“Are you hungry?” he asks, opening the fridge as I walk down the hall to my bedroom.
“Not really,” I call.
I pull off my clothes, rubbing the lines my bra left over my rib cage and on my shoulders. The bathroom light feels too bright and I wince as I flick it on. The sound of pots or pans and running water make it all the way back here as I wipe away my makeup and wash my face.
“What are you doing?” I yell but he doesn’t answer. Pulling on a favored pair of worn black tights and an oversized University of Minnesota T-shirt, I pad back to the kitchen. “I recorded Jeopardy.”
Wesley presses a warm mug, fragrant with my favorite brand of peppermint tea, into my hand. He snorts into a glass of water. “Did you already watch it?”
I pause for a moment, at the thoughtfulness of making me a tea. He already does these tasks at work but somehow they feel heavier, more important when he does them here, in my home. Then his words replay in my head. I pin him with a glare.
“I don’t need to watch it first to beat you, if that’s what you’re saying.”
A small smile curls one side of his mouth. “You make a good point, Ms. Blunt.”
He follows me to the living room and we settle on the couch. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and I put my feet up on his shins, like we’re two people with a routine, comfortable enough that we do things like this every night.
As I turn on the television and find the right episode, he plays with my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “I have a question,” he murmurs.
“What is the Hapsburg Empire?” I say to the TV. I get that endorphin hit that comes when I answer the question before the contestant can.
“Why did you come tonight?” he asks.
I open my mouth. Another answer in question format on the tip of my tongue. But I turn to him instead.
“I thought...” My eyes fall to his tie. “I know you’re not...” I take a deep breath.
I want to be more like him. I want to say what I’m feeling the same way he can. But I’m not sure I even understand what I feel. Not when it comes to Wesley.
“I bailed on our date and I wanted to make it up to you.”
He nods. “I appreciate that but I already have to go all day at work not being able to touch you. Standing beside you tonight and not being able to put my hands on you was torture.” He punctuates this with one hand on my thigh, possessive and hot.
I blink slowly up at him. The best thing about him is how he always seems to feel the same thing I do. He puts the feelings into words for me, when I can’t. I imagine his hands on me at Happy Hour. Standing beside each other with the warm weight of his palm on my hip. On my ass. A stolen kiss, pressed quietly to my neck when the others go to the bar to get drinks. Meeting in the hallway by the bathrooms and grinding against each other while our bodies buzz from alcohol and music and laughter. My arousal is a warm drink, filling me up slow.
His eyes bounce between my own. His gaze feels like the softest touch, like lips gently brushed over skin. “You took off your makeup,” he says, like he’s just noticed.
I nod.
“I can never decide what I like better.” He presses his thumb to my mouth, dragging it across my lower lip and chin. “Your red mouth or how soft your skin looks, and how your lashes are still wet. Or how I know that your lips are the same rose color as your nipples.”
The best thing about Wesley is also that he knows exactly what to say to make me want to fuck him. But he never knows that he’s saying it.
“Do you want me to put my hands on you now?” he asks quietly into the space between us.
“No.” I shake my head. I can’t say the things I want to say but I’ve always been better at action. “I want to touch you.”
I brush my lips against his. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a dirty secret. You’re not.”
“It’s okay,” he says between kisses. His nose bumps mine.
“No,” I say, angry. “It’s not.”
It isn’t okay. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. “Sometimes, Wesley, I feel like...” My heart trips in my chest. “You’re the only thing I can hold on to.”
Between my mother, Richard, my job, Wesley—my intern whom I am secretly fucking—is the only stable thing I have. And I hurt him.
“You were mad at me the other night, when I tried to kiss you.”
His dark eyes are cool. “It felt like you were trying to distract me from the problem.”
Sudden tears sting my eyes. “I just...you’re so...strong, Wesley. You’re so brave.”
