by Chloe Lane
Maxwell
There are flickers of uneasiness in Emma's eyes the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and I don't know exactly what I did to cause it. It was something during our conversation about how the tension between us crackles in the air of our shared office all day, from the moment she steps into the Pierce & Harwood building to the moment she leaves. It's so strong that by the time we're both in my condo at night, I can't wait to strip her clothes away from her body and take her, take her any way possible.
We've fucked on every conceivable surface in the condo, in every conceivable position. Last night, I stretched her out on my sofa and fucked her in what could have been boring and traditional with any other woman. But with Emma, it was damn transcendent to be buried balls deep in her sweet pussy, her legs locked around my waist while her hair spread out across the surface of the sofa, her breasts perky and full, her skin soft and smooth, and her scent as intoxicating as ever.
But I need to take it further.
It's on a Thursday night when I'm fucking her with her hands pressed up against the wall just inside the door of my place. Her suit jacket and silk shell are in a rumpled pile on the floor, and her bra would be there too—only my impatience won out.
So did Emma's. The moment we stepped through the door, she flung her arms around my neck, kissing me so deeply that it rocked us both backward. When she bit my lip, taking it between her teeth, I knew we weren't going to make it to the bedroom.
Now I'm pulling her down onto my cock, sinking deeper into her with every thrust, and she's barely making contact with the floor, her heels lifting her up just enough to put her ass in the perfect position to balance above my hard, thick dick.
I reach up with one hand to undo the clip holding her hair in its neat bun, and it spills down her back. My other hand braced against her hip, I run my palm over the smoothness of her neck, pulling her head back and up. She moans out loud and her restraint gives in.
Emma comes hard, her body trembling against mine, knees shaking, and I'm there seconds later, my orgasm shooting my seed deep inside her.
When we finally disengage, she turns to face me and runs her hands down the side of my neck. “You never disappoint, Mr. Kane,” she says with a satisfied smile, but there's something in her gaze that makes me want to wrap her up in my arms and promise her a thousand times that there's never going to be anything wrong between us.
I reach down and tug her skirt away from her hips, dropping it to the floor, and then unhook her bra and add it to the pile. “Shower?”
“Please.”
She follows me naked to the master bathroom, and I shed my clothes on the way. I'm just stripping off my boxers when she leans into the shower and turns on the water. Emma likes her showers scalding hot, and she takes care with adjusting the temperature, getting it just this side of hellfire before stepping in.
I can't get enough of this woman.
She has her arms raised over her head, working the water into her hair, when I can't wait any longer to ask. “Is something bothering you, Emma?”
She opens her eyes wide at the sound of her name, and her mouth quirks in a smile. “What could be wrong?”
“You've just seemed...a little on edge for the last week.”
Emma screws up her mouth like she's deciding how much to tell me, and when she drops her gaze to the floor, my heart sinks along with it. “I'm just...I'm worried.”
“About what?
She looks back up at me, the shower water glistening on my skin. “That maybe I'm not enough for you.”
“Not enough for me?” Now I do step forward, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close to me, our skin gliding against one another under the stream. “Emma, you're like no other woman I've ever met. Nobody else could possibly satisfy me the way you do.” I lean down and kiss her, tasting her sweetness and warmth. “And you more than satisfy me. You're what gives the world its color, kitten.”
“But what about...what about work?”
The look in her eyes tells me that this is really the heart of the matter. This is what has her tossing and turning at night, and glancing at me with a furrowed forehead during the day when she thinks I won't notice.
I look down into her light blue eyes, droplets from the shower clinging to her eyelashes, and try to send every ounce of reassurance that I can. “Work is tough,” I admit, because lying to her isn't going to do any good. “But we'll figure it out.”
A sudden spike of electricity thunders down my spine, and it's like my mind is clear. I know what to do, and I know when to do it—right now.
“There's something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is it?” The concern is back in her eyes, and it just about tears my heart in two.
I grin at her. “I think it's time to take this to the next level.”
Her smile is tentative, and it makes my heart ache. “What's the next level?”
“Emma Mason, will you be my girlfriend?”
Emma throws her head back and laughs, but when she looks at me again, I see a sheen of tears in her eyes, competing with the shower. She playfully slaps at my chest. “You scared me!”
“Are you scared to be my girlfriend?” I lean down and kiss the side of her neck.
“I thought you might...tell me we should end this.”
“I just told you we'd figure out the work situation.”
“You never know, with men.”
“You'll always know with me. I promise.” I run my hands down the sides of her waist, pulling her in even closer. “So? What'll it be?”
27
Emma
I am officially Maxwell Kane's girlfriend.
I don't know what came over me in the shower.
I don't know why, even when he was murmuring into my ear that we'd figure everything out, promising again for at least the fifth time, why I thought the next words out of his mouth would be that we should end things, that we should find some other way to exist in the same world without jeopardizing our jobs.
Or maybe I do know, but I don't want to think about it.
That's far closer to the truth.
