Give Me a Chance (BYC #2)

23. Natalie

23

NATALIE

M onday morning, Matt leaves the office for appointments right after the morning meeting. Staying away from him at work is a strain on my self-control, so not having to look at his hot, focused, bespectacled face is a nice surprise.

I’m hoping his absence sends a message to my lady parts, telling them to chill the fuck down.

After the bar, I was hoping for him to make a move. But no, the gentleman inside him is too strong. For now.

I was the one who made the first move last week, and it’s his turn now. I don’t mind taking what I want, but I want him to drop the gentleman act and do something about it.

Luckily, I’m too swamped with work to dwell on it. Everything for the gala is going great, but between that and my regular work, my to-do list is endless. There are big expectations with this year’s gala, and I’m doing my best to meet them.

“How’s everything going, Natalie?” Kiara asks as I sit down in her office. Her desk is immaculate, as usual, making this weathered, old office look professional.

“Everything’s going as planned. The countdown campaign on our social media has been going on for a month, but the posts will get more frequent as the event nears.” I check my planner, so I’m sure I mention everything. “I’m doing collabs with other organizations and trying to pique the interest of the media. I’m also trying to find brands to sponsor our event.” With this year’s theme, there is a clear direction for the potential brands, so I’m using a lot of my spare time researching them.

“I see. And with the gala planning? Everything’s going, OK?”

“Yes, we’re, in fact, ahead of schedule.” I give her a sincere smile.

“That’s good. You know I couldn’t lead this organization without you, right?”

Not to sound conceited, but I’m aware. I’m the least supervised employee and these kinds of rundowns are pretty much the only supervision I have.

“You probably could, but it wouldn’t be half as awesome as it is right now,” I joke, making her laugh.

“Exactly. I just wanted you to know I appreciate all the work you’ve been doing. I know you could probably have your pick of jobs if you decided to leave, and I’m grateful you’re here.”

“I’m sure they’d be lucky to have me, but I plan on staying.”

“Good. There is no one I would rather leave the BYC to, when I decide to retire.”

“Come on, Kiara. You’re nowhere near old enough to retire.” She snorts.

“Yeah right. Go. Enjoy your lunch.” She dismisses me.

Her words come as a surprise, though they shouldn’t. She gave a lot of years to the BYC, and I know she wants to enjoy her grandchildren while they’re still young.

Would I enjoy her job?

It probably wouldn’t be different than what I’m doing right now, and the BYC is my second home. I also think I would be good at it. Organizing and planning is my forte, after all.

Rina had to go pick up Eric from school—apparently, he’s sick, and Anne went to a lunch with a few potential volunteers, so I’m having lunch alone today. Another bland, sad salad awaits me in the fridge, which I open as soon as I enter the break room.

Someone pushed my salad to the back, so it takes some maneuvering to get to it. A clear glass container catches my eye. Someone wrote ‘Natalie’ in big, red letters on top of it. The tag is dog-eared, so I open it up.

It might not be perfect, but it’s the best thing I know how to make.

2 mins, microwave

It’s unsigned, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind who it’s from.

The distinct sage scent hits me first as I open it. It’s filled with weirdly shaped, definitely homemade gnocchi, pieces of butter that hardened in the fridge, and a sprinkle of parmesan cheese over it. I would be mad about him crossing the line if I weren’t so goddamn hungry.

Two minutes in the microwave feels like forever, but it finally dings, setting my lunch free. I immediately dig in. It tastes nothing like it looks.

That’s the thing about gnocchi: even the worst looking ones fill a part of your soul. The little pillows are tender and filling, the melted butter coating them perfectly, while the sage gives them an earthy zing.

My lady parts get back to life, reminded of him, but my stomach joins them this time.

This was...really thoughtful. I stare into the distance as the break room door opens.

“Hey, you OK?” Anne asks.

“Uhm, yes. You’re back?”

“Yup, we got everything done in no time. I’m just putting away some leftovers.” She stores the container in the fridge. “You sure you’re good? You looked kind of sad there for a second.” More like pensive.

A big sigh escapes me. “Yeah. It’s just that...Matt made me lunch.” My heartbeat increases in speed, though I’m not sure if it’s panic or excitement.

“How dare he?” Her hand presses to her chest.

“Right?” I huff out a laugh.

“What did he make you?” She tries to solve the mystery by looking closely at my cleaned off plate.

“Gnocchi.” Another sigh. “He made them himself.” She chuckles.

“Yeah, that makes it way worse. Were they any good?”

“They were perfect. But is homemade gnocchi something a friend with benefits makes?”

She shrugs. “Who knows? That’s Matt for you. He once took me to the airport, which is a boyfriend thing, and there aren’t any benefits between us.” The swirl inside my belly settles at her words.

Them having benefits would not work for my obsessed body parts. They want his hands, mouth, cock, and gnocchi just for me.

“He’s just a good guy, you know?” she continues.

“Yeah...” I say, unconvinced. There’s a whole beast inside of him he doesn’t show willingly, so who’s to say the good guy isn’t just the role he plays.

Good guy or not, I’m having the best sex of my life, which means I won’t give it up easily. Still, a lump of unease builds up in my throat.

