11. Office Hours Are Over
ELEVEN
OFFICE HOURS ARE OVER
He called me at noon on a Wednesday.
"Hey handsome," I answered. Leaning back in my desk chair, half a salad in front of me, the Pure Passion email campaign draft glowing on my screen.
"Come have lunch with me."
"I'm at work, Jarvis.”
"So leave work. Tell them you have an appointment. Tell them you're sick. Tell them whatever you want, but come eat with me. I ordered from that Thai place you won't shut up about."
I was already saving my draft. Already closing my laptop. Already reaching for my purse. "You can't just summon me in the middle of the day."
"I just did. And you're already grabbing your keys."
I smiled. Hated that he was right. “Whatever. Be there in twenty minutes."
“Alright, door's open."
His office smelled like lemongrass and basil when I walked in. Takeout containers spread across his desk. Two sets of chopsticks. Napkins. A sweating bottle of water for me because he knew I didn't drink soda.
He was leaning against the desk when I came through the door. He looked up and his whole face changed. That smile that started fast. The one that said seeing me in his space still surprised him even though it shouldn't anymore.
"You came fast,” he smirked.
“Didn’t need my food getting cold."
"Sure." He leaned down and kissed me. His hand finding my lower back, pulling me against him for a second before releasing. When did this become so routine?
I dropped my purse on the couch. Walked to the desk. He'd already pulled the containers open: pad see ew for me, green curry for him, spring rolls to split. I hoisted myself up onto the edge of the desk, legs dangling, and picked up my chopsticks.
He stayed standing. Positioned himself between my knees like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be. One hand on my thigh while he ate with the other. Casually possessive..
We ate. Talked about nothing. His session this morning. My manager approving the Pure Passion campaign brief without a single note. The pop up event Malik kept texting him about.
I stole a bite of his curry. He stole a spring roll. His hand squeezed my thigh when I laughed at something. I wiped sauce from the corner of his mouth with my thumb and he caught my wrist. Kissed my palm.
Ordinary. The kind of intimacy that exists between a couple married for decades. We were comfortable.
When we finished eating, he cleared the containers. I stayed on the desk. He came back and stood between my legs again. Closer this time. His hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher. His forehead tipping forward to rest against mine.
"I missed you," he said. Low.
"You saw me Sunday.”
"Three days ago." His lips brushed mine. "That's too long."
His hands were under my skirt now. Thumbs drawing circles on my inner thighs. My body responding the way it always responded to him: immediate. Honest. Heat pooling. My breath shortening.
"Jarvis."
"Hmm."
"I want you."
"Here?"
"Here. On that couch. Right now."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes darkening. "Tell me what you want."
Say what I desired out loud.
"I want to ride you," I said. Clear. No whisper. "I want to push you back on that couch, pull your dick out and sit on it. I want your hands on my hips. I want to feel you deep. And I want you to tell me I look good while I do it."
His hands tightened on my thighs. "Come here."
He lifted me off the desk. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me three steps to the couch. Sat down with me in his lap, straddling him.
I pushed his shirt up. He pulled it over his head. My hands on his chest. His hands finding the zipper at the back of my skirt. Pulling it down. I stood just long enough to let it drop, then climbed back on.
He reached behind me. Unhooked my bra through my blouse. Those long fingers finding the clasp without fumbling, releasing it, and I pulled my shirt and bra off together. My breasts heavy and free, my nipples already hard.
His mouth found my nipple. Warm. Sucking gently while his hands pushed my underwear to the side.
"Leave them on," I said. "Just move them."
He pulled himself free from his sweats. Hard. Ready. I reached between us and positioned him where I wanted, and sank down.
Slow. Watching his face. The way his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the couch. The way his mouth fell open. The way his hands gripped my hips, fingers denting the flesh.
"Look at me," I said.
His eyes opened.
"Tell me I look good."
"You look..." He swallowed. His hips pressing up. "Nailah, you look like everything I ever wanted."
