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Liza Morris
"Hold on. What are we doing here?" Liza asked, flinching and pulling back from Wesley. His arms around her were too tight for her to break his hold. Instead, she wound up doing an awkward leaning back move, something that looked like a poorly executed yoga pose. She felt people around them looking on in curiosity, which was the last thing she wanted. She was already way too exposed. She wasn't used to that kind of thing, and it made her want to disappear. Wesley, on the other hand? He was perfectly at home. Of course he was. Star in the spotlight was just another day as far as he was concerned. He smiled down at her like he could hear what she was saying. Maybe he didn't need to hear it, any more than she needed him to tell her how badly he wanted her. He pulled her closer and again she felt the length of him against her hip. She shuddered, her entire body overtaken by a wave of delicious goosebumps.
“I don’t know, Liza. What are we doing here? What do you want?" he asked, his voice husky and low. The sound broke the last bit of resolve she had. Any resistance evaporated like so much water in the desert. She stopped trying to pull away. Instead, she leaned in, letting the pressure of her hip press against him gently. He groaned into her ear, his fingers landing lightly on the nape of her neck. It was such a light touch that it was almost not a touch at all, but it made her shiver violently. A caress, she thought to herself incoherently, he's caressing me. It shouldn't be happening; none of it should. It wasn't a real date they were on, and she needed to keep her head about her if she was going to get through this unusual job unscathed. With the phantom feeling of his fingers playing across her body, though, keeping her head just wasn't an option.
“We should go somewhere,” he breathed into her ear, “we should go somewhere right now.”
“Where? My apartment?” she asked, hardly believing the words were coming out of her mouth.
“No, not that. I don’t think I can wait that long.”
"Then where? I don't think I understand," she asked uncertainly. Her experience with this sort of thing was limited at best. It wasn't that she hadn't had guys. She'd had her share of boyfriends, enough not to be totally embarrassed by. None of those guys had ever acted like Wesley was acting now, though. None of them had ever made her feel like he had to have her or he was going to die. It left her feeling far drunker than her champagne left her any right to be – dizzy but in a good way. Feeling the way she did, she felt emboldened to do almost anything and leave the future to sort itself out on its own.
“Here,” he answered simply. He removed his arms from around her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned. In almost no time flat her body had grown used to the warmth his body provided. When he took her by the hand that feeling vanished and was replaced by giddy anticipation. She hardly saw the other attendees of the charity event. It was all glittering lights and swaying skirts, the sound and smell of lots of booze and perfume. None of it seemed real to Liza. The only thing that struck her as real was Wesley’s fingers twining through her own and the sound of her heels as they clacked hurriedly on the polished floor.
“Where are you taking me?” she laughed breathlessly.
"Come on; I know this place," was all he offered up as an answer.
“Know this place, huh? What, do you like, own it or something?” she shot back, almost running now to keep up with his ever-quickening pace.
"Very funny. Who owns a building like this one?" he countered, pulling her down a long, dark hallway that made it feel like there was nobody in the whole place but the two of them. Finally, he pushed open a heavy mahogany door, tugging her inside a room as dark as soot. He pushed the door shut and her against it, then reached across her and flipped on a light switch. She was momentarily blinded by it, squinting her eyes shut tightly. Wesley placed one warm hand under her chin and pushed her face up gently towards his own, running his thumb briefly over her partially open lips.
“Open your eyes, Liza. There’s nobody here to see you now but me,” he said softly. His voice was gentle and somehow full of need. She did as he asked, first in little slits and then all of the way. His face filled her vision, unbelievably good looking and so much kinder than she expected.
“Where are we?” she asked timidly. She looked over his shoulder curiously.
“Promise you won’t freak out?” he asked wearily. She couldn’t tell if he was faking that part or not. Either way, she took the bait.
“Um, sure?” she answered in more of a question than a statement.
“That’s not so convincing, Liza,” he laughed.
“Okay, I’ll try it again. Yes, I promise. I’ll pinky swear you if you want me to,” she said with a smile.
