Too Hard to Resist

by Robin Bielman

  When Hazel announces we’re free to leave for lunch, Drake and Peter take off in different directions, leaving Madison and me alone.

  “Let’s grab lunch,” I tell her.

  “Thanks, but I was thinking about putting my leg up and ordering room service.”

  “Sounds good. Come on.” I pull her chair out and help her get to her feet a little easier. It’s not my fault she twisted her ankle and hurt her knee, but a part of me still feels responsible, since I was right behind her and didn’t see the pothole to warn her.

  “Did you not hear what I said?”

  “I heard you, and we can eat in my room.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She follows beside me despite her objection, my steps slower than normal so she can easily keep up.

  It’s a terrible idea, but I can’t stop proposing we spend more time together even though I know we shouldn’t.

  “That makes two of us, but upstairs we’re in the friend zone, and what’s that saying? Two wrongs make a right?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Madison

  There is nothing wrong with the view from Elliot’s room.

  “Here,” he says, carefully lifting my leg off the small table on the balcony and putting a pillow under my ankle. “How’s that?”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “Are you cold? Can I get you a blanket?”

  Elliot’s villa faces the lake in the distance and while the sun is shining, we’re seated in the shade. There’s a chill in the air, but I’m not cold. I’m the total opposite of cold. Elliot’s fussing is making me warm, and I hope my complexion isn’t giving away just how much. “I’m fine.”

  He sits next to me on the cushioned love seat, and suddenly I’m a statue, afraid to move. He’s being way too sweet and attentive, acting like a boyfriend, not a friend, and it’s freaking me out.

  We avoided each other all morning until Hazel’s activity, when all I could think about was him. Animal: panther. Fruit: banana. (I’ve checked him out there when he wasn’t looking.) Genre of music: hip-hop. It had taken all my concentration to keep my eyes on Drake and Peter. Not only does Elliot smell better than should be legal, but he’s got the stubble thing going on again.

  “Lunch will be here in ten.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He nods. I nod. Neither of us really knows what to say to each other next. There’s this crazy energy around us where one ill-considered word could change everything.

  “Did you know the French don’t call someone ‘idiotic,’ they call them ‘as dumb as a broom’?”

  I chuckle. “I didn’t know that. Are you saying we’re being dumb as brooms right now?”

  “Etre con comme un balai,” he says in that delicious accent of his, and I don’t care what he calls me when he speaks like that.

  “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”

  He turns his head. “Really? You like it when I speak French?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I keep my attention forward and wave off his question like he’s talking crazy.

  “Your face says otherwise, mon cheri,” he whispers.

  Damn blush. I cover my cheeks with my hands. Then someone moans and I resume my frozen state, not sure what exactly I just heard. There’s another moan, and this time there’s no mistaking what kind. It’s a male moan—a happy male moan.

  I peek at Elliot out of the corner of my eye. He’s peeking back at me. “Is that…?” I trail off because I can’t say it out loud. Is that someone getting off?

  “Is that what?” Elliot teases.

  “You know.”

  “I do?” he asks like he’s Mr. Innocent. Ha! The last time he was squeaky clean was probably when he was two.

  The moaning gets louder. I break eye contact, my body temp rising higher, and look to my right. I’m pretty sure the sounds are coming from the room or balcony beside ours.

  “That’s it, baby,” the guy says. “Keep sucking just like that.”

  I squirm. I can’t believe the guy is getting a blow job right on the other side of the wall! I’ve never heard anything like this before. Henry didn’t make noises when we were together. Maybe an occasional grunt, but he certainly never talked. He never told me he liked something I was doing or gave me instructions. Sex with him was like…a chore. A task with a reward when finished and the quicker he got to the finish line the better. More often than not, he got to the end before me and didn’t care about my happy ending. I’ve stayed up more nights than I care to admit wondering why he didn’t make sex with me a priority.

  “Mmmm…fuck yeah,” the guy next door groans. “Your mouth is fucking heaven.”

  Half my brain is telling me to get up and pretend I have to use the bathroom. But the other half is keeping me right where I am. I’m intrigued. Curious. And I don’t want to be the one to chicken out and go inside. I can handle sex sounds with Elliot right next to me.

  Long, deep sighs of sexual pleasure continue to float to my ears. I didn’t know ears could tingle, but mine are.

  I venture a glance at Elliot. He grins at me like he hears this kind of noise all the time, and granted both his roommates are in committed relationships so maybe he does, but—

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, Pink Cheeks.”

  Pink Cheeks! Great. I’m blushing and overheating, and Elliot has named my predicament. Well, I’ll show him. “You like to eavesdrop on people having sex?” I ask quietly so that the couple getting busy doesn’t hear us. Not that they would with all the action going on between them.

  He chuckles. “Good idea whispering. We don’t want them to know we can hear them. And no, I don’t eavesdrop, but sometimes sounds travel through walls, or you know, across a dark freshman dorm room. Didn’t you ever hear things you didn’t want to when you were in college?”

  “I lived at home.”

  “The whole time? You didn’t ever stay in the dorms or with friends?”

