I close my eyes as tight as I can and that’s when I hear it. It’s not the sound of leather hitting a butt. I’m the youngest of five and the best behaved. I spent a lot of time listening to my father give my older brothers a hiding after he came in from dealing with the cows because they’d been wreaking havoc and my mother was down to her last nerve. That’s not a strapping. That’s the sound of flesh and blood meeting skin and bones. He’s spanking her.
The uncomfortable feeling gets stronger as I listen to Cris spank her. That’s right. My badass, take-no-prisoners, diamond-tough boss is getting spanked, and judging by the noises I hear, she likes it. After a few minutes, there’s a pause and it might be safe. I open my eyes only to be greeted by the sight of Cris’s belt coming down across India’s butt. She makes a weird sound, and then he lays into her again, the crack of the belt deafening in the otherwise silent office.
I sneak a look at Evans, expecting him to have his eyes shut, but he doesn’t. Instead he’s staring at them and he’s… I’m by no means an expert at these kinds of things, but I’m pretty sure he’s turned on. Even in the dim light, I can tell his cheeks are flushed and he’s watching with glazed eyes.
I let my gaze drift back, and Cris is still hitting her. Hard. Doesn’t that hurt? When I’m about to stand up and protest, he stops and leans over her, saying something I can’t hear. His body draped over hers, it’s almost sweet. Like a post-whipping cuddle. None of this makes any sense. And it makes even less that, when he stands up, he takes his belt to her again, striping not only across her behind, but the backs of her thighs as well.
It’s possible I’ve had a crush on Cris, though I’ve tried to keep it under wraps. He’s handsome, nice, and the way he looks at India… Devoted isn’t the word for it. But every time he hits her, my infatuation dies a little. That doesn’t look fun, it doesn’t look sexy, and if that’s what he’s into… That is so not for me.
That’s when India cries out. Cris drops the belt and grabs her hair again, using it to lead her to one of the chairs across from her desk. He has her kneel on it, facing backward, while he unzips his jeans. Then he grabs her by the hips and… I can’t watch.
I close my eyes and crush my hands over my ears. I’m tempted to start humming to drown out the noises still making their way to my eardrums, but they’d hear. Weirdly though, it’s not that I’m disgusted. I’m not jealous of India, either. But there’s something about watching them…
I crack open my eyes, and he’s fucking her, his hands gripping the top of the chair for leverage.
“Come on, mili. What’s it going to take for you to come for me like this? You need to touch yourself, don’t you? Go ahead, dirty girl. You’re going to come for me.”
She slips a hand between her legs, and it’s not long before she’s making desperate whimpers and pleading. I can’t deny it. It’s completely fascinating. And not a little arousing. My body is trying to tell me, convince me, I like this. My dress feels tight around my breasts, and my nipples are hard. When I shift, they rub against the lace of my bra. They’re almost uncomfortably sensitive. And between my legs…
Since my last boyfriend, I haven’t done much in the way of masturbating. He wasn’t a particularly nice guy and hadn’t done much for me in bed either. Half the time we’d have sex, I’d hardly be wet at all. He hadn’t noticed. Or he hadn’t cared. After we broke up, sex had seemed like something I’d like a time-out from, and I’d been working so much, it seemed like an unnecessary frill I couldn’t spare the time or energy on. But now my libido is getting called up to the big leagues.
I shift uncomfortably, my underwear sliding wetly between my thighs. It would be totally wrong to go home and think about them while I got myself off, right? What is even the matter with me? What I should want to do is find a giant bucket of brain bleach and stick my head in it until all memories of this unfortunate incident have been thoroughly erased.
Finally, he tells her she can come—he gives her permission?—and she cries out again, this time in unmistakable pleasure. I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that felt as good as India’s sounds. I remember Evans is still perched beside me, and when I look over at him, his hands are fisted in his lap, his knuckles white.
Evans notices me watching him and turns a furious shade of red. Is it because he’s mortified and repulsed? I know that’s how I should feel, but I don’t. Well, mortified, yes, because I get embarrassed at the drop of a hat—literally, dropping things is a source of embarrassment for me—but not disgusted.
