it. But instead of recharging me, it had only bored me to tears. At the golf course, even the clouds had looked like they were in a K formation.
I’d almost texted a picture of it to Kathryn but stopped myself at the last minute. I didn’t need to see her every day after all. Then, going out to the Powder Room with Mark to drink only made me feel tired, and I excused myself early again to Mark’s great annoyance. At the gym, I’d seen a beautifully curvy girl who looked like Kathryn from behind, but after I followed her a few steps, my heart racing, she turned and I saw that she was a much less attractive doppelgänger.
What was going on with me? Maybe it was just because the sex was crazy good. Truthfully, I’d never encountered someone who was such a match for me, and not even just in the bedroom. Kathryn laughed with me, and she wasn’t overly demanding. But there was something about her, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
“You taking the mother of all shits in there or what?” Mark’s loud joking voice came through the door.
Sighing, I opened it.
“Yes,” I told him, deadpan.
Mark laughed. “Well, hurry up and finish because your friend has something he wants to ask you.”
I closed the door, went over to the empty toilet, and flushed it. Returning, I opened the door again to smile sweetly at Mark.
“Yes?”
“That wastes water, you know,” Mark pointed out crossly.
“How do you know there wasn’t the mother of all shits in there?” I shot back blithely.
“Whatever,” Mark muttered. “I came here to remind you about that charity ball Saturday. Don’t want you to go and make plans with one of your, uh, special friends?”
“No. I don’t have plans,” I said, smirking.
“Special friends” was our term for our numerous intimate relationships with women we met at bars, on the internet, or sometimes just buying maple syrup at the grocery store. Right now, I wasn’t thinking of inviting any of them.
“I’m probably going to go with Teresa,” Mark told me, his smile growing with the name. “She’s pretty, soft-spoken, yet an absolute freak in bed.”
“Sounds like a winner,” I told Mark, patting him on the back.
“You know who you’re going to ask?” Mark pressed. “I’m pretty sure Teresa has a hot younger sister.”
“Hold off on that for now,” I told him.
“So you don’t have someone in mind,” Mark concluded. “Or you do?”
“Maybe,” I told him, giving him an intentionally annoying response. “Excuse me while I take the mother of all shits,” I said as I withdrew into the bathroom again and shut the door.
I chuckled as Mark stormed off. Then I called Kathryn. It would be stupid to take anyone else to the charity gala, I reasoned as her phone rang. I’d been wanting to see her all weekend. Why resign myself to another boring weekend without her?
“Eric,” she said, her voice happy over the line.
“Miss me?” I asked her.
“Miss me?” she shot back cheekily.
“Nope,” I informed her. “Not fair. I asked you first.”
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I did miss you, like 20 percent.”
“Twenty percent?” I said incredulously. “That’s it?”
Clearly, now would not be the time to tell her about the clouds I’d see the K in when I was golfing or how I’d seen her lookalike at the gym.
“Okay, maybe a bit more,” she admitted, “but generally, when I miss someone, I call them.”
“Well, I’m calling you now, aren’t I?” I told her. “Besides, just because you’re my mistress, it doesn’t mean you can’t call me when you feel like it.”
“Is that so?”
I frowned. Just hearing Kathryn’s sultry voice was getting me hard.
“What are you wearing right now?” I asked.
“Penguin pajamas,” she said after a minute.
I let out a low groan. Pajamas were so soft and easy to remove. I could almost picture her in the oversized fluffy things now, the shoulder drooping down so that if I just pulled it down a little further, I could see her—
“This Saturday, do you have plans?”
“No. Not yet I don’t,” she said uncertainly. “Why?”
“There’s this charity gala thing,” I told her. “I’d like very much for you to join me.”
A brief silence. For a second, I was afraid she was going to refuse and make up some excuse about it not being appropriate or something ridiculous like that.
“I’d like it if I joined you too,” she said in a low voice.
My face broke into a full smile, so full it was best she couldn’t see it.
She sighed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s just that I was supposed to meet my friend Sadie tonight at our favorite bar, but she’s cancelling because of having to work overtime.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” I said. “You two were going to go to the bar at 6 p.m.”
“We were not,” Kathryn shot back crossly. “It was for tonight, but her boss is a big jerk, and some clients literally schedule at all hours. She’s a tattoo artist.”
An irresistible twinge of interest tugged at me. I pictured Kathryn’s body again, but I couldn’t make it out in as full detail as I would’ve liked.
“Do you have any tattoos?”