“Excellent,” he laughed, twining his pinky around hers, “then I’ll clue you in. It’s a very nice, very clean powder room.”
“A bathroom?” She smiled and did a quick scan of her feelings on the matter, expecting to be at least a little bit disgusted by the idea. She hadn’t ever been to bed with a guy anywhere other than a bedroom. A powder room, even if it was bigger than her entire apartment and about a thousand times fancier, was a pretty big jump. Surprisingly, she felt no hesitation whatsoever. She grinned up at him, and he let out a comical sigh of relief. Then his thumb ran over her lips again, and without thinking about it, she took it into her mouth. He tasted like salt and the champagne that had sloshed over the side of his glass. It was the most sensual thing she had ever tasted. Every nerve ending in her body felt like it was on fire and when Wesley moaned, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back for a moment, a thick warmth spread through her like liquid metal.
“Jesus, Liza, what are you trying to do to me?” he groaned, opening his eyes again. He was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Had she ever been looked at like that before? No. No, she didn’t think so. If so, the last time hadn’t been so effective. The way she was feeling now she was on the verge of ordering him to take her to the long velvet couch in the foyer of the powder room, to stop messing around and just do it. That was new, too. Whether it was the champagne buzzing merrily in her bloodstream or the filmy unreality of the whole evening, she wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, the self-talk that typically plagued her was unilaterally absent. She rose up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips softly against his. That small action was enough to break the last remnants of hesitation on both parts. His hands went to her waist, then dropped to her ass, squeezing her and pulling her closer to him hungrily.
"The couch," she gasped, already seeing stars, "take me to the couch, or I'll fall right down."
"Yes, ma'am," he said huskily, pivoting her and kissing her all of the way to the couch. The feeling of his hands moving along her silky dress gave her shivers. He reached for the zipper tucked discreetly beneath one arm. She considered pointing out that he was awfully well-versed in women's formal wear but kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to think about what other women Wesley spent time with or what kind of lovely outfits they wore. Her body was entirely consumed by the feeling of him helping her out of her dress, and she wanted it to stay that way. When the dress was on the floor in a puddle around her feet, Wesley plopped down on the couch and stared up at her with naked eyes.
"You are so fucking beautiful; you know that?" he said reverentially.
“Stop it,” she blushed furiously. Standing there with no bra and a lacy black thong with the lights on wasn’t a usual thing for Liza. Somehow, though, she didn’t mind at all. Not only that, she liked it. Her thong and a pair of strappy heels and Wesley Baker looking at her like she was a flat-out goddess. If things got any better than that, Liza didn’t know how.
"I'm not going to stop it. I can't," he growled. She opened her mouth to answer, but he stopped her by grabbing at her greedily. He pulled her close to him, put his index finger in his mouth, and ran it over one of her nipples. She sucked in a hiss of breath and put her hands on his shoulders to keep from losing her balance. Pleasure coursed through her, a low and steady pulsing this time instead of a lightning bolt. He moved his finger slowly, back and forth, watching her face intently the whole time. She closed her eyes as her hips began to move slowly and entirely of their own accord. Wesley's finger left her, and he began kissing just beneath her breasts, allowing his lips to follow a trail down to her belly button and not bothering to stop there.
“Come on, Wesley, you don’t have to do that,” she laughed nervously. Whether she was nervous that he would stop or that he would keep going, she didn’t know. She didn’t have more than a split second to think about it, either.
"You're right, sugar, I don't. I don't have to do anything," he said quickly before dipping his head lower. His expert tongue found the part of her aching for him the most through the flimsy lace of her thong. Her head whipped back on her neck as she cried out loud, her hands finding the top of his head and twisting in his hair. Her hips moved faster now, pressing into his lapping tongue with a need that might have been frightening if it wasn't so demanding. She felt lighter somehow like her body was full of warm, white light that would lift her straight into the air if Wesley kept going. One of her hands left his hair and found her own breast. Her fingertips on her nipple were tantalizing, tormenting, and when Wesley's teeth grazed against her clit ever so gently, she cried out again and louder than before.