Judging by the look on Evans’s face, he’s not about to puke in a conveniently located trashcan either. He might—if I’m lucky and happen to work in an office full of perverts like people at home had warned me everyone out in California was—even be reluctantly turned on.
Speaking of being horrified, though, I can’t believe the thought has dragged my gaze back to Evans’s crotch and to a—yeah. The very obvious hardness straining at the zipper of his slacks. The very obvious, very large, very hard erection. When I’d glanced at his clenched fists, I’d somehow managed to skim over that, although how I have no idea. Evans is hung like a bull, and I would know. Holy heck.
Lust crackles through me, along with visions of tearing off Evans’s clothes to see what exactly he’s hiding under those off-the-rack suits, which is just… No. I should not be thinking about a coworker like that. To banish the unpleasantly arousing thought from my mind, I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. It’s then that Cris comes. I can tell because he chokes out, “Fuck, India. Jesus, fuck.”
I realize suddenly how loud my breath has become. It mingles with Evans’s equally clipped and heavy inhales and exhales. Another flash of an entirely inappropriate scene flashes through my mind—is this what we’d sound like if we had sex?
Oh my god, Lucy. Not okay. Not okay! If we keep this up—this hot and heavy breathing—we’re so getting caught. And we can’t. I can’t lose this job. I won’t get another one that’s as good. Sure, I work my butt off and India can be demanding, but I’ve gotten used to my salary and hooked on the praise she doles out. It feels good for someone to say something nice about me that’s not about my looks or my virtue.
I nudge Evans’s thigh, and he freezes, probably coming to the same realization I have. We might’ve gotten away with this while they were…occupied, but we can’t anymore. I sit squeezing my thighs together because I’m soaking wet and pulsing with want. It seems suddenly and unbearably unfair I can’t get off. But instead of reaching up my skirt and between my thighs to stroke myself to orgasm, I have to sit and watch as Cris takes India into his lap, where he buries his face in her neck and talks quietly to her while he pets her hair. After a while, she slides off of him and rights her clothing before grabbing the file from her desk. Cris puts himself back together as well and smacks her lightly on her butt. I wince as she gasps, and I expect her to snap.
“We don’t have time for round two,” India scolds playfully. Round two?! Jesus, no, please no round two.
“Maybe later. For now let’s get you home and back to work, boss lady.”
They kiss and head out hand-in-hand. When the door to the office suite clicks closed, I let out a breath and turn to Evans, a relieved giggle bubbling up. But it’s smothered by his mouth crashing down on mine. Evans has always seemed mild to me, but this is anything but mild. It’s demanding, passionate…hungry. Like he wants to devour me. I want him to.
As suddenly as he kissed me—his lips pressed hard into mine, so hard we almost cracked teeth—his mouth is gone, and I’m left gasping while he sputters.
“Lucy, I’m sorry. I didn’t… That was totally unacceptable and I apologize.”
The guy who I was just basically watching a live porno with is apologizing for a kiss? One I liked maybe more than I’ve ever liked a kiss before? I grab his arm and his flustered mumbling comes to a halt.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. You could…you could do it again. If you wanted to.”
I’d n
ever thought of Evans as a particularly passionate person. He’s very diligent, friendly, maybe nervous. Probably why I’m not intimidated by him the same way I am by a lot of people in the office. But his normally mild, kind eyes have lit with something sharp, something that hints at an inner life that might be wilder than I’d expect.
Just as quickly as it’s come, though, it’s gone with the next blink and Evans is vaulting to his feet and hurtling out of the office while I sit there, dumbfounded, my fingers tracing my kiss-swollen lips.
Chapter Three
‡
December 18th
Evans
My office door is hard and cool against my shoulder blades, steady while my ribcage heaves.
What in the ever-loving heck is wrong with me?
Not only had I just watched India and Cris…do it, but I’d liked it. And Lucy, oh man, she’d totally noticed that I had a hard-on. Not that it was super subtle because, despite trying to think all the unsexy thoughts, I couldn’t make it go away. And then I’d kissed her. I’d kissed Lucy, which on the one hand was awesome, but on the other hand—no, it was not awesome.
