by Luke Steel
“Why should I believe you’re different?”
“Gabriel, I can’t prove a negative. But I also don’t agree with you about people. I’m not different. And I don’t have an agenda. Both of those things can be true.”
“You don’t want anything.” Sarcasm.
“I want…” I throw my hands around. “…my job. I want you to give me a chance. A real chance, not some trumped up designed-to-fail gauntlet. As agendas go, you have to admit that’s actually pretty slight.” I can’t think of anything else to say. “What do you want?”
“Me?” The question actually seems to make him uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Other than crushing me and sending me running for the hills. What do you want?”
He stops for a long moment, says nothing. What could a man who has everything possibly want that he doesn’t have already?
And then his eyes make a slow sweep of my body, head to toe and back up again.
Instant blush. Heat all over me. Everywhere. Like a wave breaking, I’m reminded of every single thing about what happened between us last night, and my body goes liquid inside. I close my eyes and count to ten, try to breathe. Slowly. When I open them again, Gabriel is still staring at me. And for once his face isn’t the stony mask he puts on at work. But his next sentence throws me.
“You’re not scared of me, are you.” It’s not a question.
I toss my hair when I answer. “No.” It’s only half a lie.
“Why not? Everyone else is.” He seems genuinely interested in the answer.
Desire aside, I feel sad for him when he says that. I saw the gentle side of him when I first met him, I know it’s there. The cruel, hard version of him has made my existence hell, but I’ve always felt at least a little responsible for why. I’ve wanted to prove myself to him, yes, but not out of fear. And, well…
“My cat liked you,” I blurt, and wince. It sounds absurd when I say it out loud.
Gabriel starts. The look on his face doesn’t exactly change, but I detect the slightest, slightest crinkle of his eyes.
I raise my chin. “He just doesn’t show it the way you expect.”
Gabriel lifts a hand and rubs his face. If I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t believe it, but I think he’s trying to hide a smile. He crosses his arms then, and keeps his hand over his mouth, looking at me now as though he’s trying to decide what to do.
That makes two of us. I’m tired. And freaked out. This battle is draining. And so is standing this close to him after what happened last night. I want it again, all of it. I want him. But I know that if I reach out, he’ll just resist. So all I can do is wait. Gabriel coughs into his hand, and pushes away from the desk. I’m not afraid of him, but I take a step back anyway, wary.
He advances. “If you’re not afraid, well then we have a problem.”
“Why is it a problem that I’m not afraid of you?”
“If it’s not fear, we’re going to have to figure out something else to motivate you here at Mangovan,” he says, and steps right into my space. Just like last night, I’m surrounded again. By him. He’s good at that.
I don’t know what it is but this thrill shoots straight through me. My instincts are shouting that I’m prey and to be careful. But there’s a warring impulse, just as strong, to jump in head-first and get all kinds of tangled up.
I’ve retreated since he took the first step toward me, and I jump when I bump back against the glass wall. No more room. His move.
He touches his forehead to mine first, nuzzling and breathing in. I’m dizzy, overwhelmed by his scent and the energy coming off him, building between us. I lift my chin as he skims my throat, thinking to myself how much that’s becoming my favorite thing that he does. That hint of aggression and heat. I feel his hands cup my ribs and slide down to cradle my hips, tug me closer. The stubborn part of me cleaves to the glass, refusing to play along.
I open my eyes and he’s watching me again. I stare back, straight into him. He leans in close, his mouth hovering just inches away. I don’t move. I was the one who closed the distance last night. I’m dying to feel his mouth again, but I don’t want to be the one to give in first, not after this morning. It’s his turn.
And I know he accepts my challenge when his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches.
