Chapter 30 Amelia
Amelia
It’s earlier than usual the next morning when I walk into Crawford’s office. The tail end of the sunrise is fading ahead of me, amber stripes rippling across the sky against the dark silhouettes of the buildings in the distance.
I stop as I enter, not expecting to see Crawford already at his desk. He doesn’t usually arrive before seven, but today he’s in his chair, facing the window, staring out at the view.
He seems to be deep in thought, and I place the packs I’ve prepped for him by his elbow and turn to leave.
“Which is your favorite art gallery?” he asks. “Barnes said that’s what you were talking about the other day.”
I turn back, frowning at him. He sounds melancholy. “Uh. I have a few. But probably a place called Statesman. It’s tiny, but the guy who runs it has an amazing eye.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
I shrug. “That doesn’t surprise me. It’s really small. He probably sells one painting a year. I never really understood how it remains open.”
Crawford’s eyes are a little glazed, he looks troubled today, and I feel a bolt of need run through me. I want to make him smile or laugh—anything but this thousand-mile stare.
“How did it go with Barnes?” I ask.
He swivels his chair and leans over the desk, looking up at me with a little frown on his face.
“Good,” he replies. “He’s verbally agreed to the deal.”
“Really? That’s great!”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “It is great. He told me you were very helpful in making him see the deal in a different light.”
I go still. Oh shit. This is where he tells me to stay the hell out of his business negotiations.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to him.”
“What did you say exactly?”
“Just that he should trust you to do the right thing.”
“You realize that in business, ‘the right thing’ for one man can be the worst decision imaginable for another, right?”
“I do realize that. But when you were sick, you told me you wanted to help his company. You said you felt bad for him.”
Crawford leans back, his hands resting lightly on the surface of his desk. “I said that?”
“Yes. I mean, you had a high fever, so I doubt you were thinking coherently, but you did say it several times.”
“Huh. Well, your input worked either way. He’s decided to stay on for a little while to see things through and help with the transition.”
“Are you happy?”
He stops moving, glancing up at me for an endless second. “I think so, yeah.”
“Good.”
His chair bobs backward, his eyes never leaving my face. I step away, ready to leave the room, but then he stands up.
“Go put your hands on the window.”
I glance at the pane of glass behind him. “That window?”
“Yep. Can you deal with the drop?”
“As long as the thing doesn’t shatter underneath me, sure,” I say. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I’m nervous all the same.
I go to the glass, placing my hands against the pane. I hear him close his door and then he comes behind me. I try to suppress a shiver as his big hand moves over my stomach. His scent surrounds me, and I inhale, taking it in, desperate for him to touch me more.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers. “I’ve noticed your hands don’t shake as much these days when you take your clothes off for me.”
“Well, they’re pressed against the glass right now,” I say, and he chuckles as his fingers slide around me and over my ass. He slowly pushes my skirt up and pulls down my panties.
“I have a gift for you.”
He puts a piece of paper against the glass beside my head, and I quickly look it over it. My stomach flips. It’s the test results from Sterling House. It’s a clean bill of health, just as mine was. There’s nothing in our bloodwork that might put either one of us at risk.
“I really want to fill you with my cum,” he growls, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Oh, fuck,” I shudder as he pushes against me.
“But first I need to make sure you’re ready for me.”
I’m quivering as he kneels behind me and knocks my legs further apart before he begins to kiss the insides of my thighs, driving me insane.
I groan, my hands sliding down the glass as his tongue finally finds my clit and he begins flicking it with the tip repeatedly. His hands stroke my thighs as I moan, unable to stop the needy sounds from breaking free as he groans into me, the vibrations across my flesh wickedly good.
By the end, my thighs are trembling so much that I can barely keep my feet still against the carpeted floor. He pulls back and smacks his palm against my ass.
“Fuck I hope someone got a good view of that with their morning coffee,” he says.
He’s figured out how much that kind of talk turns me on, and he chuckles as I groan again.
“Just imagine if I took off all your clothes and pressed you up against the glass, your nipples crushed against it while I fuck you.”
His hand moves over my body and squeezes my breast roughly, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he lines himself up.
“Will you let me fuck you bare?” his voice is like a low rumble of thunder. “I want to mark you inside and out, and then watch it run down your thighs.”
“Yes,” I whisper the word, my head bowed as he pushes into me.
He fucks me right there against the glass with the whole of New York below us.
I’m rocking against it, my eyes on the view as I feel the thickness of him pushing into my body, thrusting inside me.
“Fuck, it’s like a fucking… vice.”
His hands move over my breasts, and I moan as he unbuttons my shirt, squeezing them hard as I wonder if he’ll follow through on the fantasy. Will he push me up against the glass and use me like a slut for the whole city to see?
God, why does that turn me on so much?
Crawford isn’t rough today; in fact, the sex is almost tender. As he rocks into me, he massages my body, stroking my skin, groaning every time he’s fully seated. It’s different without a condom—sensual, addictive, and so good I can’t help grunting with every thrust.
“Touch yourself,” he says on a long groan, and I take one hand off the window, putting it between my legs as I begin to rub my clit. I can feel myself clenching around his dick, and he groans long and agonized.
“I want you to come when I do, I want you to come all over my cock.”
I cry out as he starts to pound into me, fierce, vicious thrusts that make me wild until I feel my orgasm explode inside me, and he comes, hard, filling me up. I feel his cock pulsing into me, and it’s the most erotic feeling in the world.
He’s panting as he pulls me up to a standing position. His cock slides out of me as I groan again, and I wait for him to step away.
Instead, his arms come around me, and I freeze as my back is pulled against his chest. He hugs me to him, resting his chin gently against my hair.
