by Sonia Hartl
“We’re all part of the Bells and Stern corporation, but we have individual offices all over the Midwest. Mine is on the corner of Lakewood and Nelson.”
“Oh. Em. Gee.” My squeal was too high-pitched to be real, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy checking out my shells. “Is that the one with the dancing Statue of Liberty?”
“Yeah.” He gave me a smug grin. “That was all my idea. The bosses don’t like it, think it’s tacky, but I call the shots in my office.”
“Ooh. I love a man who takes control.” I put my hand on his knee. He grabbed it under the table and tried to drag it up higher. The move caught me off guard, and I pretended to have a coughing fit, just to get him to release me. I needed to wrap this up. After I swallowed half my drink, I gave him a tentative smile. “I’m so sorry. What were you saying?”
He opened his mouth, probably to say something terrible, but I cut him off.
“Oh, that’s right.” I bounced in my seat, and the motion of the seashells temporarily preoccupied him. “You said the bosses don’t like the dancing Statue of Liberty. But how do you keep her on your payroll without them knowing?”
“I make a senior accountant do it.” He rubbed the fabric where my skirt fanned, as if it were a tail. It made my skin crawl. “She hates it, but she likes being employed. Did you know I have a thing for mermaids?”
“You don’t say?” I inched away from him, but there was only so much space between me and the wall. “No wonder you talked me up when you could have any girl in that room.”
“Those women don’t interest me.” He tugged on my skirt. “Do they let you keep the tail too? The seashells are nice.” He bit his lip. “But the tail really gets me going.”
“Gets you going how?” Why did I insist on asking questions I didn’t want the answers to? “Like, you think it’s pretty?”
“Like, I want to stroke it while you stick a finger in my ass.”
Nope. I was so fucking out of here.
He leaned forward, eyes closed, with his tongue already hanging out. I slid down off the booth’s leatherette seat, and my palm hit a stuffed mushroom someone had dropped on the floor. This was too far above my pay grade. As I crawled through the food debris that wouldn’t get swept up until the end of the night, he ducked his head under the table.
“What are you doing?” He reached for me, and I scrambled past his hairy hand.
I cleared the booth and got to my feet, putting a considerable distance between us. “I need to go. Whatever you were expecting, it’s so not happening.”
“Are you kidding me?” His face twisted with rage. “I thought you were going to show me a good time. Isn’t that why you flirted with me and asked me to buy you a drink?”
“A drink doesn’t entitle you to a finger in the asshole!” I yelled, and didn’t give a damn who overheard.
I stormed back toward the conference center. It was time to get Mark and go. The sound of hurried footsteps behind me had me picking up my pace.
I’d made it to the doorway when a security guard stopped me. “This room is reserved for a private event. Do you have a badge, miss?”
“No, she doesn’t.” George held up his lanyard. “Don’t let her go any farther. She’s been stalking me all night, and I’m afraid she’s only here to stir up trouble.”
He disappeared down the hall, and I pulled out my phone to text Mark.
ME: I’m stuck outside the conference. Ready to go.
MARK: Give me fifteen. Grab the camera. Ditch the costume.
Fifteen minutes was about fourteen minutes longer than I wanted to wait, but I went back to the bar and grabbed the ceramic frog off the ledge above the booth. Then I slipped into the bathroom, pulled off the wig, used a paper towel to rub the glitter off my face, changed into the sweater and leggings I’d stashed in my oversize purse, and called an Uber.
By the time I was back at the entrance of the conference center, Mark was waiting for me. He took my arm. “We’ve gotta move.”
“I’ve been ready. You’re the one who said I should change.”
“Where the hell did that bitch go?” George’s booming voice sent a wave of fear skittering through my chest. “WHERE DID SHE GO?”
“That’s why I wanted you to change,” Mark said.
He picked up his pace, and I had to jog to keep up. Once we hit the sidewalk, he grabbed a cab, not bothering to wait for the Uber.