  “No, I commuted all four years.” I’ve never lived anywhere but at home, which is why I can’t wait to get my own apartment. I’m long overdue.

  Elliot puts his elbows on his knees. “Okay, listen carefully.”

  I lean toward him, ready to commit to memory whatever words of wisdom he’s about to impart. I respect his knowledge on all sorts of topics and resolve not to be embarrassed by this one.

  Tiny lines fan out from the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I meant listen to our neighbor, not me.”

  “Oh.” I press back. “Right. Of course.”

  “Little did you know you’d be getting some sex education along with your company education this weekend, but we ought to take advantage of it, don’t you think?”

  “This is teaching me something?”

  Deep, guttural hums come from next door. “Baby, that feels amazing, but I want to blow my load inside your pussy, not your mouth.”

  Oh my God.

  More than my ears are tingling now. Can Elliot tell?

  “I’m guessing you and your dick-for-brains ex stuck to missionary and the bed. The couple next door is either on their balcony or up against the open sliding glass door and the guy is standing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because having a girl on her knees while she sucks you off is, to quote our neighbor, ‘heaven.’”

  I did wonder that, but more so I wanted him to elaborate on the first part of his comment. “I meant how did you guess that about Henry and me?”

  “I met the guy once, and after hearing about what he did to you from Mateo, I figured he was the kind of asshole who cheated because he didn’t want to dirty his perfect and wholesome bride-to-be.” He brushes the hair off my shoulder, then slides his fingers down my arm a few inches before pulling his hand back.

  My body is on fire, my breasts instantly heavy. I wish he’d run his fingers across them, around, over, and under them.

  Bad wish. Bad. Bad. Bad. I keep waiting for this feeling of desire to fade, but every time Elliot touches me, i
t grows worse. I want to get dirty with him, wherever, however, and whenever he wants.

  “Hands on the glass, baby,” the guy next door says. “That’s right.”

  “So,” Elliot murmurs, “this is teaching you how desperate and top priority sex can be.”

  “Hurry,” the woman says, sounding beyond eager. “I need you inside me now.”

  The couple joins together—I know this from the explicit language the man uses and the cries of pleasure the woman lets out. From the sounds of it, they aren’t making love but fucking. I’m not sure I’ve ever been fucked. Certainly not like the woman next door, who couldn’t care less if anyone hears her, and whose sighs and groans sound like she’s on the edge of ecstasy the entire time.

  I squirm again.

  “Does it turn you on to hear them?” Elliot whispers in my ear.

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “Me, too.”

  I close my eyes. “This is wrong.”

  “We’ve already established that, but look at it as another bonding experience. I’m learning that you like some dirty talk, and the idea of being watched or listened to turns you on.”

  My eyes fly open. Elliot is so close, yet so far. If he was anyone but my boss, and I was anyone but his assistant, we’d be all over each other right now. I gaze into honest blue brilliance fringed with dark lashes, knowing that thought is true.

  “Yes! Oh my God. Yeesss!” The woman being thoroughly fucked screams.

  “What am I learning?” I whisper.

  “That it’s not just the back seat of a car I want to fuck you in. I want you bent over this love seat, up against a wall, on your back, on all fours, and every other way we can think of.”

  I feel his words between my thighs, making me wet. I bet I could come just from listening to him talk. “Maybe we should kiss,” I blurt out. I know it’s wrong and I could get fired, but just saying aloud what I’ve been thinking is the emotional release I needed.

  “You read my mind again, Pink Cheeks, but…”

  “It could be awful and then we can put this whole insane attraction thing to rest and forget about it.”

  “It wouldn’t be awful.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m an amazing kisser and I have a hunch you are, too. You’ve just been kissing the wrong guy.”

  I lick my lips. I can’t help it.

  Elliot groans. “The thing is we won’t want to stop at just a kiss. And every day at work we’ll know what we’re missing until we can’t take it anymore and I put you on my desk and bury my face and fingers in your pussy, making you come twice, before I bury my cock so deep inside you I’m touching a place no man has ever touched before, and you come a third time.”

  My heart stops. Literally stops. Then it pounds harder than ever before. His certainty is as sexy as the words themselves.

  Knock. Knock. “Room service!”

  “Fuck, you feel good. I’m coming, baby. I’m…” Next-door guy grunts through his release.

  I giggle. It’s an involuntary defense mechanism. My nerves are at an all-time high level of restlessness. This situation isn’t anything I could have imagined, and laughing is necessary if I want to maintain what little professionalism and calm I have left. When James said he wanted his team to fortify bonds and build deeper relationships, he didn’t mean by having—or listening to—sex.

  “I’ll get the door,” Elliot says, adjusting himself as he stands.

  I follow him inside, relieved to leave the lust drenched patio behind us. It’s unfair how much I want more with Elliot.

  “Oh, hey, Madison,” the room service guy says. He brought dinner to my room last night and we’d spoken for a couple of minutes. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Hi, Dante. I’m much better.” I stand in the middle of the room as he pushes the food cart into the sitting area.

  “That’s good right there, thanks,” Elliot tells him gruffly. He picks up his wallet and pulls a few bills out to give to Dante. Is he mad I know Dante’s name?

