Old Enough (The Age Between Us Book 1)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “You can save your breath. I know all that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t want people to make the wrong assumption.”

  I don’t give a shit, but can Jane handle that kind of scandal? And a scandal it’ll be. Most people in Pretoria are a lot less open-minded and tolerant than their liberal cousins in cosmopolitan Johannesburg.

  Her face lights up with understanding. “Our sexual relationship will stay our secret. We’ll have to be very careful. That’s to say if you get the position.”

  I swallow. That’s the problem. Can I be careful? Around Jane, my self-control seems to splinter. More accurately, I don’t want to be careful. I want the world to know she’s mine.

  “Come on, Brian.” She shoulders me playfully. “I put my ass on the line for you.”

  My gaze dips to her backside. I’m going straight to hell for the images I’m conjuring. Yes, I want the job. Yes, I need the money. I crave the time with Jane. Can I juggle my interests so the craving part doesn’t drop and bring the whole lot crashing down?

  “Say yes,” she urges.

  I can’t say anything different, not when she looks at me like that, except maybe, “Thank you.” My hearts expands with more than gratitude. No one has ever cared enough to put his ass on the line for me, except maybe Mike.

  She beams at me. “You’re welcome.”

  Just like that, the tension of yesterday’s shit with Monkey melts away. My sins dissolve. The darkness of my past lifts. All that’s left is a virgin slate. She can write any fucking thing she wants on it. I’ll be whoever she needs me to be.

  She breaks the uneaten part of her bread into pieces and throws it for the birds. Dusting her dress, she gets to her feet. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to the office before my assistant has a fit. I left her in charge of capturing the print ad schedule into a new software program that’ll automate the production line, and it’s a mess. We have a few glitches to iron out.”

  I look at the food in my hand. With my preoccupations concerning Jane, the job, and her body, I’ve only eaten half of my burger. Stuffing what’s left in my mouth, I throw our empty wrappers in the trash and hand Jane one of the two bottles of soda in the bag.

  “Where are you parked?” I asked.

  “In the covered parking.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  I almost take her hand before I think the better of it. Again, stares follow her as we make our way across the square. She’s oblivious to the attention, chatting lively about what I should prepare and expect from the interview.

  Her car is on the far side of the parking lot against the wall. When she removes her keys from her handbag, I take them to unlock her door, making sure our fingers brush.

  She turns in the open door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Taking a step forward, I trap her against the car, the door shielding our bodies from view. The wall forms a barrier on the opposite side.

  Alarm flickers in her blue eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to taste you.”

  She glances around frantically. “What? Here?”

  One hand goes around her back, pressing her against me so she can’t escape. The other slips under her dress.

  “Brian, it’s not a good idea.”

  Despite the protest, she gasps as I trail my fingers up the inside of her leg. Fucking hell. Just like I knew. She’s wearing a garter. The silk of her stockings changes into soft skin of her thigh as I move my hand higher. Up I go, until the predominant sensation is not the smoothness of her flawless skin any longer, but the heat of her cunt. I slowly trace the line of her slit through her underwear. She jerks in my hold. When I retrace the line from her clit to her asshole, she inhales and holds the breath, her eyes closing. I move the elastic aside, sweeping the floor for people, but the parking is empty except for us. Holy fuck. She’s so wet my finger slips right in, all the way to the knuckle. She arches her back and whimpers, grabbing my shoulders for balance. I wasn’t going to finger-fuck her–I swear I only wanted a quick taste–but the lure is too strong. Bracing her back, I bend my knees to find better purchase and fuck her in all earnest.

  “Oh, my God.” She makes a sound between a moan and a protest. “Oh, my God. Brian, not here.”

  I drop my head to her shoulder, kissing her neck, and then pull back so I can see her face. “Will that bother you, if someone watches?”

  Her eyes fly open, but I’m fucking her too hard to be able to speak. Instead, I draw rhythmic gasps from her as I pound her pussy with the heel of my palm. Voyeurism has always been one of my addictions. The idea of her sucking me off in the middle of a crowded room has me go harder than steel. My balls will be blue until the next time I can sink my dick into her, but it’s worth every agonizing moment just to see her face as her climax starts to near and, with the next thrust, spills over. Her pussy is a tight vice around my finger, sucking me deeper and milking what should’ve been my cock. Her body trembles and her thighs shake as the orgasm takes its toll. She collapses against me, leaning her head on my chest. I keep my finger inside until all the aftershocks are gone, stroking her back while I make her ride my hand for another two beats. Fingers, tongue, or cock, I’ll stick whatever the occasion allows inside her. That’s how addicted I am. Obsessed.

  She straightens with a whimper, pushing on my shoulders. “I–I’ll be late.”

  “In a minute.”

  Another glance tells me we’re still alone, although I’m beyond caring, and anyway, her dress covers everything. I pull out slowly, feeling her inner muscles protest. She holds my gaze as I suck my finger into my mouth, tasting her release, which is a heady mixture of woman, lust, and wicked fantasies. I savor her pleasure with each of my senses–sight, sound, taste, feel, and smell. Only then do I straighten her dress and take her hand to help her into the car. I push on the door button to lower the window.

