by Alegra Verde
“But you’re so good at it.” I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to cover up his apprehension or whether he was trying to blow it off.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He stroked his glass as he watched me. After a moment of silence, he reached over and touched the back of my hand. I let him. “We don’t have to play the games all the time,” he offered.
I must have looked as if I was considering it because he added, “We could take turns. You could tell me what you need.”
The waiter came with our food. We sat back and let him slide our plates onto the table. The young man asked the cursory, “Do you need anything else,” but scurried away when Bruce shook his head and turned his attention back to me.
I doctored my burger, mustard, ketchup, relish, and passed the condiments to Bruce who began the process. It was good. I chewed and smiled at Bruce. He bit his and smiled back. We ate in silence, using our napkins liberally and sipping our drinks between bites. When we finished, Bruce handed the waiter our empty plates and ordered more drinks. I sat back feeling comfortably full and relaxed.
“Come home with me tonight,” Bruce suggested.
I sat up. “I don’t think so,” I said, and more firmly added, “Not tonight.”
“Why? It isn’t as though there is someone at home waiting for you?”
“I’m just not ready.”
“Okay,” he said as the waiter placed our drinks in front of us.
“Okay,” I said.
His head jerked up.
“No. I mean I’m glad you’re okay with it.”
He leaned forward. “I can be the aggressor. Do you want me to be the aggressor?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you said okay.”
“It’s just that I know that sometimes women like…” He stopped as though he was afraid to finish.
“To be attacked?” I laughed outright.
“To be seduced,” he corrected.
“Women are the only ones that suffer this affliction?”
“You have the advantage here because I am terribly attracted to you, and I haven’t been with anyone since we were together. It’s difficult—” he laughed and shook his head “—to think, with you sitting there.”
“I’d better go,” I said as I gathered my things. “It’s getting late.”
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Stay. Finish your drink.” I held my clutch in my hand. Resting both clutch and hand on the table, I began scooting out of the booth. He reached over, pulled the little purse out of my hand, and placed it on the seat next to him. No he didn’t. The move completely deflated me. I sat back.
“Stay. Just for a while,” he said again, his voice soft, placating. “Finish your drink.”
“All you had to do was ask.”
“Really.” His smile was wry, as if he didn’t believe me. I knew what he was thinking. If that were true, you would have come home with me. But, he didn’t ask again.
“Okay,” he said, and stood up, still holding my bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
I stood up. After pulling some bills from his pocket and tossing them onto the table, he took my sweater and draped it over my shoulders before handing me my purse.
We tried to make small talk about the office and new accounts, but by the time we reached the parking structure we had both sank into our own thoughts. His hand rested low on my back as we entered the structure. It would have been a chivalrous thing to do, but it felt as though he was doing it more for himself than for me, as if he was giving in to his need to touch me. His hand was large and hot and burned through the cotton of my dress. I sped up a little to relieve some of the tension, but he kept pace with me and for a minute, it was as though we were both hurrying to get somewhere.
It was late. The garage, lit intermittently with fluorescent lights, was dim. It was always darkest near my car, which was parked in a corner near the elevator. I was glad Bruce was here. He stood over me. His body a half-circle fortress around mine as we waited. We took the elevator up to the floor reserved for Davies and Birch. A concrete wall separated my car from the glass enclosure that housed the elevator, a gray slab that blocked out light and created a blind spot that hid my parking space from the protective eyes of the security camera. Bruce’s and Birch’s cars were parked to the right, behind the other concrete wall in the spaces reserved for the executives. Because we worked for Bruce, Claire and I were given optimum spaces next to the elevator. Birch’s assistants were in the same bank, next to me and Claire. It had been a not so secret bone of contention to some of the higher earning account execs and department managers, but Bruce had dismissed their bickering and innuendoes. When one of the newer execs complained that he’d never worked for a company that gave secretaries better parking spots than the high rollers, Bruce had simply said, “They’re not secretaries. They keep me functioning at my best. I need them near and on time.” Since then, the guys have kept their comments to themselves.
He took my hand as we left the enclosure, and led the way to my car. “I could come home with you,” he said as he pressed me back against the car door and his mouth against mine. It was good. He tasted wet like beer and hot burger and man. He leaned in and my hip nudged the door handle. I kissed him back. He groaned and pressed his luck allowing a hand to stray behind my back and down to cup my bottom. The hard notch of him pushed into my waist and belly. I shoved at him. His hand was under the skirt of my dress. I shoved him again, but not with much force. His hand moved to the elastic waist of my panties and stopped. His mouth still claimed mine, his tongue a comfortable weight hovering at the entrance and teasing the inside of my lips.
“I just want to feel you.”
I shook my head and he deepened the kiss.
“Just a little,” he whispered, and kissed my cheek.
