by S. L. Naeole
And all from a pair of Mal’s dirty boxers.
Lyle picked me up at half-past noon and drove me into the city where he dropped me off in front of a skyscraper wielding Mal’s last name in three-foot tall letters across the building’s front face. People were darting in and out of the twelve-feet tall glass doors, everyone wearing business suits, their faces tucked into cell phones or speaking into Bluetooth mouthpieces, oblivious to the world moving at a rapid pace around them. In my sundress and denim jacket, I stood out like a rare steak at a vegan buffet.
All around me people moved, oblivious to my presence. Men brushed up against me, women dashed around me. I was jostled and nudged in one direction or another as life existed in hundreds of bubbles that bounced and floated all over me, and with each touch my heart sped up and my breathing grew erratic. I eyed the door of Michael’s building and willed myself forward, shifting my gaze from side to side to avoid the oncoming body traffic.
As I reached the wide silver handle of one of the doors I beamed. Standing just on the other side was Mal, his face equally pleased to see me. I pulled the door open and then moved across the marble floor toward him. I’d only taken two steps before he was there, taking me up high into his arms and spinning me around. I squealed with joy, the sound coming out of me so foreign that it startled me.
“There’s my sweetheart,” he said huskily before slowing our rotation and lowering me to his mouth.
All around us bodies ceased moving and my body, so attuned to the feeling of eyes on me because of my past, froze. But Mal did not stop kissing me. He somehow knew, somehow felt what was going on in my head because his arms lowered me without letting any space build up between us. His hands moved to cradle my face as he dropped soft, fluttering kisses at the corners of my mouth and then one last peck on the tip of my nose.
“I watched you,” he said, his voice heavy with pride. “You handled that crowd like a boss.”
Laughing, I splayed my hands across his chest and smoothed the lapel of his blazer. “I felt like running like Usain Bolt.”
“My warrior boss, the Olympic sprinter,” he whispered, filling my heart with so much emotion that my eyes began to sting. “Hungry?”
Nodding, I felt his arm slip around my waist as he began walking, pulling me to his side so that side of our hips brushed against each other with each step. I kept my head down to avoid the stares and smiles that met us as we headed toward a wall of elevators. Several people greeted Mal formally, the “Good afternoon, Mr. Lachlan” taking me aback. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d been that to me.
Now he was the guy I dry humped in my bathroom this morning.
“Where are we eating lunch?” I asked as we stepped into a waiting elevator. I noticed that a crowd of people was waiting in front of the doors of the other four elevators but none followed us into the car. Paying this no attention, Mal pressed the button for the top floor—the eightieth—and then pulled me to the back of the car as the doors slid shut.
Wordlessly, I was pushed up against a wall and immediately my hands were in his hair while his roved my body, his thumbs passing none-too-gently over the pucker of my nipples and drawing out a gasp from me just before his mouth crashed onto mine. Hot and slick, his tongue glided into my mouth and lapped at me, doing what he’d said he would in that message he’d sent me a few weeks ago.
Mal’s mouth moved, drifting from my lips to my chin and down my neck, altering hot wet kisses with slow, deliciously damp licks. I bit my lip to keep a moan from breaking through as that naughty mouth of his moved across my collarbone, leaving a trail of moisture that chilled with each puff of breath that left him. The combination of hot and cold sent a shiver running through me, my hands clutching his shoulders to keep myself steady.
“Victoria, I’m going to taste you here,” Mal panted as he grazed one tight nipple over my dress. “I’m not asking.”
Inhaling sharply, I pushed my breast forward, telling him without words that he didn’t need my permission. I felt his smile spread over my dress’ fabric just before his hand tugged the strap of my dress down off my shoulder. Full and heavy, my small breast did something it had never done before. It popped over the edge of my dress, small and pert and proud.