  “Tomorrow at three,” she says. “Can you make it?”

  I close her door and lean through the open window. “I’ll wing it so I can.”

  “Good.” She smiles up at me. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “Thanks for lunch.” I kiss her lips like I couldn’t outside. “Close your window and lock your door.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The comment is said lightly, but it heats my blood. I love her compliance. It does dangerous things to me.

  I watch her car until it disappears through the exit. Left standing alone, I almost wonder if it had been a dream. She’s so fucking perfect, sometimes it’s as if none of this is real. Yet, it’s never been more real. The straining hard-on in my jeans is not the only proof of that. So is the hollowness in my chest for the space she left empty.

  Jane

  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so relaxed. I’m not sure if it’s getting Debbie’s meddling off my chest, finally accepting to let go of my home, or the forbidden orgasm in the parking lot, but it feels good to be at some measure of peace. After dinner, I pour a glass of wine and page through my recipe books, hunting for birthday cake ideas.

  Abby enters with her school tablet under her arm.

  “How’s your homework, honey? Need help with anything?”

  “No thanks, Mom. It’s all done. I’m just revising a lesson for tomorrow’s geography class.”

  Thank goodness Francois is paying her school fees. I’d never be able to afford the private school, even on my salary.

  I glance at the kitchen clock. “It’s bedtime in an hour. Would you like an infusion?” I keep a variety of caffeine and tannin free herbal teas for Abby. “Here.” I hand her the box. “Pick one. I’ll switch on the kettle.”

  When her Rooibos and vanilla blend is ready, she takes a high stool at the counter and peers over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

  “Ideas for your party. Look at this one.” I turn the book so she can see. “It’s a sponge cake with peach-flavored icing. The pastel colors are beautiful, aren’
t they? How about a sleepover with a few of your friends? We can do movies and all the snacks that go with–”

  “Mom.”

  The way she looks at me makes me pause. “What?”

  She pulls the mug closer, cupping it between her palms. “I was kind of thinking of letting Debs throw the party, if you don’t mind.”

  My mouth goes dry. I blink a couple of times, trying to process the shock without showing it.

  “What about our theme?” I say jokingly, although the last thing I feel like is joking.

  “I’m getting a bit old for all that stuff, you know?”

  “I do,” I say enthusiastically, “which is why I was going to suggest something more grown up like an all-nighter with movies.”

  “That’s…not what I had in mind. The cake and the sleepover, I mean. If it’s a problem, I’ll tell Debs no. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  I swallow those hurt feelings down. “Of course it’s not a problem. I want you to have what you really want.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So, I can tell Debs then?”

  “Yes.”

  She hops off the chair, clapping her hands. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To call Debs,” she says as if it was obvious.

  “What? Now?”

  “She’ll be awake, don’t worry.”

  “Wait. You haven’t told me what you’re planning.”

  “Oh, you’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

  She skips out of the room, leaving me with a steaming mug of untouched Rooibos tea and burning rejection. I clamp a hand over my mouth. I’m not even sure what to feel. Like a fool? Like a failure? No, that’s my ego rearing its nasty head. This is for Abby. This is what she wants. The least I can do is respect her choice.

  11

  Jane

  As I knew he would, Toby takes an immediate liking to Brian. It’s easy to see why. Brian is driven, mature, confident, and energetic. His charm doesn’t hurt, either. Judging by Toby’s smile, Brian had already won him over with the handshake. Toby has this lopsided kind of smile when he likes someone and a thin-lipped one when he doesn’t. Only Erica, the receptionist, and Candice, my assistant, give me uncertain and speculative looks when Brian enters Toby’s office and the door closes behind them.

  “Isn’t that the guy…?” Candice asks.

  “That’s him. I told you we were discussing advertising.”

  My explanation shuts her up for now, but I can feel more questions coming.

  One hour later, Brian is hired. He’s officially my new intern. A thrill comes with the knowledge, and it’s not only because I’m happy that he’ll be in a better position, but also because I’ll be working close to him almost every day.

  It’s Candice who gets to show him the ropes and introduce him to the other staff in the office.

  “Oh, my.” Beatrix stares after him, or rather his ass. “Now that’s a fine piece of–”

  “Please,” I say. “What did Alex say about harassment?”

  “I’m just saying, not touching.” She smirks. “Although, I won’t mind feeling my way around that body.”

  Irritation wins over tolerance. “Cut it out. He’s not a piece of meat up for auction. Would you appreciate it if the guys discussed your breasts?”

  “Honestly? I won’t mind.”

  “You’re beyond saving.”

  “What’s eating you?” Mable asks. “It’s like you’ve got the moral police up your ass.”

  “Just stop, guys. I’m going to work with him, and I don’t want you talking about him like this behind his back.”

  “Ooh,” Priscilla teases, “someone’s got the hots for her new intern.”