With a start, he dips down low, down to one knee and puts his hand under my skirt. In less than a second I feel his fingers hook under my panties and push into me. Not gentle, not even a little. He’s rough and fast and I love it. He pistons back and forth twice, then pushes deep again. I don’t know how he knows or if he even cares, but it feels so good I throw my head back and hit the glass. It’s not like being filled up completely the way he took me last night, but the deep, precise way he’s stroking inside me with his fingers sets off a million little tingles and pulls. All the build-up and tension culminating in this, I’m still raw inside and only a little embarrassed to feel the wetness he’s drawing out over his fingers, and soon the rough strokes turn slick and hot instead.
“Look at me,” he says from the floor. His voice is that low growl again. I lower my head and open my eyes and he’s staring up at me. He’s overwhelming me and he knows it. I can tell by the intense, hot way he’s watching me, combined with the sweet drag of his fingers as he pulls out and pushes back into my body. And I can see him taking it all in, as though carefully noting how I’m responding to what he’s doing to me.
“More?” I hear him ask the question, but there’s a roar in my ears and I only vaguely understand. His fingers push deeper, and when I close my eyes I see stars.
I open them again when it feels like he’s pulling away. “Yes. More. Yes.”
“Like this?” Deeper, again. I grab his shoulders. He knows exactly what to do, and deep inside I’m building to that place he took me last night. Just as I feel like my legs are going to buckle, Gabriel sinks lower and guides one of my knees to drape over his shoulder. He uses his body to leverage mine upright against the glass wall, and with his fingers deep, deep inside me, I have to trust him to keep me balanced. I call out, peaking hard just as he takes advantage of the new position and buries his face under my skirt.
“Gabriel!”
“Yes, Demi?” his reply is lazy and sly, but only after he uses his teeth to pull my skirt up higher, exposing the lips of my sex completely. His fingers are still driving inside me, and he uses the other hand to pull my panties even further out of the way. I feel a hot rush all over me, when I see his eyes are homed right in on where his fingers are working. I’ve never felt so completely exposed to anyone before.
His cheek is warm against my thigh and I drop my head back again. I feel my core lock tight around his fingers, and just then he uses his thumb to part the lips. He rubs the edge of his thumb over my clit and I cry out again. He stops the piston motion then, stops moving in and out and just drives his fingers up hard and high once, twice. Then stops.
Then I feel his tongue, the flat of it, stroke my slit, the long line between the lips. Just that light touch brings me to the brink. The rush breaks and then subsides, the very edge between frustration and bliss. And when I hear Gabriel chuckle, I know he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I’m almost crying it feels so good, and when I open my eyes, the room is spinning. But Gabriel is steady and hard, pinning me, watching everything. I can’t even describe the look on his face, he’s so locked on and intent. When he licks his lips, though, I know exactly what’s next. Gabriel is hungry.
I had no idea I was holding my breath until I feel his tongue for the very first time. He starts another long series of licks along the lips, and then I close my eyes when I feel the tip of that very talented tongue begin to circle my clit over and over and over. After only a moment it’s just too much and I grab the back of his head and press him to me. He moves the suction to right over that most sensitive nub, and I want to scream, it’s so good. I feel the stubble on his cheek rub the inside of my thigh and I revel in it, driving against his
mouth while I strain to open wider.
He seems to know exactly what he’s found when he focuses all his attention on my clit. He licks a wide circle once, twice, and then uses his fingers to hold me open just before he seals his mouth over me and begins a steady flick of his tongue. I bolt upright then, the intensity of that focused attention sending a jolt straight through me. Dimly, I sense that I’ve started to move up against his mouth, flicking my hips to match his pace. I peek down my body and watch his face between my legs, reveling in the feel of his wide shoulders between my thighs. Our eyes meet when he looks up at me and he stops for the briefest second when he catches me looking. My breath catches. The look in his eyes is so focused and intent, that feeling of being completely exposed, open to him, comes roaring back.