He shakes his head. I stop him with my fingertips on his chin, his stubble roughing the pads. “You tell the truth about what you want, who you are. All the time. Every day. I wish I could be like you.”
Wesley looks like he doesn’t believe me.
“I think you think it’s a bad thing. But it’s the thing I—” I stop myself, swallowing down the words. “I admire most about you,” I finish, my heart in my throat.
“I can’t do that, be like you. I’m still trying. I want to be better with...” I clench and unclench my hands. “With actions. I hurt you and I’m sorry. I tried to show you tonight how sorry I was but can I show you now what you mean to me?” I close my eyes against the way my heart trips over him. “How much it means that in everything that is happening, you’re the person I trust more than maybe even myself?”
He cups my jaw. “You don’t need to show me. I believe you.” He kisses my chin. “Corrine, I know this is complicated and I’m not trying to make it more complicated, but you need to know that I think I...”
I cover his mouth with my hand, ribs bruised from the adrenaline of the look on his face. My hand shakes.
“Shhh...” He can’t say that. Not now. I won’t know what to do with myself. My strict schedule? My routine? It will all be chaos.
Falling in love with Wesley Chambers was never part of the plan.
I straddle him, his stubbly jaw scratching at my lips. I move my hands down his chest and my mouth follows the trail they blaze. Stopping at his belt, my eyes flicker to his in a silent question. He holds his breath and nods, just barely. His whole body is still, frozen in silent anticipation as I pull his belt from the loops. His chest heaves as my fingers breach the elastic on his boxers and I wrap my hand around his length.
I can’t catch my breath. Putting my mouth on him is the new breathing.
He grabs at the fabric of the couch as I lean forward, my lips puckered, and place a soft, barely there kiss right at his tip. His legs tense and his back goes rigid at just this infinitesimal amount of contact. How can it be that I am trying to do something for him and yet he still makes me feel so good?
I plant more small, closed kisses along the underside of his cock. Part of me wishes I hadn’t taken off my lipstick, that I could leave proof of my being here on his most intimate skin. My nipples point through the fabric of my T-shirt. My panties are already wet, just from this. Just from kissing him. I will never get enough.
“Never,” he whispers and I realize I said it out loud.
Finally I do the thing we both want. I lick up the length of him, closing my mouth around his head. A moan escapes me at his taste, salty and hot. I watch him, his head dropped back against the couch, biting his knuckles.
I am filled with him and yet it’s not enough. I want more.
He pushes his pants and boxers a little farther down and gently takes my hand, guiding it to his sac. He squeezes me over his warm, soft skin. His whole body melts into the couch cushions. His lashes flutter and his cheeks pink. He is hot and hard in my mouth and soft at the same time and so, so beautiful. He’s put all his power in me and yet he could probably get me to do just about anything right now. Climb to the top of the John Hancock tower, come to work naked, tell Richard and Mark they’re worthless. If I could keep feeling this way, and keep making him feel this way, I’d do it.
My living room fills with the lewd sounds of my mouth on his skin and his tight gasps. His quiet ohhhs. I close my eyes because the sight of him is too much. I want his hands on me instead of my hand between my legs.
“Touch me?” I beg.
The only part of me he can reach is my head, but he places his hand there, his fingers gripping my hair gently. He guides me back to him, moving my head up and down on his shaft.
“Fuck, yes,” he hisses as I let my teeth gently graze his skin. I pull his foreskin back, suck his tip again, and his fingers clench in my hair.
He moans in a voice that sounds nothing like himself. He sounds a little like he might die but he’s happy about it. A curl of heat crawls up my own spine as he softly trails his fingers over my throat and chin and traces my lips where they’re stretched around him.
“I’m gonna...” He gasps. “I’m coming, Corrine.”
He comes, hot and hard, on my tongue and the back of my throat. At some point, I don’t know when, we entwined the fingers of our free hands together. I want to feel his body, his mouth, his hands between my legs. I’m so aroused I feel like I might go off just from the friction of walking.