I rolled my hips. Slow. Deep. Grinding him against the spot inside me that made my thoughts go white. My hands found his throat. Wrapped around it. Holding his pulse beneath my palm the way he'd held mine that first night in the hallway.
His eyes snapped open. Locked on mine. Something shifted in his face. That place between panic and pleasure where the body can't tell the difference. His dick twitched inside me.
"You feel me?" I asked.
"Yes." Breathless. His hands tightened on my hips.
I squeezed his throat. Just slightly. Felt it work against my palm when he swallowed. Felt his pulse kick faster beneath my fingers. Rode him harder. Bouncing now. Taking him deep on every drop, my ass slapping against his thighs, the wet sound of my pussy taking him in filling his quiet office.
He smacked my ass. Hard. The crack of it loud. I moaned. Dropped my head back. Ground down on him with my hand still on his throat and his handprint warming on my skin.
"Again," I said.
He hit the other side. Harder. Gripping the cheek after, spreading me, pulling me down onto him deeper. His hips driving up to meet me. The couch protesting beneath us.
"Pull my hair," I told him.
His hand found the back of my head. Gripped.
Pulled until my neck was exposed and my back arched and I was riding him with my head tilted back.
He leaned forward and bit. His teeth sinking into the curve of my exposed throat.
The pain sharp, specific, his jaw clenching into my skin while I gasped and my pussy gripped him tighter.
His other hand left my ass. Found my breast. Palmed it full. Squeezed hard, my nipple pressing between his fingers, while his teeth stayed locked on my neck. Biting and gripping and pulling my hair all at once. Three points of possession.
I reached behind me. Both hands finding my own ass. Spreading myself open while I bounced on him. My fingers pulling my cheeks apart so he could go deeper, so the angle shifted, so every stroke hit bottom.
I was loud about it. Moaning into the ceiling, taking what I wanted at the angle I wanted it.
"Right there," I gasped. "Don't change anything."
He held the angle, and I could feel myself building. That coil tightening low and hot.
"I'm gonna come," I breathed. "Don't stop."
He didn't stop. Drove up into me with focus. His hand yanked my hair harder. I clenched around him so tight he cursed, and then I was falling, coming hard as fuck.
He followed. Couldn't hold it. My pussy gripping him through the orgasm pulled him over the edge with me. His hips stuttering. His groan low and broken. His hand releasing my hair to grip both hips and pull me down flush while he emptied inside me.
I collapsed against his chest. His arms wrapping around me. Both of us breathing hard. Sweating. His heartbeat slamming against my ear.
After a while, we shifted. Lay tangled on the couch properly. My head on his chest. His arm around me. Still in my panties. Him still in his sweats, pushed low. Our fingers finding each other. Interlacing. Resting on his stomach.
Quiet. The kind that doesn't need filling.
"I could fall asleep," I murmured against his chest.
"Then fall asleep."
"I have to go back to work."
"Work can wait."
I closed my eyes. Let my body be heavy against his. His heartbeat steady beneath my ear. His thumb stroking the back of my hand. The afternoon light warm on my skin.
This was what we'd built.
Then the front door chimed.
The sound cut through the quiet like glass breaking. We both went still. His arm tightened around me. My body tensed against his.
We both knew. Before the footsteps. Before the voice. We both knew the way you know weather is about to change: a pressure shift that makes your body brace before your mind catches up.
"Yo, Jarv! Where you at, bro?"
Malik.
Jarvis moved fast. Sat up beneath me. His hands on my waist, lifting me, already shifting into control mode. His voice low, yet urgent.
"Go to the bathroom."
I looked at him. "What?"
"Nailah. Bathroom. Now." His eyes flicking to the open office door. Malik's footsteps in the front studio. Getting closer.
My blood went cold. Instantly. Ice water from my chest to my fingertips.
"Nailah, you're in your underwear. Just go change, let me..."
“No.”
One word. I didn't move. Didn't grab for clothes. Didn't scramble off the couch.
I refused to hide.
"Nailah..."
"Don't."
But Malik was already in the hallway. Already moving toward the office. The door was open. Had been open the whole time because it was just lunch. Just two people who forgot the world existed outside each other.