He pulls back the tiniest bit and slowly, deliberately sweeps the flat of his tongue straight up and over my clit while I watch. I can’t help it; my body whole jerks hard in response. And then his eyes close and he drops his mouth back, holding me open again, wider this time. He seals his lips seal around my clit again, the steady flick of his tongue returning, even stronger than before. The heat just builds and builds, and just when I think I can’t stand it a second longer, I’m going to explode, he gives a firm, leonine shake of his head, never breaking contact.
His mouth is everything, everything. When the orgasm crests and breaks, I know I’m calling his name. He’s not done. Just as it starts to subside, Gabriel pushes his fingers deep inside me again and it’s like I’ve been struck by lightning. The orgasm hasn’t even subsided completely but the long strokes set off another one, even deeper than the first.
I’m shaking and pulsing, spent. I feel him stand and prop me up higher. And then I’m floating, only I realize a second later that he’s picked me up in his arms and placed me on the edge of his desk. I’m limp as a rag doll, and I couldn’t move if I tried. He pushes in close against the desk and I feel his hands on me, stroking my back, my hair. He nuzzles close against my lips and when I kiss him back, I can taste myself on his mouth.
My head drops to his shoulder, but he takes my face in his hands. I’m still floating and high, so drunk on him, I can’t speak.
And suddenly I have a fit of giggles.
His eyes crinkle and then he smiles. Devastating. “Something I said?”
“I think we found my motivation.”
Amazingly, Gabriel Mangovan breaks out into a grin I’ve never seen before. Boyish. Is that a blush?
“You did seem very driven for a few seconds there. Impressive stuff.”
I press my fingertips to his lips. Shiver when he kisses the tips. He’s handsome when he’s a bastard. Charming and funny in the afterglow like this? My heart might stop.
“Kidding aside, I think we might be onto something here.” He presses a kiss to my lips. “What do you think?”
That sentence could mean anything. Hazy and still alight inside, I don’t know how to answer. So I punt.
“Does this count as mediation, then?”
“Regarding?”
“Ahem. Um, my resignation?”
He chuckles. “Call this détente.”
I’m floating all the way back to my office. I could have flown right off the building.
The phone rang in his office and both Gabriel and I realized where we were, which is the only thing that got us to let go of one another—things were heating up again.
As I pulled myself together a bit, smoothing my skirt back, trying to get my legs back under me, Gabriel pulled me back into his arms.
“We have unfinished business.” When he kissed me, I could feel his erection pressing into me and immediately my body responded with a hot rush between my legs. I ached when he pulled back, even if just a few inches. “I’m going to be in meetings the rest of the day,” he said. “Can I call you tonight?”
Of course the answer was yes. And I still didn’t leave for at least another ten minutes.
I make it back to my floor before the doubts start setting in.
Détente. A re-set, I guess, only we seem to have gone the extreme opposite of where we were. I can’t bring myself to be sorry—not even a little—but I have no idea how to handle this situation. I was never, ever the type to sleep with the boss. Just not that girl.
Thankfully, the next few hours I have plenty of work to keep me occupied. That doesn’t mean I’m not checking my phone every hour for Gabriel to call.
It’s close to six when I realize I have literally plowed through everything I can do and it’s time to head home and feed Ray. No call. I was hoping I might see him before I left. I scoop everything into my bag for the day, and then I realize I’ve forgotten something important and I’m being silly: we literally live in the same building.
So funny how that happened. Such a weird coincidence. And just like my job, I have one person to thank.
Just then I feel a vibration in my bag, and I nearly drop the thing fumbling, trying to get to the phone. I’m hoping it’s Gabriel, but when I fish it out that’s not the name on the screen.
“Sheryl!”
“Hi hon! Are you still at work?”
“I was just heading back. Are you home?” My long-lost “secret roommate” has been out and about for the last month.
“For the weekend, then I’m heading out again. Let’s get a drink.”
“I’ll see you at the apartment. I have to feed Ray.”
“I’ll feed his royal pain in the ass. Meet me at Cymbeline.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to be out at a bar when Gabriel calls. I’m hoping to see him.
