by May Sage
Their tongue lashing ceased for one endless, silent second. There was no need to exchange words, she saw the question in his eyes, and the answer was yes. Yes, she wanted to be fucked right there, in the break room everyone used. Sanity was overrated.
“What are you doing to me,” he whispered against her neck, before dropping a kiss just there.
Holy… what the hell was that?
“Do it again,” she ordered, threatened - she wasn’t sure. All she knew was neither of them would survive long if he didn’t put his mouth back on her right now.
The man chuckled, like it was a damn joke, before taking a step back.
“I don’t think so, Lucinda Warner.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person on Earth to call her that, but the old fashion, boring name she despised sounded sexy as sin all of a sudden.
“You don’t… think so.”
Her voice was flat, incredulous. Didn’t the man know there was about fifty-seven objects she could use as weapon under her hand? A stapler, a fountain pen, an encyclopedia. Denying a crazy girl her orgasm was probably the most stupid thing she’d ever heard.
“No, sweetheart. Not yet. First, I want to take you home. I want to hear everything that has happened to you over the last dozen years, and I want to know why you changed your name. I want to hear why you hate me, and once we’ve cleared the air, I want to lie you down on my bed. Then, yes. Yes, I fully intend to fuck you into next year.”
“Oh. Well, then.”
That did sound like a good plan.
They walked to his place, which wasn’t far from the office, according to him.
“A taxi would take longer,” he’d shrugged.
She didn’t point out than most people in his position would have taken a taxi regardless; or hired a driver.
A few feet away, she was biting her lip, wondering why the hell she felt so awkward; awkward was not a psychobitch trait…
Then, she pinpointed it.
“We’re sober.”
She frowned, trying to think back to a time when she’d been in a similar situation without being deeply inebriated, and coming up blank.
“Come again?”
“We’re planning to have wild, crazy sex,” she spelled out, “And we’re actually sober. It’s normally the thing people do in the middle of the night after a few extra drinks, right? And yet, here we are…”
He just snorted.
“You can try to blame your decision on the ridiculously girly cocktails you drank at lunch, if you insist. I’ll be a gentleman and refrain from reminding you that you were also open to the idea of a doggy style session in the stationary cupboard, not so long ago.”
Oh, yeah. There had been that mildly embarrassing, yet overall rather satisfying experience, too. Just like that, her core was ablaze; Trick wasn’t the wham-bam, thank-you-ma’am type. He liked to bring his partners pleasure; and he definitely knew how to.
She shivered under her heavy coat.
“Cold?”
Lucy shook her head, and blushed at his knowing smile.
She. Fucking. Blushed. That hadn’t happened in over a decade. What the hell was he doing to her?
“Come here, little Luce. Let’s warm you up.”
His arm went around her neck and pulled her closer; then, he briefly dropped his lips on the tip of her nose, and carried on walking, like he hadn’t just flipped the world around and destroyed every single wall she’d built around her mind.
Trick
She’d won. She’d actually demolished his rusty ass, proving that he should definitely have honed his skills.
He hadn’t gone easy on her, not for a split second, as part of his mind had already accepted what he should have seen from day one.
How the hell did he miss it? It wasn’t like she’d changed all that much. Sure, she was older, but she had the same eyes - the cat-like eyes green at the rim, almost gold inside.
When he’d first met her, they’d been fixed everywhere else though - she’d been one of those shy kids, but even then, he remembered thinking to himself that she’d break some hearts in a few years.
Still, he’d had no idea that his little Luce could have turned into Lucinda Warner. People as confident and domineering as her always made it look like it was their inherent nature, like they’d never been anything else.
Damn. That was a trip down memory lane.
The year they’d been in the same school had been a bad one, with his father fighting cancer, and Trick desperately attempting to distract himself. He hadn’t seen his actions as rebellious at the time - but yeah, the stunt with the FBI’s security system probably beat drinking, stealing cars, and whatever-else his peers were up to.
All that had mattered to him was finding the next challenge - something that could occupy his mind long enough to forget that his world was falling apart.
And there she’d appeared, as if dropped at the door of the chess club by his guardian angel. Trick had been so damn tired of winning without having to rub a couple of neurons together in the process; if President of the Chess Club hadn’t looked quite so good on his college application, he would have dropped it altogether.
Everyone had been paired up by the time she’d made it, and he remembered sighing out loud when the awkward teenager hiding her voluptuous boobs under a sweater that swallowed her whole had come in, knowing he was going to have to play with a damn kid.
That day, he made a mistake. He took it easy on her at first - so she destroyed him in five moves.
That simple action had taught him the most valuable lesson - a lesson that completely destroyed the concept his mother had tried to teach him. Appearances didn’t matter. Judging anyone by what he saw on the surface was the best way to lose.
From time to time, he forgot. Being a bigot was par for the course, in the crowd he grew up with; so yeah, he had the tendency to base opinions on his first impressions. He’d just gotten better at admitting to being wrong when evidences were brought forward.
“Luce.”