Shyness combatted with the need to feel Mal’s mouth where his eyes focused. My nipples puckered, the rosy brown shade deepening with each puff of hot air that wafted from his mouth. His hand moved beneath the bottom curve of my breast and he pushed, lifting the crest higher. Anxious and hungry for something that I knew did not resemble food, a whimper left me, pinging around the small metal box we rode in until finally, his hot, wide tongue lapped from the underside of my breast to my nipple and then over.
Like a cat lapping at a bowl of cream, he licked, covering me with a shiny film of himself. And as his mouth lowered to cover my nipple, the tip of his tongue swirled around it in a maelstrom of liquid fire.
“Mal,” I gasped, feeling that storm moving within me, completely eyeless, just turbulent, wet, and full of lightning. Then he bit down and the storm erupted, my cries long past containment. My hips were jerking, liquid spilling down my thighs. “Oh God, Mal. Mal. Mal!” Every bone in my body seemed to disappear and my grip on his shoulders tightened, my nails digging into his jacket as I struggled to remain upright.
His other hand moved to my belly and as I rode that wave of pleasure he drew slow, lazy circles with his fingers that mimicked the coil he’d wound within me. He suckled and bit my nipple until my voice was just a whisper and the rocking slowed. My heart was racing, my breaths shooting out of me with concentrated effort. Mal tugged my strap back onto my shoulder, easing the hem of my neckline back over my breast. He nudged my mouth with his nose before kissing me and then looking at me with amazement and pride glossing his eyes.
“Baby, you are amazing.”
“H-how?” I was breathless, unsure if it was because my heart was pounding so fast and hard, or because he’d sucked out all the air in the elevator with that mouth of his.
Eyes twinkling, mouth curving up in a smile that gave my thighs another reason to squeeze together, Mal was everything that I hadn’t realized I wanted. And oh boy, did I want. “All I did was suckle on one of your luscious breasts and you came. Just like that. Your responsiveness just makes me want to take you higher and higher so I can see your beautiful face experience each orgasm. Do you know how beautiful you look, your face so relaxed, your mouth open and begging to be kissed?”
Shaking my head, I suddenly remembered where we were, and that I’d just had an orgasm in a public elevator. My head whipped around, my eyes darting to the four corners of the elevator as Mal chuckled against my hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Cameras turn off whenever I’m riding.”
A part of me wanted to ask him if it was because what he’d just done to me was a common occurrence but instead, I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to ruin this moment between us. I didn’t want to ruin anything between us. He was with me and I needed to focus on that.
“That’s too bad. You could’ve watched it later,” I joked, surprised at how throaty my voice sounded.
His brows lifted, surprise filling him as well. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
Before I could ask him when that would be, the elevator dinged and the doors slid apart. My hands flew to my hair, trying to smooth anything that our little interlude might have done before taking his outstretched hand and walking out with him and into a world that immediately made me feel small and unwelcome.
Two receptionists greeted Mal as we walked past their wide, all glass station. LED screens lined the front of their desk and were paneled behind them, ombre rainbow fogs of color pulsing downward while “Lachlan” in crisp white letters remained static on the wall. I waved at the two women, their hair slicked back and not a single strand out of place, their attire completely flawless. One looked at me with blatant disdain. The other gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and barely moved her mouth.
Okay, so they don’t like me. That’s okay. He does and that’s all that matters.
As we rounded a curved hallway, we passed several offices all flanked with clear glass walls. No one inside was afforded an ounce of privacy. Desks, chairs, people. I saw everything as business at Mal’s company went on, and so did everyone else.
“I couldn’t work here,” I mumbled as we passed an office where a woman was having a very animated conversation on the phone. Everyone looking in at me, nowhere to escape, no dark corners. To be so exposed was the exact opposite of what I needed, what made me comfortable.
“No one’s asking you to work here,” Mal laughed, his words carrying with them a sting I hadn’t expected to feel. As we approached an impressive glass desk where a woman wearing a fitted red pantsuit sat, that sting spread because he was still laughing.
