“The vulnerability. Feeling helpless in the face of my dominance.”
“Sounds like somethingyoulike.”
“I’m not going to lie,” he answers reasonably.
“Really?” I draw the word out, kind of,tell meas between my legs throbs at the recollection.
“I like that you laugh, whether you mean to or not. I love the fight you put up. Your hips between my knees. The way your wide, wild eyes stared up at me when you realized you wouldn’t be able to wriggle away.”
“I must’ve looked like a crazy person.” A crazy person being tortured by the devil.
“You looked beautiful, balanced between panic and pleasure and pain. Laughing and begging and all breathless, your skin still so sensitive when I slipped my tongue between your legs.”
I release a tremulous breath. “It’s way too early to be having these conversations.” It’s way too early in this non-relationship for me to be feeling like this.
“You’re saying it’s a good thing I didn’t wake you before I left this morning?”
“You couldn’t possibly have—”
“Next time, I’ll be sure to wake you up to show you the evidence for yourself. I had to take care of myself in the shower.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.Oh.”
“It hardly seems fair.”
“We’re not keeping score, darling.”
“No, I just mean you might’ve woken me. I would’ve liked to have seen that.”
“Amelia, you make it so hard—”
“Just how I like it.” Gosh, listen to me, living my best life, giving as good as I get.
“Make it sohardto stay coherent. I have a very busy day today, and all I’m going to be thinking of is the many and varied ways I intend owning your delectable arse.”
“Sounds like you’re saying I make you a little crazy.”
“You sound entertained by the prospect. Make the most of your alone time, darling.”
“That sounded like a threat.”
“Good.”
The phone goes dead. I find myself staring at it. Staring and smiling.
* * *
George picks me up for work, and no one seems to realize that I arrive on the executive floor by means of not available to mere PA’s. But my security swipe card seems to have all the access I need.
I’m not sure which is crazier, that Whit has his own plane or elevator. It makes him sound like some kind of control freak when he’s really just a regular guy with lots of money.
I prep the file Whit wanted last Friday, the one that led to our fumble in the supply closet, which seems to have happened a lifetime ago. I whip a few tasks off the Monday list of Jody’s PA bible, do a little filing, and organize Whit’s expense reports.
Finding myself with a whole hour on my hands for lunch, I grab a sandwich from Sainsbury’s Metro, along with a couple of ridiculous items that I think will make Whit smile and find a bench to soak up some spring sunshine as I eat my New York-inspired (maybe squinted at over a great distance?) pastrami on rye.
When I return to the building, I pull out my purchases and line them across my desk.
