Tasha was pretty sure she was falling for him.
Chapter 5
Tasha stood there, naked, letting the hot water spill onto her chest and flow down her body to the shower floor. The steam rose up and fogged the glass shower door, the steam so thick she could barely see the white subway tiles that lined the stall. She leaned in every so often, catching the shower spray into her mouth and then spitting the water out against the wall. Tasha was lost in thought, lost in her strange new life of comfort and confusion. It had been 7 months since she started seeing Tom, if she could call it seeing, because it wasn't, as he was so quick to point out.
"It's an arrangement, Tash," he'd told her. She had casually mentioned that they'd been seeing an awful lot of each other lately, a couple times a week, and it would be nice if she had some idea of when he was going to be around so she could plan her time better. With her a job a thing of the past, she'd decided to go back to school, full time, and finish up her Bachelor's degree. Tom just showing up at the apartment with an hour's notice wasn't working for her. Couldn't she at least finally have his cell phone number so she could call him and check in now and then? Tom once told her that he'd set certain ground rules for himself when he decided to join the website, and one of the big ones was No Cell Phones. That crossed a line into Girlfriend Territory, he said, but this?
"It's an arrangement, Tash."
That stung. She didn't like that it stung, but it did. But in the face of everything that'd happened over the last couple of months....
Tasha turned around and felt the water hit her back, felt the hot blanket of runoff coat her backside while she thought of all the things Tom had said or done in the last couple of months that made her feel as though this were more than an arrangement. He'd finally told her about his job, in the context of confiding how unhappy he was doing it. He was president of a company that owned thousands of technology patents and made its money suing other companies that infringe on the patent somehow. It was meaningless, he said, and he opened up about all kinds of things to her, including his domineering father, who's billion-dollar multinational owned Tom's company, and 30 or so others. Tasha crossed her arms over her breasts and stepped back further under the water so it hit the back of her head, her thick hair soaking it up like a sponge. She thought of the night that Tom had told her all those things, and how that night they didn't fuck. They made love that night, she was sure of it. It was slow and tender and desperate and when it was done they fell asleep in each other's arms diagonally in the bed. Since then, Tom doted on her when they were together—he'd fix her drinks, gave her massages, always woke up first and went to make coffee, good coffee, and then bringing it to her when it was done.
She woke up in his arms again this morning, and she lingered in bed for a while, just because he felt so good pressed up against her and holding her, protecting her. She pretended to be sleeping when he finally roused, and he unhooked himself from her, climbing quietly out of bed and then leaving the room. A few moments later she heard the coffee grinder going and became overwhelmed with sadness. She'd finally admitted to herself, just at that moment: she wanted more. She had to face the very unpleasant fact that she loved him, because that meant this all had to end, because she couldn't live with this arrangement anymore and was pretty sure Tom couldn't live without it. She'd tell him how she felt, of course, but she didn't expect anything in return.
Tasha felt a chill of air against her body and opened her eyes. The shower door was open and Tom stood there, naked.
"Got room for another one?" he asked.
Tasha replied in a seductive growl, "Absolutely..."
Tom stepped in and closed the door behind him. He turned back to Tasha, put his arms around her and pulled her in closer. She felt him instantly swell at the meeting of their bodies and he leaned in and kissed her. With the water rushing over them, their mouths opened and Tasha felt a complete heat now, inside and out. Their bodies were slippery against each other, and as their arms and hands seemed to float just scarcely above the skin as they explored and rubbed and embraced. Tasha's hand moved down Tom's body and stopped between his legs. She gripped him tightly as she stepped back and eyed his intentions, now fully hardened and determined.
"Oooh, you dirty, dirty man," she said. "Looks like I'm going to have to clean you."
She grabbed for a bar of soap and lathered it up in her hands. She placed the soap back with one hand, while the other went back for Tom's cock. She began softly stroking it, her soapy hand lubricated and gliding effortlessly along the length of him, twisting around it with each back and forth motion. Suddenly, Tasha turned Tom around so his back was to her, and then pivoted them both as one so he was up against the wall and her hand was still stroking him. Tom started to make a noise—the beginnings of a protest, maybe—but Tasha increased the speed of her hand and the noise became a moan. She ran her free hand down his back, down to his ass, traced a finger between the cheeks down, down, and still down until she found it. Her finger gently rubbed along the outer circle of flesh hidden down below. She applied a little more pressure.
"Tasha, what are—"
"Sssshhhh," she said. She turned her head to the side and leaned her face against his back. She whispered, "I want you so bad, baby. Let me have you."
His muscles relaxed as he moan his assent. Her left hand continued sliding back and forth along his cock, which she felt throb every time the finger on her right hand would insist its way slightly deeper into Tom's ass. She felt him relaxing, and she went deeper each time the muscle around her finger loosened even just the slightest bit. Soon her entire finger had disappeared inside him, and when she slowly pulled it out Tom's knees buckled. Before he could fall down completely she stuck her finger back in and this seemed to straighten Tom out. Tasha got a rhythm going, simultaneously sliding one hand down his cock and pushing a finger inside his ass, then up and out, down and in, up and out. She began licking his back
"You like this, baby, don't you?" Tasha asked sweetly.