  “Have a good day,” Dante says, looking at me.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  He stays focused on me for a few seconds longer than he probably should. Dante is a couple of years younger than me, I’d guess, and he wants to work in hotel management eventually. He was really sweet last night and brought me extra bags of ice after delivering my dinner.

  “You can go now,” Elliot instructs. He steps in front of me, blocking me from Dante’s view. I suck in my bottom lip. I think he’s jealous. Again.

  I lean sideways and give a little wave goodbye. Embarrassment crosses Dante’s face before he turns to leave without another word.

  Elliot grabs two chairs from the dining table and situates them across from each other at the linen-covered rolling table. He holds my chair for me. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you. You know, Dante was really sweet to me last—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Dante.”

  “Okay.” I play it cool when I’m secretly happy about his clipped response. I unwind a linen napkin, pull out the silverware, and put the cloth on my lap. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to eat, so Elliot ordered all three of the meals I was having a hard time choosing from and said we’d share. He lifts the metal lids off the plates, and the yummy smells of pesto, garlic, and cheese hit my nose.

  “About what I said…” Elliot puts half of a grilled cheese sandwich in front of me. “I—”

  “Please don’t take any of it back.”

  “I’m not.” He relaxes in his chair and closes his eyes for a moment. “I meant every word I said.”

  “But it ends there, I know. So let’s move past it and eat.” I pick up the sandwich. “I bet you can’t guess my favorite kind of cheese.”

  He arches a brow in playful amusement, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “What do I get if I do?”

  Cheddar oozes out the side of my grilled cheese, so I pinch it off with my fingers and put it in my mouth while I think about what to wager. Elliot watches me, his eyes lingering on my lips before he looks away and dishes some pesto pasta onto his plate.

  “Guess it right and I’ll buy you a new tie. Guess it wrong and you buy me a new skirt.”

  “Mozzarella,” he quickly answers, “but I’m buying you a skirt and you’re not buying me a tie.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Thank you anyway,” he adds.

  “How did you know?”

  “I pay attention, Mads. I know what kind of cheese you order on your veggie burgers and sandwiches and how much you love pizza.” He digs into his pasta.

  His notice is one of the nicest things ever. Henry never remembered my favorite anything without asking me—sometimes twice. I almost argue about the tie, but I have a feeling if I try to fight him on this, he’ll refuse no matter what I say, so I bite into my sandwich instead.

  We talk about regular things after that. When we’re finished eating, I go back to my room. I have to get ready for my presentation. This morning James exposed hidden talents in a few of his employees and asked us to share them later today. My talent wasn’t so hidden since almost everyone saw my drawing that one Friday on the hill at ZipMeds, but the other secret skills were surprises. Besides my drawing lesson, we get to watch a cooking demonstration and listen to a guitar player. These discoveries about one another are great ways to connect as friends.

  Before I get my drawing plan together, though, I write Elliot a note. We’re not at the office, but after the dirty things he admitted to me, I need to make him hate me for a little while.

  Mr. Sax,

  I’m not sure if you’re aware of your bad manners when eating, but as your assistant I feel it’s my duty to inform you that you chew with your mouth open. How in the world your business meals are a success, I don’t know. More than once I almost threw up in my mouth. No one wants to see masticated salmon or pesto pasta or—I shudder to think about it—any type of meat. Perhaps you should practice chewing in fron
t of the mirror.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Hastings

  I fold the note in half and slip it under his door. Two hours later when we assemble in the conference room again, I know he read it because he glares at me as I stand in front of everyone.

  Auggie hands out large drawing pads to everyone while Hazel hands out boxes of colored pencils for tables to share. Obviously, they had a heads-up about this plan today. I wish I’d had one. I’ve never taught anyone anything, so I have no idea if my instruction plan will work.

  “Hi, everyone!” Good start, Madison.

  Hellos fly at me in return.

  “Thank you to James for appreciating my drawing talent enough to ask me to teach you guys something.” I smile at my boss’s boss. “And since I’m most comfortable drawing people, I thought we’d draw the man who brought us all here.”

  James raises his eyebrows, a mix of flattery and worry on his face.

  I turn to the easel set up beside me. “Step one is to start with a circle…” I continue to give step-by-step instructions for the eyes, nose, eyebrows, and mouth. With each step, I impart my thoughts on eye shape, eyebrow angle, and nose length and width. Ears come next, then the hair. James has a thick head of brown hair, so I give him a good hairline. When finished, I glance over at James and consider my drawing a pretty good rendering.

  With the “teaching” part over, I circulate around the room to help anyone who would like my assistance. My coworkers are talking, laughing, and enjoying their newfound skills—or lack thereof.

  “Is that James or one of the stars from Planet of the Apes?” someone jokes.

  Elliot is sitting in the back of the room with Drake. Drake’s drawing is good. He picks up a brown pencil to color the hair. Elliot’s drawing is…nonexistent.

  For a moment, I’m so hurt he didn’t have the courtesy to draw something that I almost hurry past him without a word. But then I’m mad at his disregard and decide he doesn’t get a free pass.

  “Is that invisible James?” I ask, my tone unpleasant enough to make Drake notice.