Slowly, I stand, wiping my mouth.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
He clenches our fingers together. “Wait.”
His cock lies flat against his bare thigh. The sight is erotic enough that I have to close my eyes.
“Let me take care of you.”
He draws the pads of his fingers to a sensitive spot on the inside of my leg just above my knee, draws his other hand up the back of my thigh. I wrap my fingers around his hair, pull his head back and kiss his smiling mouth. He cups my breast, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of my shirt. We’re going to fall upon each other out here again.
“Take me to bed and touch me.”
His mouth is on mine before I’m finished. He parts my lips with his, slipping his tongue inside in a move I know he’ll use between my legs later. It takes all my strength to tear myself away, walking to the hallway.
He follows slowly, tucking himself back in, turning off the television, taking his wallet and phone out of his pocket and placing them on the counter.
The bedroom is pitch-black but he finds me there, like muscle memory guides him. The bed dips and my hands find his waist in the dark. He doesn’t need to touch me. He can do it after. I can’t wait any longer.
I push and pull his clothes off necessary body parts and his hands do the same to mine. Spreading my legs, he rests in the cradle of my body, rubbing his cock as he gets hard again all over me until we’re both slick and wet.
“Want you,” I say. Because it’s the only thing I can speak out loud right now. I just want. I want so much it’s a need.
Taking himself in hand, he pushes inside me. I could come like this, just from him filling me up.
He shudders, burying his face into the space where my jaw meets my throat.
Gripping my shirt in one hand to keep the hem above my breasts, he kisses my hot skin as he starts to move.
He pets me, my clit swollen and begging. With his mouth on me, his cock in me. This is all I need. Just this.
My orgasm moves slowly through me, like the sun through the room throughout the day. Hot and long I come around him, tremble beneath him while he thrusts in long strokes. Not until I’m wrung out does he let himself come again, wrapping his arms around me, pulling my body into his, pushing himself into me as far as he can go.
He is everywhere and yet it’s still not enough.
Our chests heave together as we catch our breaths. He rolls to the side, bringing me with him. Wesley hitches my limp leg around his hip, keeping his softening cock inside my body.
“Don’t leave,” I say. I feel weighted to this bed. We can never move again.
“Tired?” He kisses my forehead. I can only hum a response. “Want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
“No,” I mumble. I wanted more. To fuck his fingers, his mouth but my lips feel buzzy and numb. “Don’t leave,” I say again, my body or my bed. “Stay all night. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
“Yeah?” He sounds surprised and happy and exhausted.
I nod against his chest.
“How come?”
“Let’s pretend tonight was real,” I say. It’s easier in the dark. “Didn’t it feel real tonight?”
The routine of it, the comfort. My feet on his legs, his feet on my table. It felt like maybe, one day, it could be real.
“Yes,” he says after a long pause. He peppers my cheeks and shoulders with kisses. I purr another happy sound.
“It felt a little bit like that.”
There’s a tone in his voice, like what he’s left unsaid is, it felt a bit real but it’s not. And it disappoints him.
This is all I can give him. Maybes and pretend. But I think—I know—he wants more. He deserves it, too.
He’s the kind of man who wants to hold my hand, to know that we claim each other when we walk down the street. He wants to pull me out to the dance floor even if he’s probably not a very good dancer, to tease me for showing up late to Happy Hour.
I don’t know how much longer he’ll wait.
A take-out coffee cup slides slowly across my desk on Friday afternoon. “Here,” Wesley says. “You were working pretty hard and missed your own alarm.”
I blink up at him as the soft bell sound of my PM coffee alarm tinkles from my cell phone in my desk drawer.
“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Making him fetch coffee now feels a little weird, but my Friday afternoon slump won’t let me refuse the caffeine hit.
He shrugs. “You could repay me by coming to Amy’s launch party tonight?” He smiles crookedly, in what I think is an attempt to look cute.