Tom nervously nodded, seemed afraid to admit it, and his reluctant agreement turned her on more, emboldened her to really fuck him. She sped up the tempo, down and in and up and out, and kept speaking to Tom in a hushed tone.
"Yes, baby," she said, "your ass is so sexy and your cock feels so good in my hand." Tasha inhaled sharply exhaled slowly and she heard him moaning quietly, almost whispering to himself, Oh god, Oh yes, mmmmm my god, yes.
"I want you to come, baby, want to feel you throb and explode in my hand."
She squeezed him harder when she said this, and her words and her hand and her finger met somewhere inside Tom and he let out a grunt and then it was all over for him. Tasha felt his warmth drip down her hands and she pulled her finger out of him which made more come spray out. She moved her free hand around to his front and placed it, open palm, on his chest, holding him tight while her other hand still maintained a grip on his cock. She held him like that, with her face still leaned against his back and the water still rushing over them, while he caught his breath.
"Oh my god," he panted. "What was that?"
But Tasha didn't answer. She just held him close and tight and never wanted to let go. This was no longer an arrangement.
Tasha sat in her bathrobe, terrycloth, which Tom bought her as a kind of remembrance to their first meeting.
"Just like at the Waldorf," he told her when he she opened the gift box.
She sat in the white wicker chair in the corner of her bedroom, wainscoting and slate grey paint on the wall to her right, exposed brick wall to her left. She sat in the robe that Tom had given her, sipping at the coffee that Tom had made for her, in the apartment that Tom had bought for her, watching Tom get dressed and ready for work.
"How's your day looking, babe?" she asked.
"Should be alright," he said, looping his tie around itself. "My 1 PM canceled, but I'm not going to tell anybody. When she hasn't shown by five of, I'll tell Betsy it was changed to a con-call and lock my do
or for a couple hours."
"She?" Tasha glared. "Something I should know?"
Tom gave a look that said "Really?" and then answered her anyway. "She's the new head of our subsidiary—I haven't had the chance to meet her yet."
He walked by Tasha towards the door, reaching out and lightly dragging his finger across her cheek as passed. Tasha felt foolish, did not want to be seen as jealous even though that's exactly what she was. She didn't like being invisible anymore, didn't like being Tom's secret. She was sure he felt the same way; they had become too close. There was an intimacy to their entanglement that hadn't been there before and that wasn't something that a person could misunderstand. You can't mistake tenderness, can't misinterpret another person's trust in you.
"Tom!" she shouted to him. "You left your phone in here!"
"Would you bring it to me?"
She stood up and grabbed the phone off the dresser. Tasha pushed the home button on his phone, just to see what she could see. Behind the notifications of the text messages he'd received while he was getting dressed, she could make out the lock screen wallpaper for his phone, and it was a photo of her, Tasha, a self portrait she'd taken when he wasn't looking. He only mentioned it once when he found it—"Nice picture I found today," he said—and she assumed he'd deleted it as a precaution. And here she was, a photo of her, holding the phone above her head, looking up at the camera, the background of the photo a series of curves as her waist curves inward and breaks back out, her ass is in view, out of focus in the background. Her heart swirled she thought about Tom sitting with his phone and setting her picture as the first thing he sees when he turns it on. Tasha hit the sleep button to turn the screen back off, made it look like it'd never been turned on in the first place. She bounded down the hall toward him, handed him his phone and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly.
"What's going on?" Tom asked when, 30 seconds later, she still hadn't let go. "Are you OK?"
Tasha released him, looked at him, and smiled. "I'm great," she said. "Have a good day." She turned around and walked purposefully back down toward the bedroom, her ass swinging from side to side with each step, a sight which Tom eagerly took in. He lingered at the door until she made the right turn in to her room and disappeared. When she heard the front door open and close, she ran to her closet and looked for just the right outfit. Something business-y. Tom was going to have his meeting after all.
Chapter 6
The buzzer rang, and then: "Mr. Finch?"
"Yes?"
"Mr. Finch, your 1 o'clock is here."
What? Tom thought. She cancelled.
"Send her in?" Tom replied, not sure of what was going on.
The door opened, and Ruth, Tom's secretary, entered the room first. Once in, she held the door open for Tom's 1 o'clock, who entered slowly and purposefully. She was well put together, knee-length business skirt, white button down blouse with wide lapels that stuck out over a black blazer. The blouse's top two buttons were undone, enough to reveal a smooth, dark-skinned chest and a hint of cleavage. The jacket was buttoned just below her breasts, and highlighting a small waist atop wide, strong hips. Tom felt a wave of adrenaline rush through his body. That's it, then, he thought. I'll be found out. This is over. Deciding that he ought to just play along for now, Tom stood up, extended his hand.