The thoughtfulness is dangerous, and I have no idea how to respond to it. It makes me wary of this whole idea. He should stick to the sex stuff and lay off homemade gnocchi.

Getting back to my desk, I hatch a bulletproof plan. He’s not a good guy when we’re having sex. No, he’s a feral, primal beast.

So, the only thing I can do to keep the danger away is by keeping him feral at all times. Keep sex at the front of his mind.

Challenge accepted.

He gets back to the office a half an hour before we’ll all be heading home, so my time is scarce. Glad I’m wearing a skirt, I head to the bathroom before leaving.

The thought alone makes me wet, and it shows on the skimpy lace panties I take off in the stall. I crumple them in my fist and exit the bathroom.

Trying to keep my cool, I walk with my head held high right to Matt’s desk.

“Thanks for the lunch.” My lips stretch wide, a glint of mischief in my eyes.

“Did you like it?”

“I did. It was delicious.” I emphasize the word by licking my lips. His gaze drops to them instantly. “Just a tip. Parmesan should be separate.” I pat the pocket of his suit jacket, dropping my panties in it, and walk away with the sound of him sucking in a breath.

The naughtiness of the whole thing, and the breeze on my naked pussy, makes arousal pool between my thighs.

At home, my naked body writhes on the still cool sheets as a vibrator pulls out an orgasm from me. I came, but I’m feeling nowhere near sated. My nipples are still hard as a rock, and my clit still tingles, aching for something else, something better. My hands travel south once again during my shower, but not even the vivid images of the last night we shared can replace the real thing.

I’ve just started this game, and I’m already on edge. What keeps me going is the thought of how he must be feeling.

Is he currently stroking his thick cock while he thinks of me?

Is he feeling as unsatisfied as I am?

I want to push him so far he snaps. The good guy farce has gone on too long, I need him to lose it.

On Tuesday, I step up my game. He stalks my every move as I enter the office, but I ignore him completely. During the meeting with the décor team, I’m perfectly professional, returning none of his dozens of scorching looks. But by lunch, it’s go time.

I enter the bathroom, my trusted ally, once again. This time, I push down my shirt, putting the girls front row. I push back the lacy cup of my bra, revealing a nipple and snap a photo of me pinching it. My face isn’t in it, I’d never trust a man that way, but it’s a hot picture. Exiting the bathroom, I press send and bump into Rina.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I turn the villain smile on my face into a polite one.

I hear “Shit” come from the other side of the room, where Matt is trying to dry the coffee he just spilled.

Hmm, wonder what made him spill it.

Guess my smile turned villainous again because she eyes me with suspicion. Sighing, I grab her hand and drag her to the empty bathroom.

“Look, I’m just playing. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“What are you doing to the poor guy?”

“I sent him a nude,” I shrug, “and yesterday, I dropped my panties into his pocket.”

She laughs. “Oh, I see. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Exactly.”

“Just be careful.” Her voice turns serious. “Don’t give him hope for more than you’re willing to give.”

“Duh, that’s why I’m keeping it all about sex. There’ll be so much blood in his groin, his brain won’t be able to conjure up emotions.” I do a small courtesy, jokingly, and Rina laughs once again.

She knows me, exactly as I am. Loves me, exactly as I am. No man could ever do that.

Still, not even Rina knows a part of why I am this way. Not that I don’t trust her, I’d trust her with my life. Hell, I’d trust her with my death. But some parts are better left buried. For my own sake.

I leave the office to deal with some marketing meetings, but as soon as my feet touch the doorstep, my phone pings with a text.

Matt:

You’re playing a dangerous game.

Me:

Funny you’ve mentioned it. It’s my favorite type of game.

My pulse quickens with excitement. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.

He doesn’t text me again, and by the time I get back to the office, he’s already gone. My heart drops with the realization the game is done for the day.

It soars once again when I see his name across my screen as I’m walking into my apartment. Pretty sure my groan is audible, opening the photo he sent me. I’m looking down at his delectable set of abs, a sizzling V, and a happy trail leading to his boxers. His pants are unbuttoned, and his thumb is teasing me with lowering the boxers.

Another ping.

Matt:

Consider yourself privileged. This is the first sext I’ve ever sent.

Me:

I’m honored. Horny, but honored.

Besides, it’s hardly a sext . . .

I leave him waiting while I rush to take my clothes off. Discarded clothes pave my way to the bed. Grabbing my favorite vibrator, I lie on my back and make my way down my body. My nipples are already puckered, and my pussy is already drenched, making it easy for the toy.

Taking my phone in one hand, I record a three second video of my naked body writhing under the vibrator’s pressure. The sound of my hitched breath and the buzz of the toy makes the whole thing more erotic.

Clicking send, I type:

Me:

This is a sext

Matt:

Fuck, you’re so fucking dirty. Making me hard like that.

You deserve to be punished.

Me:

Yeah?

And how would you punish me?

Matt:

I’ll think long and hard about it.

Me:

We’ll see.

I drop the phone to the side, focusing on the feel of the vibrations on my clit. I’d love to continue this conversation, but I have a game to win.

Too keyed up to last, it takes me less than two minutes to come, thinking off him stroking his cock and coming all over his chiseled abs. Fuck, I’d like to be one to clean him up.