Not something I want to tell him—tell anyone, really. It's enough to say that the last of my college boyfriends, Jeff, pulled the same kind of move—promising me that we'd figure everything out, promising me that everything would be all right. Jeff's solution to getting a job across the country, though, was to break up with me. “You'll be all right,” he said. “I did tell you that everything would work out in the end. I'll even help you figure out your next move.”
It wasn't even that I was particularly in love with Jeff. It's just that his words stayed with me, long after I thought I was over that kind of thing.
But Maxwell?
No.
Maxwell had the same choice—find a real way forward with me or keep living with the smoldering tension at work—and he chose me.
On Friday, I wake up in his bed and leap out from under the covers, stretching my arms over my head. He laughs from beneath the comforter. “Are you that excited for the weekend, kitten?”
“I'm excited to be your girlfriend, Mr. Kane.” I turn back to him with a big grin, and he beckons to me with one finger, calling me back to bed. I'm already on fire for him, already wet, and I just woke up. All it takes is another few moments in his arms before we're devouring each other, before he's flipping me over so that I'm on my hands and knees and he’s ramming into me with all the power in his muscular body.
He's rock hard, and his length stretches me, fills me, reminds me again that I'm his. I belong to Maxwell Kane, and he's not afraid to move forward with me. He's not afraid to make a commitment. He's no college boy.
He's my man.
* * *
I don't leave his condo with enough time to go back to my apartment, but there's a clean and pressed work outfit here for me, a selection of makeup and hair products, so it won’t be an issue.
I don't want to leave his side, anyway, until I absolutely have to.<
br />
I turn the music up in his car on the way to the parking ramp, and Maxwell laughs kindly at me, at the fact that I can't stop smiling.
“You're going to have to pretend this is just a regular Friday, kitten,” he says, as I start to dance to the latest Top 40 hit, bobbing my head with the beat.
I arrange my face into a serious, professional expression and stop moving. “Is there something you'd like to review first thing before we're due at the courthouse?”
He laughs again, the sound pure and deep and sending vibrations straight to my spine. “Okay, I get it. You can play the part better than anyone. Enjoy your music for the last block.”
I don't turn down the music until we pull into the ramp. As soon as we do, I straighten my back and do my best to wipe the grin off my face. You never know who'll be waiting in the ramp, and I scan all around the car for signs of Mrs. Johnson, while Maxwell finds a spot on the second floor and pulls into it.
By the time I step out onto the concrete, I've almost convinced myself that I'm ready to face the day. “This is going to be the first easy one,” I tell Maxwell as we walk toward the stairwell. He raises his eyebrows. “The first easy day at the office,” I clarify. “Now that I know—” I shake my head, stopping myself from saying the words. “I'm just so happy that I'm sure the time will fly by.”
He reaches down and squeezes my hand, the last fleeting gesture he'll take the risk of making for the rest of the day. “I feel the same way.”
“I love you, Maxwell.” It slips out before I can stop it, and I clap my hands over my mouth.
Maxwell just leans down, his eyes shining, his lips brushing my ear, and says, “I love you too, kitten.”
I've never felt so good in my life. My heart is practically bursting with joy, and on the walk to the firm, I'm quiet, entranced by visions of a future with Maxwell.
This is only the beginning. Becoming his girlfriend is only the very beginning of the life we're going to have together—I'm sure of it. It doesn't seem like such a pipe dream now, to imagine myself moving into his condo, bringing my best things and leaving the rest from my shabby apartment behind. Eventually, we might move to a house, if the city life stops suiting us—a place with a yard, a place a little farther from the neighbors, where we could really play out all our fantasies. If we had a place like that, I wouldn't have to cover my mouth when things get intense. I could let him hear me.
Just outside the firm, he stops and gives me a look. “It's nothing,” I say, answering his unspoken question. “I just have so many...ideas.” I lean in and give him a smile that borders on unprofessional. “But the best part is, Maxwell, that we can talk about all this later. At home.”
Then, because I'm so taken with him that I've just about forgotten myself, I raise myself up on tiptoe and give him a kiss on the cheek, a light, glancing brush of my lips for just long enough to smell his aftershave, just long enough to appreciate the smoothness of his cheek...
Just long enough for the footsteps coming down the sidewalk to register, for my gut to go cold, for me to realize, too late, that it was a big mistake.
28
Maxwell
It's such an innocent gesture, and I can hardly blame her. Emma has been radiating joy since I made things official last night. It's almost too much for one person to contain.
How could I be angry when she's just expressing her happiness? It's not the first time a human being has been overwhelmed by a feeling like that. And she's not alone. I feel that way, too, unbelievably lucky that she walked into my life and was everything I've ever wanted. But she is young, and vibrant, and it got the best of her.
Right at the moment Mrs. Johnson was walking into the firm.
She glares at me as she goes by in her black high heels, her mouth set in a firm, hard line, her eyes cold and knowing. She doesn't say a word.