“
Out of all people who should know, you are one of them,” Kathryn said, although there was a smile in her voice.
“I know,” I said, a bit irritated myself. “I can’t remember any, but I might’ve missed one and I’m not 100 percent sure.”
There was an annoyingly long silence.
“I guess it will just have to remain a mystery then,” Kathryn said in a teasing voice.
“What does that mean?” I asked, tension suddenly rippling through me. “I am going to get to see you again, aren’t I?”
Kathryn’s giggle was both infuriating and relieving.
“I was just kidding,” she said. “Although I’m not letting you pin me down and search every inch of my bare skin with your eyes like a microscope.”
“Maybe I won’t have to,” I said. “That bar tonight—I could meet you there instead of your friend. What is it called?”
“You’re going to laugh,” Kathryn said, “but it’s Kandle with a K.”
“You’re right,” I said, laughing. “And let me guess, it’s some underground, artsy, candle-filled, brick-walled safe space where hipsters, lowlifes, and goths alike all converge.”
“Well, you’re not a snob at all,” Kathryn quipped.
“Just a rich one,” I shot back unapologetically.
“So which one am I then?”
“None of the above,” I told her. “You’re in a class all your own.”
“Thanks,” Kathryn said, her pleasure from my comment audible in her voice, “although you’re not biased at all.”
“Not one bit,” I agreed with a smile. “Anyway, about tonight. Did you tell me about that bar just to tempt me, or are we really going there tonight at ten?”
A pause, then: “I guess we’re really going there.”
“Great,” I said. Just before she was off the line, I added, “I would tell you to wear something sexy, but based on what I’ve seen these past few dates, that’s all you really have in your closet.”
“See you, Eric,” she said, her face outright grinning if I’d interpreted her voice properly.
“See you, Kathryn.”
After I hung up the phone, I buzzed around my office, doing busywork of no consequence, like changing the position of the striped Kleenex box, arranging my ballpoint pens in a row from tallest to shortest, then by color. Black, navy, and red, while the purple gel pen Mark gave me as a joke got its own row. Part of me sensed I was going to be useless for actual work the rest of the day. Although I should have been relieved I was seeing Kathryn tonight, I was actually invigoratingly distracted.
It was weird, too. Each time I had been with Kathryn, I’d enjoyed it more than the last. But this latest time, just our conversation and the sex in the limo alone, it seemed that it was impossible for tonight to top that no matter how great it was. And yet, a small part of me sensed that tonight would likely blow that out of the water, too.
Chapter 7
Kathryn
Okay, so maybe Eric had totally called it.
As my gaze went from Kandle’s brick-walled and beeswax-candle-filled interior to the well-bearded hipsters and gangly artist types it was full of, I couldn’t help a small smile coming onto my face. It would be interesting to see Eric here to say the least.
I really couldn’t picture him in anything but a nice suit. Maybe he only agreed to meet me here to whisk me off to somewhere else.
For some reason, the thought annoyed me. I had always seen myself as something of a chameleon, someone who could go to just about any venue, bar, or even country and blend in and enjoy myself without sticking out like a sore thumb. People who were too set in their ways, whether it was the pompous hipsters he had joked about or even rich billionaires like Eric himself, had never really appealed to me. What’s the point of life if you only allow yourself to experience a limited part of it?
I tugged uneasily at my tight low-rise, tie-up shorts. I was just a bit too scantily dressed for this place, but I didn’t care. I was doing this for work after all.
The thought brought a smile to my lips. Yes, work, with a particular sort of uniform.
“Hello there,” Eric said, stepping right in front of me.
Gaping at him, I realized I hadn’t even noticed his entrance, mostly because of how he was dressed. In a plain white T-shirt and well-worn, gray-washed jeans, he was almost unrecognizable, but in a good way. His hair was messily tousled while his toned physique was evident under the snug fit of his clothes.
“Is my casual wear really that shocking?” Eric said, smirking at my still slack-jawed expression.
“Kinda,” I admitted, rising to hug him in greeting. “I like it.”
“Good,” Eric said, sitting across the table from me, “because yours is definitely good.”
His eyes flowed down the neck of my tie-up shirt and the leg line of my tie-up shorts. My spine tingled. Clearly, he was thinking the same thing I was and imagining himself untying each with painstakingly slow movements of his dexterous fingers.
Leaning back in his chair, Eric’s gaze slid from the squat beeswax candle in the middle of our table to the candle-lined walls and those casually chatting around us. He paused with his head slightly tipped to the left, perhaps taking in the Neutral Milk Hotel soundtrack.