She in no way had consented to that, and the thought makes my stomach churn. I assaulted Lucy. I am officially the scum of the earth. As soon as this massive and increasingly achy erection goes away, I am going to offer her the most profound and profuse apology that has been offered to anyone ever. And if she’s uncomfortable with me—and who could blame her?—I’ll offer to hand in my resignation. It’s the only proper thing to do. Sure, I’d have to find something else right away because of my family, but I can’t bear the idea of Lucy having to work with someone who violated her.
If I kept a sword in my office, I’d throw myself on it. As things are, I’ve only got some pencils that are in desperate need of a sharpening, a ruler, and some paperclips. I couldn’t even injure myself in a dignified manner. There’s also my dick, which is so hard I could probably use it as a bludgeon, and I need to do something about that. What the hell good would a very sincere apology be if my hard-on were waving in her face? None.
Pushing off the door, I sit at my desk and will my body to cooperate. But my brain is in no way obliging. Instead of going over the sections of the report I’ve been assigned, or my last conversation with my mother, or the contents of my fridge, it’s summoning images of what just happened. Of India and Cris and—oh, man.
After I’d helped India get through her airport panic attack, I’d realized that she had a squishy, human streak behind her badass exterior. But I didn’t think it went this far. When I’d talked to her friend Rey, he’d said that she responds to boldness. And uh, yeah, that’s one word for it.
He’d told me that, if I wanted to get her on the plane, I had to man up.
“But I’m…I’m not that guy. I can’t—”
“Listen to me, Evans. I’m sure you’re a very nice person and that’s great. The world needs more nice people. But at this very moment, do you know what India needs?”
“What?”
“She needs someone tough. Someone bossy. Someone authoritative. You have to understand that, at this very second, she’s not the badass, know-it-all bitch you know and are probably intimidated by. She’s frightened and panicking and lost in some bad shit and she needs your help. You want to help her, right?”
Of course I’d wanted to help her. She might’ve scared the living heck out of me, but I’d also had a bit of a crush on her and there was no way I could get the job done myself. Also, I wanted her respect and had hoped this would be a way to earn it. “Yes, I do.”
“So be that guy, Evans. She responds to boldness. Even if you think you don’t have it in you, I swear to god that you do. Because everyone does. So dredge him up, call him Rogue or whatever the fuck else you need to do, but be that guy because she needs you. I know you can do it because you always get the job done, don’t you?”
That had struck a particular chord because, yeah, I try. Even when it’s not easy and when I’d rather not, even if it’s not pretty and I’m pretty sure someone else could do it better, I do my job, whatever that happens to be. And to be recognized for that, even by a stranger… “Yeah, I get the job done.”
“So go do it. She might not like it, but she’ll thank you later. You can call me if you need me, but I trust you to get her on that plane.”
I haven’t talked to mystery Rey since then, but I play that conversation over in my head sometimes when I’m faced with a particularly sticky situation, especially when I need to call up that guy. I don’t call him Rogue, but I like the idea. That he’s always on deck, waiting to get called up to bat.
And maybe that’s the part of me that enjoyed watching Cris boss her around. Dominate her I suppose. It looked fun. Not that I could keep that up for long, but as a fun game to play sometimes? To get to be that guy in a sexual context? My dick throbs at the thought. And I’d practically blown when I’d started picturing me and Lucy doing something similar.
Which would explain my repugnant behavior. All of the blood in my brain went south and left me a sexed-up caveman idiot with no higher judgment or decency. Which is why I’d kissed her, without asking, like some kind of impulsive and inconsiderate jerk. I bang my head on my desk, but even that can’t get rid of the hardness in my pants.
I’m starting to suspect that I’ve only got a couple of options for making it go away. One is taking a shower so cold it would make a polar bear’s balls shrivel. But that would involve crossing the hallway and potentially running into Lucy, who does not need any more unwanted advances from my pants.