He appeared in the doorway.
Stopped.
I watched his face. Watched the sequence: confusion first, then recognition, then realization.
His mouth opened. Closed. His eyes moved from me to Jarvis. Back to me.
"What the fuck."
He was stunned.
I sat up. Didn't grab for my skirt. Didn't cover my breast.
"Malik..."
"What the fuck, Nailah."
He backed up. One step. Two. His hand finding the doorframe like he needed something solid. His eyes wouldn't land. Kept moving between us. Trying to compute. Failing.
Jarvis sat up behind me. “Bruh, listen..."
"Nah." Malik held up one hand. Palm out. His jaw tight. Not rage. Something quieter. The shock of seeing something you can't unsee. "Nah, I'm good. I don't... nah."
He turned and walked out. The glass door chiming once, bright and cheerful, and then silence.
I was moving toward the door when Jarvis caught my wrist.
"What are you doing?" His voice was sharp and stern. "Nailah, what the fuck are you doing? Let him go."
"He's my brother!"
"And he just saw you naked on my couch. Give him space. He doesn't need you chasing him down the street in a thong.”
I pulled my shirt over my head. Grabbed my skirt.
"Why did you tell me to go to the bathroom?" My voice was calm. Dangerously calm.
"Because you were naked, Nailah. I wasn't trying to..."
"You told me to hide."
"I told you to put clothes on. That's not the same..."
"It felt the same." I stepped into my skirt. Zipped it. My movements precise. Controlled. "My brother walks in, and your first sentence wasn't it's okay or we'll handle this together. It was go to the bathroom. Like I was something to put away."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
He dragged his hand down his face. "I meant you were in your panties and your brother was about to see you like that. I wasn't hiding you. I was trying to give you a second to..."
"I don't need you to manage my modesty for me." I looked at him. Held his gaze. "I'm a grown woman, Jarvis. If my brother sees me in my panties, that's between me and my brother. Not something you get to pre-empt by sending me to a bathroom like a child."
He was quiet. His jaw working.
"You don't get to control this part," I said. "The back room? Fine. The photo shoot? Fine. But when it comes to me and my brother, you don't get to decide how that plays out by removing me from the room."
"I wasn't..."
"You were." I picked up my purse. "Maybe you didn't mean it that way. Maybe you were just thinking fast. But it landed wrong. And I need you to hear that."
He nodded. Once. Tight.
"I'm going to go find my brother."
"Okay."
"Okay."
I walked out.
Malik didnt answer.
Four calls. Three texts. Nothing.
I drove to his apartment. His car wasn't there.
I sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes and then drove home because sitting in a parking lot waiting for my brother to show up so I could explain why I was half naked on his best friend's couch was not the woman I'd spent the last few weeks becoming.
At home, I sat on my couch in the dark. Phone in my hand, screen blank. Just as I was about to put it down, it buzzed in my hand. It was Jarvis.
Can we talk?
I didn't respond.
The argument in his office revealed something I needed to sit with: my inner insecurities about having to cover myself up. That and the gap between who he was in that back room–surrender, trust, openness–and who he was in the real world when it mattered–instinct to control, to manage, to dictate.
He'd handed me every key to his body. But when it came to his life? When it came to standing in the truth of us in front of the one person who mattered? His first move was to pull me back.
And I couldn't unsee that.
Not yet.
I turned my phone face down. Pulled my knees to my chest. Sat in the quiet of my apartment and let the weight of the afternoon settle.
Malik's shocked face. Jarvis's hand on my wrist. The sound of the glass door chiming. The silence that followed.
I didn't regret what Malik saw. I wasn't ashamed of my body or what we were doing on that couch.
What I regretted was that Jarvis's first instinct wasn't to stand up beside me and say: yeah. This is real. We’re together.
Until he could, I didn't know where we stood.
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt small again.
Not because I'd shrunk. Because someone I liked had tried to shrink me. Even for a second. Even out of fear.
And the woman I was now wouldn't tolerate that.