“No more,” she whimpered, “please, I can’t. I can’t take it anymore.”
"Fine, no more of that," he answered with a sly smile. He sat up straight, and Liza had a moment of fear that he meant they were done. She wasn't ready for that. Instead of getting up, though, Wesley's hands moved to the buckle of his belt. When he worked the zipper down, she held her breath. She had secretly wondered what he was working with underneath his expensive clothes but never in a million years had she expected to find out. And she was going to do a lot more than look, too, her tingling body reminded her raucously.
"Come here," he said again, and this time she didn't even consider making a denial. He lay back on the couch, slipping his pants down his athletic hips. She started to pull her thong down, but he grabbed at her arm and shook his head.
“No, Liza, keep it on.”
She climbed onto his lap, hovering above him for a moment while she tried to make herself believe that this was real. In the end, there was no avoiding the reality of it, even if she’d wanted to. His hands on her hips made that reality unavoidable. He tugged the slim fabric of her panties aside and wrapped his hand around his shaft. She lowered herself, slowly enough to be torturous, and bit her lip as he slid inside of her. She moaned as he sighed her name.
"God, you feel good," he told her, his eyes locked onto her face. Her face pulsed with hot blood, both from the exhilaration of what they were doing and from his words. She had never been much of a talker during sex, and she didn't intend to start now. She kept her mouth shut and let her body do the talking instead. With her hands planted firmly on his chest, Liza started rocking slowly, savoring the feeling of him filling her up so completely. His fingers found her clit again, and her rocking sped up, her eyes shut and her hair falling from its updo and all around her face. Wesley met each one of her movements, thrusting inside of her mercilessly. Behind her closed eyes, everything went white. Her breathing quickened to the point she wondered vaguely if she might hyperventilate, which had happened to her before on rare occasions. When the heat that had been steadily building inside of intensified tenfold and all of a sudden, she realized that it wasn't hyperventilation.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, arching her back so that the cold air from the vent above kissed her nipples, “oh my God, Wesley, I’m going to come!”
The bucking of his hips intensified, and she screamed into the empty powder room. Afterward, when she was trying in vain to achieve an approximation of the put-together appearance she'd come into the place with, she would feel half-sick with embarrassment that somebody might’ve heard them. At the moment, she couldn't have cared less. She cried out, shaking her head back and forth, and fell forward when the pleasure began subsiding. She clung to Wesley's shoulders while his pumping grew less disciplined. When he gasped into her ear, his hot breath making her skin tingle all over again, she smiled. For the short amount of time they remained that way together, she was perfectly content. Not moving was the key. When she moved, when either one of them moved, the spell would be broken, and the world would be normal again.
“Are you good?” Wesley whispered, running one hot hand over her sweaty hair.
“I’m good,” she agreed, “fantastic, even. That was-”
“Passable?” he joked, laughing easily. It was a laugh that told her how sure he was that it was better than passable. Liza was pretty sure that, if ever a man existed not in need of his sexual ego stroked, it was the one still between her legs.
“Sure, okay. We’ll go with that. It was passable, Wesley.”
He laughed and shifted on the couch, which Liza took as her cue to get up. She bent, picked up her dress, and turned her back to the couch and its occupant. She didn't want him to see her getting tidied up. Whatever strange lapse of sanity had allowed her to do something as impulsive as bedding her new boss was long gone. What took root in its place was a sense of dread. It had been a mistake. However good it was, what she and Wesley had just done had been a mistake, and now there was no way to take it back. Her head started filling with all of the worst-case scenarios of what might happen with her newly won job, and now the likelihood of hyperventilating didn't seem so far-fetched at all.
“Everything good?” Wesley asked from behind her where he was undoubtedly also trying to get himself back in order.
“Fine,” she answered a little too curtly, “everything is perfectly fine.”