He tugged at my panties again, pulling them down my thighs. I let him, lifting first one, then the other foot so that he could slip them off and into his pocket. A breeze glanced over my newly bared skin followed by a large warm hand and fingers that burrowed into the dampness, searching and finding my center. I clutched at his shoulders, my fingers crushing the fabric of his jacket as his plucked and stroked and inflamed me. I could barely think but I could hear the clink of his belt buckle and the purr of his zipper. The subtle musk of his cologne wafted up to me as my mouth found his neck in the loosened collar of his shirt. His skin was warm and salty. The texture was slightly rough where his beard was trying to grow back. I ran my tongue over the tiny spikes and then gnawed them with my bottom teeth. He groaned and snipped my chin with his teeth. I opened my legs wider in anticipation. He lifted me up by my bottom, his hands slipping and cradling my thighs as he pressed me more firmly into the car. Only the linen of my skirt and a pair of large warm hands shielded me from the cold steel and glass. I lifted my legs to embrace his now, the rasp of his nearly naked thighs against mine in their thigh-high nylons causing a tingly friction. He slid in further, the knob of his sex already pressing against my opening. My feet, clad in a pair of burgundy strappy heels, found purchase against the cement wall a couple of feet behind him.
He leaned forward and found home, filling me completely, the width of him leaving no room as it made a slow drag deep into my center. He hit bottom, breathed a sigh, found my mouth again and pulled almost all the way out. I waited, my pussy making clutching movements, eager for his return. He came back and I scooted toward him trying to squeeze him, to hold him, but he had found his rhythm. Leaning forward, he secured me with his shoulders, chest and hands as he continued his assault, pounding into me. The fullness and the bliss of the slide in and out caused my legs to tremble against his. I closed my eyes as he began to swell inside me, the hardness pushing against my walls, the pace crazy, out of control, the rough hair of his groin setting fire to my too sensitive labia. I bit the thick cloth at his shoulder to keep from screaming, and then he was coming. His fingers clenched my nether cheeks as he tried to pull me even
closer, and then I was spiraling. The muscles of my sex clenched and pulled at him milking him as I came and came, my juice making a broth with his.
When I came to my senses, he was still holding me, his sex softer, but still tucked into me.
“Okay?” he grinned.
I laughed, “Yeah, okay. But we can’t keep this up like this. There has to be protection.”
“Fine, as long as there is a next time.”
“I want to get down.”
He stepped back. His sex plopped out and fell slack between his legs. I slid my legs down and pulled at my skirt, trying to right it. Linen is an unforgiving fabric. He tucked himself and his shirt away and zipped himself. When he was done he was a bit rumpled, but the lightweight wool of his suit was much more resilient than my linen.
“Come home with me?”
“Not tonight.” I shook my head. “I need my bath. I need a long soak and lavender salts.”
“I have a bathtub…and salts.”
“I need time.”
He nodded and stepped back. His foot found my purse where it had fallen. He picked it up and handed it to me. I retrieved my keys and opened the car door.
“See you in the morning,” I said as I got into the car.
He nodded, and as I pulled the door closed and started the engine, he walked to the edge of the cement wall and waited for me to drive away.
The next morning I was replete with guilt and misgivings. Angry at myself for being weak, for not sticking to my guns. But Bruce was back in Davies mode, very much in charge and charming the office staff and account execs alike, bolstering them with praise for small deeds, and letting them down easy when he didn’t like a pitch. On his way out at lunchtime, he stopped at the door between our offices.
“Dinner at seven. That little French place on Eighth,” he said, standing in the open door, pulling on his suit coat.
“Who’s the mark?” I asked.
“I had Claire make the reservations,” he answered as he pulled the door to him. “I’ll see you there.” The door clicked closed and he was gone.
I had Cup-a-Soup for lunch, microwaved in the little kitchen down the hall, and sipped over a desk full of contracts.
Claire came back from lunch and I gave her the contracts with my corrections and asked her who Davies and I were having dinner with.
“He asked me to make the reservations for two,” she said. “I didn’t know you were going. Should I make it for three?” she asked.
“No, I just thought…” And I didn’t know what else to say, how to clean it up.
“Oh, maybe it’s a raise or a promotion,” she said, brightening as though she’d caught wind of something.
“I don’t think…” I tried.
“Maybe he wants to surprise you. He can be so thoughtful,” she gushed.
“Do you think you can finish the corrections before four? I’d like to make sure Legal got them before five,” I asked, changing the subject.
“Sure,” she said, and turned back to her computer.
Bruce didn’t come back to the office and I wasn’t sure what to do about dinner. I went home and changed. I went with my black spaghetti-strapped Audrey dress. I wanted to look nice, even if I had to put a stop to this.
Bruce was there, sitting at the table, waiting for me when I got there. He looked good in the black Prada. I’ve always favored it because it made him look dark and rich, and terribly powerful. His eyes welcomed me. The waiter pulled out the chair across from him; I sat. All this was accomplished in silence.