"Well, nice to finally meet you," he said, his heart thumping, beads of sweat forming on his temples. Tom extended his hand out to Tasha for a shake. She grabbed hold and held it, a little too long, as she batter her eyes and smiled. Ruth, used to this sort of reaction by the female visitors, wasn't fazed. But as soon as she exited the room and shut the door behind her, Tom emerged from behind his desk and ran to the door. He locked it, and then turned around immediately, and whisper-screamed at Tasha.
"Have you lost your mind? Are you fucking bonkers?" he demanded.
Tasha's smile gave way a little here. "What's wrong? I didn't tell her you're fucking me!"
"Yeah, but you're not my 1 o'clock. You told her you're Lacey McGivers?"
Tasha's eyebrows raised, and her voice went up an octave higher than normal. "Do I look like some bitch named Lacey McGivers?"
"No! That's my point. They'll figure it out."
"Jesus, Tom, chill out. I'm not an idiot."
"Really? Because right now, I'm not so sure."
This time just one eyebrow raised. Tasha replied flatly, "You did not just say that to me."
Tom paused a beat. "No," Tom said. "No, of course I didn't. Look, it's just— I can't—"
Tasha put her right index finger to Tom's lips. "Shhhh. I just announced myself as your 1 o'clock. Ruth must've filled in the blanks. She didn't even ask my name."
"Really? Shit. I've got to fire that woman."
"What? Don't fire her!" Tasha demanded. "She seems so sweet."
"The dumb ones always are," Tom shot back, with laugh. Tasha sat down in the seat facing Tom's desk. He followed her over and sat at the edge of the desk, arms crossed, looking down at Tasha. "She should have asked for your name, confirmed that you were my 1 o'clock." Office Tom was apparently paranoid, too.
"Don't worry, you're safe," Tasha said. "I got searched like hell when I came in through the lobby. Fat security guard got good and friendly making sure I wasn't stashing anything up my skirt."
Tom looked shocked. "What'd he do?" he demanded.
"It's nothing," Tasha told him, "Don't sweat it."
"I'm already sweating it. I'm sweating this whole thing." Tom leaned in and looked at her intensely. "Tell me what he did."
Tasha responded, "He said he needed to make sure I didn't have a gun or anything stashed under a garter...."
"And?"
"And he searched me, frisked me under my skirt."
Tom bolted up from the edge of the desk. "Son of a bitch," he said through gritted teeth. He made for the other side of the desk, through himself down on his chair and lunged for his phone. Tasha threw herself across the desk and grabbed his wrist as his hand gripped the receiver.
"Tom, stop," she quietly pleaded. "It's nothing. Happens all the time."
"No, it's doesn't—"
"Yes," Tasha interrupted. "Yes, it does. Not to you, obviously, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. I'm used to it. Just let it be."
There was a moment of silence, and Tom considered what she'd just said. They stood there, frozen in that moment, Tasha's hand around the wrist of Tom's hand around the receiver of the phone. Tasha noticed that Tom had one of those Newton's Cradle desk toys, the one with the five suspended steel balls that swing and bounce and transfer energy from one end to the other in mesmerizing ways. She'd had one of these as a girl, and had always especially liked it when she pulled two off to the side, they'd swing back in together and hit the center ball, causing the two at the other end to swing out and back. She'd watch the pairs on each side swing and impact, always amazed that no matter what got in their way, the two stuck together until the very end.
"No," Tom said. "Not where I work. And not to you."
Tasha swelled with love with for this man—she let go of his wrist, and felt warmth travel through her body as she watched him dial the phone. She fell back in her chair, aware of a swelling in her body. She felt the rush of heat inside her and suddenly her breasts ached to be touched, her pussy grew wet and she started to squirm around in her chair. She wanted him so terribly at that moment, wanted him inside her, wanted to feel like a pair. She wished she were somewhere private with him, so she could just climb on top and lay on him, feeling their flesh pressed together and his cock deep inside. Tasha was too self-aware, though, knew how much noise she made during sex and there was nowhere to hide from that.
"Who's this? Jimmy?" Tom barked into the phone. "Jimmy, get Artie on the phone." Tasha noticed a vein in Tom's forehead, throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse. She'd never noticed it before, but she also hadn't seem him angry like this. "I don't care if he's eating his lunch. Get him on the fucking phone."
/> "Tom, really, you don't—" Without even looking up, Tom put his hand up in the air, palm towards Tasha. Stop talking, the hand said.
"Yes, Artie. It's Tom Finch, up on 20. I've got a woman up here in my off—" Tom's face curled up in displeasure as Artie interrupted him. "Just can it, Artie. Listen. She's the, uh, she's the executive assistant to a very powerful CEO, a CEO who is also a woman, and I can't have creeps like you sticking there hands up women's skirts and calling it a search."
Tasha heard the muffled voice out of the receiver, tried to make out what he was saying, but Tom quickly spoke right over him.
My White Sugar Daddy Page 5
