CHAPTER 11 #2
He crossed the room without hurrying. One hand went along my jaw with the thumb under the bone.
His eyes are slate, and they do not leave a thing once they have it.
His mouth came down on mine and stayed there.
He kissed like a man doing one job properly and nothing else.
My nipples went tight under three layers of wool before he had done anything more than that, and I got both hands into his shirt and held on.
He broke it and did not go far. His forehead came down against mine and he waited there for a breath.
He put two fingers under the hem of it and stopped there, holding the wool and waiting on me. “May I take your sweater off?”
I got my arms up over my head for him and did not wait for him to finish. “Yes, take it off, and stop asking me from that distance.”
The sweater went over my head. The shirt under it followed. He unhooked what was left with one hand at my back and took his time with it, because he takes his time with everything he intends to do properly. Cold air off the window, hot iron under it, and his breath an inch off my collarbone.
His hands came up under my ribs and stopped, and his voice dropped into the one register he means. “Look at me.”
I did.
“There is nothing about you I would change.”
He said it in the same voice he used for board business, which is how I knew it was true.
It took my legs out from under me more thoroughly than any compliment I have ever been paid.
Then his mouth was on one nipple and his hand covered the other.
The sound that came out of me was not a word.
He stayed there until my fingers were in his hair, and then he went to the other nipple and did the whole thing over again.
“Your nipples went hard before I touched you,” he said. “I have known that since the first night you made three men wait, and I have had no business knowing it.”
He straightened and looked at me a while with his hands off me entirely. That is the thing he does before he asks.
He asked it with his hands nowhere near me, because handing a person a choice is a thing he does by procedure. “You came down thirty feet of corridor at half past midnight. May I put my mouth on you, Miss Vance?”
“Yes. Put your mouth on me, and do not be careful.”
He lifted me onto the desk. The board papers went off the edge and neither of us went after them. My jeans and everything under them came off and landed somewhere by the chair. He set my heels on the desk edge and knelt, and the man does not kneel for anything in this building.
“Your pussy is beautiful,” he said, close enough that the words landed on me. “I am going to be thorough and I am not going to hurry.”
“I want it,” I said. “I came down thirty feet of corridor and I am not going to be shy about it at the end.”
He put his mouth on the inside of my knee first, and then higher, and he made me wait for the rest. His tongue went wide over my clit and then narrowed onto it.
Two fingers slid into my pussy and stayed slow while he did the work.
I got a fistful of his hair and pulled, and he made a sound against my clit that I am going to hear for the rest of my life.
He kept the rhythm where it was when I started shaking, because of course he did.
I came on his mouth and his hand with my heels sliding on the wood and the desk lamp swinging shadows over the ceiling.
He pulled his fingers out of my pussy and put them in his own mouth. He did it without any theater about it. Then he stayed where he was until I stopped, and set his forehead against my thigh, and that was the only time all night his breathing got away from him.
“Come down here,” I said.
He did not come up off his knees, and what he said came out lower than anything he had said all night. “In a moment.”
“Your hands are shaking and mine are worse.”
“I am aware of both of those things.”
He stood up, and I got my hand on his belt, and he let me have it. Then he asked anyway, because that is how the man is built.
His belt hung open and both his hands were down at his sides where I could see them. “Do you want my cock in your mouth?”
My mouth had gone dry and I said it anyway, with my knuckles still up against the buckle. “Yes. I want your cock in my mouth, and I want you to stop looking at the door.”
I came off the desk onto the rug. He had one hand in my hair and it was not tight, and when I looked up at him he said, “Open your mouth,” and I did.
His cock was hot and heavy on my tongue and he did not push, once, at any point.
He let me set the depth. He told me what it was doing to him in whole sentences, which nearly finished me by itself.
“That is my rule in ruins and your mouth around my cock,” he said. “I have never wanted anything the way I want this, and I am not sorry.”
He drew me off him and got me up onto my feet. His hands were not steady. I had never had that from him before.
“This is the last question I will ask you tonight,” he said. “Do you want my cock inside you?”
“Yes. I want you inside me, and if you ask me one more thing I am going to scream.”
He got a hand behind my head before we went down, so the floor would not have me first. “Then I will ask you nothing else.”
He reached into the desk drawer for a condom, opened it, and put it on with hands that were no longer entirely steady.
He put me down on the rug with the radiator ticking a foot from my shoulder.
He went into my pussy slow the first time and stopped there, breathing against my ear.
Then he moved, and the slowness went out of it.
The most careful man in the building had his hand under my hips and his teeth on my throat.
He got two fingers down between us onto my clit and kept them exactly there.
His teeth came off my throat long enough to get the words out and then went straight back to it. “Put your knee up for me and hold it there.”
I did that too. It changed the angle, and I stopped being able to plan anything at all.
“You are so tight at this angle that I can feel your pulse against me,” he said, and his voice had gone formal again. “You did that on purpose. Did you not?”
He slowed down to almost nothing, which cost him something, and asked it against my ear. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Do not stop.”
His hand spread wide on my hip and he quit holding any part of it back. “Then take it, and let me hear you.”
I came the second time with his cock all the way in me and his fingers working my clit, and what I said into his shoulder was not language. He followed a few strokes after, quiet about it, his forehead pressed to the side of my head.
“There you are,” he said, once, into my hair.
Afterward we were down on the rug with his back against the desk and me against his chest. We were half dressed and nobody did anything about it.
The radiator put out heat at ankle height.
The board papers were still on the floor where they had gone.
He had one hand open on my sternum, and his thumb moved across my nipple slow and with no intention in it, and he was not saying anything.
Outside the window the sky had cleared off to stars for the first time all day.
I put my thumb along the hairline scar through his left eyebrow. He let me, and he did not explain it.
“You are going to do it on Saturday anyway.”
“I am going to do it on Saturday, and you will not like the shape of it.”
“Tell me the number tomorrow.”
He shook his head against my hair. “Ask me after it is done, and I will tell you what happened, which is a different question.”
“Are you going to regret this by morning?”
“I will regret Saturday. I am not going to regret you.”
His breathing evened out under my ear and did not go the whole way down into sleep.
The clock on his desk read 2:04, and nothing in that room moved for it.
He asked me before every single thing he did that night, and somewhere in this building there had been a year when nobody asked the boy he was for anything.
By Saturday he would ask the board to undo what he had done to me. I still did not know what the board would take from him when he did.