The sommelier broke the silence in a rapid, pointed French as he cradled a bottle of wine as if he was a proud daddy. Bruce smiled up at the intense little man and responded in kind. The man poured, Bruce sipped and actually grinned. The sommelier’s smile got bigger and he poured generous amounts of the rich red liquid into both of our glasses before he left us alone.
“The dress—” he tilted his head towards me “—very becoming.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip from my glass.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’ve already ordered for both of us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine. Whatever. Bruce, what is this about?”
“I wanted quiet time with you, time unencumbered by work.”
“Dottie’s was nice.”
“Yes,” he said. “I enjoy your company.”
We were quiet as we spread our napkins on our laps and the waiter sat bowls of consommé in front of us.
“Now, you say you enjoy my company,” he chided me.
“I do,” I said, tasting the soup. “But I don’t think it’s wise to see each other without the buffer of work.”
“What harm could there be? This is neutral territory. Public.”
“For now.”
“Are you anticipating dessert?”
“There isn’t going to be any dessert tonight. Is that why you ordered me here.” I pushed the plate away, my appetite dwindling. I hate being manipulated.
“I didn’t invite you here to seduce you.”
“Then why?”
“I thought we could talk.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
“There’s nothing more to say.”
The waiter took the soup away. The heated plates that took its place held filet mignon, asparagus and light flaky potatoes au gratin. This man knew me. He kept the fare simple, well seasoned, and the filet mignon was juicy and so tender it didn’t need chewing. We ate for a while, before he spoke again, but it was as though the conversation had never halted.
“I have more to say,” he said after taking a sip of wine.
“Ah,” I responded. I wanted to add, “what a surprise,” but I filled my mouth with asparagus instead.
“What do you want, Glory? What can I do for you? Just tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t want anything.” I lay my fork across my plate. “I was content before.”
“Only content, Glory? I want to make you happy.”
“This, whatever we’ve been doing, doesn’t make me happy. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“How can we make it comfortable for you?” He sounded so reasonable, like he does when he speaks to favored clients.
“We can’t.”
“What aspect of it makes you uncomfortable?”
“All of it,” I blurted, feeling like a six-year-old.
“I don’t believe that’s the complete truth, Glory. Some parts of it were pleasing to you. I could feel you.”
“I don’t like the discomfort of going back to the office afterward, the pretense, the fear of discovery.”
“We’ve been completely discreet. No one need ever know.”
“That can’t continue forever.”
“For as long as you want it to.”
“How can you be so unmoved. You sit at your desk or in the boardroom and you don’t even see me.”
“I see you.” His words trembled and their heat sent a jolt to my core.
“I’m not as adept at hiding as you are,” I said after letting the bolt pass through.
“What do you want, Glory?”
“I don’t want anything. I want it to be like it was before.”
“That can’t happen. I wouldn’t want it to.”
“If we stop now, maybe.”
“It’s too late for that, Glory. I want you too much for that.”
I sat back and looked at him. He sat, back straight, cool and poised.
“What can I do for you, Glory? What can I do to make you happy?”
Okay, so he was playing hardball here, and negotiations were in full swing. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this.
“Bruce, it just isn’t for me. I’m just not the type.”
He didn’t say anything, just sat there silently. He knew that there would be more and he was waiting for me to get it all out.
“It was exciting at first, bu
t it’s not right. Not the way things are supposed to be.”
He nodded and refilled my glass. I didn’t even know I’d emptied it. I wondered if his crazy sex habits were the reason he and his wife divorced. If it had escalated to a point where she couldn’t take it anymore. I could see how that could happen. Bruce encouraged a kind of limitless freedom.
“I don’t…think…I could…” I found myself sputtering.
“It’s just the two of us,” he reminded me as if he knew I was considering it, considering what I could do to him. “No one else needs to know. Unless you want to include someone else. We’d have to be discreet, but if it’s something you want…” He seemed shy again, like he did in the motel. My pussy twitched and moistened.
“I like my job. I like the way we were at work before,” I told him.
“This has nothing to do with us when we’re there. You’re good at what you do. I rely on you. What we do in our free time doesn’t have to affect our work.”
I knew that to be the lie it was. I remembered how his mood shifted when he got what he wanted as opposed to when he was denied. I remembered Claire’s face when she realized I was having dinner with Bruce alone. He must have been reading my face because he added, “As closely as we work together, there’s bound to be some speculation. It’s a normal by-product of having a female assistant. But again, what others choose to speculate doesn’t have to affect us.”
He watched and waited. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say short of walking away from all of it—this man, the hot sex, my job. But, I really like my job and he was something different.
“Do you need more money? A bigger apartment?”
“Monetary inducement?” I shook my head and gave him an admonishing smile.
“I just want to make you happy.”
“I’m not a whore.”
“You could move in with me.” He completely ignored my remark, apparently dismissing it as irrelevant, and threw a fastball that hit me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. “I have a big house and there’s only me. It feels quite hollow sometimes. You could have a wing to yourself.”