As soon as she's inside Pierce & Harwood, Emma sags in front of me, her shoulders drooping and her eyes filling with tears. She's not much of a crier, but this is clearly too much. She spent so much time fretting this past week, and now—
“This is my worst nightmare,” she says miserably, her chin quivering. “This is what I was afraid of. God, I have to be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.”
I don't look around even once more before I put my fingers under her chin and lift her face toward mine. I keep my voice even, though my own heart is pounding. My mind races inside with Mrs. Johnson, trying to calculate how long I have before she says something to Harwood—or worse, both Pierce & Harwood at the same time, and then I have no way to deflect the blow that's coming.
“You don't have to worry, Emma. I promised you that we would figure things out.” I give her a rakish smile that I hope disguises my reeling thoughts. “Maybe we'll just figure them out a little quicker than we planned.”
“I'm sorry, Maxwell,” she whispers, her voice breaking, and I drop my hand, smiling again as I straighten my own back.
“Chin up, kitten.” Saying the word brings a little smile to her face. “Have I ever let you down?”
“Not yet.”
“And I won't. So put your office face on and let's go in. We've got court.”
* * *
All through the appearance in court, I go through the motions while my head spins back to the office. I didn't have time to do anything before we left, but I have to figure it out, and I have to figure it out now. Every time I think of being fired in disgrace from Pierce & Harwood, a cold wave of anxiety churns my stomach. My mother tells everyone in my podunk hometown that I work for Pierce & Harwood, and it will kill her if she has to say that I was fired.
I won't put her in that position. I can't. Not when I've come this far.
I'm in the middle of cross-examining a witness when it comes to me.
“Mr. Alberts, how long have you lived in the city?”
“Since 1981.”
“And what has your work been focused on?”
“I buy and sell clothing, Mr. Kane.”
“Do you own your own business?”
“Yes. I started it up in 1984.”
I'm three more questions in when Mr. Alberts' words hit me like a ton of bricks.
Do you own your own business?
Yes.
The seed of the idea is so blindingly obvious that I lose my train of thought, forget what question I've just asked, and now the words coming out of Mr. Alberts' mouth aren't making sense at all. It must show on my face, because he stops talking and cocks his head to the side.
“Are you all right, Mr. Kane?”
I glance down at my notes, but the words swim around on the page. Focus on this right now. We're almost out of here.
“My apologies,” I say, giving the court stenographer my classic grin. “Could you read the last few lines back to me?”
Blushing, she does.
“Thank you. Go ahead, Mr. Alberts.”
He launches back into his explanation of the events of the day I've been asking him about, and I force myself to hear every word of what he says, even though I want to turn to the judge and beg him for a recess. I can't, because if I leave this courtroom right now, I might never come back, and that wouldn't be any good for my newly cleaned-up reputation either.
On the other hand, if Mrs. Johnson gets to the partners first...
The instant the judge gavels for the recess, I shake my client's hand and tell Emma to get our things together quickly. I help her slide papers and notes into my briefcase, and then, with a pointed nod at the door, I have both of us moving at double speed toward the car.
It's not until she shuts the door behind her that Emma breathes a word of what's on her mind.
“What happened back there? You looked like you had an epiphany in the middle of that cross-examination.”
“I did.”
“What's the epiphany?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful.
It's still half-formed in my mind, with only the simplest, most obvious bones, and I want to tell Emma. I do
. I just don't want to give her any time to feel badly about it, any time to try to talk me out of it. I have to do this while I still have a clear shot.
“I'm still working the details out,” I tell her, reaching across the center console to squeeze her hand. “Do you trust me?”
“More than I've ever trusted anyone,” she says, her voice all sincerity and love. “But-—”
“No buts.” I'm not quite using the same dominant tone I use in the bedroom, but even the hint of it is enough to have her relaxing into her seat, giving me a wicked little grin. “I'll tell you all about it as soon as I have everything in place.”
29
Emma
Whatever Maxwell's epiphany is, I have to end things.
The realization comes to me in the late afternoon as I'm finishing up the last of the day's paperwork and preparing everything for next Monday at the office, and it nearly breaks my heart in two.
No. It does break my heart. But it doesn't just break it in two—it shatters it, right onto the floor of his office.
I gasp at how much it hurts even to have the thought, covering my mouth with my hand.
But it's the cold, hard truth.
Even if Maxwell thinks he has this situation figured out, I can't quite bring myself to believe him. It's not that I don't trust him. I trust him with my life. But I can't allow him to do anything that would jeopardize his chance at becoming a partner at Pierce & Harwood.
There's a rapping on the wooden frame of my office door, and I straighten up, blinking the tears away in triple time.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mason.”
I wasn't expecting to see the silver-haired man, as always in an expensive, perfectly tailored suit, standing at my doorway, and my heart thuds against my rib cage as I scramble up from my chair. “Mr. Pierce. I'm—good afternoon, Mr. Pierce. What can I do for you?”