The woman in red stood upon seeing Mal and I approach. A broad, lovely smile spread across her face, her gray eyes glittering with genuine pleasure at seeing the two of us. “Welcome back, Mal. I’ve rescheduled your two o’clock and three o’clock appointments today for Monday at the same time. I’ve also got the minutes from last night’s shareholder's meeting at Bellquick.”
Okay, maybe she was just pleased to see him.
“Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome, Mal.”
He didn’t introduce me. She called him Mal. Only his friends called him Mal, he’d told me. Didn’t you introduce your friends to your girlfriend? My mouth opened to say something but he was tugging at my hand and we walked past her desk, her eyes tracking the two of us as we walked through a pair of glass doors that led into his office, the sheer size of it dwarfing mine at MOAT by more than half.
Releasing my hand, he unbuttoned his jacket and removed it before tossing it onto a club chair that was one of a quartet surrounding round, wooden table stained jet black and highly glossed. Ornate silver and glass lights hung from the ceiling sending halos of color splashing on the gray wood floor and cream rugs that sat beneath the club chairs and his massive desk that stretched across almost ten feet and was made of the same glossy black wood. Fronting the entire space and filling it with light were floor to ceiling windows that overlooked parts of Central Park.
The view would be stunning at night.
“Hannah, could you let Ralph know that we’re ready for lunch?” Michael said and I turned to focus on him at the sound of his voice. Over the speaker he’d just spoken into, Hannah’s voice floated in. “Will do, Mal.” Seeing me, he smiled. “We’ll be having lunch in here if that’s okay.”
My head swiveled to look behind me through the door where Hannah sat. She was typing almost feverishly as a phone was cradled between her shoulder and ear. “Uh. Sure,” I said, not even trying to sound convincing.
Returning my attention to Mal, I watched with slight amusement as he tugged at his tie and popped out his cufflinks before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Behind the desk, I saw him shuffle a bit before he kicked something off to the side and then approached me completely barefoot. “Hannah’s husband, Ralph, is the executive chef of the restaurant we’ve got on the twentieth floor, Hannah on Twenty.”
Relief flooded through me at the revelation that beautiful red-suit-wearing Hannah was, in fact, married-red-suit-wearing Hannah, and I returned his smile. “That’s romantic, he named the restaurant after her.”
He shrugged. “He didn’t name it. I did.”
“You did,” I repeated, relief slipping away with each breath.
“Yeah. He wanted to name it Ralph’s.”
“Were they together at the time?”
Too much time passed before he answered with a no, and without anything more from him I knew why: Hannah had been collected. Not only that, Mal had a restaurant named after her. Like some kind of homage to her or something. Was it called Hannah on Twenty because that’s where he’d fucked her?
Wow. Vulgar much?
Since when am I not vulgar?
Since we’re talking about sex which is a topic you never, ever, ever, discuss with anyone.
My internal argument continued to fly in my head, and I wrapped my arms over my chest and rubbed my arms through the jacket, suddenly feeling chilled as I stepped up to the wall to ceiling windows. The sky was clear, the late summer season keeping the clouds away, even this high up. And I couldn’t enjoy the beauty of it because less than fifty feet away from me was a woman that knew Mal’s body inside and out, who’d pleased him so much he’d created a permanent reminder of her here, and who called him Mal.
Why am I even here? Did I come here for lunch or to be made fun of and made to feel inadequate?
“This is my favorite view,” Michael said from behind me. I turned my head, expecting him to be standing beside me like he had a habit of doing except he was sitting on the corner of his desk, one bare foot on the ground, the other shaking in a rare fidget.
“This part of the New York skyline? It is pretty,” I agreed, returning my gaze to the window.
“I was talking about you, you silly girl,” he chuckled. “Come here.”
His words warmed me, but not enough to push the chill away and definitely not enough to lure me to the desk. Instead, I continued to look out the window.
When his arms slid around my waist, I wrestled with the idea of pulling away or leaning back into his embrace. One kept my head clear, the other kept my heart from breaking. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make a choice at all as the sound of knocking against the glass stole his attention away.
“Lunch is here,” he said with a quick buss against my cheek.