The woman rolled her eyes, smirking like a Cheshire cat. Oh, she’d enjoyed watching him making a fool of himself for six damn years.
“Luce O’Daley.”
That had been her name, then, he was pretty sure of that. A glance down her left hand confirmed that it was ring free; and he was certain it had been since she’d stepped into the old office Harris Toys had rented back in the days. Just because he hadn’t been allowed to touch didn’t mean that he hadn’t looked - at everything.
“I took my mother’s maiden name after my father died,” she explained, seeing the direction of his gaze.
That made him frown, confused.
“Let’s just say the guy wasn’t exactly nice.”
There was an edge to her words, and he wisely let it go. For now. He wanted to know anything, everything about her, from the day he’d graduated to now.
But first and foremost, he needed his mouth on her, to tell her something he should have admitted to long ago.
“I tried to call you,” he told her. “When I came back to New York, I went looking for you, but the phone number was disconnected, and no one knew where you were.”
He should have looked harder. Hell, he should have stayed in touch when he’d moved to LA, instead of conveniently waiting to be in the same city as her to go looking for her; but he hadn’t, and he’d lost twelve years.
He remembered the time he and his dad had taken Luce home once, after school; his father had been in remission at the time; he’d talked to her for a few minutes, before turning to Trick, and saying, “You’ll marry that chick one day.”
How stupid could he be? After his father’s death, he’d fled, purposefully leaving everything connected to him behind, but she shouldn’t have gone down the drain with the rest, dammit.
“Well, I moved when I was sixteen,” she hesitated, and chose to leave it at that after a while.
That wouldn’t do.
“Tell me. Tell me e
verything…” Then, his eyes drifted down to her lips, and he amended, his statement, adding, “Later.”
Lucy
It was impossible to stop, inconceivable, and even forcing herself to think hard about every reason why she might want to, Lucy couldn’t come up with a valid one. She hadn’t forgiven or forgotten anything, but right now all that mattered was feeling more of this madness. The kiss wasn’t tentative or teasing like the one he’d stolen in the copy room, he wasn’t testing waters, asking permission. He was taking, and giving pleasure like it was his damn job, fucking her mouth with his tongue and teasing her clit through far too many layers of clothes. Never had she hated her pantyhose quite as much as she did now. They needed to go. His trousers, and anything he had underneath, needed to go.
Their tongue lashing ceased for one endless, silent second. There was no need to exchange words, she saw the question in his eyes, and the answer was yes. Yes, she wanted to be fucked right there, in the break room everyone used. Sanity was overrated.
“What are you doing to me,” he whispered against her neck, before dropping a kiss just there.
Holy… what the hell was that?
“Do it again,” she ordered, threatened - she wasn’t sure. All she knew was neither of them would survive long if he didn’t put his mouth back on her right now.
The man chuckled, like it was a damn joke, before taking a step back.
“I don’t think so, Lucinda Warner.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person on Earth to call her that, but the old fashion, boring name she despised sounded sexy as sin all of a sudden.
“You don’t… think so.”
Her voice was flat, incredulous. Didn’t the man know there was about fifty-seven objects she could use as weapon under her hand? A stapler, a fountain pen, an encyclopedia. Denying a crazy girl her orgasm was probably the most stupid thing she’d ever heard.
“No, sweetheart. Not yet. First, I want to take you home. I want to hear everything that has happened to you over the last dozen years, and I want to know why you changed your name. I want to hear why you hate me, and once we’ve cleared the air, I want to lie you down on my bed. Then, yes. Yes, I fully intend to fuck you into next year.”
“Oh. Well, then.”
That did sound like a good plan.
They walked to his place, which wasn’t far from the office, according to him.
“A taxi would take longer,” he’d shrugged.
She didn’t point out than most people in his position would have taken a taxi regardless; or hired a driver.
A few feet away, she was biting her lip, wondering why the hell she felt so awkward; awkward as not a psychobitch trait…
Then, she pinpointed it.
“We’re sober.”
She frowned, trying to think back to a time when she’d been in a similar situation without being deeply imbibed, and coming up blank.
“Come again?”
“We’re planning to have wild, crazy sex,” she spelled out, “And we’re actually sober. It’s normally the thing people do in the middle of the night after a few extra drinks, right? And yet, here we are…”
He just snorted.
“You can try to blame your decision on the ridiculously girly cocktails you drunk at lunch, if you insist. I’ll be a gentleman and refrain from reminding you that you were also open to the idea of a doggy style session in the stationary cupboard, not so long ago.”
Oh, yeah. There had been that mildly embarrassing, yet overall rather satisfying experience, too. Just like that, her core was ablaze; Trick wasn’t the wham-bam, thank-you-ma’am type. He liked to bring his partners pleasure; and he definitely knew how to.
She shivered under her heavy coat.
“Cold?”
Lucy shook her head, and blushed at his knowing smile.
She. Fucking. Blushed. That hadn’t happened in over a decade. What the hell was he doing to her?
“Come here, little Luce. Let’s warm you up.”