He holds up his hands as I start to shake my head. “Separately, of course. She said you should bring Emily.”
Leaning back in my chair, I hold my coffee up to my nose, let the warmth of the cup seep into my palms. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. A little...” Awkward, I want to say. “Risky.”
He sighs, sounding less disappointed and more resigned.
“Wesley, you know we can’t be seen together outside of work.”
“It’s not like we’ll be seen together. We’ll just be in the same place.”
Stepping out of my shoes, I scrunch my toes into the carpet beneath my desk to ground myself. “Why do you want me to go so badly?”
“Because I...” He stops. Closes his mouth. He shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders move like he’s trying to find the right fit in an ill-fitting jacket. “Because I like spending time with you,” he says quietly.
“Well, you can spend time with me. After. Why don’t you leave early so you can help your sister. And I’ll see you tonight after the party or tomorrow at the softball game.”
His eyes widen and he rubs his stomach. “If we don’t win I’m gonna blow chunks.”
“That’s disgusting,” I say. But I can’t keep a straight face anymore when he goes cross-eyed.
His feet shuffle as he makes his way to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? It would mean a lot to my sister and...to me.”
I want to give him the answer he wants. “Just call me after.”
He nods, his mouth turning into a crooked frown. “If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
The door closes softly behind him and I take a sip of my coffee but it tastes dull...like nothing. My eyes wander away from my work, to the door.
This internship will be over soon. We couldn’t still work together here but if he was willing to take a job at a different agency—he’d have great experience and references. They’d be silly not to see his talent. Or maybe if I...left.
Once I think it the idea takes full form, like it’s been in the back of my mind—or maybe my heart—for a long time. I’ve been staying out of some sick sense of loyalty to Richard but for what? I could leave and Wesley could stay and then we could...maybe?
I’m on my feet before I’ve really thought about it. The door is open and I rush down the hallway. He’s just past the Pit as I arrive on the other side. “Chambers,” I yell.
Everyone stops, including him. He slowly turns, his eyes wide and confused. A murmured ooohhhhhh rises up from the Pit as I stalk around it. Richard watches me from an open office doorway, glowering, but I ignore him. He is inconsequential, he just doesn’t know it yet. Wesley meets me in the middle, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Blunt?” His voice is quiet and respectful.
“I just wanted to let you know...” With a quick glance at the Pit, I keep the stern expression on my face. “I will be attending the event tonight, after all.”
“Really?” His smile is too big for the conversation we’re supposed to be having in front of colleagues.
I take a step back. Without noticing, we’ve stood too close together, in each other’s orbit. “Yes.”
“Okay.” He takes a step back as well. “I’ll...make the proper arrangements.”
He winks so only I can see.
The hallways are quiet and most of the other offices are dark by the time my phone interrupts my work again. Without checking the time, I know I’ve worked too late and it’s probably Wesley wondering where I am. Pulling open the drawer, I answer without turning away from the screen, shutting down the computer with my free hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m leaving right now.”
“Princess, it’s your mom,” Dad says. “She’s in the hospital.”
I stand fast enough that the computer chair hits the wall behind me. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to panic you.”
His voice is thin and reedy. He’s panicked himself.
“She collapsed and the ambulance brought her in. They’re running some tests but...if you can, maybe you should come here. Just...” His voice catches. The sound of an intercom breaks through the silence. He must be calling from the hospital. “Just in case,” he says.
The chair slowly rolls back to me and when it hits the backs of my knees I collapse. I let the fear beat at my heart before remembering to breathe.
“Okay. I’ll have a flight booked by the end of the night. I’ll be there soon, okay? Do you need me to call the boys?”
“No... Maybe... You just get here as soon as you can.”
He disconnects the call but I do nothing. The fear paralyzing me. Beating at the walls that cooler heads tried to put up. I want to hug my mom. I want to be by her side. But I also want Wesley. I want to hear his voice telling me everything is going to be okay and I want him to hold me for a few precious moments before I leave.