CHAPTER 27
My place was in its usual state of chaos. Art supplies had been left on my couch, on the end tables, and on the bookshelf. A paint-splattered T-shirt hung over the back of one of my dining room chairs, and shredded pieces of toilet paper were scattered around the living room. I had to give Mark credit; his jaw barely ticked as he took it all in.
Winnie jumped on the couch and hissed. “Is your cat ever going to stop hating me?”
“Not as long as you make fun of her sweaters. She’s sensitive.”
The adrenaline from our getaway started to ease up. I collapsed on my couch, my limbs looser than after he’d fucked me against a wall yesterday.
Mark went into my kitchen; a series of pops from the microwave soon followed. “You want to watch a movie?”
Not what I had in mind, but okay.
He brought out the bowl of popcorn, pushing aside tubes of acrylic paint and settling beside me on the couch. We probably looked like an ad for Redbox. “I thought we could watch the highlight reel together. It really does deserve the popcorn.”
“You recorded it?”
“I didn’t want you to miss the good part.” He unlocked his phone, which was already open to the video, and pressed play.
The lights dimmed in the conference room for the presentation. Every major player from the Bells and Stern accounting firm was present. A confused hum spread through the crowd when George and I appeared on the screen, but as he continued to run his mouth, that hum turned to an angry buzz. Mark had angled his phone to record the Bells and Stern, and wow, the ice in their expressions could’ve frozen lava.
“Best movie night ever.” I tossed a kernel into my mouth.
“It gets better,” Mark whispered in my ear.
It gave me great pleasure to see Annette perched on the edge of her tank with a shit-eating grin on her face. Technically her time was up when the presentation started, but she’d hung around to watch the real show.
The moment I had my coughing fit, someone from the crowd yelled, “Run, girl, run,” and nervous laughter followed.
Mark had filmed various reactions, ranging from amusement to anger to disgust. George’s casual dismissal of his employee’s feelings and the threat to eliminate her job if she didn’t dress up and dance in the street had more than one person swearing out loud. When he asked to stroke my tail while I fingered his ass, the entire room erupted. Two men stood and called for the people in the back to shut off the screen. Several attendees had taken out their phones to record or laughed and nudged their coworkers.
I grabbed Mark’s wrist for the climax, as his video showed George reentering the room. Every single person fell silent and turned their head toward him. He froze, not entirely understanding the shitstorm he’d walked into, but knowing something had gone very wrong. Then one guy started chanting, “Finger in the ass. Finger in the ass.” Within seconds, half the room picked up the chant. George’s face turned red, then contorted with rage as he looked up at the screen and saw me plucking the camera off the ledge.
The best part, the cinematic poetry of Mark’s film, came when he’d turned his phone to the woman who had hired us, the one who’d been forced to put on a ridiculous costume and dance in the street, even though she’d fought for years to prove her professionalism in a male-dominated field. The look of pure, unfiltered joy on Greta’s face made it all worth it. I wanted to wrap her in a fur coat, hand her a glass of wine, and put a tiara on her head like the goddamn queen she deserved to be.
Mark shut off his phone and set it on the coffee table. “Thoughts?”<
br />
“George is so getting fired.” I grinned.
“Fuck yeah, he is. I hope Greta gets his job.”
“If she doesn’t, we riot. If you send this to her, you know she’s going to watch it every day. It truly is the feel-good movie of the year.”
“I hope they take cuts for a training video on sexual harassment.”
I turned my head, taking in his profile as we sat close enough to share the same air. My palm tingled as I took in his light scruff, wanting to feel that rough texture against my skin. He only let a little stubble grow on the weekends, when he didn’t have to put on his Professor Cavanaugh mask. Not many people got to see this side of him, unpolished and a little rough. I trailed a finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the prickles everywhere. He raised an eyebrow. Taking the popcorn bowl, I placed it on the coffee table. I ran my hands up his chest and circled the back of his neck. He cupped my face, kissing me deeply, and nearly knocking the wind out of me. This. This was what I needed.