His arm went around her neck and pulled her closer; then, he briefly dropped his lips on the tip of her nose, and carried on walking, like he hadn’t just flipped the world around and destroyed every single wall she’d built around her mind.
Trick
“Of course, you’d still live there.”
He was actually mildly embarrassed about it; his neighbors were in their sixth or seventh decade, save for that knock-out foreigner two doors down. He suspected she might be a model or something of the sort; celebrities and old crones. Those were the only people who could afford a townhouse on Madison Avenue.
“It was sitting empty, it’s close to the office, and I don’t have to pay rent.” Then, he added, “I’m sharing with Finn, in any case.”
As soon as the words crossed his lips, he realized that bunking with his baby brother probably counted as a point against him.
“Don’t sweat it. I’d live there, too, if I could,” she laughed, like it was the most preposterous idea.
Trick didn’t say anything, frowning at her tone. It told him exactly what she thought of this - something casual, that couldn’t possibly become permanent. He didn’t like it; not at all. But it was up to him to show her it could be different.
Could it?
Trick push away thought of the will he’d never resented as much as he did now, and also banished his mother from his mind, to concentrate on now.
Now, he had Lucinda Warner - little Luce O’Daley - where he’d wanted her for longer than he would admit. At seventeen, he’d believed his thing for the younger girl was mostly due to her unbelievable rack, but two, three years later, he was still seeing her smile at him in his dreams, and wondering why.
He led her upstairs, pointing towards the disorganized ground floor, “Finn had a D&D meet with some of his friend yesterday.”
“Dungeons and Dragons?” she replied, obviously incredulous. “Isn’t Finn my age, now?”
Trick nodded, knowing they’d been in the same grade. That meant that Lucy was twenty-nine now - or close to it.
He couldn’t help glancing at that ring finger again; if she’d been anyone else, he would have doubted the reason she’d given behind her change of name, but she was honest - to a fault. The yes, you look fat in that dress kind of honest.
“Yes; he’s a lawyer. But he and his best friend might as well be sixteen. Their evenings are normally filled with movie marathons, video games, and geeky card games.”
Trick shook his head, but he’d always envied what Finn and Anna had. Finn was a manwhore, who had just about zero intention to change his way, but that was mainly because he could afford to. He always had Anna to fall back on for company.
For now, anyway. Finn might not have noticed, but everyone else saw how the woman had changed recently. When she wasn’t lounging on their sofa, she wore the right thing now; gone were her huge t-shirts featuring comic books, her jog pants and her trainers. She worked at the creative department of Harris Toys, and when they crossed paths, Trick saw her in heels, with tight jeans and sexy little blouses. One of them was growing up; it was just a matter of time before she hooked some guy. Finn was going to be in for a rude awakening when she did. In the meantime, their little geeky cloud was appealing.
Trick might not be into video games, but he wanted someone to come home to.
Right now, he had a specific someone in mind.
Upstairs was pristine, because he didn’t spend enough time home to mess his floor up.
He helped her out of her coat, purposefully ignoring her surprise, and took advantage of the proximity to drop his lips against her throat, where she’d loved it so much.
It was a simple, light kiss, and a promise for more.
“Can I get you a drink? I have water, beer, white wine, and some stronger stuff somewhere…”
“Beer, if you don’t mind,” she said, passing the test he hadn’t meant to give with flying colors.
After all, and despite himself, Trick did like
his labels. A beer drinker who took girly cocktails in public was exactly his idea of perfection. Unassuming and proper when required.
She’d always known how to act; from time to time, she would choose to ignore protocol and put her foot down, but Lucy understood the rules of the game.
He really could keep her - if she let him.
“So, tell me, Lucinda. Tell me everything.”
He stared at her for a full minute, open mouthed, and wondering why he still had his balls attached to him.
Holy heavens, way to get a wake-up call.
Of course, he remembered his reaction to opening the door of their then-tiny office, and finding the personification of everything he’d ever dreamed of behind it. He could picture it all, down to the grey suit she’d worn.
He’d balked. Everything in him went, no, no way, no how. He couldn’t work with her. Concentrating while knowing this was sitting down on the next floor up was mutually exclusive. And maybe he’d hated his best friend at the idea that he might have hired her to get his dick wet on the job. He’d known his relationship with his girlfriend hadn’t been all that, and well, there was a reason why the whole assistant-boss thing was such a cliché. It worked. It was convenient and uncomplicated.
So, although he couldn’t quite recall his words, he had zero doubts that they might have been exactly what Lucy said they were. Dumb playboy bunny. He’d said that about the smartest woman he’d ever met.
“I probably would have shrugged it off, if it hadn’t come from you,” she admitted, downing her second drink. “I mean, when I was nothing, you saw me. Then, I’d earned everything, and suddenly, I was nothing.”
She shook her head, as if to banish the very memory, and held her empty glass up.
“You know, I’m okay with cans.”
Of course, she was - because she was perfection. Unassuming, sweet, strong, insane, and absolutely perfect - for him in any case.