I call him but it goes to voicemail. I hang up and send a text instead. My hands shake so hard I need to spell the words three times before I get them right.
I can’t come. Call me. It’s an emergency.
I can’t bring myself to type the rest. Putting it in print makes it too real. It can’t be real yet.
My mind feels like a thousand different balls of yarn, all with their ends tangled. I don’t just need his support. I need his help. I can’t do this—booking a flight, calling my brothers, dealing with the week ahead—but he still doesn’t respond.
“Breathe,” I whisper. “Everything will be okay.” Rolling my shoulders back, I start with work first since it calms me most, going through my schedule for the next week, sending emails to reschedule meetings and push back presentations.
“Corrine,” a voice says from the doorway and I jump, almost knocking over my hours-cold coffee.
“Richard.” His name sounds more like a curse than a greeting. “I’m sorry but I can’t chat right now, I have to—”
“No.” He walks in, shutting the door behind him. “You need to make time for this.”
Pulling my glasses off and rubbing away the stress on the bridge of my nose, I say, “Okay, Richard.” The air in this room smells stale, close, unmoving. He just brings this claustrophobia with him wherever he goes. “What do you need?”
“What I need is for you to listen to me. I’m tired of you dicking me around.”
“I... I...what?”
My brain snags on the utter absurdity of a man named Richard turning dick into a verb and a laugh bubbles out. But he seems too caught up in this moment to care. He approaches my desk like he wants to hurt it, leaning against the glasstop so he can get as close to me as possible.
“I have been patient, Corrine. I have offered you every opportunity. You know that I want you. You’ve always known.”
The laughter dies in my throat. “This...this is wildly inappropriate.”
A sense of surreality washes over me. The office tunnels, the air whooshes from my chest. I know I’m not in any physical danger. At least, I think? My eyes dart to the door over and over again. My legs twitch with the need to get out. There is nothing I want more than to get the hell away from this man.
“You want to talk about appropriate?” His face turns a deep shade of red. “Your little tease outfits aren’t very appropriate for work, Corrine.”
He gestures toward me. “Tight skirts and that low-cut dress you wore the other day,” he scoffs.
I close my eyes. If I have to be in this man’s presence for another minute I might scratch him.
“What are you trying to say? The clothes I wear aren’t any different from the clothes every other woman at this office wears.”
My phone vibrates in my hand and I see a text from my stepfather before Richard reaches out to grab it. “Pay attention to me.”
The phone feels like my only link to anything outside this office right now, so I grip it tighter, holding it behind my back in a game of grown-up keep-away.
“No, you pay attention, Richard.”
The look on his face should probably scare me. But I’m done being scared and intimidated by this man and the power he thinks he has over me. Whatever was left of our relationship, my respect for him, has burned up with his rage.
“I’m not interested in you, Richard. I never have been and I never will be. I find your come-ons offensive and uncomfortable, and if you don’t leave me alone I will be reporting you to HR.”
For a moment, his face shutters, the anger wiped away by something that looks a little like fear. But then it’s gone.
“Are you sure you want to do that, Corrine? It might not end well for you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I hiss. My heart is a battering ram. My thighs shake.
“It means that we value team players at Hill City. And team players don’t run crying to HR,” he says, his eyes narrowed.
“That was the wrong fucking thing to say to me, Dick.”
He leans back, making a point to let his eyes travel down my body, a sneer contorting his face. “I’ll give you a little time to rethink your choices.”
I fall back into my chair the second he’s gone. My hand shakes and cold sweat has formed at the small of my back and under my arms.
The screen blurs as I try to type out another message to Wesley.
Please come. I need you.
I don’t know what Richard truly wants from me. Other than my fear, my impotence. But I don’t feel terrified into inaction like Richard hoped. The opposite, actually.
Once my hands stop shaking, I open a new email message and start drafting.