I straddled him and unknotted his tie, letting the cool silk glide beneath my fingers. Licking his throat, I undid the first button on his shirt. I pushed off his jacket, letting it crumple on the couch beside us, then put his hands behind his head, where he laced his fingers.
“Don’t move them,” I said.
With each button, I kissed his chest, until I’d reached the trail of hair on his stomach. I lowered myself to the floor between his legs and swirled my tongue around his belly button. He sucked in a sharp breath. Working my way back up, I licked and nipped his skin, then took off his shirt. I held on to his shoulders as I pushed up and caught his bottom lip with my teeth. His arms twitched, but he didn’t reach for me. That was the nice thing about academics. They knew how to listen to directions.
I explored his body all over again, and every hard muscle and ridge felt new. His skin heated as I dipped my fingers into the waist of his pants. I dropped to my knees, undid the button, then pulled his zipper down slowly.
“Let me touch you.” His voice was a plea I ignored.
Over his briefs, I put my lips against his erection and let out a warm breath of air. He got even harder. I smiled as I lowered his briefs, then took his cock in my mouth. He buried his fingers in my hair.
I sat back on my heels. “What did I say about the touching?”
He groaned and put his hands behind his head again.
I leaned forward and licked him from the base of his shaft up to the head. The throbbing between my legs grew more intense as I sucked him.
“Fuck. I’m going to come.”
Not yet. Not without me. I released him and leaned forward, running my hands up his chest. “You can touch me now.”
He didn’t hesitate. Kicking his pants and briefs off, he pulled me into his lap. He lifted my sweater over my head and made quick work of stripping me bare. He kissed my neck as he rolled my nipples. I ground against his hard length, wanting more, needing to be closer. Winnie spit at us both and went running for my bedroom. At least she wouldn’t attack.
I adjusted my position, and my knee fell on an uncapped tube of teal acrylic paint. It splattered against the wall. Not really caring about the mess, I ground my slick and aching core against him. His hand hit the cushion next to him, landing on a tube of yellow acrylic. A splatter hit my thigh. Laughing, he scooped the paint off my leg and rubbed it down my chest.
“So that’s how you want to play.” I grabbed a tube of magenta sitting on the back of the couch and squeezed it out over his head, then kissed him as I rubbed it into his scalp.
“That’s it, you’re in for it now.” He pushed me onto the couch and squeezed some green onto my stomach. The cold paint made me arch my back, and his eyes darkened. “Mmm. I should probably do that again.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I pressed myself against him, rubbing the green and yellow together until his chest and abs were covered.
He reached for a tube of salmon, but I beat him to the tube of plum and squeezed it out on his shoulder. It splattered as I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him down so I could be on top again. I drew a flower on his chest with my finger, and he laughed. In return, he drew a stick figure lying on top of another stick figure on my stomach.
I tilted my head as I looked down. “Your line work is a little raw, but your technique shows promise.”
“I’ll need to work on that.” He gripped my hips, rolling against me.
I reached down to grab a condom from the back pocket of his pants. He took it from me, pushed me onto my back, then flipped me onto my stomach. Sliding his hand down my back, he cupped me from underneath. I clenched with anticipation as he bent over and placed kisses down my spine before he lifted me and licked my center.
“Oh God.” I braced myself against the couch.
My legs began to tremble as he continued to stroke my clit with his tongue. He let go of me right before I fell over the edge, flipped me back over, then lifted one of my legs and wrapped it around his waist.
“Hold on.” With a sweep of his arms, we both sat up, with me straddling him. He rolled on the condom and teased me with his head. My entire frame shook with anticipation. I ached to get him closer. Unable to stand it any longer, I guided him into me.
I took him all the way to the base in one swift motion and let out a satisfied moan. This was what I needed, to be surrounded by his rain and moonlight scent as our bodies collided. As I moved against him, he thrust his hips upward, matching my rhythm, stroke for stroke. I clung to him as he picked up speed, just the way I wanted it.