Which means… There’s maybe a bottle of lotion in one of my drawers—what, I have sensitive skin—and there’s always a box of tissues on my desk. I could take a couple of minutes, take care of this issue, and then go apologize. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Because that’s what any decent guy would do.
So I shrug off my coat, drape it over the back of my chair, and reach for my belt. When I’ve moved my clothing around sufficiently, I slide open the drawer and reach for the bottle of lotion, squeezing a small amount into my hand. And then, then—
At the first glide of my hand from base to tip, I shudder. Fucking-A. A couple of minutes may have been a generous estimate of how long this is going to take. And when I let my lizard brain take over and start playing that movie over again—Cris spanking India, pulling her hair, telling her what to do, and then them having sex—it’s pretty obvious I’m not going to last long at all. Especially when I let the caveman part of me totally run amok and start thinking about Lucy.
How her chest had been heaving, making her cleavage in that dress deepen, her cheeks getting an incredible shade of pink, and how she’d squirmed. Maybe, possibly as though she was turned on by the scene in front of us too?
I’m flat out pumping my dick now, consumed by thoughts of her, fantasizing about what might have followed. Not in reality, obviously, but in my dreams. Except that when I get to the part where I kissed her and pulled away, my brain spits out a memory:
“It’s okay. I’m okay. You could…you could do it again. If you wanted to.”
I lose my rhythm. For some reason, I’d blocked that part out until now. She wasn’t upset. She’d told me I could do it again. I’d been so consumed by guilt and horror at myself that I hadn’t heard her, hadn’t processed what she’d said.
Grasping myself and starting up that slick slide again, picking up speed and pressure, I think about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t run away. What that kiss could’ve led to, what else we might’ve done, and—
“Oh my god.”
My whole body goes rigid and not in that about-to-come kind of way it was barreling toward. No, this is more like waking up from a nightmare in which you’ve shown up for school naked and you have to take a test you forgot to study for. I force myself to pry open an eye and when I do… Yeah, Lucy’s standing in my doorway, her face bright red and her eyes so round I think they might eclipse the rest of her face.
; “I am so, so—I should go, I didn’t mean to—”
How stupid can you be, Chuck, to jerk off in your office without locking the door? My face feels like it’s melting off in embarrassment, like some sort of Dali-esque interpretation of humiliation. I’d been trying so hard not to appall or violate Lucy any more than I already had and now she’s had to see me masturbating.
Has someone ever managed to commit suicide with office supplies? Because I’m so heinously mortified that that seems like a reasonable alternative to having to face Lucy ever again.
She turns and smacks straight into the doorframe and I think about getting up to help her, but then my pants would probably fall down and I’d be hobbling after her with them around my ankles and, judging by how things are going, would likely faceplant right into her cleavage and tackle her to the ground, and then…then she’d probably call the cops on my stupid, horndog ass. Or India, which would be worse because she’d murder me. No, she’d fire me, and then she’d murder me.
“Lucy—”
But what am I going to say. Wait? I don’t want her to wait while I attempt to shove my dick back inside the confines of my pants because even this level of humiliation isn’t making me go soft. And there’s another jolt of arousal when I wonder—how long was she watching? Did she like what she saw? But it’s quickly buried and I let her go.
*
Lucy
I was not wrong about Evans being hung. No, sir. I couldn’t see all that much because he was sitting behind his desk, but the glimpse I did catch…whoo, boy. And the way he was touching himself…it was incredibly hot. And made part of me want to stride into the room, push his chair back from his desk, and drop to my knees. But judging from his reaction, that would not have been welcome.
And my own reaction. I could’ve left without saying a word, pretended it never happened, and just kept that image of Evans getting himself off tucked in the back of my brain, only summoned up late at night in my own bed when I could slide my hand between my legs and touch myself. Instead I couldn’t help it, the words spilled out, and now Evans will never be able to look me in the face again ever. Well, that won’t be awkward at all. We only work together, he only passes by my desk half a dozen times a day when he’s in the office, and I only email or call him about as much when he’s traveling.
Due South (The Compass series Book 5) Page 3