I spun on my heel and watched him approach the glass doors as a man wearing a black chef’s jacket walked in with a wicker basket in his hand. He greeted Mal with such warmth than I immediately felt a liking for him. That kind of affection was hard to fake, and as they spoke to each other with grins on their faces I couldn’t fight the contagion of it.
“Sweetheart, come here,” Mal said, holding out his hand to me. “I want you to meet Ralph, my oldest and closest friend.”
I walked over to them, quickly taking in the stocky man who stood just a few inches shorter than Mal. His long blonde hair was tied into a tight bun at the base of his neck, and colorful tattoos spread out from his neck, disappearing into the low collar of his coat. His hands were also covered in tattoos, which wrapped around his wrists and disappeared up his sleeves in an elegant scroll that hinted at something dark and beautiful. “Hi, Ralph. I’m Ria.” Lifting my eyes to meet his, I held out my hand. Mal looked down at it and then at me, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. Ralph, not understanding, took my hand in a firm grip and shook it once, twice, and almost a third time before Mal pried my hand away and clasped it between his own. It was only as he brought it to his lips that I noticed how clammy it was, noticed the trickle of sweat that beaded down my back. My eyes lifted to Mal’s and the chill left me entirely. He’d noticed how close I was to breaking in Ralph’s grip before I had and stepped in to keep me from completely shattering.
I mouthed a thank you to him and he winked before I returned my attention to his friend, who thankfully only seemed to notice a loving moment between Mal and me and not the burgeoning panic attack that always threatened.
“Possessive! I’ve gotta say, Mal, I like this side of you. It’s about time, too. I was starting to worry about you.” He turned his focus to me and allowed his eyes to roam my body once before returning bright blue eyes to mine. “You’re cute. You’re the painter, right?”
Shaking my head, I corrected him. “Not a professional painter. I’m an art restorer.”
“Oh yeah? What does that mean?”
I explained to him what I did, catching a smile of pride spreading across Mal’s face as Ralph started quizzing me about just how challenging it was to restore priceless pieces of art and then listening raptly as I answered each and every question he had, the topic allowing me a small comfort in the wake of his curiosity.
Ralph swiped his
hand over his head, grinning widely. “Ria, can I just say that you’re pretty amazing? You talk so passionately about your work that I can honestly say that there’s no doubt you’re great at what you do. I’m trying to picture you wearing a smock and covered in paint. I bet you look hot as hell.” He turned to face Mal. “Does she? I mean, you’ve seen her all Picasso’d out, right?”
Mal looked smug as he shook his head. “My girl’s got her sights set on bigger things right now, man, so she’s been sitting at a desk, but as soon as she gets that cast off she’ll be right back in her zone. I know it.” Now it was my turn to brim with pride. He saw me. He saw me and understood me.
“A part of me wanted to see if she’d like working here so that I’d never have to be away from her. I know she’s got the intelligence to handle it, but she wouldn’t be happy and I couldn’t do that to her,” Mal continued and my mouth fell open before he reached forward to tip it closed. “I’ll just have to take as much of my work as I can down to her office every day and hope I don’t get on her nerves.”
As each word left his mouth, bricks of an emotion that was stronger than joy and richer than hope began stacking in my heart, building a foundation that felt indestructible and impenetrable. I saw him with the same eyes I always had, only the fog that laced everything in my life had dissipated and now there was nothing but clarity.
I loved him.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Ralph’s voice cut through my mini-epiphany. “Mal’s in love,” he said, slightly awed, slightly amused.
My body jolted at his words, my eyes darting, seeking confirmation in Mal’s. Was it possible? Did he feel the same thing for me that I felt for him? For a blink, maybe even longer there was something there, something that filled me with hope. My breath caught in my throat, and his eyes bored into mine so intensely I almost blurted out that I loved him, too. But then the cool steel of impassivity slid into place and the chill returned. Not wanting him to sense the awkwardness, I turned to Ralph and smiled brightly. “So what did you bring us for lunch?”