“Come on! I’m starving and there’s nothing here. Let’s go out. You can tell me all about the new job.”
“It’s so great to see you!” Sheryl gushes, fluttering long, fake lashes. “I’ve been thinking about you. What things must be like for you.”
We’re seated at a high top at some swank bar not far from our building. It’s a very posh part of town, and I always feel a little uncertain at places like this. It’s a long way from Greely, that’s for sure.
Sheryl continues, practically clucking as she chatters. “What’s it like working for that S.O.B.?”
I stare into my martini and try to think how to answer. I was cursing her name about a week ago. It was my own fault for my predicament with Gabriel, but so much began with Sheryl. And that article she wrote. Now?
“It’s been a little bit of a rough start, I can say that.”
“Uh oh,” Sheryl mocks, pretending concern. “Was el-asshole very upset about the article?”
“Um, yes, you could say that.” Understatement of the century. “He’s also not that keen on being called names.”
She smirks. “Well, I call it like I see it.”
I take an uncomfortable sip, thinking back to the many faces of Gabriel that I’ve been privy to in the last forty-eight hours. “I can see where you thought he came across that way, yes.”
“Oh my god, right? Like he’s the best thing going and you’re not even worth a little of his time.”
Her pretty face scowls, and I tilt my head. “Was he really that bad that day?” Her take surprised me in the paper, and the angry crease in her forehead signals she’s still upset.
“Yes! Rude. One-word answers. Insufferable prick. But then, he has a reputation for the same thing. Goes back years. I heard his own parents hated him.”
“Jeeze, Sheryl, harsh much?”
“Well, it took over two years to finally get that interview with him. Then the day we do it it’s like he can barely stand to be asked questions.”
“You were kind of asking about his personal life in a business profile. That might be why he clammed up.”
“Don’t defend him, Demi, seriously. Profiles are supposed to be in-depth.”
I don’t reply. I feel for her, I do. I’ve been on the business end of Gabriel’s cold shoulder for days. It’s a tough place to be with him.
I try to change the subject. “I’m glad you’re back, even for a
little while. The apartment is great, but it’s truly massive. Ray and I get swallowed up in the thing every night. I can see why you wanted someone else there with you.”
Sheryl shrugs. Her hair is a perfect, shiny and straight blonde curtain. Her makeup is sleek and polished, perfectly touched up. “It’s ok, I guess. My parents bought it when I asked. Have the neighbors given you any crap? You didn’t tell anyone you’re subletting, did you?”
“No, no one.” When I first moved in, my arrangement with Sheryl was purely informal. The building board has rules about the minimum rent you can charge for a unit, and what I’m paying her is several tiers below that. The friends and family couch rate. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it or she’ll be fined. Even the super-wealthy have roommate rules, apparently.
Sheryl smiles, and then looks around the bar. She seems restless. Maybe still jetlagged.
“He lives in our building, you know.” Her eyes are ice blue when she speaks. “Your boss.”
I play with the swizzle spear of olives in my drink. And I nod. “Yeah, I was wondering if you’d have written your article if you knew he was so close to home.”
“Of course,” she tosses off breezily. “To put him on notice.”
Maybe it’s the crazy up and down and all around of the last day, but I’m uncertain I understand what Sheryl’s saying. There are pieces and clues, I feel, they just need some assembly.
“Why would you do that?’
“He’s so… handsome and super-wealthy. I met him years ago at some party, and he was such a cold fish. And then he refused to grant me an interview.” Her pretty face gets that angry, stony look again. I’ve known her for years, and it’s the same look she used to get when we were scolded by a teacher or her parents. Sheryl has never appreciated being told no. “I’m not just some random reporter. My family has the same money he has. But he acted like I was beneath him. I bought an apartment in his building, after all. I’m not just anyone.”
I’m putting this together. “But you came to me with the Mangovan Companies job. Why were you so eager for me to work for him if you hate the guy?”