  “Argh.” All I can do is walk away. I’m not jealous. I’m just protecting Brian like I’d protect anyone from being objectified. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  Not having a class in the afternoon, Brian starts straight away. Maybe I’ve been over-optimistic about how easy it would be to work in close proximity. When he strides into my office with a box of promotional items, my heart starts to stutter with a worrying beat. His biceps bulge from the heavy load. The T-shirt does nothing to hide his muscles, and my memory at how those muscles feel under my palms doesn’t help my over-heating body.

  “Where would you like this?” he asks.

  I point at the meeting table. “Over there, please.”

  As he obliges, I can’t help but notice how well his ass fills out his jeans. Urgh. Who am I kidding? I’m no better than Beatrix.

  He peers inside the box. “All this is for branding?”

  “Yep. We’re presenting swag to our Bakers client next week.”

  More delicious muscles bunch as he crosses his arms. “Swag for what purpose specifically?”

  “Christmas gifts for their clients.”

  He looks into the box again. “Mugs, mouse pads, USB keys, and pens. Not very exciting.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “A factory visit with an all-you-can-eat pass.”

  I laugh. “Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure their clients want to stuff their faces with cookies, even if they stock them by the pallets.”

  “Their kids will.”

  “You mean a family event?”

  “What better way to please someone than pleasing their kid, right?”

  “Right,” I say slowly, leaning back in my chair.

  “Instead of spending a fortune on mugs that’ll collect dust on a shelf–Because let’s face it, who needs another mug?–why not show off the premises and create loyal customers for life? Once you’ve shown those kids a good time, inconspicuously throwing in some PR with a factory tour, you’ve got a customer for life. They can have a Bakers cookie party afterward, and why not cross pollinate and invite Freddy? If you want to give swag, give away a starter pack of collectable cards, maybe with a science or cookie related recipe on the back, and include a card in each packet of cookies.”

  Mm. This could work. “Like football cards?”

  “Exactly. Fabricating slime is the fashion, right now. Slime kits are selling like hot cakes for Christmas. Ask me, I’m on a waiting list at five toy stores for Sam. Print a recipe for homemade slime–easy as pie to make–on the first cards. It needs to be something of interest to both boys and girls.”

  “I like it. I really like it. Can you come up with a few more ideas for the cards?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’d like to check what Toby thinks of it, but we need to present a range of cards that’ll see them through until Easter, at least.”

  “No problem.”

  “Candice has put in an order for a work station for you, but until it’s ready, you can use my computer. I want to show you how our print ad schedule works so you can help Candice capture the information in our new program.”

  Grabbing a visitor’s chair, he pulls it up next to me and sits down.

  “Shoot,” he says. “I’m ready.”

  He’s sitting so close our thighs brush when he leans forward for a better view of my screen. It’s a non-intentional touch, hardly worth noting in an innocent situation, but our situation isn’t innocent. My heart does a somersault. The distraction makes it hard to concentrate. Discreetly, I move my chair an inch to the side. If I hoped he wouldn’t notice, it’s futile. He smirks, but says nothing as I run through the print ad schedule and explain the process of booking, confirmation, invoicing, and creation.

  When he takes a pen, our fingers brush. His arm presses against mine when he reaches for a notepad. When I’m bent over the light box with a magnifying glass, showing him how to do a print quality check of the brochures, his breath tickles my neck. If I’m lifting a stack of files, his arms come around me from behind to relieve me of the load. No matter where I turn, our bodies are close, too close. I’ve never been unprofessional, bu
t I can’t help my reaction. For the first time, I’m wet at the office, aching for release so fiercely I’m considering tending to the matter in the ladies’ room. My only defense is avoiding Brian, which I successfully do for the remainder of the afternoon. I arrange visits to the other departments and make him capture data at Candice’s desk.

  My plan works well until I slip into the kitchen for a cup of much-needed caffeine. I’m going on tiptoes to reach the cupboard when his body presses up against me. I’m trapped between the counter and his chest with his hard-on growing against my lower back.

  “Brian,” I cry out softly. “What are you doing?”

  The door is open. Anyone can walk in.

  “What are you doing, Jane?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I bump my ass against his thighs. “Get off me. This is not the time or place.”

  He lowers his lips to the shell of my ear. He doesn’t touch them to my skin, but his mouth is so close heat permeates the spot. “You’re avoiding me.”

  I struggle a little harder, but he’s trapped me in the cage of his arms, and I’m no match for his strength.

  “We’re not home,” I protest. “I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  He reaches around me and takes down a mug. “I miss you. I need you.”

  “Brian, please.”

  One hand grabs my breast while the other takes the pot of coffee from the percolator.

  My breath catches audibly.

  “Don’t move,” he says, kneading my curve. “I don’t want to burn you.”

  I’m paralyzed, helpless, while he hums his approval, plays with my nipple, and pours the coffee.

  More heat rushes between my legs. “We can’t do this.”

  “I’ll do whatever I want with you, and you’ll let me.”

  His words are filled with self-assurance, which are merited, because he’s not wrong. I want him so much I’ll let him do anything. God, the sinful things I want to do.