A smile played on his lips.
“So, I was kind of totally right, I see.”
Folding my arms over my chest, although smiling all the same, I replied, “Maybe.”
Eric chuckled.
“My friend Sadie showed me this place,” I admitted, “and though sometimes it does look like some kind Satan séance with all the candles, I like it.”
“I can see why,” Eric said, a look in his eyes that indicated he wasn’t poking fun at me this time. “This place has a good casual vibe. Nothing uppity about it.”
“Are you knocking your own scene?” I joked.
Eric’s gaze travelled to the bar.
“Maybe.”
His gaze flicked to my half-empty glass.
“Clearly you need a refill.”
Before I could protest, he approached the dreadlocked bartender. A minute or so later, Eric returned with a pitcher of what looked to be sangria along with two cups.
“Even the cups are empty candle glasses,” he pointed out as he poured, not without a trace of irony.
I accepted the glass with a wary smile.
“Am I allowed to finish my Molson first?”
Eric reached over and lifted the cup to my lips.
“No.”
Glaring at him over the rim of the glass, I sipped a little, then pulled away.
“You’re going to try that again?” Eric asked cockily, his gaze dropping to my pelvis.
Before I could respond, he moved his chair so that he was directly beside me. His hand slid around my neck from behind in a slight chokehold. Into my ear, he rasped, “When are you going to get it?”
Heat slashed through me. My eyes darted around to see if we had been seen, but luckily everyone was wrapped up in their own conversations. Nervously, I pulled my head free.
“Don’t do that,” I scolded him in a low voice.
“Why not?” he said, his eyes dancing. “You obviously like it.”
My jaw tightened. “Okay, maybe I do,” I admitted, “but it’s embarrassing.”
“Okay, okay,” Eric said, his hand sliding under the table and onto my thigh.
At my latest glare, he shot back an oblivious look of his own. As he took a deep sip of the sangria, his hand started kneading my flesh.
I glanced down uneasily. Thankfully, there was a nice long woven tablecloth I hadn’t noticed before blocking the view of what Eric was doing to my leg from the rest of the bargoers. Unless they stood directly behind us that was.
For the next few minutes, Eric toned it down. We drank our sangria easily, chatting and joking with each other. Eric’s description of the charity ball sounded extravagant, yet exciting. He talked about his work fighting some of the worst and most deadly viruses out
there; it sounded like he was contributing to world peace, if not curing world hunger.
Once he finished his drink, however, his hand once again took up the task of stroking my thigh in increasingly hard and rising strokes.
My leg began to tremble of its own accord. It just felt so good.
Straining away was no use. Eric just returned his hand to the throbbing and thankful flesh.
“Eric,” I hissed at him, “what are you doing?”
“Exactly what you want me to,” he responded with an easy smile as his fingers finally dipped below my jean shorts.
My pelvis twisted and twitched in frustration. Already, I was crazy wet. As Eric dipped his finger past my cotton boy shorts, my whole body wilted into him. Taking in the woozy expression on my face, Eric smiled.
“We should leave, shouldn’t we?” he said in a low and intentional voice.
Hastily, I nodded, but Eric wasn’t finished yet.
Swirling his finger around casually and enjoying the tingling ripples it sent through me, he smirked.
“I don’t know, though,” he said. “I’m having a pretty good time here.”
My face flushed, and I pulled myself away.
“Eric,” I groaned.
It was taking all of my self-control not to moan out loud at the pitilessly skillful way he fingered me.
Seeing my lips part and my eyes almost close with the pleasure, Eric withdrew his finger. Wiping it on his napkin, he said, “All right. Into the limo with you.”
Five minutes later, in the limo we were.
It went without saying that as soon as the door closed, Eric ordered his driver away. The next second, his lips were on me with a ferocity that indicated they’d been wanting to do that all night. His hands pressed into me like kisses, as if testing my flesh to see if it were real. They finally settled on the tie of my tank top. Eric unwillingly withdrew his lips from mine to watch as he released the flaps of my top. Now that it was more open, Eric could see the indent of my cleavage and even a bit of my snakeskin bra.
“Goddamn,” he said in a low voice as his hands slipped under the cups of the bra.
He closed his eyes, as if he wanted pure physical touch to take over all his other senses. For a minute or so, we stayed there, half frozen. The only movements were Eric’s gleefully kneading fingers and my trembling chest. When he was done, his eyes snapped open.