After what feels like a small eternity, he pulls away, leaving me quietly reeling as I try to figure out what that embrace meant. I hurriedly straighten my clothes, pull up my panties, and creep out of the room.
But the memory of that moment lingers in my mind all morning as I sit at my desk. His hands holding me so gently, as if I were something precious to him.
After my third or fourth print run, I return to my desk and take a seat, only to suck in a sharp breath as I feel more evidence of what we have done trickle out of me. I thought I already took care of this in the bathroom earlier.
Glancing at the office beyond, I get up, heading to his private bathroom. Crawford gave me permission to use it whenever I need to, and I slip inside, thankful that I don’t have to make small talk with anyone.
I go into a stall, about to pull down my panties, when the door behind me opens and Crawford steps inside, closing it behind him.
“Spread your legs,” he says, muscling me back toward the toilet.
I do it without question, as he pushes his hands beneath my skirt, kneeling on the floor in front of me. Seeing this man on his knees is a thrill I wasn’t expecting.
“Wider, Amelia.”
I straddle the full width of the stall as he pushes up my skirt, groaning when he sees the sticky evidence of our time together.
“Fuck.” I let out a low cry as he pushes his index finger inside me. “Can you hear that?”
The wet, slick sounds are obscene in the silence around us as he swirls his fingers inside me.
“Fuck, I wanna come in you every day, just to watch this.”
He puts two fingers inside me, rising to his feet as his arms come around my lower back to support my weight. He covers my lips with his as his tongue pushes against mine at the same rhythm as his fingers. He works them into me so thoroughly that I’m squirming and writhing against him in seconds.
It’s quick, hard, and achingly good as he brings me to climax effortlessly, my sighs stifled as I push down against his fingers and feel the rush of heat as I come all over them.
He pulls back, pulling them free with a soft sigh.
His erection is obvious as he pulls me back to standing, and I step forward, my hands reaching for his belt. He grabs my wrists gently with a small huff of laughter.
“That was just for you,” he murmurs. “A thank you, let’s say, for letting me fill you up so perfectly.”
He pushes me against the wall of the stall again, plunging his tongue into my mouth and kissing me so passionately, my knees give way.
“Hm. I need to go to lunch. Want anything?” he asks, as if he hasn’t just brought me off ten feet from my desk.
“Uh,” I swallow, catching my breath, barely able to form a thought. “That depends on where you’re going,” I say.
“Little burrito place on the corner. It’s one of my favorites.”
I scoff, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “I can get you better food than that within three minutes of here.”
He smiles playfully, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his side of the stall. “Oh yeah? Where from?”
“I’ll go and get it and then you can judge for yourself.”
“Not a chance. You can show me,” he leans into me, pressing me into the wall. I feel his cock nudge against my thigh. “Why don’t you clean up that mess I left inside you, and then we’ll go together, hm?”
I moan as his fingers flirt between my legs again, and then he walks out of the bathroom.
When did I become such a slut for this man?
The street vendor I have in mind is somewhere I’ve been to many times before. It’s just at the end of the block, and run by one of the most miserable men I’ve ever seen. But he makes the most amazing tacos.
“Hey George,” I say as I step up to the front of the line, and he gives me a nod.
Crawford looks confused by the menu, and I end up ordering for both of us, getting two tacos overflowing with pulled pork.
George wraps them up and hands them over, and I wave Crawford off when he tries to pay.
“Thanks,” he says, sounding genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to buy me lunch.”
“If you like it, you can come back and buy me one later,” I say, watching with interest as he takes a bite. I smile fondly at him as he leans forward, trying to avoid getting any of the sauce on his beautiful suit.
“Wow,” he says, his mouth still full. “Fuck. That’s amazing.”
“Better than the burrito place you were talking about?”
“Much, actually.”
I follow him as he wanders down the street. It’s busy, because it’s New York, but he sidesteps into a parallel road, and the worst of the crowd abates for a while.
I feel comfortable in his presence, like I don’t have to fill the silence, and it’s nice, just to exist beside each other without any expectations.
I open my mouth to ask him what he thinks of the sauce, which is a secret recipe handed down from George’s mother, when I hear shouting up ahead.
Horribly familiar shouting.
I trip over some uneven concrete as I see my mother and father ahead of us.
They’re on the opposite side of the road, beside a dumpster.
My mom is screaming at my dad, who is still in his construction gear.
She’s in her waitress uniform, and a cold weight plummets into my stomach as I realize we’re right by where she works.
I try to ignore the shouting, continuing down the sidewalk we’re on, hoping we turn off soon. But my parents have caught Crawford’s attention.
“Jesus, the white trash really is out in full-force today,” he mutters, staring at my mother with a look of contempt. I don’t blame him. She does look like trash. But she’s still my mother.
I say nothing, steering us slowly away, praying that she doesn’t catch a glimpse of us. We finish our tacos, and Crawford thanks me again, but I can only muster a brief smile, muttering that I need to get some money from the ATM. He frowns, nodding slowly as I hurry away.
I’m mortified, unable to believe that Crawford, of all people, might have had the chance to meet my parents. I often joke with Annabelle about what it would be like to actually bring a man home to meet them. Awful and humiliating were the only words we could think of.
But for someone like Crawford, it’s shameful to think of the two worlds colliding.
He’s going to be done with me soon anyway and moving on to the next girl.
My chest tightens at the thought of being with any other man after him. The mere idea repulses me, but I know I’ll have no choice.
Crawford needs a service from me, and once he gets that service from someone else, he probably won’t even remember my name.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I dab at them, willing them not to fall.
When the fuck did I get so deep into this?
Embarrassed by my own thoughts, I walk the streets of New York for the rest of my lunch hour, the incoherent shouts of my parents seeming to follow me wherever I go.