“So good,” I said. “It’s so good with you.”
He circled his hips, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The heat inside me began to build, and as I trembled from my toes all the way up, I buried my face in his shoulder.
“Look at me.” He caressed my cheek as his cock continued to do delicious things to my body.
Release barreled through me, and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t take my eyes off him as he shuddered beneath me. We came hard and fast at the same time, and when he looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world, it was too much, too consuming. Feelings I couldn’t grasp and didn’t dare name rose up inside me. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“I don’t know why I’m crying.” I hugged him against me as I tried to get a grip on my emotions, but they were too intense.
“It’s okay.” He rubbed a thumb against my jaw and wiped away my tears. “I feel it too.”
Neither of us said the word, but it hung between us anyway.
I got up to go to the bathroom. When I came back out, he’d put his pants back on, but hadn’t buttoned them, so they hung loose on his hips. He paced my living room with his phone against his ear. He motioned for me to come over. As I approached him, he hung up and pulled me into a hug.
“I was just checking my voice mail.” His grin was so huge, it could’ve split the world. “I got the job. I’m the new anthropology professor at Northwestern University.”
“Congrats.” I meant to sound cheery, but it came out a little flat. I was happy for him and happy he’d be leaving H4H, of course, but the more time I spent with him, the less I believed he was built for that life. If that was what he wanted, though, who was I to tell him it wasn’t right?
In bed, he snuggled me against him, stroking my back, but I barely noticed because my mind was too busy trying to sort out all my overlapping thoughts. We shared something incredible. When I was with him, I didn’t see who I’d been; I saw who I could be. But I didn’t know how much further we could go, if he became immersed in the academic world. I had firsthand experience of what it did to otherwise decent people. Which would make things painfully complicated. Especially because I couldn’t deny the truth any longer.
I was in love with Mark.
CHAPTER 28
Two Fridays later, I’d signed all the necessary paperwork and closed on my gallery. The space wouldn’t fully be mine for another five years, but this was a
critical step. I had keys. I had free rein. Now all I needed was the time to get it ready. I’d have to do it in little chunks, an hour here, two hours there.
Mark had been a rock through the process. He had my contract looked over to make sure I didn’t get scammed on the terms, and he stayed with me in the building for three hours after I got my keys while I sketched preliminary ideas for the setup. He must’ve been bored out of his mind, though he did make a helpful suggestion about shelving when I didn’t think he’d been paying attention to my rambling.
At night, we’d gotten into the habit of both staying at my place or his, easily falling into a couple’s routine. While I hadn’t brought up the l-word—or even let myself examine those feelings too closely—it hung there, this unsaid thing, between us. He said he felt it too—but felt what? The after-orgasm high? Sated satisfaction? Post-sex hunger pangs? He never did elaborate. And this felt too new, too delicate, for me to ruin everything by asking.
And now tonight, we’d be attending Dr. Faber’s retirement party together. Mark and I had been invited separately, and the crossover between his new life and my old one made me mildly uncomfortable. Okay, more than mildly. He’d only just started, and already he had put in more than fifty hours this week and was becoming overly concerned about building connections with people who’d sooner slit his throat than offer him a genuine welcome.
Even though Margo was still upset over losing Mark to Northwestern, and she hadn’t yet found anyone to replace Emma, surprisingly she’d let me push off tonight’s assignment so I could attend. I had considered saying screw the party, just to avoid the eggshells I’d surely be walking on come Monday, but Margo assured me that pushing my assignment back by one night wouldn’t make or break it. A pity, really. There would be a lot of people at the party I used to call friends, and I wasn’t looking forward to playing old politics.
At Mark’s knock, I opened the door. He stood before me in a black suit with a soft gray shirt and pewter tie. I couldn’t get enough of him in a suit. He knew it was a weakness of mine. I ran a finger down the lapel of his jacket. “I was hoping you’d show up in leather with a neck tattoo, since my mom is going to be there, but this is okay too.”
